The Butcher's Granddaughter

by Michael Lion

  I shut them tight, feeling them trying to crawl back into my skull, away from the snuffing heat I would feel for maybe a millisecond. The skin at the base of my balls went tight, and my mind spiraled backwards, chanting Oh Christ, he’s really going to do it, he’s really GOING TO KILL ME...

  And then I was fighting. Not physically—my instinct had me by the throat, telling me that something was up, something was in my favor. It reached through the shrinking hole of reality in my head and interrupted me so strongly that at first I thought someone had literally spoken the word.

  Drunk?

  My eyes flew open like two sashes with broken springs. The numbness was gone from my nose, and Robert Waterston’s breath was wafting into it, fresh from a conversation with Johnny Walker and a couple of his buddies.

  His speech wasn’t slurred, but his eyes were rimmed in red, and he was probably on the tail end of a buzz that was just turning into a headache. Not truly drunk, but possibly, just possibly, fuzzy enough. My mind clung to that hope like a slick steel wire and totally surrendered to instinct.

  I opened my mouth, praying to gods I’d never believed in that whatever came out would stop him. I was expecting a scream. What I heard was, “Denise is in serious trouble.”

  I blinked. Bob opened his other eye and did the same. Sense took over from instinct. I rocked very slowly back and forth behind the gun. The brass bead-sight followed me, but with an unsure, stuttered movement. Bob took a minute to process what I’d said and then turned my nuts back into ice cubes by saying flatly, “Liar.” He accompanied the statement with a little pressure on the butt of the gun.

  I squinted with pain as reason took over the controls from raw sense, and I actually started to think. What would scare him the most?

  “Go ahead, Waterston. Smear me. And see what your little lady looks like when she gets home tonight. She’ll need a lot more than make-up to cover up the damage.”

  He growled and for a second I was sure I’d pushed it too far. Then the pressure was gone and he said, “Talk.”

  “I work for Cynthia. Cynthia Ming,” I said to the twin barrels. “She runs—”

  “I know what she runs!” he bellowed. His eyes were steaming with a father’s fear. I laid it on like deck lacquer as I went.

  “Good. I’m what’s called a recruiter. I get dirt on the girls so they can be blackmailed once they’re on the boat. Once you work for Cynthia, you always work for Cynthia. And if I’m not back on the Azure Mosaic by two-thirty, I’m not totally sure Denise will be back here at three.”

  “She’s not on that fucking yacht!”

  “The hell she isn’t. Watched her walk right onto the gangplank tonight. And not the first night, either.”

  The gun had slid from my eyes to my nose to my neck, getting more and more limp in his hands as I went on. I didn’t know where this was going, but didn’t care about anything but survival. One more push.

  “You ever think,” I started, “that maybe Denise—” and that was as far as I got.

  The gun dropped once more to my sternum, and I brought my right arm up and around in a wide arc, knocking his trigger hand loose and clamping my own onto the barrels just above the stock. He still had a worried-dazed look on his face when I sent my foot deep into the crotch of his silk pajamas. Both hands went to his gut, and he fell forward with a muffled grunt. I shouldered the gun, clicked the safety on, stepped on his neck, and rested the muzzle on the back of his head. Then I reached over and shut off the light.

  Trying to kill the nervous tremble in my voice, I said, “Can you hear me yet? I know that fucking smarts.”

  He wagged his head.

  “Good. Listen. I’m going to leave now. But first I want to kill some of your bad ideas. Don’t call the police. They’ll never catch me. If I get wind that they’re after me, trouble. Use that million-dollar brain of yours. I came once, I can come again. You know I’m not bloodthirsty or I would’ve just dusted you and split. I just came after some information. That’s my business. You understand business, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” he groaned.

  “I figured. That leads us to the good news. I didn’t find what I came for. Know what that means? It means Cynthia and Denise won’t be doing business. Now or ever. Your daughter’s safe.”

  I felt him take a deep breath and relax. A little.

  “Now, as one businessman to another, do you see any reason why I’d need to come back here?”

  A shake, no.

  “Right. You’re gonna stay here for a little while, right? Maybe read some, have a drink. Relax. You’ve been through a lot.” I paused for a moment for no reason.

  Then I jerked the gun away but kept my foot on his neck. “One more thing. Just in case you think I’m a thief, too, take a look around after I’m gone. Nothing’s missing.”

  I stepped down the hall, Robert Waterston’s labored breathing following me until I dropped the shotgun on his desk in the study, shut the door to the patio, and broke like a maniac for the fence and the parking lot and freedom.

  I had pretty much dried off by the time I took the long banking on-ramp from the 405 to the 110 North. The thoughts that had nagged me as I nervously cruised through the streets of Newport were slowly reasoned away. Rick would be pissed at the botch, but so what? Waterston wouldn’t call the cops, I was convinced—I had played the pimp-in-training to the hilt, and the most it would do is get that old whore Cynthia into deeper trouble. He had seen my face, but he’d also been shit-scared and slightly toxed, and I had been soaking wet.

  In all, I wasn’t too concerned.

  I should have been.

  Chapter 4

  Los Angeles is not a beautiful place. But the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen was there.

  I could feel my circuits overloading as I turned the key in my front door lock. It went too easily. I was so tired I couldn’t remember whether I’d locked it when I left for Corona del Mar. I could still taste and smell the gun oil on my face. My hands shook. I had a headache that was almost visible.

  The door was unlocked.

  I froze while my heart rate jumped and made my headache worse. Then I unscrewed the porch light bulb enough to snuff it, and eased the door open a crack.

  Li was there. Dancing.

  Low music was drifting through the room and she moved slowly, delicately, in and out of the shafts of dense purple light leaking in from the high windows. She didn’t seem to notice me step inside and push the door shut. The multiple bracelets she wore and the zippers on her jacket tinkled softly against each other as she flowed, with no real rhythm, slowly back and forth across the floor. Her naked feet made gentle swishing sounds against the bare wood. On a good day she was probably five-feet-one, but her tights-clad legs were long for her body, and the light and shadows seemed to stretch her out into a long, swaying form. She moved into a column of light and spun with agonizing slowness, her back arched, the ebony sheet of her hair soaking up the purple light and releasing it again as a dull blue glow. She came out of the spin and dropped the jacket off one shoulder, and I decided that was as much as I could take standing up.

  My hand was an inch from the light switch when she froze it with, “No. It’s so pretty, Bird. Leave it off.”

  She lowered into a cross-legged position in one of the shafts of light and pulled the stereo’s remote control from a shadow on the floor. She flicked it at the console and the low, dreamy tones of Philip Glass were replaced by Bryan Ferry crooning about nobody loving him.

  “How’d you get in?” I asked, wandering into the kitchen. It was just dark enough that I had to hunt for things by feel.

  “I sat outside for a while, looked for a key. Then I just tried the door. It was open. I didn’t figure you’d mind.”

  My hand curled around a coffee mug. I set it on the counter in front of me so I wouldn’t lose it, and peeled my jacket off and dropped it on the floor. I stretched until my back gave an audible pop, then fumbled for the mug and opened the fridge. I s
quinted at the milk and vodka before finally finding the coffee I’d put in the back last night. Or was it tonight? It distantly occurred to me that I didn’t know what day it was. I poured some of the cold coffee in the mug, shut the door, and waited for the light-blindness to pass.

  My silence was making Li uncomfortable. “So where you been?” she almost whispered.

  “I kind of don’t want to talk about it,” I said, trying not to sound mean. “I ran around and did some things for some people. I made a little money. Then I went and talked to an old friend of mine for a while, and now I’m here, glad to see you. Where have you been?”

  “I had dinner with Tanya, over at Canter’s.” She searched my face for a reaction. I didn’t care enough about Tanya to give her one, so she pushed it. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t hate my best friend so bad.” She tried to pout, but her features weren’t immature enough to carry it off.

  “Yeah, well,” I started, and then let it go. When Li didn’t add anything else, I finished, “It ain’t just one way, you know. I really don’t care about her, but she actively hates me.”

  Li nodded dejectedly. “Yeah, I guess. She says some pretty nasty things about you. You almost never mention her.”

  “She’s bad for business.”

  “That’s funny. She said you probably thought that about her.” She paused, considering something. “She thinks you sell out your friends. That you sell stuff people tell you for money.”

  I wandered back and forth through the dimness, sipping the cold coffee until it started to leave a film on my tongue. As I drifted into the kitchen I said, “Some things I do are not nice, Li. You know that. Know this, too: I don’t fuck my friends. Tanya and I don’t like each other and that’s fine. Some people just don’t get along. But if she ever needed me, I wouldn’t even blink. I’d be there. I respect her. I know she doesn’t respect me. And so what?”

  I dumped the tepid coffee into the sink and poured a shot of vodka into the mug. I meant to nurse it, but as soon as the taste was on my lips I sucked it all down in one gulp. I stood at the sink and massaged my neck muscles. Li came up and put her hands over mine and I let her try to knead the knots out of my shoulders. I said, “Thanks.” Then I pulled away from her and stumbled over to the bed. When I closed my eyes, what I saw looked like snow on a broken television.

  I could hear Li rustle softly around the room for a minute or two. I was too tired to wonder what she was doing. When her voice came again it was next to the bed.

  “You all right, Bird? You sound sick.”

  I could feel her standing there. I wasn’t sick, just physically and emotionally raw. I rolled over on my stomach and talked into the pillow. “Look, Li. You can stay here tonight if you want. You can stay here as long as you need to. I’m just tired as hell.”

  She didn’t move. The CD ended, and in the silence I heard her jacket rustle as she bent over and let her hair tickle the back of my neck. I rolled over under her touch and opened my eyes. “Li...”

  Before I could say whatever it was I was going to say, she peeled off her jacket and let it fall to the floor. The pale light from the windows washed over her in a dim splash. She was completely nude. There was nothing to do but stare, so I did.

  She didn’t say a word as she lay down next to me and put her head on my chest. My arms went around her automatically and hugged her gently, as I kissed the top of her head. The soft pressure of her breasts and belly against me was innocently exciting. I was used to girls taking what they wanted and then leaving. Li just silently asked and then waited.

  I moved my hands up the gentle furrow in the middle of her back and she arched, pressing herself into me even harder. I pulled her face up to mine and she looked serenely into my eyes, kissing each of them softly before settling onto my lips. She didn’t kiss as hard as I wanted her to. Her full lips brushed back and forth against mine, then pulled away, then returned. I softly bit one of them and she froze, then giggled and opened her eyes. At that moment, I would have done anything for her.

  I rolled over on top of her and she pushed her breasts out for me to kiss. I closed my lips around one dark, hard nipple and let her writhe and moan between my arms as I kissed back and forth between them. She didn’t say anything when I suddenly got off her, stood up, and started pacing back and forth next to the bed. She just rolled onto her side and stretched, effortlessly beautiful, totally confused. I looked away from her and said, “I don’t want to do this.”

  Her confused expression changed to disbelief and settled in to stay. I exhaled loudly, looking at the floor, the ceiling, anything but her. When I finally looked at her again, her smoldering brown eyes trapped me and she said, “You’re lying.”

  I gritted my teeth and said through them, “No, I’m not.”

  She fell onto her back and stared at the ceiling while I walked away from her and looked for a cigarette with shaky hands. I found one in the pocket of her jacket. It took me several tries to get it lit. “At least tell me why,” she said.

  I stood next to the far wall and told her the truth. “I don’t know. Sometimes...I don’t know.”

  My shirt was suddenly uncomfortable and I wrestled it off. My skin prickled as Li came up behind me and started kissing the small of my back. Without turning around I said, “Quit it, Li.” I had a hold of myself again.

  She stepped around in front of me. Thankfully, she had the bedspread wrapped around her tiny frame. “Are you seeing someone?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Then...am I ugly?”

  “Oh, Jesus,” I said, and wrapped my hand in my hair the way people do when what they want and what they have to do are two completely different things. I stepped away and sat back down on the edge of the bed. She stayed where she was beneath the high windows, the light from outside bathing her like it would be her friend for a while. I stared at the floor and said, “Li, you are probably the most physically beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I want to sleep with you so bad I can taste it. Did you know sometimes I can smell you? I’ll be standing in line somewhere, or I’ll be driving along, and suddenly there’s a scent, something in the air, and it’s you. Sometimes I can’t get you off my mind again for hours.” I laughed a little bit. “Some people, like Tanya, probably think I love you. You can tell them they’re right.”

  She smiled but didn’t move.

  “But there’s something about you, Li—something about us—that I think would be ruined if we had each other like this. And I’ve never felt that way about anyone. You know me, Li. I could care less about most people. But I’ve thought with my head and I’ve thought with my cock and my head is smarter. And I think this would be a monumental screw-up.” I stretched out on the bed. Li timidly stepped through the shadows. I said, “My offer to stay here still stands. You’re beautiful, Li, and I love you. But I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  She sat down, the bedspread still wrapped around her shoulders. Then she pulled it more tightly around herself and curled up next to me with her head on my chest. “I’m sorry.” She said softly.

  Putting my arms around her wasn’t any easier, but before my hormones could storm over my judgment, she was asleep.

  I lay awake for a while and tried to think through it. The only thing I could figure was that she felt she owed me something for bailing out her sister. I didn’t think about it too long or too hard. My head hurt badly enough already. And one way or another, I hadn’t slept next to anything so warm and comforting in a long, long time. I decided it was nice.

  My last thought before slipping under: Not many nice things in this town.

  Chapter 5

  Li was still sound asleep with her head on my chest when the phone rang at a quarter-to-nine. It didn’t wake her up. Without waiting for a hello from me, Caz said three words, “Coroner’s office. Now,” and hung up. I thought about not going, then rolled out of bed and stretched, waking Li.

  The morning sunlight was even more in love with her than the city light from
the night before. She turned over on her back and drew herself out in a luxurious stretch, and then I was sure I’d have to leave. She propped herself up on her elbows and said, “Was that the phone?”

  “Yeah. Go back to sleep. It’s early.”

  She smiled and softly said, “OK,” and went instantly back to sleep. Her slow, rhythmic breathing followed me around as I made coffee and then stepped out the door.

  If it weren’t for the sign next to the driveway, you would think the L.A. County Coroner’s office was an inner city bed-and-breakfast. The exterior is all red brick, with a dark brown round-shingled roof and friendly looking windows. Inside, it looks like any other stiffhouse: cold and gray and stainless.

  Caz was in the hallway beyond the ambulance entrance when I walked in. “There any coffee in this crypt?” I asked.

  She pulled out a cigarette as big around as a toothpick and lit it right underneath a red-and-white No Smoking sign. Then she pointed down the short hallway and said, “Right around that corner.”

  When I came back, Death House Masterblend firmly in hand, Gene Robinson was walking up behind Caz. He glanced at the cigarette, then at the sign, and decided it didn’t matter much.

  Gene is the weekend man at the County Coroner’s office, and I think his main job is to eat strange-smelling foods in front of visitors because that’s all I saw him do that morning. Gene doesn’t look like a stiff shuffler. With darkish blond hair cut in a garden-variety fraternity clip, beer-bottle brown eyes, the kind of lips that co-eds like to nibble on, and shoulders a little too narrow for his height, Gene looks like he belongs on a polo field. The only thing that gives him away is the waxy, light gray tinge of his skin that comes from spending too much time under sterile florescent lights. That, and the fact that in a room full of bruised, dismembered, and eviscerated corpses, he was fully involved with a grilled deli-combination sandwich from the Jack In The Box across the street. He hadn’t bothered to button the dirty blue smock he wore, and grease dripped ironically onto The Smiths/Meat Is Murder t-shirt he wore beneath it.