Angel Eyes

by Ace Atkins

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was hired to bring her home.”

  “And you want to know why I protect Haldorn?” he said. “Right?”

  I nodded.

  He smiled. He smoked. He swayed back and forth on the wobbly card table to music that I couldn’t hear. I wondered about Armenian music. Did it sound like Greek music with those big zithers people played in their lap? If Sarkisov started to play music, would his men put down their AR-15s and begin to perform a traditional dance? Maybe break a few plates?

  “This man may have done me a favor or two,” he said. “I repay the favor. But now I am done. How you say, too much heat?”

  “Too much heat,” Z said.

  I looked over at Z and smiled. I nodded my appreciation. Bobby Horse and Chollo hadn’t spoken or barely moved.

  “You give him money and he washes it through HELIOS,” I said. “It’s the only arrangement that makes sense to me.”

  Sarkisov shrugged. “If you say,” he said, cigarette bobbing on his lower lip.

  “I do say,” I said.

  Sarkisov nodded and nodded. “You and Haldorn are not so different. Both of you fascinated by this woman with the cool, green eyes.”

  “I get her back,” I said. “And we’ll leave you alone.”

  “What?” Sarkisov started to laugh. And then cough. Smoke came from his nose as he composed himself. “Leave us alone?” he said. “You think you and your Mexicans can take Sarkisov’s men?”

  “Only one Mexican, cabrón,” Chollo said. “And two American Indians.”

  Sarkisov seemed unimpressed with the clarification of ethnicity. Bobby Horse stood still and relaxed. I knew it would take him less time to grab his gun than the men who’d walked us in. Chollo could take out every man on the catwalk faster than Sarkisov could scratch his privates.

  “I want you and your men to stay away from Haldorn,” I said. “And his place on West Adams. No interference.”

  “That is it?”

  “That’s it,” I said. “So simple even a man like you can understand it.”

  “You a funny man,” he said. “But Haldorn? He is crazy man. You know this?”

  “I suspected it.”

  “Haldorn thinks he’s not a man,” Sarkisov said. “He thinks he is a god. That he and his people came from the sun. They worship him like he’s more than a man. They would do anything for this man. Including your woman with the bright green eyes. You may get her back. But she’ll never be the same as she was. If it were me, I’d say enough. I let her go. She’s no good. She’s a ruined woman. Spoiled like old meat.”

  “I disrespectfully disagree.”

  Sarkisov’s nose flared. He didn’t like that answer.

  We looked at each other for a long while without breaking eye contact. I wondered, if he looked away, would I win a prize? Maybe half-price at checkout here at the Furlong bootleg Costco.

  “Why do you care so much?” he said. “I get you ten women look just like her. Only fresh and clean. No more trouble. No sun people. None of the crazy.”

  “Her family hired me,” I said. “And I do what I say.”

  “Family?”

  “Her mother.”

  Sarkisov sucked on the last bit of the cigarette. He flicked it onto the concrete and nodded. “I give you tonight,” he said. “Maybe I look the other way. Maybe we not interfere. But after that, you make trouble for me? For people I do business with? I won’t be so nice.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “See you at the rock quarry, Sarkisov,” I said.

  Bobby Horse and Chollo waited until I got toward the big rolling door of the warehouse before they followed. Z and I walked step for step, Z watching my back and me watching his.

  It was nice to have friends.

  41

  Iparked my car in a paid lot downtown and crawled into the backseat of Chollo’s SUV.

  “Roomy,” I said.

  “It has a sunroof, too,” Chollo said. “Would you like some fresh air?”

  “After dealing with Sarkisov?” I said. “Yes. I would.”

  Z rode shotgun and Bobby Horse sat behind Chollo. We resembled a fun group of friends headed to the local drive-in. I asked Chollo to play some Dick Dale to lighten the mood. He punched up some buttons on his phone at the stoplight. “Miserlou” rattled the speakers in the car as he navigated the streets back to West Adams.

  Bobby Horse checked his gun and counted the bullets in the snap pocket of his Western shirt. Chollo turned up onto the 10. It was late and we rode the highway unencumbered by traffic, racing down to the West Adams mansion where I hoped we’d find Gabby Leggett. And where I hoped, but didn’t expect, Haldorn’s people to not offer a challenge.

  We parked on a nearby street and walked along West Adams. Bobby Horse exchanged places behind the wheel with Chollo. Bobby Horse and Z stayed behind in the SUV as Chollo and I headed toward the mansion.

  “Like Proctor?” Chollo said.

  “Let’s hope not,” I said.

  “Too bad,” Chollo said. “Proctor was fun.”

  I stepped from the sidewalk and streetlight into some bushes by the far-right corner of the mansion. We followed the tall wrought-iron fence for about a hundred yards until I found a good, dark place to jump it. I was glad I wore a pair of loose-fitting jeans that night. It would’ve been embarrassing to try and take Gabby Leggett back with a hole in my crotch.

  I reached for the top of a brick pillar and lifted myself up to where I could slide my shoes between pointy metal spikes. Knowing my foot wasn’t caught, I hopped over the fence and found myself in some dense shrubbery and plants. Chollo was beside me before I realized he’d even jumped.

  I knew there had to be guards and security cameras. If they called the police, I had several half-reasonable excuses for the social call on Gabby. Susan and I had agreed, she didn’t need to spend another night with Haldorn. The maiden needed rescuing. And then the maiden needed some deep and intense psychotherapy.

  The pool stretched out bright and cool in the back of the mansion. I didn’t see a single person moving behind the windows or walking the grounds. Everything was still and calm, almost like the house was completely unattended.

  I checked the corners for cameras. I stopped as we walked and listened for voices. Absolutely, positively nothing.

  “Too easy,” Chollo said. He had his gun out by his side.

  “Are you complaining?”

  “I like a challenge, amigo.”

  “Trigger finger itching?”

  “Sí.”

  We waited along the hedgerows until one of the guards from Haldorn’s birthday party walked outside and took a seat on a lounge chair. He had a soda can in his hands and absently took a sip. I touched Chollo’s shoulder as we made our way around the hedge to where the man couldn’t see us. Chollo snuck past me and pointed his gun right behind the man’s ear. He was caught in mid-sip.

  “Knock, knock,” Chollo said.

  The man said nothing. He set the can down on the ground. He slowly raised his hands.

  “Gabby Leggett,” I said.

  “She’s not here.”

  “Wrong answer.”

  “Shit, man,” he said. “Don’t kill me. Don’t fucking kill me.”

  “Don’t worry,” Chollo said. “Don’t be afraid. You will feel nothing. Just a flash of light. It will be full of peace and love.”

  “Christ,” the man said. “Jesus Christ. She’s upstairs. Sleeping. No one is to see her. No one. Her door is locked. I don’t even have a fucking key. Only Haldorn. Who are you? Cops? You can’t do this. You can’t just break in here. You need a warrant or somethin’.”

  “Warrants?” Chollo said. “We don’t need no stinking warrants.”

  “Really?” I said to Chollo
.

  Chollo smiled and shrugged.

  “Stand up slow,” I said. “Who else is here?”

  “Me and Eddie,” he said. “Okay. Just me and fucking Eddie.”

  “Get him.”

  The man picked up the phone. I snatched it from him. I scrolled down to Eddie and texted for him to meet us by the pool. I walked up toward the French doors and waited. Eddie, my friend who I tossed into the crudités, walked outside holding half a sub sandwich. I tripped him and pushed his face into the concrete, searching his jacket for a gun. I found one and snatched him up to his feet. He didn’t speak, only bled a little.

  I took Eddie to Chollo and the other guard. I asked the men which room was Gabby’s. One of the men tried to explain we were trespassing.

  “Which room?” I said.

  The first man we’d grabbed told me it was the third door on the right. He again repeated that the door was locked and only Haldorn had a key.

  “Now shut your mouths,” Chollo said. “You speak and you get shot. It’s a nice and simple little game. Who would like to go first?”

  Neither of the men said a word. I headed up the marble steps and let myself into the grand house, walking under the fresco of angels looking down from clouds. I climbed the grand mahogany staircase, taking the steps two at a time to the landing. The house smelled musty and ancient, something of another time. I waited and listened. I heard nothing and followed the hall to the third door on the right.

  I tried the knob. It was locked with a deadbolt above.

  I stood back and kicked it open. It splintered and cracked open on my second attempt. Haldorn bought locks like he bought security guards.

  With my gun, I checked every corner. The light was dim in the room and I saw a hump in the center of a large four-poster bed. I holstered the Browning and pulled the covers back from the bed. Gabby Leggett’s eyes were closed and she snored softly. I pushed at her shoulder gently and then harder. I shook her so hard, I waited for the teeth to rattle from her mouth. No soap.

  She was out and flying high on some chemical help.

  I walked over to the window and looked down upon the glimmering pool. Chollo stood over the two men, seated on the lounge chair. His head swiveled from left to right, making sure we were clear.

  I walked back to the bed, lifted Gabby into my arms, and lifted her unceremoniously like Boris Karloff in Frankenstein. I carried her through the broken door, down the hall, and onto the landing. I waited and listened. There was nothing. If the sound of shattering wood didn’t bring the HELIOS people running, they were either too scared or told to sit this one out.

  Downstairs, I set Gabby on a long red velvet couch and opened the door to motion for Chollo. He offered a bit of parting wisdom to the two guards and met me in the grand living room. It seemed dull and empty without the chamber music. I carried Gabby as Chollo took us through the house and to the front door, down the wide marble steps, and into the yard.

  He hit the switch on the stately iron gate and lifted his phone to dial Bobby Horse.

  The SUV turned the corner and slid to a hard, fast stop along West Adams. The wind was dry and hot out on the street. I could taste dust on my tongue as Z opened the back door and set Gabby inside. She had shuffled awake, briefly, as I moved in beside her, bookended with Bobby Horse. It wasn’t going to be the most pleasant ride back to Santa Monica, but she was more doped up than a Kentucky Thoroughbred.

  “Trouble?” Bobby Horse said, making a sweeping U-turn along West Adams.

  “None.”

  “Shoot anyone?” Z said.

  Chollo shook his head.

  “We saw only a couple of trained dogs,” I said. “And they rolled over and showed their bellies.”

  “Haldorn?” Z said.

  “Wasn’t there,” I said.

  “Damn,” he said.

  No one said much more on the slow and uneventful ride toward the ocean. As we turned onto Ocean Boulevard, the big Ferris wheel at the end of the pier flashed and strobed in neon patterns. Bobby Horse let down the window as we cruised along the beach. The palm trees rocked in a warm breeze, people sipped cocktails in outdoor cafés, and couples stood along the concrete railing to look at the Pacific under the moonlight. A lovely Saturday night in California.

  Gabby again shuffled against me and then dropped her head onto my shoulder. In the passing light, I noticed the welts on her wrists, chapped and bloody.

  She’d been tied up for a long time.

  Chollo noticed them, too.

  “Should we kill him?” he said.

  “Too easy.”

  “You will never change, amigo,” he said. “When will you learn? Some people live without rules. And sometimes killing a bad man is the only way.”

  “I have other ideas for Haldorn.”

  Chollo nodded. “And I am listening.”

  42

  It was early the next morning.

  Z and I sat at the kitchen table and looked up as Susan returned from a back room of the condo. We were drinking coffee and eating warm blueberry muffins fresh from Gjusta.

  “Gabby needs to see a doctor,” she said.

  “You are a doctor,” I said.

  “A medical doctor,” Susan said. “Not just a shrink. Her arms look god-awful.”

  “She sees a doctor and she’ll get free,” I said. “She gets free and she’ll run right back to Haldorn. Then we’ll have to repeat the whole process.”

  “She’d been given two pills to sleep,” Susan said. “God knows what they were.”

  “You can always trust old Dr. Haldorn,” I said. “Top of his medical class. Musical prodigy. Spiritual leader. Alpine skier. He can both heal the sick and raise the dead.”

  “She’s at least awake now,” Susan said. “And coherent. She’s patient and listening. No more pacing. No more yelling.”

  “Is she fighting you?” I said.

  “No,” Susan said. “But she’s very groggy. She definitely wants to leave. She believes you are the main agitator and troublemaker and says Haldorn has called you poisonous. A true pain in his ass.”

  Z looked across the table at me. “That sounds right.”

  I looked to Z and raised my coffee mug. “Years of practice.”

  “I asked her about being restrained,” Susan said, taking a seat at the table. “She said the marks on her wrists were from rope burns from climbing during the so-called spiritual retreat.”

  The patio door was slightly ajar, letting in a soft breeze and sounds of children splashing in the pool. I reached to the center of the table and selected a muffin from the box. I split it in half with a butter knife and set the other half back in the box. Restraint.

  “What about her weight loss?” I said.

  “She could use an IV to help with the dehydration,” Susan said. “She won’t eat. I did get her to drink some bottled water. She was very thirsty but wouldn’t admit it.”

  “If you’ve gone Looney Tunes, can’t a family member legally take over?” Z said.

  I looked to Z and said, “Medically speaking.”

  “Medically speaking,” Susan said. “Guardianship can be granted. Especially to a family member. But proof of going Looney Tunes can be a long and arduous journey. That’s a matter for the courts.”

  “I’ll call Rita Fiore for any West Coast specialists for this sort of thing,” I said.

  Susan settled in to the table and rested her head in her hand. She’d been sitting by Gabby’s bedside all night and was still dressed in light gray pajamas, her curly black hair pulled back into a tight bun at the top of her head. She thought she looked tired. To me, she looked tough, resourceful, smart, and cute as a button.

  “Get some rest,” I said. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  Z stood up and walked toward the door, snatching up a stray wooden chair and sitting
in the hallway by Gabby’s bedroom.

  “See.”

  “This isn’t something you can rush,” Susan said. “She refuses to see her mother. There’s a mountain of animosity there. Apparently, that’s been going on a long time.”

  “After Haldorn?”

  “Some before,” Susan said. “Haldorn only deepened the divide.”

  “Might she listen to me?” I said.

  “God, no.”

  “Would she listen to someone who lost their kid to Haldorn?”

  “Charlotte Scott?” Susan said.

  I nodded. Susan looked at me, lifting her chin and narrowing her eyes.

  “I think the more information Gabby has, the better,” Susan said. “A woman who lost her daughter has a powerful story to tell. Facts very damning to Gabby’s ideal of Haldorn.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll rest.”

  I turned to Z. He had the front legs of the wooden chair off the floor, back leaning into the wall. He looked as if he was asleep, although I knew he wasn’t.

  “Don’t worry,” Z said with eyes closed. “The Indian will watch the fort.”

  “Isn’t that culturally insensitive?” I said.

  “For you, yes,” Z said. “For me, no.”

  “Get with the times?” I said.

  Susan smiled. “Finally.”

  43

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Charlotte Scott said. “I’m not exactly the kind of woman who leads motivational talks.”

  “It’s less motivational,” I said. “More truthful.”

  Charlotte nodded. She was dressed in blue jeans and a low-cut black top that displayed her most famous assets. She wore a shawl that looked like a Mexican blanket and a gigantic turquoise necklace. Her eyes were lined in kohl and her lips ruby red. If you had a look, even after a few decades, better stick to it.

  We sat together outside my rented condo, talking poolside at an iron table topped by a big green umbrella. It was late afternoon and sunny. Few clouds. Blue skies and palm trees and the kind of weather that might make a couple from Boston relocate for the winter. The children had left the pool area, leaving their inflatables and snorkels behind, damp towels hung on a wooden fence.