The Fall Guy

by Simon Wood

  “Are we all square?” Mears asked.

  Todd jammed the box cutter into a tire. “Now, we are.”

  “You shit.”

  “Have a good life, Wade. Play it smart and it’ll be a long one.”

  Todd and Charlie returned to her Audi and raced off before Mears got to his feet.

  ***

  Charlie’s speeding Audi crossed Dallas’ city limits and she asked, “Is that story about you and the small man true?”

  “Yes.”

  She pondered Todd’s one word answer for far too long.

  “Why do you ask?” he asked.

  “The way you handled yourself tonight. It didn’t seem like the first time you had to get information out of a person.”

  She was right. Even Todd struggled with it. The Todd he knew couldn’t bullshit someone like Mears, let alone torture him. Again, the small man’s words rang inside his head. He had an aptitude for this kind of work and he was getting better at it all the time.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Charlie. We’re capable of anything when we’re backed up into a small enough corner. Who would have thought you’d be part of a drug distribution ring?”

  It was a cruel thing to say, but it had to be said. Charlie was in no place to play the morality card and more importantly, he didn’t want her to view him as a bad guy. Charlie absorbed the barb with good grace and nodded.

  They drove in silence for the rest of the journey. She parked her Audi inside the workshop. The place had taken on a different appearance. Even ignoring the blood, it didn’t look as clean.

  Todd found a mop to clean up the blood, but Charlie stopped him.

  “I’ll clean up. You need to go.”

  She was right. Even in his current condition, Mears should have changed the tire by now. Todd’s window of escape was shrinking.

  Charlie offered him Mears’ automatic.

  “No, you keep it,” he said.

  “As a memento?” she joked.

  He smiled. “No. For protection. There’s going to be some fallout when the Carlsons realize their handler has skipped town.”

  “Or he tells about tonight,” she said.

  Todd shook his head. “He knows his days are numbered unless he disappears.”

  “What do I do when the next car arrives?”

  “Hopefully it won’t.”

  “But if it does.”

  “Play dumb. Tell them that you tried to contact Wade, but he doesn’t answer. They’ll search for him and probably assign someone else to collect the drugs.”

  “So nothing’s changed.”

  “It will. Give me time.”

  Charlie viewed the weapon and her smile evaporated.

  “I wish I could stick around to help,” he said.

  “No. You need to go. Besides, I don’t think I could survive another day with you around.”

  He flushed.

  “So, I guess you’re off to Seattle to see the Carlsons and get the small man off your back.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think you’ll succeed?”

  He shrugged. “You never can tell. I might even get them to consider your loan paid up.”

  Her smile came back. “That would be nice.”

  “It would be, wouldn’t it?”

  She was still smiling when he walked out the door.

  PART FOUR: HE SAID, SHE SAID

  Todd reached Seattle by Wednesday morning. If he’d pushed it, he could have made it the day before, but he saw no reason to rush. For once, he left a city without a tidal wave of trouble looming over him. This was the time he could afford to take things at his own pace. The small man wasn’t going anywhere any time soon and neither were the Carlsons. At last, the tail wasn’t wagging the dog.

  He rewarded his Toyota with a trip to an oil changers after its two thousand mile drive. Leaving the car in their capable hands, he went in search of a payphone. He called the number Mears had given him.

  “Hello,” the woman’s voice said with exaggerated cool.

  “Yeah, my name’s Todd and I’m looking for work.”

  “I’m sorry this isn’t an employment agency. You have the wrong number.”

  “I was told the Carlsons always had work,” Todd blurted before she hung up.

  “Who told you that?” She had an edge to her voice.

  Todd reeled off the story Mears had told him to use. He’d been practicing it on the long drive up from Texas and it sounded convincing, even to his ears. The key that opened the doors to the kingdom of crime involved a guy called Munson. Munson had worked for the Carlsons at one time until a botched larceny got him busted. He’d held his tongue and did the time without ever mentioning the Carlsons. The Carlsons rewarded him with a retirement home and an allowance in Florida. Now, if he came across a guy he liked, he sent him to Seattle. The beauty of this was that the Carlsons couldn’t check with Munson. The cops had never believed he worked alone and they hadn’t taken the tail off him. The upshot of this was that the Carlsons never made contact with the man again. The whole thing relied on faith. He hoped Mears hadn’t lied about all this. He doubted it. The story was too intricate and too involved for Mears to invent while being tortured.

  “So how is Munson?” the woman asked, at last showing signs of warmth.

  “Shitty. His busted knee doesn’t do well even in Hobe Sound.”

  Apparently, this detail unlocked the door. He was in. The woman reeled off an address.

  “Know where that is?” she asked.

  “I’ll find it.”

  Todd bought a mocha and Danish at a Tully’s and consumed them on the way back to the oil changers. The manager dealt the bad news that his Toyota wasn’t long for this world if he didn’t have a whole host of parts replaced. Todd told the manager that the Toyota had been through a lot and it wasn’t fair to keep putting it through more. Sometimes you just had to leave things in the hands of God. The manager didn’t appreciate the humor and failed to smile when Todd took the keys from him.

  Todd bought a map at a local gift shop and drove to the address the woman had given him. The address turned out to be a mixed-use building a couple of blocks from Pioneer Square. Although within spitting distance of the tourist spot, the revitalization failed to stretch this far. The buildings on either side were rundown. The commercial space below the residential was boarded over. He climbed the short flight of steps leading to the door of the residential part of the building and pressed the button to 2A. There was no name attached.

  “Yes?” a woman answered.

  “It’s Todd. We spoke on the phone.”

  She didn’t answer, but the buzzer screeched at him and the door unlocked, so he went in.

  The hallway was cold and uninviting from the lack of heating. He climbed the stairway to the second floor and found 2A. The door was ajar. He let himself in.

  2A was nothing like the rest of the building. Where everything else was rundown, 2A was plush. Expensive furniture was nestled knee deep in thick carpeting. The lighting was subdued. The temperature was kept at a toasty optimum. Todd felt at home.

  Click!

  That at home feeling scurried off just as quickly as it had arrived. Someone had pressed a gun to the back of Todd’s head. He raised his hands.

  “Take it easy,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” the woman said. “I knew it would come to this.”

  “Come to what?”

  “Don’t play dumb.”

  It was the only thing he could play. Then he cursed himself in his thoughts. Mears had screwed him. The Munson story was just that—a story. Bastard.

  She patted him down and found the .357 in the back of his pants. She jerked it out and pressed it against his spine.

  “I suppose you carry that for protection, huh?” she asked.

  There was no right answer to a question like that, so he kept his mouth shut.

  She swiped the .357 across the back of his head. The blinding white light in hi
s vision dropped him to his knees. He put his hands to the point of impact.

  “I asked you a question.” She planted a kick to his liver that sent him onto his face.

  Two hits and he was down. Yeah, he was a real tough guy. When would anything go his way?

  “I thought the question was rhetorical,” he squeezed out before she assaulted him further.

  She laughed. “Rhetorical? An educated idiot. That’s a first.”

  “No, not educated.” He rolled over onto his back. “Just a plain idiot.”

  She laughed again. She might have been laughing, but it was laughing without humor. Her eye was still on the game. Still on him.

  “My question.” She pointed a small stainless steel automatic at his face.

  “Sometimes I carry the gun for protection.”

  “And other times?”

  “To shoot people.”

  “At last, an honest answer. Do you want to follow it up with another one?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “He sent you, didn’t he?”

  “Munson? Yes.”

  She pulled the trigger. The bullet winged past Todd’s head and punched a hole in the couch behind him.

  “I have a hard time believing Munson sent you when he was killed in a hit and run last month.”

  Oh Christ, Todd thought. Mears’ information wasn’t CNN fresh. He was so screwed.

  “Do you want to try that Munson story again?” She trained the automatic at his face again.

  “Not really.”

  “Smart man. Why don’t you give the truth a little airing this time?”

  The truth wasn’t an option and Todd hadn’t planned on using a backup story, but staring down the barrel of the woman’s gun inspired invention. He sold her a story about meeting some drunk in a bar in Missouri who’d told him about the Carlsons. She quizzed him on a description for the drunk. He fed her a nondescript rundown that matched most of the population.

  “Sounds like Tucker,” she concluded and lowered the automatic.

  Todd released a thick breath that hurt his chest and throat on the way out.

  “You have no idea who I am, do you?” She sank onto the couch opposite Todd, keeping the gun trained loosely on him.

  Todd shook his head, his gaze on her gun hand.

  “I’m Jessica Carlson.”

  Todd felt slapped and he didn’t mind its sting. Talk about falling on his feet. He expected he’d have to use some fancy moves to get to the Carlsons. He never thought Mears’ information was going to take him right to their door.

  “You have no idea how close you came to getting yourself killed,” she said.

  Todd had a funny feeling he did.

  “Did my husband send you?” She snapped her gun arm in his direction. “This time I have no intention of giving you a warning shot. Did he send you?”

  “No. I have no idea who he is. Honest. I just came for a job.”

  “Convince me.”

  “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know him and I don’t know you. I came for a job, not a bullet in the face. Okay?”

  She lowered the gun again. What was this? Good Jessica-bad Jessica? Whatever she called this act, it worked. If she didn’t let up with this shit, Todd was going to spill the truth.

  “You want a job?”

  Against his better judgment, he answered that he did.

  “When you called me, was I the first person you called about work?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t call my husband?”

  “No.”

  “And nobody knows you’re in this city?”

  “No.”

  “Then I think I’ve got a job for you.” She stood, gestured to him to follow and led the way to an office area with a desk, a computer and filing cabinets. She reached inside a desk drawer and pulled out a ten thousand dollar bundle of hundreds. She counted out ten bills. “Here’s a thousand dollars. Find yourself a room. Somewhere quiet that doesn’t ask too many questions. Get bathed. You smell like a goat.”

  Todd let that one go. There was no arguing the point.

  “Then come back and I’ll give you another thousand as a down payment.”

  “For what?”

  “For killing my husband.”

  ***

  The next morning, Todd sat in the passenger seat of his Toyota parked opposite an office building in the financial district. People would pay less attention to him if he were sitting in the passenger seat. If anyone asked what he was doing, he was waiting for a friend. As deceptions went, it was simple yet effective.

  Jeff Carlson sat somewhere on the eighth floor of the building. This was the professional face of his business dealings. Unlike the semi-derelict building where Todd had encountered Jessica, the office building was modern. This was the headquarters for Carlson Realty and Carlson Shipping. The building’s directory listed software companies, accountancy and law firms, and regional headquarters for a number of Fortune 500 companies. Respectable rubbed shoulders with respectable. Not surprisingly, it was a front. The realty firm helped launder dirty money that the shipping firm generated in the shape of unsavory goods and services. If Jeff’s neighbors only knew the truth.

  It was a typical Seattle day. Gray with the threat of rain. The weather matched his mood. No wonder so many people committed suicide every year in this place. Guilt was already seeping into him like the dank humidity in the air. He’d agreed to kill this guy. He’d taken Jessica’s money, done all the things she’d told him to do and now he was doing the groundwork before pulling the trigger. He thought he’d reached his limit when he’d tortured Mears, but he was wrong. He was way off plan here. Of all the new skills he was learning, killer wasn’t one he’d expected to add to his résumé. The only way he could justify the killing to himself was the condition he’d applied to Jessica’s terms.

  “And what’s that?” she’d asked.

  “I need some information on someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone you have business dealings with in San Francisco.”

  A flicker of recognition shone in her eyes. “When you’ve completed the job.”

  It was a fair enough trade, at the time. Now he wished he’d pushed a little harder.

  An ex-marine pushed his way out of the building. Todd didn’t know for sure if this guy was an ex-marine or not, but he carried himself with that ramrod straightness and a precision that he associated with military. The ex-marine represented half of the double act that lagged behind Jeff Carlson. Todd had to give props to Carlson for that. He wasn’t the stereotypical mobster. He didn’t draw attention to himself, by surrounding himself with thugs. He drove himself while the jarhead twins followed at a respective distance. Todd took this hands-off approach as a sign of confidence. Jeff Carlson wasn’t under the threat of attack. He sat very comfortably in his world. He was his own lord and master. Todd guessed this was also a sign he could handle himself in a clinch. Just his luck.

  The ex-marine crossed the street towards the deli on the corner. He placed an order and returned with a large paper sack. Lunch for the boys, Todd thought.

  Todd’s driver’s door flew open and a man slid into the seat.

  “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Todd barked.

  “Shut the fuck up, before I shoot you.” The man, in his forties and blond, jabbed a pocket-sized gun in Todd’s ribs.

  Todd started to raise his hands, until the blond man told Todd to put them down, remarking, “We’re all friends here.”

  “Friends don’t point guns at each other.”

  “I didn’t say we were good friends. Hands in pockets, please.” When Todd had stuffed his hands in his pockets, he lifted the .357 from Todd’s waistband. “Must be uncomfortable sitting on that.”

  “You get used to it.”

  “Jessica hired you, didn’t she?”

  “Who?”

  The blond slammed the butt of his gun down on Todd’s thigh, striking a n
erve connected to his groin. Todd doubled over and fought the nausea clawing up his throat.

  “Don’t play games. I might stop liking you if you do. Jessica hired you, didn’t she?”

  “Yes.” Todd’s reply came out strangled.

  “She wants you to kill Jeff, right?”

  “If you know all this, why are you asking?” Todd wondered where he’d gone wrong. Probably from the beginning. He hadn’t been looking for anyone because he didn’t know he needed to. This was another lesson learnt. Always assume someone is following.

  “You don’t look like a hitter,” the blond said, ignoring Todd’s point.

  “How do you know? Not all hitters look the same or everyone would spot them.”

  “How much has she agreed to pay you?”

  “Fifteen grand.”

  The blond laughed. “Yeah, you’re no hitter. If you were, you wouldn’t touch the job without a zero on the end.”

  Todd was tired of this twenty questions crap. “Who are you? Bodyguard? Cop?”

  “Referee. Guardian angel. A mix of both.”

  “Thanks for clearing things up for me.”

  “Hey, enough of the smart mouth.” The blond raised his gun up for another hammer blow.

  That was enough for Todd to cease and desist.

  “You don’t know anything about the Carlsons, do you?”

  Todd said nothing.

  “The Carlsons represent an impressive trading bloc in the Pacific Northwest for all things criminal. And when I say the Carlsons, I mean Jeff and Jessica in equal parts. Jessica is no trophy wife. Their marriage is one of sound business. Two factions ran Seattle. Jeff ran one. Jessica the other. They married for purely financial reasons. Now, Jessica wants to liquidate that arrangement, but she doesn’t want to split assets. That’s why anyone with an ounce of sense won’t touch her hit and why she has to lowball it out to guys like you. No offense.”

  “And where do you fit into all this as referee and guardian angel?”

  “I’m trying to keep them from killing each other.”

  “Why?”

  “Selfish reasons. Seattle is a stable city. Things are under control. If Jessica kills Jeff and assumes control, it will lead to destabilization. Some upstart will think they are entitled and will try to take it from her. I don’t want that to happen.”