by Ivan Infante
Mike limped over and opened it. It was a large one, but it would still be a tight fit. He pulled it down so he could stare up the shaft to the top floor. There were wood slats every few inches lining it. It looked exactly like a ladder. Even with his leg, he could manage. He dropped his weapon into his pocket and pulled himself inside. It took effort, because his right leg dragged behind him.
He rested inside the shaft on top of the dumbwaiter for a second, then started up. He gripped the grimy wood slats and pulled himself up. Cockroaches scattered in front of him as he climbed. He heard muffled shouts coming from inside the club. He had these boys scared bad.
When Mike got to the top, he braced himself against the back of the shaft and cracked open the dumbwaiter’s doors. He saw no one. To his right, there was a door with the word OFFICE painted on it. He could see a sliver of light coming from the crack under it. He knew right away she was in there. He struggled to get the dumbwaiter’s doors open wide enough to crawl through. When he did, he clambered out clumsily and landed hard on the floor.
There was a short hallway in front of him that ended in another unmarked door. Mike pulled himself together and limped forward with the Savage at the ready. He got to the door and cracked it open slowly. It led to a dining room packed with tables covered with bright white tablecloths. Every seat had a spectacular view of the city.
On the other side of the room, three men crouched near the stairs with their backs to him. Mike slid out the door. He crouched by a table and watched. He could tell by the men’s body language that they were getting their courage up to make some sort of move down the stairs. One of them, a guy who looked like the boss, shoved one of his companions forward and the others covered him. The unlucky henchman crept downstairs. After a second and what must have been an all-clear gesture from the unlucky one, the remaining gunmen went downstairs too.
As soon as the top of the last hat disappeared below floor level, Mike struggled to his feet and went back through the door. He stumbled down the hall to the office door. He put his ear against it and listened. He could here someone breathing heavy and struggling. He tried the knob. The door wasn’t locked. He opened it with his left hand. The Savage was in his right.
She was alone. She was gagged and tied to the chair and she was beautiful. She still had the nightgown on from the night he’d hit her with the car. The ropes pulled it tight in all the right places. Mike took a long look. She recognized him and she did not look happy. He figured she should be glad to see just about anyone. He turned to leave and caught his reflection in the window. He was covered in blood. Her reaction made a little more sense.
Mike stepped out of the room and closed the door. He headed into the dining room and toward the staircase with a gun in each hand. As he got closer to the top of the steps, he got lower to the ground. By the time he reached the top step, he was prone. He crawled forward and peeked over the edge.
The gunmen milled around at the bottom of the stairs. Only one of them was facing him. He saw Mike and opened his mouth to scream. He never made a sound. Mike shot him in the face. The other two spun around and raised their guns. Mike kept firing. His bullets slammed into them and they pirouetted around in full circles. They didn’t get off a shot. Mike fired until his weapons clicked empty, then he stayed in place and listened. Now it really was quiet.
Mike slid down the stairs partway and used the railing to get himself up off the ground. He didn’t have to look down at his leg to know he was in trouble. He could see his crimson blood all over the floor.
Mike limped back into the office and untied the girl from the chair. He left her hands tied behind her back and the gag in place and dragged her toward the door. She struggled like crazy, so he threatened her with the butt of the pistol until she stopped.
When they got to the stairs and she saw the bodies piled up, she struggled to break free again with renewed vigor. Before Mike could raise the pistol to whip her, the noise of sirens rose in the distance and she seemed to reconsider. She stopped struggling. Mike lowered the pistol. He could have sworn she was smiling under the gag.
Mike got no more problems from her as he pulled her downstairs toward the exit to the alley. Still he kept the Savage on her the whole time. As they got close to the back door, she started struggling again. He lost his patience and slammed her into the wall. This backfired. She struggled even more. He slammed her into the wall again, this time harder. She seemed to like it. He did it one more time. This knocked her for a loop and she went limp. Mike had to grab her around the waist and carry her out the back door.
In the alley, the sirens were loud. Mike could here the cops arrive. Their car doors slam. They were up on Sunset at the front entrance. He didn’t have much time. Mike knew that a place like the Sunset Room couldn’t function without the local sheriff on the payroll. The cops upstairs probably viewed the joint as a great source of income. They would come with guns drawn and they would keep their questions in their pockets.
He hurried her across the alley to the car. By the time they got there, her head had cleared and she broke free, but she didn’t run. She spun around so her back was against the car and used body language to let him know she wanted to talk. Mike pulled her gag down. His hands stained her face with blood.
“That’s a lot of blood you got on you. How much of it is yours?” She was short of breath, but she sounded genuinely curious.
“Enough.” Mike sounded weak.
“Untie me. I’ll drive.” She offered her hands to him.
“Yeah, right.”
“You can’t make it on your own. Neither of us want the cops.”
“You think you’re gonna get that money?” Mike didn’t understand this girl at all.
“There’s a lot of it out there, so yeah, I think I can get it.” She answered.
Mike hesitated. He looked her up and down. She was tough. He heard the cops shouting inside. They were getting closer.
Mike spun her around and untied her. “You cross me, I’ll kill you.” Mike threatened through gritted teeth as he undid the last rope.
“I believe you.” She turned around and faced him. He’d gotten blood on her hands when he untied her. She left red palm prints on her midsection when she cleaned her hands on her nightgown.
“You get the money, you’ll be fine. I don’t like killing.” Mike wiped the blood of his face with his palm as he spoke.
“You could have fooled me.”
He stepped forward quickly and slapped her so hard she left the ground. She bounced off the car and landed on all floors. She looked up at him. Her smile was vicious and there was blood at the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t say a word as she reached up for the door handle and picked herself off the ground.
“Get in. The keys are in it.” He kept his gun on her through the window glass as he moved around the back of the car to the passenger side. With effort, he got his door open and slid into the car. She was already in the driver’s seat. She hit the gas before he got his door closed and they sped out of the alley.
She took a couple of hard turns, before she slowed down and turned to him. “You should probably go to the doctor.” She almost sounded like she cared.
If Mike hadn’t been on the grift his whole life, he might have believed her. “Forget the hospital.” He had the gun down on his lap with the barrel pointed at her.
“I’m not talking about the hospital. There’s a doctor up in the canyons I go to when I’m in a jam.” She said that last part with a shameful lilt.
“What kind of jam do you get in?” Mike knew the answer, but asked in the hope he would hear that lilt again.
“Don’t you worry about it.” Her sentiment had vanished.
“Fine, but get there fast, because if you plan on driving around until I run out of blood, I’ll empty this into you before I go under.” He spoke loud and waved the gun around.
She ignored him. She hit the accelerator and sped up the hill. She made the turns tight. She was a good driver.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mike drifted in and out of consciousness, but he gripped the Savage constantly. He stayed awake enough to keep his bearings. The car drove uphill and did several cutbacks before it turned down a narrow road that ran deep into a canyon. He glimpsed the lights of downtown Hollywood in the rear view mirror every now and then, but mostly the trees crowded out the view.
After a while, the road leveled off and dead-ended at a wood-frame house built running up the side of the canyon. The girl stopped the car at the base of a rickety staircase that clung to the side of the building and stopped at a door halfway up. Mike tried to slide out of the car. His blood-soaked pants stuck to his skin and he had to grip his leg with one hand in order to move it. He gasped for breath and managed to move his leg to the running board.
She saw he was having trouble and she hopped out of the car and came around to help him. She put his arm over her shoulder and supported his weight. He dropped his weapon into his coat pocket as she maneuvered him out of the car and helped him up the steps. He left a trail of blood all the way to the front door.
Bugs flittered around a bare red bulb that hung above the front door. The girl left him leaning against the railing and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again, but there was no response. Mike took the Savage from his pocket and fired once into the air. She jumped out of her skin and spun around.
“Jesus.” She said.
“Get him out here or I shoot you next.” Mike slumped forward. His head bounced off his chin.
The girl pounded on the door and kicked it until a light came on inside. She stopped and turned to check if Mike had passed out. When he raised the gun in response, she started knocking again.
A muffled “Who is it?” came from the other side of the door.
“It’s me, Doc.” She rattled the knob.
The Doc knew her by voice and opened the door right away. When he saw Mike, he closed it again and turned the lock three times. Mike saw the curtains on the sidelight twitch and pull back. The doctor appeared behind the curtains. He had a head of puffy white hair and the light behind him gave him an eerie halo.
“Who’s he?” The window muffled the Doc’s words.
Mike didn’t speak. The girl stepped to the window. She put herself in front of the Doc so he couldn’t see Mike leaning against the railing. “Please. He’s dying. He’s a friend.”
Mike heard the lock click again. This time, when the door opened, the girl rushed forward and hugged the Doc. He hugged her back, then took a look at Mike and frowned. He moved the girl to the side and came out. He hooked Mike’s arm over his shoulders and steered him inside.
“Thank you.” She smiled.
The Doc dropped his smile and picked up a stern look. “What the hell is this all about anyway? It’s three in the morning. I’m an old man. I can’t have you bringing fellas like this to me. You gotta go to the hospital. What the hell am I gonna do if he dies here?”
“Bury him next to the others.” She wasn’t smiling anymore either.
As the Doc dragged Mike through the place, Mike took a look around. The doctor’s house had a high peaked ceiling. At the back, there were stairs to a loft that overlooked the living room. The kitchen and dining room were low ceilinged and underneath this loft. The Doc steered Mike through the living room, under a low beam archway, and into a small room in the corner.
Dusty old furniture, mounds of books, piles of magazines, and a variety of rusting medical devices crowded this room. In one corner, there was a beaten-up examination table. After the Doc helped Mike lie down on it, he turned to face the girl. He glared at her. She gave him her biggest batting-eyelash smile.
That stuff worked on the Doc. He shrugged like this had happened many times before. He would let this go if she was a nice girl. She might even get a present. He leered at her. She’d seen that look before and nodded. They made the deal. She got a little sick to her stomach.
Doc walked past her. His huge white hair and beard made him seem taller, but he was a small man. He stood over Mike and took a long look at his injuries. He moved Mike’s hands away from the wound and turned the leg to check it for himself. The Doc had wrinkled, soft hands and they moved confidently over the wound. He drew some scissors from his pocket and cut open the pant leg.
“They stabbed me in the leg.” Mike said with his last ounce of strength.
“No kidding.” The Doc mustered a grin. It was the last thing Mike saw before he passed out.
When Mike came to, a loud noise ran around in his brain. It rattled him. He couldn’t place it. It even took him a couple of seconds before he realized it came from outside the building. It was birds. Birds screeched all over the canyon. They made an infernal racket.
Mike sat up and saw the Doc. The old man slept in an overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room closest to the door. He had nodded off after the operation. Blood covered his sleeves and the front of his shirt, but his hands were clean. He’d taken the time to wash them.
Mike noticed a shotgun resting between the Doc’s legs. The stock faced down and the barrel floated around under his chin. If the old man moved hard the wrong way, he was going to blow his own head off. Mike chuckled a little to himself, but that turned into a groan when he moved his leg. It hurt bad. The stitches in his leg felt fat and sloppy. The Doc had done a terrible job.
Mike eased himself around so his legs dangled over the edge of the table. His leg hurt worse when he bent it at the knee, but he gritted his teeth and stifled the moans. Mike dropped off the table. He kept his hands braced on it and struggled to stand. He swayed a little and the floor creaked.
The Doc didn’t wake up. Mike moved closer. He had to use the bed for support. As he got nearer, he saw a bruise on the side of the old man’s head. Mike inched forward. The old man’s head lolled back and his eyelids fluttered. Mike could tell he was about to come to. Mike pitched forward and grabbed for the shotgun. The Doc was faster. He whipped the shotgun into position. He wasn’t as far gone as Mike had imagined. He had some reflexes left.
“Good morning.” The Doc smiled at him.
“Where’s the girl?” Mike asked.
The doctor turned his smile upside down. After an awkward silence Mike clued in. The old man wanted a greeting. Mike gave it to him.
“Good morning, Doc. Where is she?” Mike said the first part sickly sweet.
“Good morning, Mike.” The old man sounded self satisfied. “She’s gone.”
The old man rubbed his head. “She got me good. I never saw it coming.”
The Doc got up from his chair and offered Mike a shoulder to lean on. Mike took it. The Doc maneuvered him toward the door. Each step hurt worse than the next.
Mike stopped in the doorway and pushed the Doc away. “You did a terrible job. It hurts worse than when I got here.”
“You paying me?” the Doc asked.
Mike didn’t answer.
“Well there you go.” The old man said.
The Doc didn’t offer any more help. He left Mike in the doorway and walked across the room to the kitchen. Mike had to use the door frame to support himself. It had hurt plenty bad walking the few steps with the old man’s help. It would hurt a lot more to cross the room to the kitchen on his own.
“You know where she went?” Mike asked.
Mike pushed himself out of the doorway. He used furniture for support as he made his way across the living room. With each step, he got used to the hurt. The Doc waited for him by a round table in the dining room. When Mike got there, the doctor guided Mike into one of the dining room chairs. It was tiny and its flimsy armrests pinched his waist.
“Listen, Mike, I don’t know you.” Doc sounded tired. He’d gotten a lot older since the headshot last night and wielding the shotgun had drained him. His eyes lost their twinkle. “I don’t care how you make your money, but I’m pretty sure you’re not affiliated. You aren’t in the rackets.”
“You’re not wrong, but that doesn’t mean
I can’t square our account.” Mike looked down at his fixed up leg. He knew this Doc could come in handy. Last night, the old man had done more than his share. Mike expected to do his share for the doctor in return. That way, the old man would be compromised and they would be partners.
“You wanna get square?” The Doc asked as he moved away from Mike and went into the kitchen. On his way, he set down the shotgun and leaned it against the wall. Mike shifted in his chair and turned a little. He watched the old man shuffle ingredients around the kitchen and ready the stove.
“They tell you she was his daughter?” The old man asked without looking up from the stove.
“No one told me anything.” Mike answered.
“Well, she isn’t. That little girl is not Adolfo Spinelli’s daughter.” Doc opened the icebox and banged some pots and pans around.
Mike squirmed in the chair. The movement hurt a lot. He shifted again despite the pain. He didn’t like where this was going.
The old man kept talking as he made them breakfast. He sounded like he was at confession. “She’s just a kid, sixteen maybe. Anyway, she slept for a while, right there on the couch, but when she woke up, I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t put my hand on her. Spinelli’s a vindictive man. I knew a Cuban who crossed him once. Spinelli and his bastards dismembered him. Cut that Cuban into pieces, stuffed him in a rain barrel, then they brought it down here so I could see him. That kind of thing is hard to forget, even if you send a river of drink down after it. Believe me, I tried to talk her out of it. She gave me a hit on the head for an answer.” The doctor cracked an egg into the skillet. “I couldn’t stop her.”
“How long ago?” Mike asked.
“Long enough.” The old man turned to Mike and shrugged.
Mike heard a familiar sound in the distance. It got closer and it got louder. The deep rumble of the motors echoed in the canyon. “You call someone?” Mike asked.
“What do you think?” The Doc sounded offended. “Maybe she called. Maybe they caught up with her. Maybe there are only so many places people look when these things happen and my place is one of them.”
