Black Neon

by Tony O'Neill

  Lupita muttered something non-committal.

  “What you say?”

  “I said, we’d better get out of here before this bastard wakes up and I’m forced to kill him. Alright?”

  Content to take whatever small victory she could get, Genesis nodded and said, “Okay.” She kissed Lupita lightly on the forehead. She went over to the nightstand, and grabbed the half-full bottle of bourbon before they split. The room had been rented using cash and one of Lupita’s many fake IDs. By the time Xavier woke up, Genesis and Lupita would be gone without a trace.

  They headed out of the hotel and onto 8th street with the gun stashed in the bag. Their next stop was to meet Lupita’s LA heroin connection, Macho. As they walked toward the car Lupita said, “I haven’t made any promises, Genesis hun. Don’t go thinking just because I let that bozo live that I’m making promises.”

  “I know,” Genesis said sadly. “Let’s just take it… one day at a time, okay? Not killing that guy was a great start. You say you can’t promise anything. But can’t you at least promise me that you’ll try?”

  “That’s just it, Genesis hun. You seem to be under the impression that I can’t help myself. That I’m some kinda… psychopath. That’s not the way it is! Each time I did it… I did it out of necessity.”

  Genesis laughed sadly. “You sound just like my pop.”

  “How d’you mean?”

  “Every time he’d take a drink. Once he started he just couldn’t stop till it was all gone and he was passed out in some whore’s bed, stinking and shaking. But he swore up and down that he didn’t have a problem with the booze. That’s what he’d yell at my mom: I HAVE stopped drinking! This time was an EXCEPTION!”

  “That’s a whole different thing, hun. If I don’t perform the ritual then we’re fucked. We got some bad vibes hanging over us after what went down with Paco. Ain’t nothing gonna go our way again unless we fix it.”

  “Come on. Paco was a meth dealer, not a fuckin’ tater tot, or whatever you called it…”

  “Tata Nganga, Genesis. He was a Tata Nganga. It’s, like, a high priest.”

  “Well, whatever. If we’re so fuckin’ cursed, how come it all went okay with old Xavier up there? If this curse was so fucking strong, how come we was able to rob his ass and get away with it?”

  “It didn’t go okay. Far from it! Remember, I wasn’t just there to rob his ass. I was there to lift this damn curse, so it definitely didn’t go according to plan.”

  Genesis threw her arms up in exasperation. “I’m sick of all this voodoo talk!”

  “Look sharp,” Lupita said, “We’re bein’ tailed.”

  Glancing to her left, Genesis saw a black BMW crawling up the street beside them. Through the tinted glass she could make out the driver was gesturing wildly at them.

  “Well look at this prick,” Genesis smirked as she proudly strutted down the street in her heels, “He’s seen me all dressed up in my fuck-me clothes, and he’s just about goin’ crazy.”

  “Looks like he might have got some bread. Come on.”

  “What? Oh shit, Lupe wait…”

  But it was too late. Lupita was already over by the car as the automatic window rolled down. Cursing to herself, Genesis clip-copped over to the window. A large man in a stained, wrinkled suit leaned out to them.

  “You lookin’ for something, mister?” Lupita asked, smiling at him.

  “I’m looking to have some fun. I have drugs! Enough for all of us. How much for the both of you to get in the car, get a little high with me… and then maybe we can all get naked?”

  “Five hundred,” Lupita said without hesitating. “Each.” A cold smile formed on her lips.

  Oblivious, the man nodded his head. “Get in.”

  The door unlocked. Genesis grabbed Lupita and hissed, “What are you doing? We already made our money, let’s go!”

  “You heard him, Genesis hun. He’s got drugs, and he’s got money. We don’t wanna look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  Reluctantly Genesis nodded. She pulled Lupita in close and whispered, “Remember what you said. You said that you’d try, Lupe.”

  Lupita nodded the faintest of nods before she clambered into Jacques Seltzer’s rental car. Genesis followed reluctantly behind.

  “Ladies!” Jacques grinned lasciviously, and then they peeled out with a squeal of rubber.

  THIRTY-THREE

  i

  Randal was stepping out of another identikit AA meeting, this one at a café on Fountain and Vine, when his phone rang. It looked at it: Gibby.

  “Gibby. What’s happening?”

  Gibby sounded even more harassed than usual.

  “What’s happening is that that shit has hit the fan, big time. Have you heard from Jacques?”

  “Me? Nah, why would I? Last time I saw him he was passed out in the crapper at Phillipe’s. He’s with Jeffrey, isn’t he?”

  “I wouln’t know. I haven’t heard from him in days. His phone’s switched off.”

  “He’s probably passed out in a gutter somewhere.”

  “Yeah, I guess, maybe.” Gibby sounded unconvinced. “If that’s all it is, then his timing is fucked. I need to speak to him right now or we’re all up shit creek. Kenny got hip to my little trick with the Black Neon script. He knows it’s a fake and he’s threatening to pull the plug.”

  Randal stifled a laugh. “Oh shit! How did he find out?”

  “Christ knows. My money is on that bitch Sharon Lindenbaum. She hated Jacques from day one, and I’m guessing she demanded to see what Jacques had come up with. She’s a hell of a lot smarter than Kenny is. She’d have spotted that it was a phony straight away. Fuck! I had Kenny on the phone screaming at me for an hour and a half. He says if Jacques doesn’t sit down with him for an emergency meeting today he’s gonna have Dreamscape’s lawyers bury Black Neon, and they’re gonna throw me in the pit before they start filling it in. Oh God,” Gibby sounded like he was on the verge of tears, “If I don’t get hold of Jacques today, I’m fucking ruined.”

  “Shh, it’ll be cool Gibby.” Randal did his best to placate the hysterical agent. “It’s probably nothing. His phone’s just off. Maybe he’s sleeping off a heavy night or something. He’ll be back sooner or later. Once you get Jacques in a room with Kenny it’ll all be fine again. Seems like Jacques knows how to butter Kenny up. He’ll just sprinkle a bit of that Jacques Selzter magic on the situation and Kenny’ll cool out. You know how dramatic the little fuck can be…”

  “It’s not just Kenny!” Gibby whined, “I’m really worried about Jacques! Up until a few days ago he’d been uploading pictures and video to a server, you know, gathering material for the movie. Hundreds and hundreds of images, hours of film footage too…”

  “You’re kidding me. I’m impressed, to tell you the truth… I’m pretty shocked old Jacques has been doing anything, besides get high…”

  “That’s just it, Randal. The amount of shit he’s been uploading…. With Kenny crawling up my ass over the script, it’d just been too overwhelming to deal with. Last night I finally got a chance to start going through the material…. And to tell them truth, I’m pretty fucking disturbed by it.”

  Randal found his car, pulled an orange parking ticket off the windshield and dropped it in the gutter. He slid into the driver’s seat. “Disturbed? Howdya mean?”

  “It’s just…. well look, you know the kinds of images that are Jacques’ stock in trade. Extreme shit. But this stuff… it’s different. These images are…. Repellent. Twisted.”

  “Gibby, you told me Jacques exhibited pictures of a guy getting meth injected into his pecker before now. What makes these pictures so awful?”

  “I guess the main thing is that Jacques is in most of them. The whole line between observer and the observed…. It’s just gone. I got tons of footage on my hard-drive of these emaciated, d
ead-eyed crackhead whores fixing dope and turning tricks on filthy looking mattresses… and if you look closely, there’s fucking Jacques like some junkie Alfred Hitchcock making a cameo in his own film! I don’t even know who shot half of this stuff. It sure as hell wasn’t Jacques. I mean, there he is, all flushed and tweaked out, sucking on the tit of some bugged-out, toothless transsexual meth freak, or fixing a shot while some underage hooker turns a trick in the bed next to him… it’s really sick shit, man!

  “And that’s not all of it. I’ve got hours of Jacques interviewing junkies, street freaks, prostitutes. He’s getting high with them on camera, screwing them, all of this interposed with footage of him checking motel rooms for bugs and ranting about how David Lynch is using his connections with the FBI to steal Jacques’ ideas. Jacques seems crazy. Like he went over the edge, totally.”

  “Gibby, I kinda got the impression he’d gone over the edge a long time ago…”

  “Shit! You don’t know him like I do, Randal. Sure, Jacques is an animal. Sure he loves this stuff, the sleaze, the grittiness, the underbelly…. But there was always a line. He’d go right up to it so he could record everything he saw, but up until now…” Gibby trailed off, a despondent sound in his voice.

  “Look, I’m serious Randal. I’m worried about him. I never saw Jacques this fucked up before. This is a whole new depth he’s sunk to. He looks like a bum in these pictures. Some of these final shots I received… the people he’s with… there’s something really unsettling abut them, it’s beyond deviant. Jacques isn’t observing the scene anymore, Randal, he’s up to his fucking neck in it. I’m worried Jacques has gone native on me, man. This is some real Colonel Kurtz type shit…”

  “When was the last time you heard from him?”

  “Right after he disappeared off with Jeffrey. There’s been no new photos, no calls, zero. I’m warning you Randal, if that fucking asshole you hooked him up with has let anything happen to Jacques I’ll kill that junkie bastard myself.”

  “Jacques is a big boy. I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe you just need to get him out of LA for while, cool him out.”

  “My thoughts exactly. But unless I get Jacques in a room with Kenny today it’s all gonna be a moot fucking point, because the film is dead. That’s why I need you to speak to Jeffrey and find out what the fuck is going on.”

  Randal winced at the suggestion. “Look Gibby, part of the reason I even put you in touch with Jeffrey is that I needed to get away from this whole mess. I’m already too involved for my liking.”

  “Randal, please. Jeffrey’s your friend. Just call him, find out where Jacques is. Pass on the message that I really, really need to speak to him. This is life or death we’re talking about here!”

  “Shit. Okay, Gibby. Okay.”

  “Good. Good, thanks Randal. Call me back, I’ll be waiting.”

  Randal clicked the phone shut. He was suddenly ravenously hungry. He decided he would drive over to El Siete Mares and pick up some fish tacos. His stomach growled psychosomatically.

  ii

  “Jeffrey!”

  “Randal… hey buddy.”

  “What you doing?”

  Jeffrey looked around his heroin dealer Peewee’s chaotic apartment. Peewee was cross-legged on the floor watching a Mexican wrestling flick, Santo vs The Mummies Of Guanajuato, on cable. His sister, Patricia, was smoking a primo and staring vacantly at a series of cigarette burns that ran the length of her arm. In front of Jeffrey were his spoon, needle, cotton and lighter laid out before him like the components of a Japanese tea ceremony.

  “Uh, nothing…” he said.

  “You know, I just got a call from Gibby. He’s freaking out big time. Worried about Jacques.”

  “That piece of shit? “ Jeffrey scowled, “What’s he worried about him for?”

  “Because he hasn’t heard from him in days. Is he still with you?”

  “Nah. I haven’t seen that bastard in a while. We had a bit of trouble… a disagreement I guess you’d call it.”

  “What kinda disagreement?”

  “I, uh… it was the kind of disagreement where I kicked him in the balls and he stormed off. Ain’t seen him since.”

  “Shit. Maybe he’s just hiding out in his room?”

  “I dunno. I had to take Rachel to the ER, she fuckin’ OD’d on coke. Instead of helping, that fat shithead started filming her while she was having a fucking seizure, and then tried to talk me out of calling an ambulance. Can you believe that shit? Then to top it all off, when I was waiting around in the hospital to see how she was, the fucking pigs showed up looking for us. Fucking paramedics told them about the drugs in our room. I had to slip out before they clocked me. I just left her there, bro. I went back to the hotel, grabbed some shit, and split. I’ve been hanging out with a buddy of mine, waiting for this whole mess to blow over. Last fuckin’ thing I need is the heat showing up at my room asking all kinds of questions. I ain’t heard shit from Rachel either, so I’m figuring they probably busted her. When you called I was kinda hoping it might have been her calling me from downtown…”

  “Look – where are you? I’m gonna come by, pick you up. We gotta go check on Jacques, make sure he’s alright.”

  “Fuck that guy!” Jeffrey said, then looking at his works laid out in front of him, “And anyway, I’m busy. That guy’s a real asshole. If you ask me, he probably got himself killed already. As soon as that prick moved into the Gilbert he had every fucking junkie creep in Hollywood passing in and out, getting high on his dollar. Motherfucker was acting like Daddy fuckin’ Warbucks. I’m talking ounces of shit just laying around. I told him, you keep waving that stack around like that and someone is gonna take it from you. In this scene a man could get his throat cut for a ten-dollar bill, you know? Silly cunt wouldn’t listen to me. If you ask me, it’s a miracle he made it this long. Motherfucker had no street smarts. None whatsoever.”

  “I hear you, Jeffrey, but unless I can get hold of Jacques today Gibby is gonna shit a brick. Let’s just take a quick look for him, just to see if he’s at the Gilbert or hanging out at any of his usual spots. At least that way I can get Gibby off my damn back, you know? Where are you exactly? I’m over in Silverlake right now, grabbing some food.”

  “I’m close to you then. Grab a pen, there’s a Jack in the Box near here, I’ll meet you over there…”

  iii

  “I don’t believe one motherfucking thing that fat doofus says, Genesis hun. He stinks of puke, that ratty suit he’s wearin’ looks like it was stolen off a sleeping bum. If you ask me even that fuckin’ eye-patch of his is a put on.”

  Lupita took a long sip of her Wild Turkey and ginger. Genesis looked confused.

  “He told me he’s an artist,” he said slowly, “From Paris. That’s in France, isn’t it?”

  “Paris my ass. And if that motherfucker is an artist, then I’m Mother-fucking-Theresa.”

  “Motherfucking Theresa,” Genesis mused, “Good name for a band.”

  Lupita laughed. “True that.”

  They were in a Mexican bar in Echo Park. The jukebox was blasting a particularly ferocious slice of merengue called “Qué será lo que quiere el negro” by Miriam Cruz. The barmaids wore tight, white shirts that left folds of their soft, brown flesh hanging out at the tits and the belly, along with short, pleated black skirts and knee socks. When they served drinks to the smattering of washed-out old Mexican men frequenting the place, they leaned across the bar in such a way that the drink orders had to be delivered directly into the shadowy folds of their cleavage.

  Jacques was here to meet his connection. He brought them inside and ordered drinks while ostentatiously flashing the wads of cash he had in his wallet. After a few minutes his cell rang to the tune of the Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sugar”. Jacques excused himself and had a whispered conversation by the soft glow of an ancient cigarette machine.

/>   “He is very close,” Jacques told them after he returned, “If you will excuse me for a moment, ladies, I shall return… in ten.”

  Lupita had shrugged, cool and non-committal. Genesis – who even didn’t want to be in here in the first place – barely grunted. Jacques bowed. “Excusez moi…”

  “He seems harmless, I suppose,” Genesis offered as they waited for him to return. “I just don’t know why we’re doing this. If you ain’t feeling it either, then let’s just drink up and get the hell out of here. We made some decent bread already.”

  “Hell no!” Lupita snapped. “You saw the stack that motherfucker was flashing? Besides, he’s out picking up drugs right now. Why quit before the main event? I ain’t leaving without the drugs or the money hun.”

  Genesis sniffed. “So long as that’s all you’re after.”

  “Huh?”

  “You heard.”

  Lupita scowled. “Don’t be getting all cryptic an’ shit on me, Genesis hun. If you got something to say to me girl, then spit it out.”

  Genesis shrugged, half turned away from Lupita and sipped her drink.

  “Out with it,” Lupita hissed.

  “I’m just sayin’. I’m hoping you ain’t planning on breaking your promise to me, is all.” Genesis turned and put her mouth close to Lupita’s ear. “I hope you ain’t planning on trying to pull some of that crazy voodoo shit with this bastard once we’re alone with him.”

  “It ain’t voodoo. It’s Santeria.”

  “Whatever the fuck it is. That ain’t the issue. I’m more concerned with whether or not you’re planning on killing this idiot.”

  Lupita glowered at Genesis. Genesis held her gaze.

  “Well?”

  Lupita sniffed and turned back to her drink. “You worry too much, that’s your problem.”

  “My problem?” An anguished look came over Genesis’s face. “My problem is that the woman I love, who says she loves me, can’t even be straight with me. You’re the one who insisted on picking up this guy. I sure as hell ain’t planning on fucking him, and to be honest I’m not even all that keen on the idea of getting high with him. All I wanted to do was stick to the plan, and head up to San Francisco like we’d agreed. You’re the one who insisted on another fuckin’ detour! The very least you can do is tell me if you’re just planning on robbing this fucking asshole, or if you’re planning on killing him. Why can’t you be straight with me, Lupe? What’s your damage?”