by R. A. McGee
The door pinged and opened. Porter pulled Kevon into the elevator.
“Hylands, wait with Stacy until the next elevator.” Alex Vance stepped into the elevator with Porter and Kevon. The door shut. Porter stood between the two men.
“Stacy isn’t happy,” Vance said coolly. “When she isn’t happy, I’m not happy.” As the elevator was between floors, Vance pulled the emergency stop button. A high-pitched siren sounded. Porter gritted his teeth at the noise.
“What will it take for you to stop? Go away? Forget you have a son, give Stacy the divorce, and let it go?”
“I would never give my son up,” Kevon said. Porter noticed his hands were shaking as he talked.
“How about half a mil? Huh? Will you take that? I’ll wire you the money, you just go away,” Vance said.
“I said no. I want my son,” Kevon said.
“How about a million? A full million. Just sign the divorce papers and disappear. Easy money,” Vance said.
Kevon stood trembling but didn’t say a word. Porter was rubbing his hands together in front of him, ready if he needed them. Overhead, the siren droned on.
“Two million. Two million dollars, in your bank account this evening. Tell me where to send it,” Vance said.
Porter noticed for the first time that the man had different-colored eyes, to complement his hawkish looks. “I think the answer is still no.” Porter reached over and pushed the stop button flush to the wall. The elevator began moving again.
Vance slicked his hair back with his hands. “You should have taken the money. That was my idea. Stacy just wants you to go away.”
“Go away?” Kevon said. “Why would I go away?”
The door opened and Vance pulled his suit coat down in the front. “We’ll see you soon, Mr. Brown. Expect us.” With that, Vance strode out of the elevator, disappearing around the corner.
“‘Expect us’? What does that even mean?” Kevon said to Porter.
“It means you may want to look both ways before you cross the street from now on.”
Ten
Badway met the men by the front door. He was slightly out of breath from his climb but claimed, unsolicited, that his ass was tighter than ever.
“What’s wrong?” he said, seeing that Kevon was rattled.
Kevon exhaled. “Just now in the elevator. Vance just… I mean he…”
“Vance just tried to buy Kevon off. He said no and Vance threatened to kill him,” Porter said.
“What? They can’t just say that to you. Call the cops,” Badway said.
“And tell them what?” Porter said. “There’s no proof. Cops won't do anything.”
“This is a problem,” Badway said.
“What’s a problem?” Cat Castonguay appeared next to the group. She had a talent of sliding into a conversation undetected. She handed Kevon several papers, with calendars and legal jargon. The rules of his temporary custody agreement.
“Vance just threatened to kill Kevon,” Badway said.
“What? When?”
Porter recounted the story.
“I wish you guys had a tape recorder going or something. Hell, that wouldn’t even work. The statement was too vague,” Cat said.
“That’s what I said.” Porter’s eyes moved across the lobby of the courthouse, looking for a threat. No black-clad commandos were rappelling through the windows, and nothing else stood out to him.
“What am I gonna do?” Kevon said, rubbing his face.
“I don’t know,” Cat said. “I’ve never dealt with this type of situation.” She raised an eyebrow at Porter and Badway.
“Now you want my input?” Porter said.
“This isn’t a legal question; it's more of a heavy lifting situation. I assume this is more up your alley.”
Porter was quiet for a moment. When he looked up, three faces were looking at him, waiting for an answer. “The cops are out. We don’t have a credible threat, and they won't be interested in sitting next to you forever waiting for a threat to appear. You should stay with us at Badway’s for a while. Safety in numbers. We can help keep you safe until we figure out something better.”
“Hell yeah, that’s a good idea. My place is a little… rough… but you’re welcome,” Badway said.
“I don’t want to impose on you, Major,” Kevon said.
“Don’t make me give you an order in front of all these people and embarrass myself.”
Kevon bit his lip. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll do that. Only for a little while, though, if that’s okay?”
“Definitely,” Badway said.
“I need clothes and stuff. I’ll run by my house and meet up with you all this evening. It’s cool for me to go home for a minute, right?”
Three faces again looked at Porter. Outside a big window, the sun was hanging high in the sky. “Don’t take long. Grab what you need and get over to Badway’s.”
“I’ll be there ASAP.”
Porter took the lead as the group left the courthouse. Badway took up the rear, herding Cat and Kevon in between the two of them. The heavy glass exit door swung open smoothly and Porter stood on the top stone step for a moment and put on his Oakleys. He scanned the courtyard and what he could see of the parking lot beyond. Nothing looked out of place. “Where are you parked?”
Kevon pointed to the lot and his old car.
“Badway, go with him. Keep your ears open. If I see anything, I’ll holler.”
Badway nodded, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt.
“Thanks for doing this. Helping me, I mean,” Kevon said.
“Of course,” Porter said. “Heavy lifting, remember?”
Badway and Kevon set off across the courtyard, ignoring the paved walk paths and cutting through the grass.
Cat stood next to Porter as he moved his head left and right, scanning for anything that didn’t belong.
“You think he’s in trouble?” Cat said.
“Yes,” Porter said.
“Really?”
Porter nodded, never taking his eyes off the parking lot and the road beyond. “You need to figure out a long-term solution.”
“Me? How?”
“You’re the one with the fancy degree, right? Use your brain.”
Cat was silent for a few moments. “You know, Mr. Porter—”
“Stop calling me Mister.”
“Fine. Porter, if I was less than welcoming of you at the office yesterday, I need to apologize.”
“So do it,” Porter said, eyes lingering on a black Lincoln creeping by.
“I just did,” Cat said.
“No, you didn’t. You said you needed to apologize. That’s not the same thing as an apology.”
Cat cleared her throat. “Right. I’m sorry I was a jerk to you yesterday. I didn’t understand why Badway brought you around and I was put off. It’s strange that you come into town and look for missing kids, like a mercenary or something.”
“Or something.” Porter watched the Lincoln as it drove by the parking lot. Its windows were impossibly black, and he couldn’t see the occupants.
From the other side of the street, tires screeched and squealed. Porter’s eyes darted to the noise. A souped-up Nissan came careening around the corner, barreling right toward the parking lot.
“Hey. Hey!” Porter hollered at Badway. His head was already turned toward the noise, and he stepped in front of Kevon.
The Nissan drove toward the parking lot, then turned left on the front street, taking it past the courthouse and out of view.
“What do you want to bet that guy was in court for a speeding ticket?” Porter said.
“Nothing. I hate losing bets,” Cat said.
“Like I said, smart.” He watched as Badway got Kevon into his car and the man pulled away, waving as he went. Porter moved down the stairs, Cat at his side.
“Call me tomorrow. I have a couple ideas for Kevon.”
“Already?” Porter said.
“Fancy degree, remember?” Cat went h
er own way, smiling for the first time. He was right, she was much prettier when she wasn’t scowling, Porter thought.
Badway came jogging up next to Porter. “Think he’s gonna be okay?”
“Probably. Regardless, we have to get back to your place. My long gun’s in my truck, and I’d rather have it with me right now,” Porter said.
“Me too,” Badway said. “I told Kevon we’d pick up pizza and eat before the club opens tonight. Sound good?”
“I can always eat.”
Badway opened his fancy new truck and Porter retrieved both of their guns from the lockbox.
Badway jumped on the highway, and headed south toward the Bump House. “You know what Kevon told me when I walked him to his car?”
“Your mustache is stupid?”
“No, asshole. He said Stacy’s threatened to kill him before. When they were still living together, anytime she’d get mad, she’d tell him she was going to kill him.”
“That’s crazy.”
“He says she tried a few times. Mostly knives and stuff. Pull it out of the butcher block and come after him. He says he never called the cops because he didn’t want to get her into trouble. You see that scar on his cheek?”
“Hard to miss,” Porter said.
“That was her. Stacy got him one day, threw a cleaver at him. He told the hospital he fell,” Badway said.
“After all that he still wants her back?” Porter said. “I’d be gone.”
“I don’t think he wants her back as much as he knows her being back means he can see Trey every day. He has priorities.”
“I admire that. It’s stupid, but it’s noble,” Porter said.
“You know what bothers me?” Badway said.
Porter didn’t answer.
“If she was like that before, how much worse will she be with a guy like Vance backing her?”
“Bingo,” Porter said. “It’s not looking good for the home team.”
“No. No, it isn’t,” Badway agreed.
Badway pulled out his phone and flicked through the recent calls, thumbing a specific one. He ordered two large hand-tossed pies, one with sausage and pepperoni and one with ham and pineapple. He thanked the voice on the other end of the phone.
Badway took a route that led them to the pizza place, a mom-and-pop affair in an older part of town. He went in for the pies while Porter stayed in the car. He took deep breaths, trying to clear his head for a few moments.
He couldn’t.
His mind, the part he could never turn off, was running in the background. Thoughts about Kevon and Vance and the gorilla Hylands. Thoughts about what would make a woman like Stacy Brown refuse to let the father of her child see the baby. Why? He couldn’t grasp her motivation.
In Porter’s experience, people acted in a handful of preconditioned ways, with pre-conditioned responses. Does this make me money? Does this keep me safe? Does this make me feel good? Most people didn’t think too far beyond that. Was Stacy Brown really that scared of Kevon?
In the part of his mind he directed consciously, he thought about the Bump House and what might happen if the Armenians came to visit again. Maybe he could convince Badway to pay an off-duty cop to sit out front. That might alleviate the problem.
Thoughts of Erin dancing on the beer tub slipped into his mind. She seemed nice enough.
Badway slung open the passenger door and dropped pizza boxes onto Porter’s lap. The bottom was screaming hot.
It wasn’t long until Badway had them en route to the club and his makeshift, in-progress apartment.
“You think Vance will come after Kevon?” Badway said.
“You know more about Parabellum than I do. Would a bunch of highly trained killers with sketchy morals kill someone for money?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds like my guy has no chance.”
“I didn’t say that. I just think you should consider the reality. We’ll keep him safe when he gets here. Safety in numbers,” Porter said.
“And long guns,” Badway muttered.
Badway pulled into the empty back lot, pulling the truck in next to Porter’s car. Porter purposefully avoided looking at the spray-painted dick on his truck.
He trudged up the stairs after Badway. “You need an elevator.”
“I’ll add it to the list, right behind appliances, cabinets, and drywall.”
“Just an idea,” Porter said. “Think of how impressed the ladies would be. An elevator to the penthouse.”
The men laughed, and Badway pushed open the always-ajar front door. “Hell, I’ll do the elevator right after I re-hang the door. Get one that actually works.”
Porter followed Badway through the small hallway. He almost ran into Badway, who had stopped rigid in the opening to the living room.
Hurik Petrosian was sitting on the couch Porter had slept on, pistol in his lap. His face was an astonishing array of colors from the beating Porter had given him the night before. None of them matched his green tracksuit.
On the chair where Badway had slept, Erin sat with her hands bound in front of her. Black mascara was streaked down her face and onto the white gag in her mouth.
Muscle stood to her left, in his signature black tracksuit. The muzzle of a shotgun was pressed to Erin’s head.
Eleven
“What take you so long, huh?” Petrosian said. “We been here for hours. I hope you don’t mind, Aram drank all your beer.”
Aram—the muscle in the black tracksuit—smiled.
Porter slipped past Badway, so he could see everything at once.
“You didn’t drink any of the beer?” Porter said. “You’re a guest, you should have made yourself at home.” He casually moved away from Badway as he spoke. No quick movements, nothing eye-catching. Just a slow movement to the left.
“Ahh. Beer no good today. Doctor give me medicine at the hospital. Say don’t drink when I take medicine,” Petrosian said.
“Anything good?” Porter said. He shifted the pizza box from his right hand to his left. From his periphery, he saw Badway slowly moving to the right. He knew the play. The cousins needed to get some space in between them.
“Medicine? Yeah, it’s pretty good. They take x-rays of my face last night. You break my nose, knock out three teeth, and fracture my eye… thing… Aram, what’s it called?”
“Orbit,” Aram answered. The muzzle of the shotgun never wavered. The man kept his eyes on Porter the entire time.
“Yes, eye orbit. I may need surgery.”
“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?” Porter said.
“Maybe. Are you sorry” Petrosian said.
“No.”
Petrosian scrunched up his face.
“Did you hurt my friend?” Porter said.
“This girl? No,” Petrosian said. “Not yet. We just sitting here waiting to talk to you and she comes to the door. We figure the party is better with girl.”
“What is it you wanted to talk about?” Badway said.
Smart, Porter thought. Time to get them focused on you for a while.
“You know why, Robert. The same thing I come to talk about every time. The same thing my brother tried to tell you. The club don’t make no money. It’s better if you sell. List it with my brother.”
“The last time we talked, I gave you drinks,” Badway said. “Now you come into my house with guns? Not very friendly, Hurik.” Badway slid his hands to the front of his belt, thumbs hooked inward. It looked like he was being casual, but Porter knew his cousin’s hand was inches from his revolver.
“Last night you and your monkey friend here decided we were not friends.”
“Monkey? Is that a… oh, I see. Monkey. I get it,” Badway said.
While Badway blathered on to distract the men, Porter was running a simulation in his head. His focus went from the shotgun to the pistol in Hurik’s lap to Erin, who looked at him with wide eyes.
Porter’s best move was to draw Aram’s fire. If he pulled the trigger, Erin was dead.
If he shot at Porter, Porter stood a chance.
The popular opinion about shotguns was that they needed very little aiming, that the spread of the pellets in the shell would fan widely and obliterate anything in their path. Part of Porter’s time as a federal agent had been spent as a firearms instructor. His own experiments with the shotgun told him that this wasn’t true.
While the load of a shotgun did fan wide, that wasn’t until nearly twenty yards away. The pellets needed time to spread. At close distance, like in the apartment, the weapon still needed to be aimed. If Porter could get Aram to take a poor shot, the man might miss. It was a chance Porter was willing to take.
Badway would need to solve Petrosian’s pistol puzzle on his own.
Porter looked at Badway, who was still talking. Porter saw his fingers wiggling freely off his belt. Trying to get Porter’s attention.
Porter cleared his throat softly. Not enough to divert the men’s attention, but enough to let Badway know he was paying attention. Badway made a fist, thumbs still hooked behind his belt buckle.
“I don’t think I want to sell. This is supposed to be the land of the free, right? Aren’t I free to make my money?”
“In this case? No,” Petrosian said. With his left hand, he held a small towel up to his leaking nose. When he pulled it away, there were red splotches. “In this case, we make the money.”
“I don’t see it like that.” Badway’s clenched fist held one finger out.
He’s ready, Porter thought.
Aram’s eyes slipped to Porter and he pushed the muzzle harder into Erin’s head. Her head was canted painfully to the side.
Badway held down a second finger from his fist.
Porter caught Erin’s gaze. He looked purposefully at the floor, twice, then winked.
The girl’s eyebrows shot up.
“What are you doing with your eyes?” Aram said. “Stop that.”
Badway held out his third finger and several things happened at once.
Porter threw the pizza up into the air with his left hand, right hand tracking to the Glock in his waistband as he did.
