TO DIE FOR

by Sandra Ruttan

  “You sure you’re in the right office?”

  “You’re a private investigator?”

  “Yeah.” No point denying it. It said so on the door.

  “You’re Micky Rickards aren’tcha?”

  I swallowed. “Uh huh.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. If I’d been in a back alley I’d have been looking for a two-by-four. Or a broken bottle.

  “Then you’re the bitch I’m lookin’ for.”

  “So let me get this straight. You,” I looked him over before staring him in the eye and continuing, “need me to whack someone for you.” Like, what the fuck, buddy? You can’t whack somebody yourself? “What makes you think I’d do that?”

  He straightened up, reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope.

  It landed on the desk in front of me.

  “The reason you’ll do it, and the guy you’ll whack. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He leered at me. “Give you a chance to think it over.”

  He turned and stomped out of the office, leaving me with a hole to patch in the wall and a bad feeling.

  Should I? Shouldn’t I? The debate was almost over before it began. Once I had my gloves on I tore the seal off the envelope and dumped the contents out on my desk.

  And suddenly felt like I’d just swallowed a boat anchor.

  Oh shit. I’m fucked.

  ***

  There were two photos inside the envelope. The first one sent me reeling back thirteen years, when I’d been a scrawny teenager with a bad attitude and a cocaine habit. Will Van Noppen, had been my supplier.

  The other guy was Johnny Johnson. Obviously the product of unimaginative parents.

  And the reason for the big mess I found myself in now.

  ***

  “Is he gone?” Enrique sounded like someone wearing steel-plated stilettos had just kicked him in the crotch.

  I looked up to see my assistant blowing his nose as he stood in the doorway. Whenever I had a cold I ended up with a scratchy voice a few octaves lower than usual. Instead, Enrique sounded like someone was pinching his privates.

  Yeah.” I stood up, shoved half the papers from the envelope in my locking desk drawer, grabbed my leather jacket off the back of my chair, twisted the key and pulled it out of the drawer’s lock. “I’m going out.”

  His left hand landed on his hip just as he jutted his lower body out into what I liked to call The Pose. It was the “Hmpph, you’re so difficult” stance that got thrown at me on a daily basis for everything from the way I chewed my fingernails to how tight my jeans were to why I never wore a dress or make up, or ‘Did you see that guy’s ass? Yummy.’

  Being a free country I figured Enrique has as much right to inspect the backsides of passerby as the next person. I just didn’t want to hear about it.

  “What if he comes back?”

  “He won’t. Nothing to worry about,” I said as I snatched the envelope and papers off my desk.

  “Will you be gone long?”

  “Could be. Probably have to go to the airport.”

  “Stay off Columbia. They’ve got a speed trap set up near the Queensborough Bridge. I just got a ticket last week and it was over two hun…”

  I shook my head. “The other airport.”

  Enrique’s eyes widened. “Oh. You know, I should write a letter and complain. They’ve got a bunch of construction vehicles parked on the side of the road in those windy bits. Really dangerous. Someone takes a corner too fast and…”

  “What do you think? I’m tearing through the streets, trying to cause an accident?” I sighed. “Look, thanks, I’ll watch out for it.”

  Once I closed the door behind me I stuffed the rest of the papers in my inside coat pocket, reached behind me and pulled out my gun. I checked to make sure the clip was full and jogged down the stairs,

  ***

  It didn’t take me long to get to the seedy four-level apartment building where Twitch Van Noppen was staying. After I parked I glanced through the papers one last time, then tossed them in the glove compartment.

  Twitch had moved in a few months ago and was supposed to be staying out of trouble, laying low. Except he was on the top floor, with a bird’s eye view to the street and the alley and a distinct advantage if anyone came around looking for him.

  And based on the information Angus had dropped on my desk, Twitch had been doing more than bird-watching from his perch. I knew where he was because I always knew where he was. The old ‘keep your friends close, you enemies closer’ idea. Not that he was an enemy, exactly. But he knew stuff that could get me into trouble, and he’d done me a big favour once. So it looked like while I’d been helping him hide out from another bookie for two months, only to have him rack up a new debt with Angus Campbell.

  “What’re you doin’ here?” he muttered when he opened the door and saw me standing on the landing.

  “We need to talk.”

  His frown deepened. “About what?” He was two inches shorter than me, wiry, with scraggly brown hair and a shoddy attempt at a beard filling in a few patches of skin on his face.

  “You really want to do this out here?” I shoved past him and quickly surveyed the one-bedroom apartment. The kitchen was littered with crusted plates and the odor reminded me of Fat Man from my office. “Jesus, Twitch. Ever heard of soap?”

  “I’ve got an allergy. My whole hand breaks out with hives. And then any part of my skin I touch.”

  “Can’t have that. You’d have to give up your one extra-curricular activity.”

  He pushed his mouth up into a grin, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it had materialized. Twitch shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back, scratching at his arms as though the hoodie he wore concealed the welts he’d referred to.

  But I had a pretty good idea what the zip-up hooded sweater was really hiding. And it had nothing to do with allergies and sensitive skin.

  I took a step forward and stared down at him, glaring down at him. “How much you using?”

  He gulped and looked away. I grabbed his chin and twisted his face to make him look at me. “Pack a bag. Now.”

  “Why?” His eyes quadrupled in size.

  “Because you’ve been shooting your mouth off and you’ve got me into trouble.” I let go of his face and went to the hall closet, grabbed a duffle bag and tossed it at him. “Now pack your clothes.”

  “Wh-where’m I goin’?”

  “To the airport. I’m buying you a one-way ticket out of the country.”

  He licked his chapped lips and then swallowed. “Wh-who told you?”

  “That you’ve been talking about me? Try the fucking Scottish mob,” I said as I followed him into his bedroom.

  “There’s a Scottish mob?”

  “Yeah, the Tartan terrors. Trust me, you don’t want to see what’s under their kilts.” I watched him roll up the few items of clothing he had, tripping over a mirror with a spoon and a razor on top of it. He nicked his toe on the blade and blood spurted out onto the carpet.

  “Shit! My damage deposit.”

  “Forget that. You aren’t coming back to collect it.”

  Twitch zipped up the duffle bag. “You can’t make me leave for good, Mick.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and glared at him. “To hell I can’t. You want to know what happened to me today, Twitch? Do you?” I stepped towards him, careful to kick the mirror and accessories out of the way so I wouldn’t trip on them. I didn’t want his drug-infested crap getting wedged into the soles of my shoes.

  “This fat fuck storms into my office and tells me I’m going to kill somebody for him,” I said as I grabbed Twitch’s arm, his left arm, right in his preferred shooting zone. I barely had to touch him to make him squeal. “Why do you suppose he thinks I’m capable of murder?”

  Twitch stared at me, his mouth hanging open, the second time that day I’d had a chance to ingest rotten air.

  “And just who do you think Angus Campbell wants me to kill
, Twitch?”

  He swallowed and closed his eyes, lifting a trembling hand to his forehead, scratching an invisible sore.

  “You’re right. Uh, thanks Mick, thanks.” He followed me downstairs and outside.

  Up ‘til then I’d been working off the sheer adrenaline, the annoyance, of having my ass on the line.

  Which may explain why I’d neglected all my training on the way over.

  It wasn’t until I unlocked the doors of my jeep that I finally recognized the niggling little voice in the back of my head that had been trying to get my attention. You know how it is. We’ve all got those voices. Good angel tellin’ us what we should do, the little devil tellin’ us to do what we want to do, and the voice of self-preservation that only comes out to scream in our ears. That’s who I heard this time. Only I was getting the message too late.

  “So,” a voice hissed in my ear as I opened the back passenger door and tossed Twitch’s bag on the seat. “You skipping out on our deal?”

  I turned to see Twitch dangling from Angus Campbell’s grip, sputtering as the fist around his throat tightened.

  “What? You think I’d whack Twitch in his place? So that all the unemployed neighbors could ID me?” Twitch’s eyes were wide as saucers. Smart wasn’t his strong suit, but I hoped to hell he had enough sense to keep his big mouth shut.

  For once.

  But then if he’d done that before, we might not be in this mess.

  Angus Campbell sneered. “Don’t think you’re putting that one over on me.”

  “Then let’s take him back upstairs and kill him.”

  "Mick!” Twitch squealed.

  “You’re such a smartass,” Angus said. “Why come today, huh? I told you I’d come see you tomorrow.” “Thought you’d rather hear the job was done already.”

  Angus laughed. “That’s the best you can do? Pretty sloppy for a PI. I had no trouble following you here.”

  Shit. “Maybe that’s because I had nothing to hide.”

  He grabbed my arm and dragged us around the vehicle, opened the back door first and shoved Twitch in. Angus grabbed Twitch’s arm, handcuffed it and attached the cuff to the upper handle, the one above the window that you hold on to when you’re 4x4ing.

  After he pushed me into the driver’s seat Angus clamped another handcuff around my left wrist, and attached the other end to the steering wheel.

  When Angus got into the front passenger seat, he twisted towards the door as he reached back with his left hand and pulled out his gun. “Where were you going?”

  “I told you. To kill him.” I don’t know why I bothered.

  Angus leaned over the seat and fired once. The shriek from the backseat, was matched by the sight of Twitch’s face in the rearview mirror, contorting with agony, tears streaming down his face.

  “Now,” Angus said, leaning back into the seat. “Where were you going?”

  “The airport.”

  “Then let’s go.” He waited until I’d put the jeep into drive and pulled out onto the street. “And don’t try anything dumb.”

  Seemed to me like I’d used up my stupid quota for the day. Maybe even a month’s worth. Being baited into coming here like a complete amateur. Not even thinkin’ I’d be followed.

  Twitch’s damn drug habit had always been his weak spot. I knew if he ever spilled his guts about me killing Johnny Johnson it would be when he was high or in desperate need of a fix.

  And after all these years he’d gotten behind with the wrong guy and had tried to barter his way out with information. Only it had backfired.

  ***

  Johnny Johnson had leered at me much the same way Angus Campbell did now. I almost felt bad about what happened. Not because I defended myself when he wouldn’t take no for an answer. But a screwdriver in the throat was excessive. He’d yelped and his eyes had gotten this…this look, a vile, bitter stare. Like he knew he was going to die and was going to do his damnedest to take me with him.

  I had the bruises, had the claw marks, had the torn skirt and shirt. If it wasn’t for the dusting of cocaine sitting on the table and the dilated pupils, I might’ve called the police.

  Johnny had yanked the screwdriver out of his neck and took a swing at me, knocking me backwards. Then he wobbled as he fell down on one knee, which is probably the only reason he didn’t manage to stab me back. I grabbed the nearest thing, not even thinking about what it was, until he got up and lunged again.

  And I jabbed the pliers into his nuts and squeezed and twisted until it was only the echo of screams I was listening to, Johnny’s body already cooling off on the concrete floor beside me.

  That’s when Twitch had shown up. We used to meet at this old, abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere, which is why nobody heard Johnny screech. Twitch didn’t want to call the police, probably influenced by the fact that he was my supplier back then.

  We got rid of Johnny, made sure we did it so that nobody would ever find him. After all, when you’re hemmed in between the mountains and the ocean, there are plenty of places to dump a body where it will never be found.

  That was the night I sobered up and went off the drugs cold turkey. I’d been clean ever since.

  Something I was coming to terms with as I drove. Oh, I knew I was as good as dead. Angus was going to do Twitch and then take his time with me before putting a bullet in the back of my skull because he was convinced I was going to double-cross him. Twitch and I would end up on the bottom of the Pacific, or maybe the Fraser River, weighed down with enough concrete to make sure we never saw the surface again.

  That’s what I was thinking about when I blew through a red light. In my defense, it had only just turned red. Just as I entered the intersection. But it was enough for four lanes of traffic to lay on their horns and attract the attention of an unmarked police car pulled over by a coffee shop.

  As I glanced in the rearview mirror I could see Angus shaking his head. “You stupid little bitch. Don’t think you can get out of this. As soon as I tell my crew, you’ll be dead.”

  “I thought your crew sent you.” I was scrambling to remember everything that had been in the envelope. The proof he knew I’d killed Johnny Johnson. The order for me to kill Twitch. A bunch of bills that had something to do with money Twitch owed, money someone had fronted to him for his gambling debts…

  “You vouched for Twitch and when he didn’t pay up you decided to have him whacked to save your skin? Why drag me into it?” The car was getting closer. The officer on the passenger side was reaching, presumably for their light so they could signal to pull me over. I glanced at Angus.

  “Having you in my debt could be,” he licked his lips, “beneficial.”

  Oh, Christ. I really didn’t have much to lose. Live and be on the hook to this sick fucker, or just go straight to hell. Which suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

  The blare of the siren jolted my attention back to the road. Behind me, I heard Twitch mutter, “Oh thank God.”

  “Don’t think you’ll get out of this so easily,” Angus Campbell said.

  I looked at the handcuffs, thought of Twitch bleeding in the backseat from a gunshot wound. “This isn’t exactly going to end up a routine traffic stop.”

  Angus unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over the seat. In the rearview mirror I couldn’t see much besides the overflowing cheeks glistening with the red and blue lights reflecting off the pale skin and quickly averted my eyes. Twitch started off with a “Hey,” as I heard the sound of a zipper opening and then Twitch said, “What the…”

  “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll stuff it down your throat.”

  Angus sat back down and looked at his bloodstained hands, shrugged and wiped them on his jeans. Then he put his gun into the compartment of the console between us.

  “No problem,” he said with a shrug. “We’re rushing our friend to the hospital. He’s been shot. And the next time I come looking for you, I’ll bring friends.”

  That wasn’t an idle threat. If there was one th
ing I’d heard about Angus Campbell, it was that he never left a job undone.

  The sound of the siren, finally engaged, and the flash of lights in the rearview mirror were followed by a grunt from Angus. The cops were still six or seven cars back, but traffic was moving slower than usual. What was it Enrique had said earlier?

  The light ahead was already yellow. Yanking hard on the steering wheel, I made a sharp turn into the inside lane and accelerated, entering as the light turned red.

  Behind me, I could see the flow of traffic had stopped the police car from reaching the intersection, the cars between honking as drivers twisted and turned, trying to figure how to get out of the police car’s way.

  I had just enough time. I could see what I was looking for, just up ahead.

  We were going into the bend and I didn’t straighten out. The metal pole with the construction sign cracked through the windshield. I heard the screech of metal on metal, like someone dragging their fingernails across a piece of steel and one last scream as the sign smacked Angus’s head into a jelly pancake on the headrest.

  The jeep skidded and I pulled on the emergency brake. We spun around and ended up with the back end propped up on the far side of the embankment, the nose of the jeep down in the ditch.

  Angus’s face was a mess of fractured tissues and blood oozing out onto the upholstery. Remarkably, he was still moaning softly, on his way out of this life and into oblivion. Or hell, if there is a God.

  As I reached towards him, I groaned, realizing how hard I’d been thrown against the seatbelt. Enough to bruise, though I didn’t think anything was broken.

  I fished the gun out of the console and reached for Angus’s left hand, already tainted with gunshot residue. His breath came in deep, labored gulps and there was no resistance as I turned the gun to his head and pulled his finger against the trigger, forcing the gun to fire.