Blood of the Albatross

by Ridley Pearson

  “You did not tell me!” It was as much as a confirmation.

  “What does he know?”

  She shook her head, sobbing, blond hair hiding her face like a curtain.

  “What did he see?” He took hold of her arms.

  “I do not know. How could I know?” she mumbled. “You should not have hidden it here.”

  “Where is he?” he asked, shaking her.

  “I have no idea. I swear, no idea.”

  He struck her across the face. She froze, suddenly afraid. He was grinning, his turquoise eyes sparkling.

  “Let go of me. Please let go,” she begged.

  “Where is he?” Holst struck her again. And again.

  “Leave him alone!” she tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come out right.

  He lunged at her. Her head swam, and before she could react he stuffed his handkerchief into her mouth and dragged her toward a drawer where masking tape was stored. In one swift move, he wrapped tape around her mouth and hair, and then around her wrists. She fell to her knees, dizzy. “I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he told her. “Now we will learn who’s in charge. It’s very important to know who’s in charge.” He slapped her hard. “When you are ready to tell me, we will make a deal: you will tell me everything you know, and in turn I will not harm Becker. You’ll see, everything will work out.” He tore her shirt off. “No more on the face. You have such a beautiful face, Marlene.” Nodding, he said, “You will learn to obey me.” He reached out and moved her chin, forcing her to nod back. “That’s a good girl.” She shied away, her face badly beaten. She tried to speak, but could not.

  Holst made a fist and smiled again.

  ***

  The morning sun burned a yellow-orange hole in the clouds. Kepella sat in the uncomfortable booth eating a honey-dipped doughnut and sipping coffee, waiting for Holst to speak. Holst spoke confidently. “She needs to know exactly what you are offering. The idea intrigues her, but she needs details.”

  “Who is this woman?”

  “I told you, her name is Marlene. There is no need for you to know any more than that.”

  “I have to know or I won’t meet with her.”

  Holst frowned. “Then that is the end of our discussion.”

  Kepella reconsidered. “Okay… okay… maybe I’ll meet with her, and decide from there.”

  “This is your deal, Roy. I do not want anything to do with it. The sooner I am out of the middle the better.”

  Kepella was thinking, I bet. “I can get very technical you know.” He made this last statement a whisper, scanning the sweet-smelling doughnut shop to make certain no one could hear.

  Holst said, “Listen. Before she will even agree to a preliminary meeting, she has to know what kind of information you have. That makes sense, does it not?”

  “You name it. I’ve got it.” Kepella smiled ruthlessly and rubbed his head, wishing he had had a shot of Popov before coming here.

  Holst looked curiously at him, wondering why the man seemed so paranoid. Kepella had switched meeting places at the last possible moment; he eyed each and every person who entered the doughnut shop, even if they just picked up a couple of plains and left. He was whispering and being extremely vague. Holst was dealing with an entirely different man than the one he had befriended at Fu’s.

  Kepella said, “Listen, Holst, I figure I’m close to twenty, twenty-five thousand in the hole, what with back taxes and delinquent payments. If this broad is for real then chances are she can get this stuff to someone who really wants it. You follow me?”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’ve had a change of heart. This is worth a fortune to the right people. And right now I need a fortune. You got that?”

  “What are you saying, Roy?”

  “Listen to me, Holst. You can play as dumb as you like, but the more I sat on this, the more I thought, the more I realized what’s going on here.”

  “Is that so?” Holst said cautiously above the lip of his coffee cup.

  Kepella felt he had to play this just right. It wasn’t enough to be ignorant; he had to appear blatantly stupid. Blind. “I don’t know who you are. And I don’t care. And I don’t know who this buyer is. But the way I figure it, you’re in on both ends. I looked into your sporting goods company…” He let the words trail off and went back to his honey-dipped.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You don’t make a lot of dough at that company. So I figure you’re taking a percentage both from this broad and from me. Well, that’s just fine. You wanna play both ends, that’s your business. But don’t go trying to screw me. I won’t be in this deal long. I won’t have her stringing me out. I’ll prove I can get good stuff—I’ll sell her the big wad—and I’m out. I’ve seen this shit before, you know. It’s always the ones who get hooked in, the ones who get greedy, that get caught. You understand? For me, it’s one, maybe two deals—big bucks—then it’s back to life as normal. None of this frequent, small-time stuff. Twice—big dough—and out.” He tried to sound firm.

  Holst had been hanging on every word. For a moment he had thought Kepella had figured it out. He felt like saying, You are an ignorant fool. Instead, he said, “You will not tell her… will you, Roy? I mean about the percentage.”

  Kepella grinned proudly. “No, Iben. I won’t say a word. You just explain the stakes, okay? I’m not playing for a couple of K; I’m shooting the moon. I’m going for big bucks and that’s that. So this broad better be willing to play along. If she isn’t, then we find another buyer. The way I see it, Iben, this kinda makes us partners.” Kepella tugged at the honey-dipped and ripped a piece loose. He placed his wadded napkin into the ashtray. “And we don’t take any chances. Understand? Every time someone tries one of these deals, they screw up. Not me. We take every precaution there is”—he grinned evilly—“and then some.” He continued, “I won’t do twenty years for someone else’s stupid mistake. This all comes off as smooth as silk, or I find a few Peace Brothers of my own and have them pay back my betrayers. You got that, Iben? I go down, everyone goes down. And I won’t use the legal system to do it, if you understand me.”

  Holst thought, You can talk tough with me, Kepella, but if anyone’s legs are to be broken, they will be yours. As far as I’m concerned, you are the sludge that floats in the river. My employer has a small army to handle your kind. You mess this up, Kepella, and your ex-wife will be an ex-widow before Christmas. “Whatever you say, Roy. Whatever you say.”

  “Damn right, Iben. Damn right. Whatever I say goes. And you tell this broad that, too. Whatever I say. Yes, sir. The ball’s in my court now. We play by my rules: one step at a time and steady as she goes.” He bit into his doughnut and ripped another piece loose. Kepella’s eyes were bloodshot and his hand shook.

  ***

  Holst knew how to break a woman like Marlene: fear. Fear for her father’s reputation, fear for the well-being of her boyfriend, and now fear of survival. Basic instincts. It had taken him nearly forty-five minutes. She had resisted. Cried. But finally she had broken. She was his now. She would do anything he asked.

  There was no way he could let Becker go. No, despite what he had promised her, Becker had to be dealt with. Removed. Holst left the doughnut shop and drove to the International district, where he picked up John Chu—Peace Brother. Chu was big enough so that when he sat down in the front seat, the car shifted to the right. Holst asked, “You have the address?”

  Chu handed him a piece of the phone book. Holst read the page and eased the car away from the curb. “It is very important to me, John, that we are able to make this look like an accident. A suicide is fine: he is broke, he has lost his woman; that works nicely. But no weapons. In and out—nice and clean.”

  “I understand. No problem.”

  “At the very least it should look like attempted robbery, I mean, if something should go wrong.”

  “I used to do a little B and E. No problem.”

  Alarmed, Holst said quick
ly, “You told me you did not have a criminal record.”

  “I don’t.” Chu smiled.

  “I will wait where I drop you off. When it is over, I want you to nod to me from the corner. Take a bus back. I will contact you later.”

  “No problem.”

  A few minutes later John Chu got out of the car and walked west toward Becker’s apartment.

  ***

  Jay heard the freight elevator kick on: a loud pop followed by a grinding. He looked at the bedside clock. For a Saturday, this was a few minutes early for Jocko. Besides, Jocko never used the elevator. Jay sat up on the edge of his bed, waiting for the knock on his door. He heard the elevator stop, the cage slide open. He rubbed his eyes and tightened the drawstring on the surgical pants he wore as pajamas. “I’m coming,” he said, expecting the knock.

  The door burst open, tearing loose two dead bolts and weakening a hinge. The son of a bitch was huge. He had arms the size of tree trunks and a neck as fat as his head. He was Chinese, with puffy cheeks and thin slits for eyes. He said, “Gimme yo’ money, white trash.”

  “Hey, what the fuck?”

  “Yo’ money, man.” He came straight at Becker, who did a back somersault, tumbling over the far side of his bed and landing on his feet. Instinctively, he lifted the blanket up like a curtain and tossed it at the intruder. Chu stepped across the bed and took a swipe at Becker, who ducked and ran for the door. But Chu dove from the bed and caught him by one ankle. Becker fell, kicking the man with his free foot. The big man said, “I won’t hurt yo’ if yo’ give me money.”

  Jay managed one good kick into the Chinaman’s nose before Chu took hold of the free foot. Jay tried to scream but couldn’t catch his breath. He clawed and scratched Chu’s thick neck, trying for the man’s eyes. Chu released Becker’s feet and slugged him hard in the chest. The blow threw Becker backward and onto the floor. Chu was up and over him. “Yo’ money.” Jay reared back a leg and kicked him, missing the knee. Chu groaned and collapsed, but again got hold of one of Becker’s feet.

  Fear overpowered Jay. This man might kill him. Whatever was going on, this monster would certainly win the fight. “Help!” Jay finally yelled, knowing the apartment below him was empty. “Help me!”

  Chu leaped forward and drove his knee into Becker’s back, knocking the wind out of him.

  Jay’s chest collapsed beneath the weight. He tried to scream. Nothing. His back hurt. His chest was on fire. The Chinese bastard was dragging him across the floor. A few stray splinters embedded in his back. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. He was being dragged across the floor, thinking that if he could only speak he could tell the gorilla where his money was; he could give him his money and get this over with.

  Chu dropped his knee into Becker’s back again.

  Jay gasped for air. He opened his eyes. The room was moving from side to side, like The Lady Fine when she was tied up. The Lady Fine! The videotape and Holst! Could that be what this was about? Jay suddenly found a reserve of strength, like a second wind after twenty hard miles on The Streak. Survival. What if this guy wasn’t after cash?

  Jay sat up, his breathing ragged, and delivered a good hard right directly into Chu’s groin. The blow caught Chu by surprise. He released Becker’s feet and grabbed his crotch, stumbling backward. Jay pulled himself painfully to his knees and tried to stand. Chu laced his fingers together, turning his two stubby hands into a single fist. He hammered Becker on the back of the neck, dropping him to the floor, and delivered the blow again.

  Jay was suffocating. His dizziness fogged his vision and balance. He lay on the floor, his body numb. Helpless, he watched as Chu calmly opened a window above the alley. His fingers began to tingle—feeling returning. Chu dragged him a few feet, picked him up, and stuffed him out the window, head first.

  Jay saw the pavement—the dumpster—three stories down. A gargoyle protruded off the side of the building a few feet below the window. He stretched out his arms, reaching for the gargoyle. He groped for the gargoyle’s head… only inches… precious inches…

  Chu pushed Becker out the window.

  Jocko entered the apartment. “Hey!” he screamed, crouching into the stance of an experienced street fighter, a switch blade suddenly in his hand. “Come on, junkie,” he said, waving the blade.

  Chu adopted the same bent stance, his waist sucked in away from the sharp knife. He edged closer to Jocko, unafraid, and dropped to the floor, spinning quickly around and delivering a kick that caught Jocko in the hand. The knife flew from his grip. Chu jumped to his feet and kicked Jocko into a potted tree. He fled quickly, hurrying down the stairs in leaps.

  Jocko pulled himself out of the foliage and hurried to the window—drawn morbidly to the window, to one last look at the remains of Jay Becker. Jay was hanging from the gargoyle, hands locked tightly around it. “I’m losing it, man,” he told Jocko. “Help.”

  Jocko leaned out the window but couldn’t reach his friend, their hands just inches apart. “Hold on.” He looked around for something to help him. Why wasn’t his brain working? He couldn’t see anything. What could he use? Then he saw the thick orange extension cord. He raced across the room and pulled on it. The terrarium crashed to the floor and Larry the Lizard streaked across the room toward the potted plants. Jocko tied the extension cord off and lowered it to Jay, who looped it around his hand. Jocko pulled him back through the window.

  When Jay was safely inside, Jocko announced, “I brought us some doughnuts.”

  ***

  The Department of Public Safety building loomed behind them. Several sea gulls flew by crying.

  “I can’t believe that.” Jocko unlocked the passenger door for Jay and then walked around the van and got in, closing the door hard. He started the engine. “What a bunch of turkeys. Someone tries to kill you and they don’t do a thing.”

  “Like Flint said, we can’t expect them to investigate nothing. There is nothing to investigate. If we’d been able to identify the guy…”

  “I was sure that was the guy.”

  “Hey, I thought so, too. But that’s when we lost them. We both pick out a man who’s been dead for two years. What would you do? That Detective Flint is a nice guy.”

  “I suppose. I’ve never liked cops. They think they’re hot stuff.”

  Jay didn’t say anything.

  “Do you think Flint’ll do anything?” Jocko asked.

  “He’ll file it. That’s about all he can do.”

  “You should have told him about the videotape you found.”

  “Not until I talk with Marlene.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  Jay changed the subject. “You may have saved my life just now, you know that?”

  Jocko grinned and turned the van left, toward Shilshole. “Yeah, I suppose that’s right.”

  “I owe you.”

  “You’re damn right you owe me.”

  They both grinned.

  “What do I owe you?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  ***

  Shilshole seemed oddly quiet. One man was hosing down a forty-footer over on Pier K. Jay and Jocko sat in the front of the van watching Pier L: The Lady Fine. No sign of Marlene.

  “Listen,” Jay finally said, “I’m going to go see if she’s on board.”

  “No way.”

  “The guy you’re watching for looks like a Nazi. He cuts his hair real short, has one of those ‘perfect’ faces. You can’t miss him. He dresses like Tommy used to dress, you know, black leather jacket, tight jeans, that sort of thing. Honk twice if you see him. I’ll swim for the breakwater and meet you over there.” He pointed. “I don’t know what kind of a car he drives, but keep an eye out. I don’t want him to see me.”

  “This is stupid. What if he’s on board?”

  “Not this time of day. Besides, we aren’t sure he had anything to do with this morning.”

  “This is stupid. I’ll go. No one knows me. I’ll check it out.”

&
nbsp; “Hadn’t thought of that. You don’t mind?”

  “It makes a lot more sense. You sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay. Third from the end on the left.”

  Jocko slammed the door shut. Jay stopped him and handed him the key to Pier L’s security gate, then watched as he walked off.

  “Knock, knock,” Jocko said, tapping on the side of The Lady Fine. A moment later she appeared in the cockpit wearing oversized sunglasses and a hat with a wide scarf tied below her chin. The way she had tied the scarf, she was faceless, just two big bug-eyes, a straw hat, and blue silk. “Are you Marlene?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Anyone else around.” He lifted his eyebrows.

  “Who are you?”

  “Are you alone?” he demanded.

  “What do you want? Where have I seen you before?”

  “I’m Jocko.”

  “The drummer, are you not?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In the parking lot. In my van. He wants to see you.”

  She shook her head. “No. Tell him to stay away, Jocko. Tell him I cannot—do not—want to see him.”

  “I don’t think he’ll listen to me.”

  She turned her head slowly—painfully—toward the parking lot, as if she could see him. She reached out for a teak runner and steadied herself. She was suddenly back with Holst: he was beating her, and she was screaming into a rag stuffed in her mouth. She touched the scarf that hid the bruises and began to cry. She had promised Holst she would stay away from Jay as part of their deal. He had promised not to hurt him. She would do whatever Holst said—she would never go through that again…

  She turned around. Jocko was gone.

  When Jay arrived, The Lady Fine was locked up tight. He climbed on board and beat on the door to the main cabin. He gave up and beat on the door to her rear cabin. He raised his voice, though not too loudly, and told her he knew she was in there. Nothing. He waited for a half hour, knocking on all the windows, the hatches, stomping on the forward deck. Nothing. He left furious, looking back over his shoulder and cursing her, thinking, Goddamnit, now I know I’m in love.