“No need to get nasty,” the man said.
“Your fingers are nasty enough,” Leonard said.
The man went away.
I said, “Leonard, why do you always try to make friends wherever we go?”
“Our man Jimson comes here all the time, so he’s got to tip Shit Fingers something or another now and then to use the space, and I figure whatever he tips him is big enough to buy some loyalty. I figure Shit Fingers is in the back there now, punching him up on the cell phone. I figure it’s a way to pull Jimson out of the Jacuzzi and get him on the road.”
“You know, you’re not as dumb as you look.”
48
Our hamburgers arrived, and about the same time we saw Jimson and two of his goon balls push through the door, start toward us. Leonard turned so that he was facing that direction. He had his hand inside his coat. Things went south, he’d have the shotgun up and ready. I put my hand in my coat and felt for the automatic, but to tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure I could use it, way I’d been lately. I hoped I could at least talk tough.
Jimson was a fortyish guy who looked as if he was trying to smooth his image with expensive clothes. He was wearing a tan fedora, a very nice brown leather coat over a maroon sweater, and tan slacks so tight you wanted to yell “snake.”
With him were two men that couldn’t look sophisticated if they were wearing tuxes and monocles. One of them was so muscular he looked as if he had been pumped up with air. The other was leaner, and he carried his right hand close to him with his palm folded back, his coat slightly pushed. He’d be the shooter, the big man with the muscles would be the hitter.
As Jimson walked toward us, he turned to Shit Fingers, said, “You’re right, they’re not the health department. More like sewer.”
Jimson sat at the table near us and looked at us like we were wild animal exhibits. Leonard had turned completely around in his chair. He wouldn’t even need to take the shotgun out of his coat. All he had to do was lift and shoot through fabric. A shot from that sawed-off and Jimson would be mixed in with the pickled eggs.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Leonard said.
“Yeah,” Jimson said, “imagine that. Last time I seen you guys I didn’t like it, and now I see you again, I don’t like it some more.”
“Is that line out of the movies?” Leonard said.
“That’s an original,” Jimson said. “I got a feeling you boys didn’t just come over for a hamburger.”
“Well,” I said, “there’s the pie.”
Jimson smiled. “Yeah. There is the pie. So, I get a call from Marvin Hanson, a guy I don’t like much, but knows me all right, and he says can his boys come see me. And you know what I say?”
“No,” Leonard said.
“That’s right. I say no. And then you know what?”
“Pray tell,” Leonard said.
“You show up anyway.”
“Not at your house,” Leonard said.
“At my spot.”
“Here?” Leonard said. “Really? This is your spot?”
“You been hasslin’ my man over there.” He nodded at Shit Fingers. “He kind of keeps me an open office here. I let you hassle my man, what kind of reputation I got with the locals?”
“What do you get out of him letting you have your office here?” I said.
“Pie.”
“All right,” I said. “I can see that.”
Leonard nodded.
“Look, I don’t know what you two assholes want, but I got nothin’ to do with nothin’ you’re dealin’ with.”
“Now, how would you know that, when we haven’t told you what we’re dealing with? We could be selling Girl Scout cookies for all you know.”
“Them’s some good cookies,” said the man with muscles.
Jimson turned and glanced at him. Muscles looked embarrassed, then tried to look as serious as a heart attack.
“I come here ’cause my man there called,” Jimson said, “and I come here to show you guys I’m not afraid of you, that you ain’t got no mojo on me. You dig on that?”
“I think ‘dig’ went out with the beatniks,” Leonard said.
Jimson sighed. “You don’t even try to work with a man when he’s trying to work with you. I wanted, I could rub you guys out. I still owe you a shitstorm that didn’t never come down.”
“Actually,” I said, “you threw a lot of shit our way, but we sort of threw it back.”
“I’m talkin’ about what I could have done.”
“Woulda, coulda, shoulda,” Leonard said. “That was then, and this is now.”
“You fellas don’t want this,” Jimson said. “You don’t want me mad.”
“Do we look nervous?” Leonard said. Leonard didn’t. Me, I wasn’t so sure about. “We made you mad before, and we’re still standing,” Leonard said.
“I thought you made a deal to stay out of my business if I stayed out of yours,” Jimson said.
I nodded. “It’s a deal we like, stayin’ out of each other’s business, but we’re thinkin’, considerin’ what we know lately, maybe your business is in our business again. And if it is, well, we got to come say howdy.”
“And what in the hell business could that be?” Jimson said.
Leonard said, “You know, I’m gonna pause and eat this hamburger. It’s better when it’s warm. Hey, Shit Fingers. Come over here.”
Shit Fingers was behind the counter. He looked at Jimson. Jimson nodded.
Shit Fingers came out from behind the counter, over to Leonard.
“Let me see those hands,” Leonard said.
Shit Fingers showed them to him. They had been washed.
“All right, go on about your business,” Leonard said.
I looked at Jimson. He was starting to fume. That’s the way Leonard wanted him. He liked people he was dealing with mad, especially when he was trying to find something out. Me too. They were more likely to mess up, reveal something they shouldn’t. They were easier to read when they were angry. It’s the way we worked. Either that or kicking their ass. Subtlety was not our long suit.
Muscles said, “You want me to fuck ’em up, boss?”
Jimson shook his head. “I don’t know you can.”
Muscles looked hurt, the way a kid might if you told him his drawing of the sky and a moon looked like a boat on the ocean.
“Here’s the thing,” Leonard said. “We got this client, and our client has a problem. Someone she knows, family, was murdered, and there were other murders, and they’re all connected by a little symbol. A devil’s head. Red. Left at the scene of the murders. You know anything about that?”
“No.”
Leonard said, “Oh, Shit Fingers. I’ll have a slice of pie. Hap?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Big slice.”
“I don’t see how this has anything to do with me,” Jimson said. “Got that whole Kincaid-does-your-taxes thing going,” Leonard said.
“Yeah, and I got a grocer, this filling station where I buy my gas and do my business, and I got a mechanic and a plumber, and a girl on Fridays comes over and pulls my dick so I don’t have to.”
“So you got nothin’ for us?” I said.
“If I had, why would I give it to you? You come in here, you insult Shit Fingers … I mean Toad—”
“Toad?” I said.
“We called him that in high school. I’ve known him a long time. Same for these two. We grew up together.”
“I used to beat him up on the playground,” Muscles said.
Jimson turned and looked at him. “You could have saved that.”
“Sorry, Cletus. I just thought it was funny … as a memory. Not that I would do it now—”
“That’s all right,” Jimson said. “Just be quiet.”
Muscles went quiet.
“Here’s what I got to say,” Jimson said. “I’ve got nothing to do with the devil head murders. Nothing. What I can say is this: I’ve heard of a hit person who uses that mark. The only p
erson more deadly than this person, so they say, is this Vanilla Ride, and you’ve had experience with her. They’re both a lot more deadly than you are. Say I wanted somethin’ done, I used to go to Vanilla. She got the job done, but now me and her got this disagreement on account of you two.”
“I call bullshit on that,” I said. “You decided to kill her. That’s the disagreement.”
“Whatever. I wanted someone killed in a bad way, I might go to this devil head killer. I might go through Kincaid. I might know he can arrange it. But me, I don’t want anyone killed, so I’m not doin’ that. I didn’t do it in the past. I got to tell you now, you boys are startin’ to annoy me. You’re not keepin’ your side of the bargain about stayin’ out of my business.”
“As long as it’s out of our business,” I said. “That was the bargain.”
“And I’m tellin’ you, if my accountant is hirin’ someone to knock fuckers off, it ain’t through me. That’s what I’m tellin’ you, and that’s my word.”
Shit Fingers, aka Toad, brought the pie.
“Get me one too,” Jimson said.
“Yeah,” Muscles said. “Pie all around. And some milk. What we got here, five milks?”
Toad looked at Jimson. Jimson sighed. “Why not? More pie. Bring milk. We might as well see if anyone wants coffee.”
“I’ll top it off with coffee,” Muscles said.
Jimson shook his head a little.
Leonard took a big bite of pie, worked it around in his mouth, and swallowed. “Any chance you might hook us up with this Devil Red killer, like maybe we act like we got a job we want that bad boy to do?”
“No.”
“Come on, man,” Leonard said. “Here we are sharin’ pie, and you won’t hook a brother up.”
“I belonged to the Aryan Nations in prison, so I don’t hook brothers up.”
“Unless it’s to fasten ’em to a chain to get dragged by a car,” Muscles said.
This time the tall thin man who hadn’t said a word yet grinned. It was like seeing the Grim Reaper get a chuckle.
“Oh, that’s funny,” Leonard said.
“Look here. I ain’t into all that nigger hatin’ anymore,” Jimson said.
“That’s big of you,” Leonard said.
“Only way you might see this Devil Red dude, as you call him, is if he comes to shoot your black ass, and your white pal too.”
“That’s so sweet,” I said. “Both of us, and in the ass.”
“Look here,” Jimson said. “We’ve had a talk. I’ve bought some pie.”
“We’re not asking you to buy our pie,” Leonard said. “The milk maybe, as your man ordered that.”
Jimson snapped both hands in the air, making a crosscutting motion.
“Forget it. I’ve got the whole goddamn bill. I just want you two to go away and stay away, and let’s go back to where we were before. I’m out of your business, and you’re out of mine. You jackasses are like having seed ticks imbedded in the balls.”
“All right,” Leonard said. “But before we go, and before I say thanks for lunch, let me confirm some things. There is a killer who works for money who uses a red devil head as a symbol to sign his work?”
“That’s what I’m told,” Jimson said.
“And you’re sayin’, and I know you might lie to a brother, you’re sayin’ you’ve got nothin’ to do with these hits?”
“If I did,” Jimson said, “them crossin’ your path would just be a coincidence.”
“So you’re sayin’ you did have somethin’ to do with it?” Leonard said.
“No,” Jimson said. “For Christsakes, no. That was one of those hypotheticals.”
“You learn that word in prison?” I asked.
“I just added an s to it, that’s all. I have nothing to do with Devil Red. I have never had anything to do with Devil Red. I might consider havin’ something to do with Devil Red in the future. Maybe the very goddamn near future.”
“That a threat?” I asked.
“Hell yeah,” Jimson said.
“Don’t forget,” Leonard said. “Vanilla Ride is a personal friend of ours.”
“No need to bring that bitch into this.”
“You are such a misogynist,” I said. “If you can’t be sweet, don’t have anything to say at all.”
“Yeah,” Leonard said, tossin’ his napkin on the table. “You’re gonna talk like that, then we’ll just have to leave.”
He got up. I got up. I went to the fire door and pushed it. The alarm went off. I backed slowly out of it, and Leonard backed out after me. We went around by the side glass on our way to the car. Jimson, Muscles, and the Grim Reaper were watching us from the table. Well, Muscles was actually eating pie and drinking milk. Jimson and the Reaper were watching.
Toad wasn’t in sight.
Nobody pulled a gun.
49
On the way home, Leonard said, “Did Jimson seem a bit grumpy to you?”
“He did.”
“The guy with the big arms, he didn’t worry me none. Neither did Jimson, but the quiet one.”
“I call him the Grim Reaper,” I said.
“Yeah, him. He’s someone could be trouble.”
“We’ll file him away for any future associations.”
“That part of the file, people that don’t like us, might kill us, and just ought to be watched, is getting sizable.”
“It is,” I said.
“Hap?”
“Yeah.”
“You feelin’ better?”
“Sure.”
Actually, I had no idea how I felt.
50
When I got home, Leonard took his car and went away somewhere to do Leonard things, which probably meant he was giving Brett and me time together.
Inside, Brett was sitting on the couch with her suitcase parked by her.
I closed the door and said, “Problem?”
“It’s Tillie.”
“You just got back from there. You said yourself you can’t change her.”
“I can’t. She got beat up. Her pimp did it.”
“Shit. How bad?”
“Bad. She’ll be all right, but she’s bad.”
“Damn, Brett, I’m sorry.”
“I got to go. I was just waiting on you.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“Your phone was off.”
“Oh.”
“And I wouldn’t have called anyway. I wanted to see you before I left.”
“How’d the hospital take it?”
“They took it,” she said, and stood up. “I get there, I’ll give you a call.”
When she stood up and came close, I could see there were tears on her cheeks.
“Long as you need, of course,” I said.
We kissed and I picked up her suitcase and carried it out to her car. She kissed me again and got behind the wheel and started the engine and rolled down the window.
“You didn’t offer to settle the pimp’s hash for me,” she said.
“No. I didn’t.”
“It’s all right. It won’t change him and it won’t change her.” She smiled at me and drove away.
I went upstairs and took off my clothes and closed the blinds and put on my pajamas and got in bed. It was early afternoon and still bright out. But not with the blinds drawn. I lay back on my pillow and pulled her pillow to me. It smelled like she smelled and I liked it.
51
When my cell phone rang, I woke up and didn’t know where I was for a moment. I rolled out of bed and pulled it out of my coat pocket and flipped it open.
It was Cason.
“You and Leonard ought to get together with me and Mercury,” he said.
“Got somethin’?”
“Yeah. Leonard with you?”
“No. But I can hustle him up.”
“When can we get together?” Cason said.
“I don’t know. I’ll call him, we’ll call you, and we’ll get together.”
�
�Tell Leonard not to wear the hat.”
We showed up at Cason’s apartment, way he said. Mercury was there with him. Leonard didn’t wear the hat.
As we went inside I gave the place a once-over. It was sort of thrown together with home-made bookshelves and an old couch and a coffee table that looked as if it had been salvaged from the dump. It had so many glass and cup stains on it, it almost looked designed.
I could see the kitchen from the middle of the room, and the sink was full of dishes. Through an open doorway I could see an unmade bed and clothes on the floor. It reminded me of every place either I or Leonard had lived until Brett and I got the house. As much as was possible, she had civilized me.
Mercury had a laptop with him and he placed it on the coffee table, and we all found a place to sit. Cason asked if we wanted beer. Leonard took one; so did Mercury and Cason himself. I passed.
Mercury turned on the laptop, said, “You don’t need to see this ’less you want to. I can read off my notes and tell you what I got.” We agreed this was fine.
“Kincaid’s daughter died of an overdose,” Mercury said. “That much you know. But she died in Oregon. Did you know that?”
“No,” I said.
“Guys that got killed and had the devil head painted at the site were all drug dealers. You startin’ to see a pattern here?”
“Kincaid’s daughter died of a drug overdose, and the drug dealers she dealt with are the ones found dead with the devil heads,” I said.
Mercury nodded. “And his son is killed by crazies, and the crazies die. I think the one in jail, Gonzello a.k.a. Godzilla, was the subject of a hit, but she was tougher than the hit. But when she gave the knife back, thinking she was immortal, well, she messed up. And the train accident. Who knows? Maybe that was some kind of rig too. The Christopher boy … Wrong place, wrong time. Probably caught and killed him and Mini somewhere else, tried to make it look like rape and robbery. However, they just couldn’t resist leaving their mark. Right there in the open, thinking no one would see the connection. But they would know, and it would please them. That’s what conspiracy theorists like myself call a pattern. A pattern of deaths, a pattern of markings—a signature, if you will.”
Devil Red Page 14
