Blood of Angels

by Marshall, Michael

Brad glanced dismally at Hudek, and saw that for the first time the other boy's eyes looked a little confused.

  Nonetheless Hudek spoke again. 'Steve?'

  More silence, broken only by the sound of a car honking over on the intersection, a world away.

  Hernandez cocked his head. 'Pete? Steve? Who would these people be? More uninvited boys? More Valley rats?'

  Hudek said nothing. Kept looking at the dumpster.

  Hernandez looked at the guy on his right again. 'You guys know any Pete or Steve? You come across anybody like that?'

  'Yeah,' the guy said. 'Think we did.'

  He walked over to where the big square of tarp was lying bunched against the side wall. Lifted one corner.

  Brad stared. Lying under the tarp were Pete and Steve. Their mouths had been secured with silver duct tape. Probably their arms and legs too, because they weren't moving. At least, that might be why they weren't moving.

  The guy let the tarp fall again.

  'Shouldn't have done that,' Hudek said. His voice was low and flat. He slipped his right hand into his jacket and around the back. 'You should not have done that.'

  'You should have come alone.'

  'Untie them.'

  'Fuck you.'

  Hudek pulled his hand out. He was holding the automatic pistol. 'Fucking untie them, man.'

  They went to and fro on it for a while, but Brad barely heard. There was a constant voice in his head now, blotting out almost everything else. I'm twenty years old, it was jabbering. This is too soon. This has not been enough. I thought I was grown, but I was wrong. I do not want to have sex or take drugs or drink beer any more. I do not want to be here. I want to be home, watching X-Files reruns and eating ice cream. I want to be ten years old.

  'You piece of shit,' Hudek said, evidently resting his case.

  Brad tuned back in. The other guys' guns were no longer by their sides. They were pointing at him and Lee. It was all going very wrong but Brad knew what was expected of him, and he pulled his own gun out. Nothing good could happen now. Five guys with guns. You do the math.

  Hudek raised his pistol, pointing it squarely at Hernandez's chest. The guy appeared utterly unmoved, and for the first time Hudek was sure, completely sure, that this man had killed people, and more than once. Hudek's mind possessed a low clarity which Brad's could never hope for, but just at that moment their thoughts were pretty much the same. This was it. This was the point where it all unravelled.

  'Okay,' he said, 'If that's the way it's got to be…'

  There was a loud clicking sound, from behind. Then a soft bang, like wood hitting cinder block.

  Hudek saw Hernandez's eyes swivel. He and Brad turned.

  The door to the back of the building was now hanging open. A man in a business suit was standing there.

  'Just get in here,' he said. 'For Christ's sake. We're waiting.'

  Brad was at least as surprised as Hudek, but he couldn't have spoken. Couldn't have said a single word. It was left to Hudek to find voice, therefore, and he barely made it either. He didn't even notice Hernandez taking the opportunity to thunk Brad on the back of the head, or hear his friend dropping bonelessly to the lot.

  He just stared open-mouthed at the man in the doorway for a full five seconds, and then finally said:

  'Mr Reynolds?'

  Chapter 4

  The interior of the building was hot and dark, lit only by a few bulbs hanging bare from the ceiling at apparently random intervals. Every now and then one of these illuminated some debris from one of the structure's previous commercial incarnations: a pile of mouldering carpet rolls, unidentifiable pieces of motor vehicle, bits of oblong machinery Lee Hudek dimly recognized as belonging in the kitchens of restaurants. It smelled of dust and heat. He followed Mr Reynolds through a large room, along a corridor, and then through a door into an even bigger, darker space, which stretched the remaining length of the building. Mr Reynolds stepped aside there, leaving Lee suddenly in front. It was clear he was supposed to keep walking. There was a light down the far end. Presumably that was where he was supposed to go. He considered, just for a moment, the idea of not doing so, of turning and trying to force his way back out. The notion didn't seem to make much sense. Brad was out in the lot still, Pete and Steve too, having Christ knows what done to them by Hernandez and his pals. It wasn't clear what the future held for Hudek, either.

  He guessed he might as well just find out.

  He walked forward into the gloom. He felt his footsteps ought to echo in a space this size, but they did not. Maybe there were more heaps of trash out of sight, deadening the sound. Maybe it was because it was so fucking hot. The air felt as if it had been trapped here a long, long time, as if it was palpable, and swallowed sounds. People too, perhaps.

  The light was coming from a single lamp, positioned in the middle of an empty patch of floor. It looked like something out of a cheap motel, or a movie, a straight wooden upright capped by a large shade, once white, now aged and dusted a sickly cream. Next to it was an armchair: big, threadbare, a colour that would be nameless even in good light. Sitting in this was a man.

  'Hey, Lee,' the man said. 'Remember me?'

  Hudek stopped about twenty feet short. This wasn't because he thought it was the protocol. It was more because, for reasons he'd have found hard to explain, he didn't want to get too close.

  The guy wore a dark suit over a dark shirt. He looked to be in his late thirties and was well-built but underweight. His hair was short and his skin was pale. His face was so harshly down-lit that it was hard to make the features out properly, but as far as Hudek knew, he'd never seen this dude before in his life. He looked like a large dog of uncertain temperament, sitting upright in a chair, very awake. Ready for a walk. Or dinner.

  'No,' he said.

  'Good.' The man regarded him in silence for a while. His gaze was impersonal, as if Hudek were a landscape painting of indifferent quality for which he might be able to find some hanging space. In a back room, most likely, or the corridor where old coats and broken tennis rackets were stowed. 'So how have you been, Lee?'

  Hudek shrugged. 'You know, okay.'

  'Good. That's good. Take a seat.'

  Hudek was confused. Then he realized the man was indicating something, pointing with a raised left hand. Lee turned to see that a wooden chair had appeared just behind him. All he had to do was bend his knees to sit down. So he did.

  He still had the bag of money for the deal which was evidently so not going to happen, clenched in his hand. He put it down. His heart felt as if someone was tapping his chest with a hammer, not yet quite as hard as they could, but enough to bend the ribs a little.

  'You were asked to come alone,' the man said, as if he'd just remembered something of minor importance. 'You didn't. Why?'

  Hudek struggled again to work out the best thing to say. 'It just didn't sound like a good idea.'

  'I get you. The guys you've been buying from ask you to bring the money, without any backup, and they dick you around over the time, that's got to make you nervous, right? So you think, hell, I'll bring some pals, I'm not going to just do what I'm told. I'm the man. I'm Lee John Hudek.'

  'Exactly.' Hudek nodded enthusiastically, glad to finally be on solid ground. Whoever this guy was, he clearly understood.

  'If you do that again,' the man said, 'if you disobey an instruction, however complex or simple, then the police will never find your head. I will kill you, and everyone you've ever cared about, and then your troubles will have only just begun. Understand?'

  Hudek just blinked at him.

  'Do you understand?'

  'Shit, yes. Of course. I get you, man, I really do. I'm sorry.'

  'Excellent.' The man nodded, suddenly affable again. 'See, that's really important, Lee, because I need to feel that I can trust you. We need to feel that, okay?'

  'Sure, sure,' Hudek said, head bobbing in rampant agreement. He was now convinced he was going to die. 'But…when you say "we", who is
that, exactly? I mean, I thought Hernandez was…'

  The man said nothing, but instead lifted both hands off the arms of his chair, and raised them, palms up.

  From out of the darkness, four men appeared. Two were in middle age, the other two a good deal younger. One of each group was expensively attired. The others had dressed to go without notice in a crowd.

  'We're the people you buy your drugs from,' the man said. 'We distribute them through Hernandez, amongst others. Welcome to the next level, Lee.'

  •••

  It took about a minute for Hudek's heartbeat to return to something like its normal rate, by which time the other men had faded back out of sight. He was effectively alone with the seated man once more.

  'Tell me something,' the man said. 'Do you have any ideas?'

  Hudek paused. What did this mean? 'Like…'

  'Well, you're good at what you do. We're happy. Solid turnover, and you've kept it low key. Is that all you want? Are those the limits of your skies?'

  Hudek hesitated again. He thought now he understood what was being asked, but he didn't want to get it wrong. 'Well, yeah, I mean, I have thought about something.'

  'Why don't you tell me what that is?'

  'Spring Break,' Hudek said.

  'What about it?'

  'I got a plan.' Hudek took a deep breath. 'Every year, you got millions of kids on Spring Break, right? Florida in particular, I'm thinking about. It gets bigger every year, more like a theme park, with your sponsored this and MTV that and your big business muscling in and all that shit. This year I was down in Panama City, checking it. And I'm thinking. Bottom line. There's four hundred, five hundred thousand kids coming to that one town over the season, March to April. They want beer, they want wet T-shirts, they want to get laid. They want drugs. Even if they don't know it yet, they do. It's around, of course, you can get drugs no problem, but it's not organized. It could be better. A lot better.'

  'I see,' the man said. 'And you're figuring…why should it just be the IBMs and AT&Ts of the world who are getting their hooks into these young tigers? If corporate America is invading the Break, why shouldn't Lee John Hudek get in there too, tap into that customer base?'

  'Exactly. You had a tight crew there, worked hard, you could shift a truly awesome amount of drugs. I want be that guy.'

  There, it was done.

  The Plan was out in the open. Hudek had never actually said it out loud before. Doing so had made him feel even more confident.

  'It's an idea,' the man said. 'But it's not original, and there are three problems with it. I'm going to explain them to you, okay?'

  Hudek nodded, his heart falling immediately.

  'First and biggest is the cops. There are plenty of dealers working the Break already, of course. They're small-time or kicking back to the local law. Spring Break is huge business for these places, Lee. Towns can make a quarter billion dollars a season, can stand or fall on how many of these beer-swilling fuckheads they can pull into their nightclubs and bars, burning up their licence to go wild before they go get their dull jobs and disappear into the long grass. The towns know there's drugs around. It's part of the deal. It's contained, it's understood. But if the place gets awash and it splashes all over the front pages, it's all over for that town. The law's job is to ensure that doesn't happen, that a balance is struck—and the cops skim a little for their boat upgrades and retirement funds too, of course. You know a lot of Florida cops, Lee? You got those connections? You got experience in dealing with Panhandle law at ranking officer level?'

  Hudek shook his head.

  'I assumed not. Second issue is supply. Even if you get the cops sweet and put your people in there—and you'll need quite a few, and you'll need good communication, transport and storage facilities, which the cops might even be able to help you with—then you'll have the problem of product. How are you going to finance this? I don't know how much of your allowance you got in that bag there, but it isn't going to cover it.'

  Hudek had known this was the tricky part. 'I thought,' he said, 'I thought maybe it could be a pay afterwards kind of deal.'

  'Someone lends you the drugs, sees if you can shift them on, if not you give them back with your receipt and their ten per cent? And they turn a blind eye to all the stuff that's missing, the pills and coke your dealers have sucked into their own heads or bartered for fucks on the beach? That really what you thought?'

  Hudek shrugged, his face hot. It was, of course.

  The man in the chair didn't laugh, but someone in the shadows did.

  'Finally,' the man said, 'where were you actually going to find these altruistic benefactors? You go nosing around trying to make contacts down South, Miami gangbangers will have you in pieces before you've opened your mouth. Some of those Cuban homeboys make the Crips look like Martha fucking Stewart.'

  'So it was a dumb idea,' Hudek said, deflated. He looked down at his hands.

  'No, Lee. It's a good idea. It semi-happens already. But it hasn't been done properly, you're right. You'd need a reliable and large-scale supply of drugs, and a way of laundering the money taken. You'd need to take advantage of pre-existing law enforcement relationships and have the wherewithal to refresh those ahead of time. You would need someone to help you avoid stupid mistakes and/or winding up face down in a swamp. You would require serious backers, in other words.'

  Hudek looked up. The man was staring at him, hard.

  'Backers who trusted you, who knew that you could be relied upon. Who knew you always did what you were told.'

  Hudek nodded. He didn't quite trust himself to speak.

  'You would need backers, in fact, who might want you and your crew to prove themselves: who might ask you to do them a favour or two first, to show good faith. Do you understand?'

  'I think so,' Hudek said. 'What do you want?'

  The man smiled. 'We don't need to get into that right now. Soon, but not just at this minute.'

  He looked at Hudek a while longer, and nodded. 'Great to see you again, my friend. On the way out you'll be given what you came for. You can take your own bag back with you this time, as a gesture of our good will. Spread the cash around your crew. Make people happy. We'll be in touch soon regarding the other thing.'

  Hudek stood up. 'Will I be working with you on it? I mean, direct?'

  The man shook his head, and Hudek found himself feeling relieved. 'I'm just a day tripper. Other things I have to do. You'll work with Hernandez. Play nice. Watch and learn. He's good. You can pick up some things. For future positions you might hold.'

  He winked. Hudek risked a smile.

  The man indicated with his head. Hudek got the message, turned and walked away.

  •••

  Mr Reynolds was waiting for Lee in the corridor. He led him back out through the building, across the middle of the large room with its dangling lights. Hudek felt lightheaded and shaky and euphoric all at once, and altogether unable to deal with the fact that he was being led out of the building by Stacy and Josh Reynolds' father. He'd blanked this particular piece of weirdness while confronted with the man in the chair. That guy had a way of focusing your attention.

  Just before they got to the exit, Mr Reynolds stopped. 'Don't mention my being here,' he said. 'I offer people advice on occasion, that's all. Legal counsel is available to everyone.'

  'That's fine, Mr Reynolds.'

  'Make sure Bradley understands that too.'

  'I will. He does what I tell him.'

  Mr Reynolds nodded. 'I'm sure. I'm sure they all do. You don't get the guns back, I'm afraid.' He reached into the shadows and pulled out a small bag. It was bright red and had a white Nike logo on it. 'But this is for you.'

  Hudek pulled the bag's zipper back a few inches, and saw it contained the usual mixture but in greater quantity, a real bumper crop. Just at the moment he wasn't equal to working out what precise level of income it all represented. 'Thanks,' he said.

  'You're welcome, Lee. But if I ever hear yo
u've been selling that shit to my kids, any of it, at all, you'll rue the day you were born.'

  Then he turned and walked away.

  Hudek walked the last couple of yards and opened the door. Stepped out into the parking lot.

  It was still light, which kind of amazed him. He glanced at his watch and saw only thirty-five minutes had passed since they'd pulled up in the car. Unbelievable.

  Standing in the middle of the lot were three guys. His guys.

  He walked over. Brad looked kind of woozy. Pete and Steve were red around the mouth from where the duct tape had been. All appeared shell-shocked, and quiet, and all were smoking. Just for once, Hudek wished he could join in.

  'They told us to wait here,' Pete said. 'Hernandez and the other two fuckheads. They…I don't know. They waited with us for a while and then…just fucking went. The whole thing was seriously fucking odd, dude.'

  Brad blinked, seemed to come back into himself. He looked down, realized what was in each of Hudek's hands. He frowned at the red bag. 'You've got the drugs?'

  'Yes.'

  'And you've still…got the money.'

  'Right. It's like, a bonus. It's all cool.'

  Brad shook his head. He looked like his brain was in need of a reboot. 'So—then, what the fuck was all that about?'

  'It's cool,' Hudek repeated. 'That's all I know.'

  He led the others out around the side and back onto the road. Lee wasn't actually sure what had just happened. He just knew that he had come through it stronger, and that he was now dealing with a different order of professional. One thing he was absolutely not going to do was underestimate the people he had just met. Especially the guy in the chair. The threat he'd made could be interpreted as just being the kind of thing that people said to underline a point. Florid. Movie-speak. But Hudek didn't believe that was the case. He believed the man had meant what he said, would follow through, and had perhaps even understated his intentions.

  And he still didn't remember meeting him before.

  'I knew something bizarro was going to happen today,' Sleepy said, rubbing his wrists.

  'Pete,' Brad said, 'shut up.'