by Dave Daren
“Well, well, look who’s come crawling to us,” my old foe laughed.
I didn’t say a word. I stood there calmly, hands held loosely at my sides and waited for one of these two to make a move.
“Jabba’s been waiting,” the new guy said. “You’re late.”
I glanced at my watch.
“Five minutes,” I said with a shrug. “Took me that long just to walk through the crowd.”
“Told you he was an asshole,” the old guy said.
“Yeah, yeah,” the new guy grumbled. He signaled that I should raise my arms again and he performed a quicker and much less thorough frisk. Satisfied with the results, the guy opened the office door and stuck his head inside.
“He’s here,” he announced and then stepped back so I could squeeze past him.
The office decor looked like something out of an old bordello. The walls were hidden by heavy, wine red velvet curtains and an upright piano was tucked into a corner. Wall sconces had replaced the original overhead light, filling the room with shadows. There was no desk, just a felt covered card table where a whale of a man was currently eating a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs. The chair he was in had to be custom made to hold his girth. Either that, or he had converted a loveseat into a chair for one.
“Mr. Creed,” the man with the spaghetti rumbled as he examined me. “I must say, it’s not often a lawyer comes looking for me.”
“I wanted to talk,” I replied as I studied him in return. Aside from his ample stomach, his most notable features were his heavy jowls, quivering chin and wispy brown hair that barely covered the top of his head. “I think it may be beneficial for both you and my client.”
“Ah, yes, Gloria Burke,” Jabba mumbled around a mouthful of meatball. He pointed to one of the normal sized chairs that encircled the card table with his fork.
“I’d like to know why you and your gang are so interested in the Burkes,” I stated as I sat down.
“Not the Burkes,” Jabba corrected. “Just Matthew Burke.”
“The dead guy,” I added.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Jabba replied around another mouthful of spaghetti. I could remember grossing out my sister as a kid, opening my mouth so she could see the half-chewed food inside. I’d never appreciated just how disgusting it really was until Jabba treated me to a view of his own overstuffed mouth.
“Why do you think he’s alive?” I asked. I quickly decided that I was going to keep this interview as short as possible. Aside from the safety reasons, I wasn’t sure how long I could stand to watch Jabba eat.
“Everyone seems to think he’s alive,” Jabba pointed out. A fleck of parmesan cheese flew out of his mouth and landed on the table. I forced myself to look at a point near Jabba’s ear for a moment until I heard him swallow.
“Except his wife,” I noted.
“Bah,” Jabba grunted as he waved his fork, sending droplets of tomato sauce across the table. “If she really believed that, she would have had him declared dead years ago.”
“What would be her reason for doing it now?” I asked.
“Money,” Jabba declared. “It’s always about money.”
“But wouldn’t she have needed the money more when he first disappeared?” I pressed. “Now she’s got a successful business of her own and she’s doing well for herself.”
“She was hoping we would have all given up by now,” Jabba declared. “She probably thought we were all dead or maybe had forgotten about our money.”
“Yet clearly you haven’t,” I mused.
Jabba eyed me suspiciously for a moment.
“That money was for my retirement,” Jabba declared. “Burke claimed he could set up these high-yield accounts that would provide me with plenty of income once I left the business.”
“Retirement account?” I asked in surprise.
“I don’t intend to die here,” Jabba replied with a scowl. “You think I don’t know who’s been sniffing around, hoping I’ll slip up? Or maybe you think I don’t know that this is a young man’s game? I’m not stupid, Vince. I know those jackals are just waiting for the chance to take my gang, my territory, anything and everything I’ve worked so hard to build up. Well, I’ve got one up on them. Or I did until Burke disappeared with most of my nest egg. Now, I barely got enough to buy the property I want.”
“So you don’t really know that he’s alive, you’re just hoping he is,” I pointed out.
“The FBI thinks he’s alive,” he said as he crammed a meatball into his mouth.
“They think he’s alive because you guys think he’s alive,” I replied, which wasn’t a lie exactly. It was one of the reasons the FBI had been poking around in Gloria’s life since Matthew had disappeared. “It’s a circular argument.”
“Whatever,” Jabba declared as he speared another meatball.
“If you’re so convinced that Burke is still alive, why did you wait until Gloria filed her petition before you started to harass her?” I asked.
“What harassment?” Jabba demanded.
“You beat up her previous attorney,” I pointed out. “And you sent a couple of your guys to deliver a message outside Russo’s. Oh, and the standoff in the parking lot.”
“That’s just business,” Jabba replied. “Shake things up a little. Get the wife to maybe make a wrong move and show us where the snake is hiding.”
“So why not attack Gloria?” I asked.
“FBI’s been sniffing around her,” Jabba said. “I don’t want to be arrested before I find my money.”
“You think they won’t arrest you for beating me up?” I nearly laughed.
“Locals might, but not the Feds,” Jabba replied. “You’re not the one who knows anything.”
“There’s a sick logic to all this,” I admitted.
“Gotta say,” Jabba continued, “Gloria’s been tougher than I thought. I thought for sure she would have cracked by now but she hasn’t revealed anything yet.”
“She doesn’t know anything to reveal,” I replied.
“You can’t be that dumb,” Jabba mused as he studied me again. “Of course she knows where he is.”
“She’s getting married again,” I declared.
“Huh,” Jabba said as he finally sat back in his chair. That bit of gossip was apparently news to him.
“She’s been hanging around with that new guy,” Jabba finally mumbled.
“Geoffrey,” I offered helpfully. “They want to get married but they can’t until Matthew is declared dead.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jabba said as he shook his head and leaned into the plate once more. “And that just gives her another reason to look for the money.”
“But if she marries Geoffrey, she won’t need Matthew any more,” I pointed out.
Jabba smiled.
“Oh,” I said as I realized what I’d said. “Another reason for you to try to end her attempt to have him declared dead.”
“You catch on quick,” he noted. “So let me make a suggestion about how you can help your client.”
“Let me guess,” I replied. “Tell you where the money is.”
“That’s all I want,” Jabba agreed with a nod. “Once I have my share back, I don’t care what your client does.”
“And Matthew Burke?” I asked.
“Well, all kinds of things can happen to a man when he isn’t careful,” Jabba said with another grin. “But, hey, he’s already dead so what does it matter?”
“What would you do if you found out he was dead?” I asked curiously.
“What? You mean like someone finds his body or something?” Jabba clarified. “Well, then we might need to get a little more personal with Gloria and the kid. The wife knows where the money is, believe me.”
“But what about the FBI?” I replied.
“If he’s dead, and you can prove it, then I don’t have any other options,” Jabba mused. “I got places I can take the wife where the FBI won’t find her right away, and I’ll do it if I have to. So fo
r your client’s sake, Mr. Creed, you better hope he’s alive.”
I stood up, and Jabba eyed me warily. I gave him a quick nod and then returned to the door. He popped a forkful of noodles into his mouth as I backed out of the room and closed the door.
“That was fast,” the new guy commented. “Did you tell where his money is?”
“I’m working on it,” I replied as I eyed the two guards warily. They both scowled at me, but neither made a move so I started down the stairs to the sound of a mariachi band that was playing while the crowd waited for the next group of birds to be brought to the ring.
Alvo and T stepped aside just far enough to let me slip through and I pushed my way through the throng that was now milling around, waiting for the action to resume. I finally reached the exit and I popped through the door along with two women in very tight dresses who already had their cigarettes lit and their cash in hand for the taco truck. The kid was still there and he offered me a salute as I walked away.
My Honda was still hidden among the FedEx vans, safe and secure. I slipped inside and pulled out my cell phone. I texted Theo to tell him all was well and I was heading back to my apartment. I started the car as Theo’s reply popped up, letting me know that he was in the neighborhood if I ran into trouble on the way and that no one else had been spotted hanging around his parents’ house.
I drove back towards the bright lights of the 405, rejoining the flood of cars around the airport. There was a fender bender near Culver City, but nothing severe enough to really jam up the interstate. I made it home just before eleven and lucked into a parking spot close to my apartment.
The building was quiet when I stepped inside. I ignored the elevator and opted for the stairs as visions of Jabba devouring his meal ran through my mind. I didn’t run into anyone else as I stepped onto my floor and made my way to my door.
I froze when I got there. The door was cracked open and I could hear the sound of someone rustling around inside.
“Come in, Mr. Creed,” a thickly accented voice called out. “I’m here to have that meeting you requested. Don’t worry, I am unarmed and my men are waiting outside.”
I stuck my hand inside the door and flicked the switch for the overhead light. The apartment lit up, and I took advantage of what I hoped was the invader’s momentary blindness to open the door and peer around the edge. A man in his late sixties was seated on my sofa, smoking a cigar. He had the dark tan of someone who spent a great deal of time outside and the trim figure of someone who kept in shape. His white hair had been cut close to his head, revealing the edge of a scar that ran from his right ear up to the top of his head.
“As I said,” he said calmly as he took a puff on his cigar, “I am unarmed and alone.”
I stepped inside but left the door cracked open as he had done.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“Victor Aranda, at your service,” he said politely. “You said you wanted to meet and here I am.”
“I didn’t mean you should break into my apartment and wait for me to get home,” I replied angrily.
“I like to keep people guessing,” Aranda said with a shrug and another puff of the cigar.
“You should leave,” I warned him.
“If I do, then you will not see me again until I kill you,” he replied.
“A lot of people have already tried to do that,” I commented.
“Kill you?” Aranda laughed. “Yes, I know. You are a magnet for trouble, as they say. But trust me, if I decide to kill you, I will kill you.”
I gave up and took a seat in my one armchair.
“What do you want?” I demanded.
“It is you who asked for this meeting,” he pointed out.
“What do you want from my client?” I amended.
“Your client is of little concern to me,” Aranda mused. “She can marry her new friend and disappear to some Caribbean island, for all I care.”
“As long as she leads you to Matthew Burke,” I guessed.
“Him, or the money he stole from me,” he agreed.
“That’s rather ironic, isn’t it?” I asked. “That the money you stole from others was then stolen from you.”
“But we all steal,” Aranda laughed quietly. “The whole capitalist system is built on theft.”
“So now you’re a capitalist?” I queried.
Aranda watched me for several heartbeats.
“I’ve learned a new way to fight,” he finally replied.
“What did Burke steal from you?” I asked.
“Money,” he said simply.
“But what money? And how much?”
Aranda took a few more puffs on his cigar, and I tried not to cough. As I waited for his answer, I tried to remember if I had any air freshener in the apartment.
“What did Jabba tell you?” Aranda inquired. “That he was saving up for his retirement? Bah. Someone will kill him before he has enough money to live the kind of retirement he envisions for himself.”
“What were you going to do with the money?” I pressed.
“Revolutions aren’t cheap,” he replied.
“Are you planning to return to Colombia?” I asked in surprise.
“You’re not as imaginative as I thought,” he sighed. “No, Colombia is dead to me. But there are plenty of places where I could make a difference.”
“How did you meet Burke?” I asked curiously. I’d thought about asking Jabba, but the question had become less important the more I watched him eat.
“We were introduced through a mutual acquaintance,” he stated.
“Varona,” I guessed.
“Ah, so the FBI has told you something,” Aranda mused. “And what did you offer in return for that information?”
“Whatever I could learn about Burke,” I told him. There didn’t seem to be any point in lying since there was only one thing I could offer the FBI.
“And what have you learned?” he asked.
“Not much,” I admitted. “Everyone seems convinced he’s alive, though I’m not sure why.”
“The FBI is convinced he’s alive,” Aranda corrected me. “I am simply waiting to see if they are right.”
“So you’re watching the FBI, not Gloria,” I suggested.
Aranda gave a tip of his head.
“But you’ve been following me around as well,” I pointed out.
“You’ve been to see the FBI,” Aranda explained. “And you are conducting your own investigation. It makes sense to follow you as well. Perhaps you will finally locate Matthew Burke.”
“Or the money,” I added.
“Or the money,” Aranda agreed. “But perhaps I can help you.”
“How so?” I asked.
“As you know, Burke set up accounts for quite a few local entrepreneurs,” Aranda mused. “Some of those are no longer on this earth, two are currently serving time in a federal penitentiary. There’s really just the three of us who are still here and still looking for our funds.”
“You, Jabba and Perez,” I noted.
“Very good, Mr. Creed,” Aranda said approvingly. “Now, we all have the same goal, of course, but I would prefer to be the first on the scene, as they say. Just to be sure that neither Jabba nor Perez takes more than their share.”
“No honor among thieves?” I suggested.
“Very little, I’m afraid,” Aranda replied. “But that’s capitalism for you.”
“So in exchange for any information I might be able to give you about Burke or the money, you would do what?” I asked.
“Provide you with security services during your search,” Aranda said.
“And if I decline?” I pressed.
“You may do that,” Aranda replied. “But I would suggest you not go that route. You’ll find that neither Perez nor Jabba are as patient or as exacting as I am. They will happily kill five people just to hit the one person they actually want to kill.”
“Then the best I can say right now is that I’ll consider it,” I
remarked though I bristled at the thought of having to report to this man. What I really wanted was to get him out of my apartment so I could figure out if anything had been left behind. Listening devices might be outside their usual scope, but a bag of coke that the police could find after an anonymous tip was right up their alley.
Aranda took a final puff of his cigar before stubbing out the butt on my coffee table.
“Don’t take too long,” he said as he walked towards the door. “This is a short term offer only. I’ll send you a phone number where you can reach me.”
He stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut. I made myself stand up calmly and walk towards the door instead of sprinting for it. I locked the door and put the security chain in place, then walked through the apartment, checking that each window was shut and locked as well.
When that was done, I dug out a pair of old ski gloves and carefully checked every hiding place I could find. I found the bag of white powder taped to the back of the refrigerator. I flushed the contents down the toilet, tossed the ziploc bag into a plastic grocery bag that went inside a garbage bag that I filled with whatever garbage I could find in the apartment. I double checked the hallway, then carried the bag down to the dumpster. I thought about cleaning the whole place with clorox, but I didn’t think Aranda was ready to use that card just yet. Maybe Sofia would know someone who could give my little apartment the thorough cleaning it needed.
Chapter 10
I didn’t sleep well that night. Every creak and noise in the building jolted me awake, and my dreams were filled with visions of Aranda sitting on my sofa explaining Marxism while Jabba lapped up a bowlful of dog food at my kitchen table. Another shadowy figure sat by the window, but he never turned around so I could see his face.
I was jolted out of my weird nightmare by the sound of a phone ringing. Only it was coming from the floor rather than the nightstand. It took a moment, but I realized that I must have left it in the pocket of the pants I’d worn to Jabba’s. I dug around on the floor near the bed until I found the pants, and then finally found the phone itself. I managed to answer just before it clicked over to voicemail.
