by Alan Lee
“There’s no robe invented yet to contain all my burly rough-hewn testosterone.”
“Try anyway.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Almost home.
I turned off Grandin and I yawned so big that I almost missed Kristin Payne. She was parked two blocks from my house, her car situated to provide a clear view of my driveway. Car off. No lights. Just waiting.
“I think Kix might be right about her,” I told myself and I pulled into a spot on the street and I got out.
Her eyes snapped onto me and she jumped in her seat. Busted! For a moment she panicked and thought about racing away but maturity won out. So instead she sat and stewed in her humiliation. I knocked on the passenger window and she unlocked the door and I climbed in.
“Having a stakeout?” I said. “You need the essentials. You need coffee and food, both sweet and salty, and most importantly you need a pee bottle.”
“A pee bottle. That’s disgusting, Mack.” Her head was propped on her elbow, which rested on the door. Her eyes were buried into her palm.
“Gonna pee on the neighbor’s bushes instead? That’s not disgusting?”
“I’m really embarrassed,” she said.
“As you should be, you scamp, spying on me.”
We were talking in the dark. Me looking at her, and her eyes closed. Our voices were compacted in the tiny space.
“It’s just you never call me. And I texted you and you said you were busy, and I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”
“You thought you’d do what I do for a living,” I said. “You wanted to gather more information before jumping to conclusions.”
“When you put it that way, I sound less pathetic.”
“That was not my intention.”
Finally she glanced my way. “Look how big you are. I can’t even see the seat. And your hair brushes the roof.”
“I’m swollen with goodwill. Having a good day.”
“At least one of us is,” she said. “I fucked up.”
“Perhaps your romantic notions aren’t as casual as you intimated, even to yourself.”
“I think you’re right about the sex. It got a lot less casual after that. I’m a worldly modern girl with an advanced education. Surely, I thought, I can fuck who I want and not think twice. What am I, after all, other than an intelligent mammal? If dogs can screw whoever they want then I can too.”
“Casual sex is a popular theory, espoused by savvy marketers and television writers. Seems to me that theory is only good for selling something. But again, this is based on anecdotal evidence. Not on objective facts.”
“Okay, so whatever, fuck it, I like you. Not casually.”
“Great. Let’s get dinner later this week,” I said.
“You’re not put off by my jealous and possessive behavior?”
“It doesn’t speak well for our future. But who knows.”
“You’re keeping me around to get your mind off the other girl,” she said. “Right?”
“Maybe. I don't want to lie to you about that.”
“It’s jarring being with a man who is so honest. Even when the honesty hurts,” she said.
“I don’t know how else to be.”
“You weren’t with that girl tonight?”
“I was not. She and I are not dating.”
“Are you dating anyone other than me?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then what’s my problem?”
“I don’t know. You’re too nosey, maybe?”
“Mack, can you do me a favor? Go home and pretend this didn’t happen. I’m going back to my place and sticking my head in the freezer.”
“Sure.” I got out and closed the door and gave her a wave. She started the car and drove off, gravel spitting under her tires.
It was best, I decided, if Kix didn’t hear about this.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I listened to Manny snore on my floor until 1:15am while I tossed fitfully. When I woke at 5:30am he was still going strong, the jerk.
I made coffee and eggs and bacon, and I got Kix out of bed when he called an hour and a half later. He ate dry cereal and pieces of a pear, and he rejected a bite of my eggs. He liked to eat with one hand and hold mine with his other. I did not discourage this arrangement.
“Nana peas,” he said, which meant, “Give me bananas this instant.”
“We don’t have any,” I told him. “Sorry kid.”
He shrugged and drank his milk.
Manny came down, yawning and scratching his stubble, which was sparse. The man was mostly hairless.
“Breakfast in the pan,” I said. “You should reheat it.”
“Don’t be bossy, señor.”
“Guess who Calvin Summer’s informant is,” I said. “You’ll never get it.”
“Ronnie’s secretary.”
“What the hell.”
“Remember, I staked that place out for you in the fall. Told you about the secretary. She too cute and perfect to be innocent.”
“You could have told me this ironclad reasoning weeks ago.”
He got coffee and cold eggs and salsa, and he sat down. “You get lazy. What will you do?”
“She’s long gone. Halfway to paradise by now. Later this morning I plan on getting beat up by Wayne.”
“Want some Hispanic reinforcement?”
“No. Got myself into this mess. I’ll get myself out of it.”
“You just want Ronnie think you’re tough.”
“Agreed.”
It was after 8:00am. I went into the other room and called Calvin.
He answered and said, “This better be good, August. I’m next up on the tee box.”
“Golfing? But it’s chilly.”
“What do you want.”
“I got your informant.”
“Holy shit. Okay, hold on a second.” In the background I heard him making an excuse and then the rattle of a motor. Pulling his golf cart out of line. “I’m ready.”
“It’s Ronnie’s receptionist.”
“Ronnie’s receptionist? What’s her name, Natalie? You sure?”
“Natasha. Meet me there in an hour. Ronnie’s out of the office today,” I said.
“Jesus. My fucking attorney’s receptionist.”
“Ronnie didn’t tell her. It was your email. Meet me in an hour.”
“I’ll be there. What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. I’m not a mob hit man,” I said.
“Then how do I handle this?”
“Bring Wayne.”
“What am I paying you for?”
“To find your informant. Which I’ve done. I’ll explain how, when you arrive.”
“Fine.” He hung up.
I went back into the kitchen.
“But the informant is already gone,” Manny noted.
“Indeed.”
“He gonna be angry, amigo.”
“I have that effect,” I said. “But at least he’ll be angry at me. Or at Wayne. Not at Natasha and not at Ronnie.”
“You not going to last in organized crime. Too soft.”
“Who says I want to be in organized crime?” I asked.
“Maybe best don’t take their dinero in the future.”
“I only took it because his daughter smiled at me. Does that help?”
“Ask him and see. What will you do?” he asked.
“Sometimes, when there are no good options, it’s best to absorb the punishment instead of dishing it out.”
“Estupido.”
“She’s worth it,” I said.
“Who? Ronnie or the receptionist?”
“Both.”
* * *
Wayne arrived first. He sat in his monster truck with a camouflage ball cap and sunglasses on, staring straight ahead. Ten minutes later Calvin Summers pulled into the parking lot in his silver Lexus. My shiny Honda lost a bit of its sheen by comparison.
All three of us exited our v
ehicles at the same time.
Like in a movie about tough guys.
“The secretary in there?” Calvin said.
“Haven’t checked. Ronnie said she should be.”
“Where’s Veronica?” he asked.
“Out on business.”
Wayne coughed out a plug of tobacco. He spat a few times and said, “Told you I wasn’t the informant, motherfucker.”
I held up my hands — oops, silly me.
Calvin said, “We’re going in. The three of us will put her into the back of my car and Wayne will ride with me.” He was nervous. Didn’t like it. Plus he was doing it wrong. This should be done at night, not during the day in the city. “Let’s go,” he said.
Ronnie’s office was on the second floor. We marched up and found the door unlocked. Calvin looked at us for reassurance and he pushed into the office.
It was, of course, empty.
Calvin went into Ronnie’s office and came out. “Where is she?”
Wayne checked the bathroom and conference room. No Natasha. I watched from the door.
A frustrated Calvin went behind Natasha’s desk and kicked at the swivel chair. “Fucking waste of time.” He glared at her desk and at the stacks of papers, hands on hips.
“She ain’t here,” Wayne said. He scoffed at me. “Thanks for the brilliant idea.”
Calvin’s gaze dropped to Natasha’s keyboard. And the note on top. He picked it up and read it. Then read it again. “What the hell.”
Wayne said, “What? What is it?”
“Is this a joke? Is this even her handwriting?” Calvin picked up Natasha’s notepad to compare the script. “This is her handwriting.”
“What’s it say?” Wayne asked.
Calvin was turning a shade of crimson. Staring at the note.
“Summers,” Wayne said. “What is it?”
He spoke slowly. “This is a note from the receptionist. She admits she passed the fucking email to the government.”
Wayne made a whistling sound.
“And that she’s fled the country,” Summers continued.
Wayne and I both grunted.
“Girl knows what’s good for her,” Wayne said.
“She also says you’re stealing from me, Wayne,” Calvin said.
“Bullshit.”
“She says so. Right here. Why would she say that, Wayne?”
“Lemme see the note,” Wayne said, reaching for the paper. Summers pulled it out of his reach. We all stood in close proximity. The reception area had grown smaller with three grown men around the desk.
“This true, Wayne?” Summers asked.
“Of course not.”
I cleared my throat and said, “I humbly disagree.”
Calvin’s eyes shifted to me. There was the hint of a dangerous man underneath. That he was more than a simple rich white guy. “Talk, August.”
“August don’t know shit,” Wayne said.
“Wayne has a side business he hasn’t told you about,” I said. “I confirmed it two days ago. And that’s the reason your informant has fled.”
Wayne had gone still. He towered over Calvin. Had I not been there, this would be the point when Wayne beat him to death.
“Side business? What side business?” Calvin asked.
“Prostitution.”
“Prostitution? The fuck. So you’re a pimp?”
“Not a pimp,” Wayne said. “I run girls around the county. Don’t mean I steal. Proves nothing.”
“What’s this got to do with me?” Calvin asked. “I don’t care if Wayne’s selling girls.”
“Two things,” I said. “I got two people saying Wayne steals from everyone. Including you, because you’re too hands-off.”
“Fuck you, I don’t steal.”
“You’ve got a safe full of cash in your basement says otherwise.”
“My basement?” Wayne trembled with anger. This was the tricky part. If Wayne was smart he’d play it cool, act like that was legitimate profit.
“Wayne?” Summers asked. “What cash?”
“You fucking went into my basement.”
“I took pictures too,” I said helpfully. “Also you need a dehumidifier down there. I worry about black mold.”
“You’re a dead man, August.”
“Nuh-uh. I don’t have black mold.”
“Wayne, this true?” Summers said. “What the fuck.”
“He’s right, Wayne. Black mold is not something you want to ignore.”
Calvin said, “August, shut up with the mold. So Wayne’s stealing. He’s got a safe full of my cash in his basement. After all I’ve done for him.”
“He’s skimming off the marijuana and moonshine profits,” I said.
Wayne glared murder at me. It was daunting. I was terribly daunted.
Scummy guy like him should have denied it, but he was too stupid. He thought he’d been caught red-handed but in reality I had no proof. So he stayed quiet and admitted his guilt.
“What’s the other thing?” Summers asked. “You said there were two things.”
“The other thing is your informant. Wayne had the brilliant idea to hire Natasha Gordon’s sister.”
“Who’s Natasha Gordon?”
I picked up the nameplate. “Ronnie’s receptionist. Wayne hired her sister.”
“What, as a hooker?”
“Yes. Alicia Gordon. That’s how I discovered Natasha was your informant. Natasha got your incriminating email and she examined it. She also thought you were her sister’s pimp because Alicia worked at your trailer parks. She couldn’t get her sister to quit, so she thought maybe if you went to jail then the business would dry up and Alicia would come clean. Little did she know that Wayne was the pimp and not you.”
“So I went to jail,” Calvin said, “because Wayne is a pimp.”
“To be fair, the tax evasion didn’t help.”
Wayne hit me. Give him credit, the man hit quick. And his fists were the size of bowling balls. I was ready for it and he still landed.
I rocked backwards into the wall, chimes going off.
He fished for his gun. Idiot had it hidden under his long checkered shirt.
Even dazed I got mine out first. Thumbed off the safety with a sexy click.
“Damn it, Wayne,” I said. He held up his hands. Couldn’t get his gun in time. “That’s twice you got me. This face pays the bills.”
“Put away your gun and hit me back, motherfucker.”
“I’m going to.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Draw your gun with two fingers and set it on the table. If you use three fingers I’ll shoot you in the shoulder just like I shot your boy Parks.”
Summers said, “Parks?”
“Wayne sent some guys to kill me. He got worried I was near the truth.”
“What happened?”
“I discouraged them,” I said.
“And shot one of them in the shoulder?”
“Parks was quite discouraged,” I said.
“So now what? You two idiots hit each other, find out who’s the toughest?”
“Essentially.”
“Why?”
“We’re sophisticated gentlemen,” I said, wincing against the pain gathering in my cheekbone.
“August, sometimes I wish you’d cut the bullshit and give a straight answer,” Summers said.
“Wayne’s sucker punched me twice. I told him not to do it again. Now he learns a hard lesson.”
“What if he wins?” Calvin asked.
“Then we’re both in trouble.”
Calvin set his .45 on Natasha’s desk, using two fingers as directed. “Good?”
“Good,” I said.
I hit him with my left hand, the hand not holding my gun. A short pop under his eye. He staggered back and I slipped my gun into its holster.
My blood pumped hot and my focus winnowed down to his hands and face.
Calvin picked up Wayne’s gun and held it awkwardly, like holding a fish.
>
Wayne swung at me and I caught it on the back of my left arm and I hit him again. A straight right that caught him in the nose and he bled immediately. I tried for a left hook but he bulldozed through, picked me up around the waist and dropped me hard onto Natasha’s desk. Calvin jumped into the corner and the desk splintered and broke and both of us fell through. The computer monitor landed hard beside my head. I lay on my back and he on top and I hit him again and again, hammer strokes from each side into his ears and cheekbones. He roared and raised up and clenched his fists together and brought them down simultaneously. Wayne had never fought MMA before, didn’t know how to wrestle on the floor. I took the blow on my shoulder and it didn’t hurt like he intended. I kneed him in the groin. Then I doubled the same knee up and kicked him off. He fell back and groaned and rolled in pain. The room had gotten smaller and hotter.
I got to my feet, breathing heavy. Some of the fight had gone out from him. Both his ears and cheeks were bleeding and so was his nose. He tried to rush me again. More of a drunken fall. I kneed him in the face and brought around a right hook. A solid connection that nearly broke my knuckles. He fell into his face. Tried to get up but couldn’t.
“Now we understand each other, Wayne,” I said between pants, echoing his words from that day at the moonshine still. “That’s how it’s gonna be.”
Calvin held out Wayne’s pistol. “Here. Kill the bastard with his own gun.”
“I’m not a hit man, Summers.”
“You work for me, damn it.”
“Used to. You hired me to find out who sent you to jail. Case closed. It was Natasha and Alicia and Wayne. Now we’re done. You want him dead you’ll have to get your hands dirty this time.”
“I’m not killing him. How much for you to do it? Kill him and dispose of the corpse. Name your price.”
“I won’t kill him for you. I didn’t even beat him up for you. That was for me.”
“What do we do with him?” he asked.
Wayne groaned something from the thin carpet.
“We don’t do anything. I was you, I’d let him go. Call Marcus Morgan, see what he advises.”
“Good idea. Yeah, I’ll call Marcus.”
“You hear that, Wayne?” I called. “Local mafioso is going to hear about you. If you’re smart you’ll get in your truck and find a different county to ruin. Not Floyd, because Clay Fleming doesn’t like you.”
