Real Dangerous Fun (The Kim Oh Suspense Thriller Series Book 5)

by Kim Oh

  EIGHT

  “This a good line?”

  “Yeah,” I said. My butt was freezing because I was sitting on the still slightly damp slate floor of a shower stall bigger than some apartments I’ve lived in. That was as far as I could get from the door of one of the suite’s gigantic bathrooms. I’d locked the door for privacy, and shoved a rolled-up towel against the bottom sill. Also, I’d turned on the taps full-blast into the gold-flecked marble sink. With the swiped-and-unlocked phone set to speaker and placed on the shower floor – it still hurt too much to hold the phone to the side of my head – I could just hear the rushing water noise in the distance beyond the stall’s glass door. I’d done all that, not just to keep Mavis from trying to eavesdrop on my conversation, but also Donnie. I knew my brother wouldn’t be freaked by anything he might hear – he’s been in on a lot worse stuff already – but I still had some kind of protective instinct going on with him. Maybe I’d always have that – much to his annoyance, of course.

  “All right –” Elton didn’t bother grilling me on what precautions I’d taken. He knew I was up to speed on that sort of thing. Then again, he was the one who’d taught me a lot of that stuff. “So tell me,” he continued, “how was it you got on to this crazy-ass job?”

  Sigh. I’d been afraid he was going to ask me that. I would’ve really preferred to have slid right past that part of what I needed to talk to him about.

  “Just don’t yell at me.” I proceeded to fill him in, on exactly how I’d wound up here in this mess.

  “What?”

  “I said – don’t yell at me.”

  Somewhere – I didn’t even know where he was – a professional hitman with a lot more kills under his belt than I was ever likely to have – was doing whatever it took to simmer himself down.

  It took a few seconds before Elton spoke again. “Sweetie. Kim.” His voice was as deliberate and measured as little taps of a sculptor’s hammer against a granite block. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  I wanted to tell him that I didn’t know. But I did know, and he probably did as well. “I just . . . you know . . . it sounded on the up-and-up.”

  Elton’s sigh was bigger than mine had been. “How many times have I told you. Sounding like it’s on the up-and-up and being on the up-and-up are two different things.”

  I couldn’t keep from sounding all contrite. “I know.” I closed my eyes and leaned the back of my head against the shower stall tiles. “I know.”

  “Never even heard of somebody named Morton,” said Elton. “But you think he might’ve steered you on to this job? Recommended you to Heathman? And you’ve never met this Morton guy? Come on, Kim – that’s just flat-out hinky. You should’ve run it by me first.”

  “All right. Okay.” Already, getting raked over the coals was getting a little old. “But I didn’t. I can’t be calling up and talking to you about everything that comes along.”

  “Yeah . . .” He put on his slow country drawl. “But you’re talking to me now, sweetheart.”

  He had me there.

  “So.” Elton’s voice sounded at my ear again. “Now what do we do, Kim? I can’t come down there and bail you out of this one.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to.” That would’ve been pretty much the last thing I’d have asked him to do. When he had been with me before in Los Angeles, he’d gotten pretty banged up, with all those goings-on that had happened on the freeway. He’d had several steel pins in some of his bones before all that, and now he was like a walking hardware store under his skin. The doctors who put him back together had been surprised he could even walk afterward. Actually, the walking part wasn’t so bad, but when I had watched him grit his teeth, standing up from the hospital bed, his knuckles going white and his forearms tensing like rocks as he shoved himself erect – I just about cried when I saw that. And as soon as I was alone, I did.

  Plus – and this is one of the sucky things about being in this line of work – Elton had been pretty cash-depleted, once the doctors and the hospitals and the physical therapists were done with him. Not that he really had much rehab work, other than painfully working out with his own sets of free weights. But nevertheless, his bank accounts were pretty much flat-lined. Unless you’re set up with some big corporate guy, doing private security for him on a full-time basis, you don’t get health insurance doing the kind of stuff we do. Freelancing like this is a total screw, when the doctors’ bills get laid on you.

  So I knew Elton was in scrabbling mode right now, and would be until he got his cash reserves built up again. Before the last time I went to the hospital to see him, I’d heard – not from him, but from a mutual friend – he was going to be putting in around-the-clock hours, bodyguarding some liquor distributors in Alabama who’d gotten in a little too deep with the sort of creditors who don’t go to small claims court when you owe them money. Hey, a gig’s a gig. Right now, he wasn’t in a position where he could just unplug at a moment’s notice and come help me sort out my affairs.

  Elton must’ve been able to hear the gears grinding away inside my skull, as I mulled all this over. “Even if I could get away,” he said, “I think you got a time factor going on down there. As in no time. You’re not exactly around the corner right now, are you? By the time I made all the connecting flights and got to where you’re at, good chance I wouldn’t arrive in time to do much more than collect your body and ship it back home in a box.”

  I’d already thought pretty much the same thing. Whoever it’d been who’d snatched Lynndie, and whoever they were working for, they probably weren’t the kind of people to take a leisurely attitude about tying up loose ends. The fact that I was still alive and rattling around – that was probably a screw-up on somebody’s part, and someone else wasn’t happy about it. That happy little band of thugs, including whoever had thwacked me, was probably getting their asses chewed out by their boss, or had already, or was about to. Whatever way it was, it all boiled down to the same thing, which was that the clock was ticking.

  I didn’t have a lot of time to get all this straightened out, and get myself and Donnie someplace where we weren’t in imminent danger of getting iced. And that Mavis girl, too – even if I didn’t already feel responsible for her, which I did, and which I knew was a sign of weakness on my part; professional killers aren’t supposed to care about that sort of thing – just as a practical matter, I had to make sure she didn’t fall into the hands of anybody who could pump her for useful information about me, before they did whatever they really wanted to do with her, then dump her body in an empty field somewhere.

  Oh, and Lynndie as well. I’d almost forgotten about the little rich girl who’d gotten me into all this. If I was going to get paid for all the hassle I was going through, I supposed I’d have to find her – and pull her out all in one piece, preferably still breathing. So much for a simple job, and the easy paycheck I’d been planning on collecting.

  “You’re right,” I told Elton. Like usual. Fidgety, I reached up and took the little soap bar out of the shower stall’s porcelain niche, peeled the paper off, and sniffed its flowery scent. “I don’t have much time.” I made a mental note to snag any more minuscule soaps that were out by the sink or in the suite’s other bathrooms, and throw them in my luggage. They always come in handy. “Or any time.”

  “Yeah –” Elton’s voice sounded calm and deliberate now, coming through the phone’s tiny speaker. “So we need to get you strapped up soon as possible. Get you some new gear.”

  I hadn’t told him that I didn’t bring the .357 with me. Instead, I’d told him that whoever had thwacked me must’ve lifted it from my hand while I was unconscious.

  “Do you know if there’s a grocer in this town?”

  I wasn’t talking about the kind of grocer you’re probably thinking about – the kind where you can pick up a head of lettuce and a carton of milk. I was talking about something else entirely – but I’ll explain later.

  “I’ll have to check,”
said Elton. “I never did any work as far south as where you’re at. I kinda like to stay up this side of the equator.”

  “Hey, you should come down sometime and take a look. Great scenery.”

  “Only if you’re part of it, sweetheart.” There was that familiar smile in his voice again. Didn’t really mean anything – world he came from, hitting on women was just being polite. “Then I’d be on it like a duck on a June bug.”

  “Let’s try to focus, okay?” I sniffed the tiny soap bar again. Maybe it was camomile or something like that – I should’ve known, but that was a whole part of my girl-type education that had gone missing while I was growing up. “We were talking about getting me some gear, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. Don’t hang up – I just need to make a coupla calls on my other phone. Be right back.”

  That would take him at least a few minutes. I figured as long as the cute little soap was unwrapped, might as well use it. Could be my last chance for something like that, if things around here didn’t work out the way I was hoping. I pushed myself to my feet and exited the shower stall. I laid the phone beside the sink and started with the soap on my face. The wrapper had said something about it being good for the complexion.

  I’m not so sure about that. Leaning over the sink, I checked out the results in the mirror. I didn’t look any different except wetter. How fast were these things supposed to work? They never tell you that. I would’ve asked Mavis, but the chances of a little geek like her knowing were probably zero. Maybe I should get one of those glossy women’s magazines and read up about it. Hands did smell nice, though.

  A faint voice sounded from the phone. “Kim? You there?”

  All right – back to talking about stuff I knew about. Like guns. “Yeah – what’ve you got for me?”

  “You’re in luck,” said Elton. “There’s a grocer where you’re at. I mean, right in town.”

  “Really?” That was lucky. I’d been afraid that I’d have to travel a ways to get what I needed. These South American countries have a reputation for all kinds of violence, at least outside of the tourist zones, but that doesn’t mean you can get yourself a piece out of a vending machine. “Like walking distance?”

  “Maybe you’ll have to take a bus –”

  “I think I’d rather walk. You haven’t seen the buses down here.”

  “Suit yourself. Deal is, there used to be some drug traffic action going on, until the federales, or whatever they call them there, convinced ’em all to relocate closer to the border. Where the cops wouldn’t have to even pretend to be doing anything about them. More convenient for everybody.”

  “Sure.” What can you say? Business is business, wherever you go.

  “But one grocer,” continued Elton, “didn’t feel like moving. Maybe he’s close to retiring or something. But my guys tell me he’s still got his operation going. Name’s Alonzo –”

  I had grabbed a notepad and ballpoint pen, with the hotel’s name on both of them, from one of the bedroom tables. Now I jotted down the info Elton gave me, translating from his shitkicker version of Spanish to something the locals might actually recognize. All that time in Los Angeles, and he still pronounced the word taco in a way that made me shudder.

  “Thanks.” I set the pad and pen back down. “Do I need cash for this?”

  “Nope, I got ya covered. Seems like the least I could do.”

  Right, I thought, since there’s a good chance this is the last time you’ll ever talk to me. We both knew that was the case, but were being all cool about it.

  “Give me a shout,” said Elton, “when you get back home. I’ll be interested in hearing how this all shakes out.”

  “Will do.” I thumbed the screen and ended the call. Simple as that. What else can you do?

  The suite’s main room smelled like grease and garlic, when I came out of the bathroom. Two square flat boxes sat on the table by the window, their lids folded back to reveal the contents.

  “You said.” Donnie gestured with a slice covered in mushrooms and pepperoni. “That we should order some.”

  “Yeah, yeah; that’s fine.” Actually, it smelled really good – I was starving, but I didn’t have time for any now. “You charged it to the room, right?” I figured as much. “Okay, there better be some of this left when I get back.”

  † † †

  Now for one of the more difficult items on my agenda.

  Getting from point A to point B, when you’re walking around naked, is likely to get you killed. I don’t mean with no clothes on; I mean without a gun, to make unfriendly people at least think twice about coming at you.

  Especially walking around out on the street, someplace you’ve never been before. Had to do it, though. I gave Donnie and Mavis my usual warning about not opening the door to anybody but me, and headed on out.

  I didn’t know if there was anybody watching and waiting for me, but I wasn’t taking any more risks than the considerable amount I was already down for. Which meant I wasn’t going to just saunter out the hotel’s front door.

  Or even its back door. I had done a preliminary reconnaissance when we first checked in – just one of those little business-related habits I’d gotten into – so I knew where the ground-floor kitchen was, that sent out the covered room-service dishes and took care of the hotel’s fancy restaurant and not-much-less-expensive coffee shop, right off the lobby. I’d even taken a peek back there, when one of the waiters, in his bow tie and black vest, had pushed through the swinging door with a food-laden trolley. Typical layout, with the stainless steel prep tables back by the big refrigerated larder doors. And beyond them, the big roll-up door that led out onto the loading dock –

  Which was what I wanted right now.

  When you’re small and you move fast, it’s amazing what you can pull off. I’d learned this, from a while back. Whatever you do, don’t stop. Just keep on going until you reach your target. If anybody says anything, or shouts as you zip past them, just ignore them. Most of the people working in a place like that won’t even know whether you’re supposed to be there or not – bosses don’t tell the grunts what’s going on most of the time – and the rest won’t care; they’ve got their own problems, which mainly consist of being too overworked and rushed for what they’re doing. I doubt if any of the sobs-chefs, chopping away with their big knives, even noticed me as I pushed through the doors and beelined for the back of the kitchen.

  I slapped my palm against the big red button on the wall, and the segmented door for the loading dock started cranking upward. I didn’t wait; I ducked under its bottom edge as soon as there was a four-foot gap between it and the concrete below. The door’s motor kept on rattling behind me as I jumped off the dock and sprinted toward the row of garbage dumpsters lined up against a cinder-block wall.

  Whether the chain-link gate for the delivery trucks to go in and out of was open or not, I didn’t even care. If anybody was waiting to see if I was going to try and sneak out the back way, that’s where they’d be. Instead, I slammed down the hinged lid of one of the dumpsters and scrambled up on top of it. The thin sheet metal flexed under even my slight weight, but I was still high enough to clamber over the wall and drop down on the other side.

  I landed on my hands and knees in a narrow alley lined with beat-up trash cans and paved with what looked like a couple decades’ worth of decaying garbage. That’s the way it always is with hotels and restaurants – fancy and sparkling as they might be on the inside, you go out back and it’s pure filth. I didn’t care, though. I could see daylight at the mouth of the alley, so I got to my feet and ran for it.

  PART TWO

  Always go looking for trouble. That way, when it arrives you’ll have gotten what you wanted.

  – Cole’s Book of Wisdom

  NINE

  Here’s the deal with grocers. Or what people like me and Elton mean when we use the term.

  Maybe it wasn’t the case a long time ago, when you were in this line of work. Back then, yo
u probably worked for some big gangster, some Al Capone type or somebody like that. Well, I wouldn’t have – I doubt if there were a lot of job openings in the field for women. But the guys doing this kind of job, they probably stayed in the same place for their whole career, or else they just shuttled back between Chicago and Syracuse, places like that. So they could take their tools with them. Guns, I mean.

  But even when people in this line of work started traveling long distances, getting aboard airplanes and going from one country to another, at first it probably wasn’t so difficult. I’ve talked to some of the old guys, who’ve been around and killing people since like the Harding administration or thereabouts, and they’ve told me about how you used to be able to fly so completely strapped with weapons that you clanked when you walked, and nobody said squat about it. The airlines just figured it was your business, not theirs. Plus, there was more room even in the economy section, so if your mobster boss was the kind of cheapskate who wouldn’t spring for a first-class ticket, you could still get comfortable on a long flight, even if you were carrying a whole arsenal with you. Those were the pre-metal detector days, of course, But now, with the way airport security is, that’s all changed. I mean, unless you’re getting special treatment like me and Lynndie had, you can’t even get on board with a standard size shampoo bottle in your carry-on – so what are the chances of somebody like me traveling with the tools of my trade?