by Frank Zafiro
“I dated a guy named Erik Yeager about eleven years ago. I’d just turned twenty. He was a few years older.” She ran her fingers through my chest hair. “I let him talk me into things. Maybe I wanted to do them. I don’t know.”
She was quiet for a moment, then went on.
“A few pictures was all at first. Then he convinced me to let him videotape us having sex. He said we’d erase it afterward.”
Lies, I thought. The check is in the mail. I love you. And I promise not to come in your mouth.
I said nothing.
“I thought he did erase it. Even after we broke up, I figured the tape was gone and all he had were a few pictures of me in sexy poses. One topless, that was the worst of it.” She sighed. “Until about a month ago.”
“He contacted you?”
“He sent me a DVD.”
“Of the sex.”
“Yeah. From the videotape.”
“Why’d he send it to you?”
She burrowed her head into my chest. “Blackmail.”
“How’s that?”
“He wants five thousand dollars or he’ll post it on the Internet.”
The Internet. My mind flashed to the case that landed me in jail and the shady fucks I’d rescued Kris from. If that experience was any indication, the Internet was full of videos like Cassie’s. Or worse.
“Is that all?”
She shook her head. “No. He said he’d send the link to everyone at the hospital I work at.”
Son of a bitch.
“I’ll lose my job,” she said. “It’s a religious hospital. They won’t want to deal with the scandal.”
“You could get a job at a different hospital,” I offered. “Nurses are in demand.”
“I could. But I like it there. It’s a good job. Besides, it isn’t just the job.”
“Then what?”
She paused. “It’s hard to describe.”
“Try.”
She heaved a sigh. Her breath blew across my chest in a hot rush. “When I was young, I felt differently about things. Sex was just sex. Love was a myth. Everything was for fun.”
“And now?”
“Now?” She sighed again. “Now, I just know that there should be a certain dignity to it. Some kind of meaning. Not trotted out onto the Internet for some horny perverts to look at and…”
“Can you pay him?”
She snorted. “No. I’m up to eyeballs in student loans and it’s expensive to live in Seattle.”
“Did you try to reason with him at all? Offer less money?”
She nodded. “I offered fifteen hundred. He said no.”
He should’ve taken the deal.
“What are you going to do, then?” I asked, though I knew what the answer would be.
But she didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
Erik Yeager’s house was a California split-entry on the fringe of the Hillyard neighborhood. Beyond a haphazardly shoveled walkway, there were no signs of habitation. The windows were absent of Christmas decorations.
I knocked, reverting to the authoritative rapping of a police officer, even though those days were more than a decade behind me.
A red-headed man without a shirt opened the door. Flaccid nipples hung from his soft chest above a roll of fat at his middle. “Yeah?”
“Erik Yeager?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Cassie,” I said.
His eyes narrowed. “What about her?”
“You think we should talk about blackmail out here in front of you neighbors?”
His glanced darted left and right. “You got the cash?”
“Let me inside.”
He pursed his lips for a moment, then swung the door open and stepped aside.
“Lead the way,” I told him.
He gave me an irritated look, but turned and stomped up the stairs.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Almost immediately, the gamey scent of body odor assaulted my nostrils. There was another smell, too. I’d encountered it when I’d done walkthroughs of the dirty book arcades. That was years ago, but there’s no forgetting the pungent stench of stale come.
Yeager stood in the center of his living room, his arms crossed in front of his flabby chest. “You got the money?” he asked again.
“No,” I said.
“Then why are you here?”
“To negotiate.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’m a friend of Cassie’s.”
He studied me for a moment, then smiled. “You’re banging her, aren’t ya?”
I didn’t answer.
He took my silence as affirmation. “She still a hot number?” he asked. “Because she was a fine piece of ass back when I had her.”
I ground my teeth. “Listen-”
He leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “Cause ya know I had her first, don’chya? Had her when she was a ripe young thing. Had her every which way you can imagine, too.”
“Shut up.”
He leered at me. “She still give good head?”
“Do you want to work out a deal or not?” I gritted through a clenched the jaw.
His leer spread into a greasy smile. “Does she still like to take it in the-”
I hit him.
I didn’t plan it, but the smug look on his face and the image of him and Cassie together was just too much. I lashed out with my left hand before I even thought about it. My hand curled into a fist on its way toward the center of his face. I drove that fist into the tip of his nose, smashing it. Blood exploded from his nostrils.
Yeager squealed. His hands flew to his face. I threw my right as a reflex, stepping into the hook punch and catching him low in the gut. My fist powered through the roll of fat with a slap. Yeager grunted and sank to a knee.
I didn’t hesitate. The left came back across, landing on his jaw, right on the knockout button. This time he didn’t make a noise, but his eyelids fluttered and he fell forward to the carpet with a thud.
I stood stock-still in his living room for a moment, staring down at his unmoving body. The coppery smell of blood mixed with the putrid odors already dominating the air. Then I looked around. The far wall was dominated by a computer desk. Wild lines drew themselves randomly against the dark background of the computer monitor. Next to the desk, I spotted a bookshelf full of videotapes and DVDs.
Yeager groaned and stirred.
I strode to the bookshelf. Many of the movies were commercial titles I recognized. Some were obvious porn titles. On the third shelf, nearest to the desk, I found a series of homemade labels. Each label had a name. The fifth one was Cassie.
“You son of a bitch,” Yeager muttered in a thick voice.
The DVD cover showed a much younger Cassie, arms in air and topless. I ground my teeth and slid it into the inside pocket of my bomber jacket.
“Take it,” Yeager said. “I’ll just make another one.”
He looked at me from his knees, one hand pressed against his nose to staunch the bleeding. His eyes remained smug.
I’d have to destroy the computer file. I touched the computer mouse, exiting the screensaver. A password request popped up.
“What’s the password?” I demanded.
“Fuck you,” he said.
I stepped toward him and drove the point of my boot into his stomach. He folded over, retching. I stepped to the side to avoid the vomit. My bad knee throbbed.
When he’d caught his breath, Yeager began to laugh. He looked up at me, blood streaming from his nose. “You can beat on me if you want. Maybe I’ll eventually tell you my password. But then you’ll have to find the file. And even if you do, it’s backed up online.”
I stared down at him, processing what he’d said.
“You think I’m stupid?” he asked me. “Now where’s my fucking money?”
I shook my head slowly. “She doesn’t have it.”
His eyes bur
ned into me. “Then she’ll be the star of the Internet.”
“How about if she just calls the cops?”
“How about if I call them on you?” he sneered.
I considered that. Right now, I couldn’t prove the blackmail, but he could easily prove that I assaulted him.
He shook his head and spit on the carpet. “If the cops were an option, she’d have called them already.”
He was right, but I didn’t want to show it. “Then maybe she’ll just sue your ass. Take your shitty little house.”
He laughed harder. “Now that’d be real quiet, huh? A public lawsuit?”
I lowered my voice. “If you don’t delete those files and destroy the DVDs, I’ll come back and visit you.”
His laughter turned hysterical. Fresh droplets of blood flew from his mouth as he howled. “Oh, that’s good, that’s good.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. His mood swings were lunatic. “I’m serious,” told him.
His laughter melted away. “Oh, I hope so. Because next time I’ll be waiting for you with a little friend.”
We stood there, not speaking. I glanced around the room to see if he had a gun stashed anywhere nearby. The hum of the computer fan was the loudest thing in the room. When I looked back at him, he glowered darkly. I noticed that all the smashing I’d done hadn’t knocked that smugness off his face.
“What do you want?” I finally asked.
“Five thousand dollars,” he said, and grinned at me.
“Asshole,” I said. “You shoulda taken the fifteen hundred.”
I walked past him and out the door.
On the way home, I pulled in next to a dumpster. I removed the picture from the sleeve of the DVD case and tore it into small bits. Then I snapped the DVD into pieces and threw it all away.
I wanted to see her again. I wanted to kiss her, hold her, love her. But I knew I wouldn’t. I’d failed her. And she’d be humiliated because of it. I knew from experience that you can live through humiliation, but she didn’t.
Until she figured that out, if she ever did, she’d remain lost to me.
I called her on the phone. She listened to my words and hung up quietly. I stayed on the line a little longer, listening to the dial tone until it became an insistent, harsh beep. Then I hung it up and was alone with the thickness in my throat and the unbidden tears.
Shae & Laddie
Shae
“My name is Charity and welcome back to the program.” The woman’s voice on the radio was silky sweet. “We have another caller on the line. Micah, is it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” a younger woman, maybe even just a girl, answered.
“Welcome to the show. What song did you want to request?”
There was some hesitation. Maybe a sniffle.
I scratched the stubble on the side of my face and took a sip of whiskey from the glass in my other hand. I held the liquid in my mouth, listening.
“Micah?” the hostess asked. “You all right, honey?”
The sniffle turned into a short sob.
I swallowed. The liquid burned my throat.
“I’m sorry,” Micah told the hostess. “It’s just…oh, I hate Valentine’s Day.”
I stared down into my glass and the bag of money beside it. I knew how she felt.
The job was supposed to easy, and quick. They all are. Somewhere between what they’re supposed to be and what eventually happens, things get fucked up. Usually it’s something small and I’m able to adapt to it. Like some general on the History Channel said, no plan ever survives contact with the enemy. A true soldier adapts.
Shae was a go with the flow type of woman anyway. When I laid out the plan for her, she only half-listened to me. I had to raise my voice twice to get her attention and even then, I don’t think she really heard every detail. For her, it was easy. Walk in, point the gun, get the money, and walk out. Everything else was flexible.
Well, it wasn’t.
I’d like to say the whole thing would’ve gone like clockwork if we’d just stuck to my plan, but that would be a lie. Things came up that I hadn’t planned for. I mean, how do you account for what customers will be in a bank at any given time? You can’t. And if one of those customers happens to be a police detective in plain clothes, depositing his paycheck, how do you plan for that?
Go with the flow, baby. That’s what Shae would’ve said.
The flow.
It was a flow of bad shit, that’s what it was.
For starters, Shae lost her mask. I bought two plastic masks with elastic straps. Mine was Darth Vader and hers was one of the white Stormtroopers. She laughed at me at first when I brought them home from the costume shop. But when I showed her the eyes, with the large, darkened plastic lenses, she smiled broadly.
“Good vision, baby,” she said, her thick Irish accent arousing me. “Nice choice.”
Then she went and forgot the thing in the car. We arrived at the door of the bank, ready to rock, and she snapped her fingers. I asked her the problem and she told me.
The car was safely parked around two corners, a right and a left. It was about forty seconds away at a dead run and out of sight of any external bank cameras.
“Go get it,” I told her. “I’ll wait.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Feck it, Laddie. Let’s just do it.”
With that, she threw her long hair back over her shoulders and strode into the bank like she was the Queen of England.
I slipped on my mask and hurried after her.
The next thing that went wrong was the security guard. It wasn’t the old guy that was there all three times I cased the place. It was a younger guy, though he was fatter than the regular mope. He was looking at Shae, admiring her form as she headed to the nearest teller. I was almost on him when he turned and saw my mask.
He was fast, I’ll give him that. He managed to get his.38 out of the holster before I clubbed him with my sap.
“Nobody feckin’ move!” screamed Shae, the silver Beretta in her hand and sweeping across all the customers and employees. Her thick brogue made the words sing.
Of course, everybody did move and it took me pointing my.45 at several of them and barking orders to back them away from the door.
Then the second security guard came out of the vault area at a dead run, his gun clasped in both hands. His tie flew back over his shoulder as he sprinted into the lobby. When he slammed on the brakes, he slid several feet on the tile floor. Then he pointed the gun at my Shae, which was a mistake.
I snapped off two rounds, catching him just below the armpit about an inch apart. He grunted and fell over without even looking my direction.
The screams broke out again and I wheeled around, pointing my gun everywhere and bellowing for them to shut up, just shut the fuck up.
Shae’s eyes were alight with excitement and after I dropped the second guard, she gave me a look of pure lust from beneath hooded eyes and touched the tip of her tongue to her lip.
I opened my mouth to tell her to get moving, but before I could say a word, she turned and grabbed the nearest teller. The brunette woman with blonde tips shook her head in small shakes when Shae pointed the silver pistol at her.
“Be a dear,” she said, holding out the shopping bag “and fill it up. None of those feckin’ dye packs, neither.”
She walked from teller station to station, making sure that the woman left the dye packs in the drawer, didn’t hit an alarm button, or pull out the special bill that was tucked in an alarmed slot.
I forced myself to keep an eye on the customers and checked my watch every few seconds.
“Let’s go,” I urged her. I was pretty certain no one had punched the alarm, but I couldn’t be sure. Plus the gunshots might have been heard outside the bank and someone could have called the cops. We needed to get out of the bank with the money inside of the police response time.
When the brunette had pushed the last bundle of bills from the last drawer into the bag, Shae flashed her a smil
e. “Thanks. Now, down on floor with ye.”
The teller sank to the floor with a whimper.
Shae vaulted over the counter and strode toward me. The bag swayed heavily in her grasp. We hadn’t even considered hitting the vault. There was enough in that bag for a clean start. We weren’t greedy.
She reached me and held out the bag. “Be a gentleman for once, why don’t ye?”
I reached for the bag.
More shots rang out.
Shae’s eyes widened in surprise. Her mouth fell open and a light gurgle escaped. Confusion, then sadness, came into her eyes. She collapsed to the floor. All of that happened in less than a second, but it was burned into my memory for a thousand years.
I wheeled around, firing in the direction of the shots. Customers screamed in panic. Some crawled toward a wall or a desk, while others scampered toward the back of the bank, hunched over and shuffling their feet as quickly as they could.
The shooter was a man in his forties. He was thin and resolute. I learned later that he was a cop and looking back, I should have made him right away. But he had blended right in with the other customers. Now he was crouched and duck-walking toward one of the desks.
“You motherfucker!” I screamed and fired directly at him. The bullet struck low in front of him, ripping out a chunk of tile and whizzing off. Before I could fire again, he reached the desk and took cover.
I looked down at Shae. She was perfectly still, as if posed for a snapshot. Her hair was splayed out on the ground beneath her and a dark red pool was spreading outward from her body.
There was a short, guttural sound, full of despair. I realized a moment later it came from me.
I turned fired over the top of the desk just as the cop started to pop up and he hunkered down again immediately. My best guess said that I had one, maybe two rounds left in this magazine. The second mag was in my back pocket, but I’d have to put the bag of money down to reload.
More than anything, I wanted to stay and shoot it out. I wanted to kill the sonofabitch who fucked up my plan, who took away our future.
Go with the flow, baby, I heard her say.
I backpedaled toward the door. The cop stayed behind the desk and no civilians got suddenly brave. At the door, I emptied the rest of the clip into the desk the cop was hiding behind, turned and ran out of the bank.
