“It vibes wrong.”
“If you say so, Boss.”
I drove past the club and dropped Gregor a few blocks away. He would circle around, be sure we weren’t being set up. I parked out front, slipping the keys under the dash where Gregor knew to find them.
THE SCOTCH AND pain pills were smoothing off the rough edges when I entered the club. I waited for my eyes to adjust. Cherry Red was leaning on the pool table texting away, wearing cut offs and a crop-top. Neither hid much of her compact, hard body. She was alone.
“Here comes a thousand pounds of trouble stuffed into an extra-large sized man,” she said, dropping her phone into her purse.
“Where is everyone?”
“Bartender’s out back getting stoned. Two girls called in sick. You get me.” She spread her arms out wide. “You like?”
“Very nice. But you can dial it way back, baby girl, that’s not why I’m here.”
“Wanna bet?” Grinning she walked up to me. Lacing her fingers into my belt loops she craned her head back. “You are one tall motherfucker.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You got any of that candy?”
I dug in my pocket and came up with the bottle of Vicodin. Gave her one and ate one myself. I was feeling no pain, or much of anything else.
She tugged at my belt loops. “Take me into the VIP room.”
“Baby girl, nothing I would rather do, but I need some answers.”
Her eyes darted around quickly, then full beamed up at me. “Look, the manager videos us. He sees me shooting the shit with you again, I get fired. So, take me in the VIP room. It’s forty a song. I’ll tell you whatever you want, and you get a lap dance.”
“Can’t beat that,” I said, wishing for another way. Play it as it comes. Fact was, she was the only stripper I knew. Her intel had been solid. She had no reason to lie.
Cherry Red took my hand, walked me through thick black curtains. “Sit.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven, and no, I don’t have those daddy issues you were secretly hoping for. But, you interest me. Now sit.”
A leather club chair was on a platform, surrounded by mirrors.
She unzipped her shorts and let them fall at her feet. Her G-string covered almost nothing at all. She stretched up as she took her shirt, and then her bra, off. My mouth went dry.
“Yeah, you look good.”
“I know.”
She hit a remote on the wall and thumping music started to play. She leaned over, letting her small breasts slip across my face. A nipple grazed my lips. I fought the slow, steady march of blood south, unsuccessfully. Her lips brushed across my ear. She whispered, “You had some questions?”
I was struggling to sound neutral. “Have any girls disappeared from here lately?”
“Shelly and Lauren, both missed several shifts.” More warm breath in my ear. More blood leaving my brain. Between the seduction and the painkillers, this was seeming like a not half-bad idea.
“Were either of them doing more than dancing?”
“Both.” She rubbed my building erection with her thigh. The song ended. She stood up. “Want another?”
I nodded and handed her two hundred dollars. She smiled and pressed play. Prince and the Revolution filled the room. Cherry Red dropped her G-string and sat on my lap. Through my jeans, she started to rock her vulva against my stiffening penis.
“Baby girl, you are going to get me in trouble.”
“With who? Just you and me in here. Now, what else?”
I fought to concentrate. “Were they freelancers or did they have a pimp?”
“Billy, the bartender. He split the money with them.”
“Where is he?”
She unzipped my jeans and slid her hand in. “I’ll take you to him. That feels good, right?” She was gripping me in pulsating tugs.
“Yes, we have to . . .” Stop didn’t come out. She pulled my penis free and was guiding it against her wet and swollen lips. As she pushed slowly down and I entered her, all logic and honor left me.
CHERRY RED WAS in mid thrust and I was starting to moan when the curtain flew open. The two men in black tactical gear didn’t hide the MS-13 facial tattoos. They each held cut-down street-sweepers aimed at us. I had no play. One fast move and the girl would surely be dead.
“She’s not a part of this,” I said. They shrugged at each other.
“I don’t think they speak English.” I had my hands on her hips and was lifting her off me when she leaned forward. “Sorry,” she whispered into my ear. Then she was up. She gathered her clothes and walked past the gunmen. At the curtain she paused, looked back at me, then was gone.
“Armas,” a gangster said, jabbing the barrel of his shotgun at me. “Todo.”
I stood up, very slowly. With my index finger and thumb I took the Ruger from the holster by my spine. I tossed it to them. From my boot, I took a lock blade and tossed it. I laced my fingers, put them behind my head and turned around.
CHAPTER 32
“You are a dumb son of a bitch, and a huge pain in my ass.” His accent was slight, maybe LA born.
I’d ridden across town in the trunk of a car. A hood covered my head, arms tied behind my back. I knew we took at least one freeway. We crossed several railroad tracks in a row.
I was blinking from the sudden flood of light that hit me after the hood was removed. We were in the back room of a small warehouse. A roll-up door served as the back wall. Through a long window I could see that row after row of sewing machines filled the space behind us. Women were hunched over working on brightly colored sundresses. The clacking and buzzing was loud even through the closed door.
“What should I do with you?” The overhead light was haloing the speaker’s shiny black hair. He was taller than the others—not saying much—and wore a suit. His face tats reminded me of a skeleton. “This man,” he pointed to my left, “thought he could steal my money.”
“No, Jefe, no.” The man was tied with his arms behind his back, pinned between two beefy tatted up MS-13 soldiers.
“This man wants to be me.” The leader held up his tie, then looked at the bound man in a sweat-stained t-shirt. “I think I’ll help him.”
“No, Jefe. No. No. No.”
A knife was in the boss’s hand before I saw it move. With a slash, he opened the man’s neck. Reaching into the wound, he pulled the man’s tongue through it. It hung down like a grotesque, bloody tie. When the soldiers holding him in place released him, the man fell to the floor. His screaming was a guttural, nonhuman sound. He writhed and kicked and moaned, and after three minutes he started to gurgle, then died. The whole time, no one said a word.
THE BOSS TURNED from the dead lump on the floor to me. He smiled, the unpleasantness behind us. “I am Zacarías Araya. You are Moses McGuire, the famous killer of men who trade in women. I trade in women . . . awkward.” He tilted his head playfully. “This moment should be played out on a field. Both of us strapped and ready. Close-up eyes. Close-up hands. Leone, right?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Leone, The Good the Bad and the Ugly. Did it bother you that Good and Bad were Americans and Ugly was Latino? Bothered me. Instead, we meet in the back of a sweatshop and I have my men chop your head off and mail it to your Armenian friend’s son in Castaic.”
I leapt at him, made it about six inches before the two men threw me to the floor. Zacarías spoke to them and they dragged me up onto my feet.
“And now it gets good or ugly, depending on your perspective.”
The men pushed me down onto a metal chair. They dropped a car car tire over my head, resting on my shoulders, and splashed gasoline across it.
Zacarías lit a gold lighter. “My name, Zacarías, it means he who God remembers. Do you think God will remember you?”
“I don’t think the son of a bitch ever noticed I was here.”
The hand with the lighter went up.
&
nbsp; The sliding wall exploded in as the Tempest careened through it. Gregor crushed one man against the wall that separated us and the sewing room floor. Instantly, Gregor was out and blazing. The MS-13 soldiers were too stunned to react quickly. The man to my left took a load of shot to the head. A few stray BBs peppered my face. I could feel the bleeding. So what? Bending I shrugged the tire off my neck and was up and running. As a gangster aimed at Gregor’s back, I rammed him with my head. He stumbled and I drove my forehead up into his nose. He was trying to get his pistol up when I took a chunk of his cheek into my teeth. I ripped. He screamed. I kneed him in the balls and he went down. I stomped his head. He stopped moving. I stomped again.
The room was silent. All the seamstresses had fled. Six MS-13 soldiers lay dead.
“Where is Zacarías?” I was looking around.
“Who?” Gregor asked as he sliced through my binds.
“Only one in a suit. Tatted up face.” I found my Ruger, it was shoved into a dead man’s belt.
“A couple of men slipped out while you were eating that man’s face.”
“They know about Castaic, your family.”
Gregor dove into the Tempest. The wheels were spinning when I crawled in the passenger window. He was in his own personal zone, driving with near inhuman precision through the torn up streets of downtown LA. I called Kenny and gave him the address of the sweatshop. Asked him to do a property owner search. “Also, get everything you can on Zacarías Araya. He’s MS-13. I think he runs the downtown clique.” We bounced over a railroad track and my head slammed into the roof. ‘Click it or ticket,’ I remembered Rollens telling me. Then I remembered how she died. These animals knew where Gregor’s family was.
IT WAS NEARING quitting time, that magic couple of hours when LA freeways go into lockdown. Castaic is fifty miles north of LA. An hour drive, best of times. Could be three hours in traffic.
We were plowing past Devil’s Kitchen Pizza when I saw it. “Stop.” Gregor locked the brakes. “Hide the car and get back here fast.”
A group of upper-class bikers were hanging, drinking beer and laughing. A tall guy with a soul patch dyed blue was leaning on his KTM Duke 690. I got up in his face and whispered a cold hiss. “You are going to rent me your bike. Here is ten K. Lives on the line. Call the cops, I will come for you and your friends. Play it straight, you get the bike back and the knowledge that you saved a family’s life.” He looked at the wad of cash and laughed, handed me a helmet. Too small, so I tossed it back to him.
Around the corner, I found Gregor. He climbed on the back without a word, wrapped his arms around me. I popped the clutch and raised the front wheel.
Splitting lanes is crazy on the best of days. One idiot decides to change lanes without signaling and you’re road kill. Without a helmet, knowing the cops have a shoot-on-sight order, as do half the bangers in town? That is certifiable. Clocked over 100 mph past slow-rolling traffic, scanning for the openings. Thirty-five brutal minutes later we cleared Los Angeles County, roaring up Highway 5.
TEN MILES LATER we were flying down an empty country road, sun sparkling off Lake Hughes. I was in race mode, laying it over on every curve, using torque to pull the bike back to vertical. Gregor nudged me and I turned off. We bounced over the cattle guard, the gravel slipping and sliding under the Duke’s street tires. I backed the throttle down, gently. One jerky move and we would be eating gravel for dinner.
The house was more hunting cabin than home. A wide deck made of bleached timber surrounded it. Gregor’s Chrysler was the only vehicle in sight. Gregor was off the back and running before I had the stand down. The plank stairs bowed slightly as he pounded up them. Ripping the door open, he disappeared into the shadows. It was cold at this elevation and had started to drizzle. I had the Ruger out and was sweeping the yard, scanning for anyone in the tree line. A couple of squirrels chittered in a bush. A jay flew over, cawing. Gregor stepped out of the house, pale. He shook his head.
“We don’t know what we don’t know.”
“I know they aren’t here. That I know.” He looked ready to take my head off so I didn’t give him any more of my useless wisdom.
I dropped and aimed when I heard the branches break.
More branches cracked.
Gregor swung his 9mm up.
Crashing out through the undergrowth came a one-eyed bullmastiff.
“Angel? Angel?” Nika was calling from the brush. “There you are, useless dog.” Nika’s smile fell when she saw us with guns drawn.
“Where is Anya, my son?”
“Not far, I ran ahead. Angel . . . who is coming?”
“Some very bad men,” I said. “Killers who missed us so they are coming after what we love. Grab what you need, we can’t stay.”
Angel hit me at full tilt, knocking me on my butt. It’s hard to be a badass with her pinning me down, licking and slobbering all over my face.
Gregor only relaxed when his woman and child appeared. His mother was carrying a bundle of pinecones. Anya kissed her husband and handed him their son. She didn’t look at me. I knew she blamed me for whatever was coming down. I did too. Not that blame helped at this moment.
Ten minutes later we headed back down the gravel driveway. I took lead on the Duke. Gregor gave me a minute head start and I was gone. Laying it low. Even with all this bullshit, I was enjoying the pure joy of being back on a motorcycle. At fifty the light rain felt like needles. I didn’t care. I had, for this moment, freedom from my mind and all the dark places it liked to roam. Dragging a knee around a corner, if you think of anything but that moment you are dead. It was as close as I came to meditation.
Rising up out of a dip in a straightaway, I saw a black Escalade. More MS-13 soldiers. Three hundred feet separated us when a man leaned out the passenger window and let rip with an AK. Lots of flame and smoke, but no bullets came even close.
Pulling the Ruger with my left hand, I fired two wild shots. I am many things, but ambidextrous ain’t one of them. So I did what any sane man would; I aimed the bike dead center at the SUV and cranked the throttle wide open. Standing on the pegs, I started to scream out my rage. I could see the tattoos on the driver, his eyes wide.
I dove off the bike as it hit the grill and flipped toward the windshield. I grazed the SUV’s hood then tumbled into the gravel on the side of the road. I was rolling and sliding. I knew skin and flesh was shredding. Something behind me crashed once, then twice. Metal tore and ripped. I slid to a stop. I didn’t dare move or look around, afraid of what I might find if I did. Tires crunched on gravel. A car door opened. A shadow fell over me.
“You going to make it?”
“I really doubt it.”
“Too bad.” Gregor reached down and helped me up. Every muscle hurt. My Levis were ripped to hell. I was scraped and bleeding from my hands, knees, face, elbows.
“Boss, that was the stupidest thing I ever saw a man do.”
“Agreed. Where are they?” Looking around, the SUV had vanished. A section of guardrail was ripped apart. Twenty feet past it was a steep drop into the icy water. An oily rainbow ring was all that was left of the Escalade.
“You need a hospital, Boss?” I was stretched out in the back seat, my head on Nika’s lap. Angel lay on the floor, watching me nervously.
“Need one, won’t get one. Too many questions and cops waiting to kill us.”
CHAPTER 33
I was lying facedown on Sunshine’s sofa, buck naked, while Anya picked rocks out of my backside. Nika stood beside her holding a stainless steel bowl filled with warm water, soap and a washcloth.
“Quit squirming. Your namesake is less a baby, rebenok.”
“He is no child.”
“All men are children.”
“Look how much pain he took to save us.”
“Little sister, he took pain because that is what Moses does.”
“No, he is heroic, and you reduce it to pathology.”
Sunshine rolled in, looked at us and started to l
augh. “You must think you died and went to heaven, surrounded by beautiful women.”
“Oh yeah, heaven. I’m sorry about—”
“Being an asshole? Making me feel like a fool for loving you? Yeah, I said love. Fuck your rules. This is what it is. Deal.”
“When I was staring down that truck, you know what I thought I’d miss most?”
“Pussy?”
“Yes, but more specifically yours, and everything else. I wanted to get back here.” Nika was watching us from the corner of her eye. When Sunshine kissed me I felt tears on my cheek. Hers or mine? Maybe both. I had spent a lifetime trying to get home to this moment, and the last day doing everything I could to avoid it.
“We’re done, leave them.” Anya led Nika from the room, closing the door softly.
Sunshine kissed me deeply. I sat on the end of the sofa, forgetting the pain. Sunshine kissed my chest. She licked my nipple, sliding her hand under the towel covering my lap. I enlarged at her touch.
“Stand up.” I did without question. She gripped my erection and was about to take me into her mouth when her eyes flared angry. “You monumental asshole.” She rolled back away from me.
“What?”
“They shot my back, not my goddamn nose. Who did you fuck?”
“No one, Sunshine . . .” And then I remembered Cherry Red. It wasn’t sex. Or it was, but I was trying to get free of Sunshine. “Fuck. It was a stripper. Lap dance went too far.”
“None of this is helping you.”
“I didn’t even come.”
“Men are all assholes.” She rolled out, leaving me standing naked with no clue what to say to fix it. I sat down, head in my hands. I felt numb. I was as close as I would ever get to real love and I fucking blew it.
The door opened and Kenny came in with a fresh set of clothes. “That detective has been calling.” He handed me my cell phone. “You remember what I said would happen if you hurt her.”
One More Body Page 17
