The Heartless

by David Putnam

No, I’d do it. I’d take it out of her hands and fix it so she let go of this one. That was the only viable play, and I’d made up my mind to make it happen to the best of my ability. No matter what it took.

  The kiss continued. I wanted to know what his hands were doing. But I knew. They were all over my daughter. With that horribly lurid thought, my back stiffened like it always did just before an action, just before I engaged in a violent confrontation with blood and bone.

  Only how long had that kiss actually lasted? Had time slowed due to my heated involvement in the situation? Or had it really only been sixty seconds or so, instead of the long, long minutes I’d imagined?

  Finally, he unhanded my daughter. They stared at one another for a time, then she got out and hurried away. The louse didn’t even walk her to the door. I wanted to pound that little fool into the dirt.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE BATTERED VW Rabbit started up, made a U-turn, and took off. I waited until Olivia made it safely inside and closed the door to the empty and dark apartment. I started up and followed Derek, my hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly.

  He headed for the Westside where all projects sat on the extreme south end of Los Angeles. The city had built Nickerson Gardens, Imperial Courts, and Jordan Downs as far away from the heart of LA as possible. The city would not have built them had the federal funding not been so lucrative.

  Derek moved around in the area comfortable as a hyena on the African savannah. He lived right off 101st Street not too far from Alameda, on the outside edge of the Downs. To enter the Downs during the day wasn’t as dangerous as in the evening. Every day as the sun died in the sky, the good folks went in and locked their doors. All the apartments are constructed of cinder block walls and concrete floors and steel outer doors. When one family moves out, the management goes in with high-pressure hoses, not unlike a zoo enclosure, and washes everything down. They do their level best to hose out all the hopelessness and despair impregnated in the pores of concrete and brick. For the really bad ones, they bring in the steam cleaners. They sprinkle a gallon of Pine-Sol around, replace the broken glass in windows, and reissue the apartment to the next customer hoping for a fresh start.

  Derek turned on 101st and didn’t make the right turn into the Downs like he should’ve if he were headed home. Instead, he kept going straight over to Central Avenue. He pulled in and parked in front of Big G’s Pager Store. It was an obvious front for narcotic activity, as most of them were. He got out, started for the store’s painted-over glass door, and veered to a pay phone on the wall out front. He picked up the receiver, dialed a number, and hung up. He waited. He’d just paged someone to that phone.

  Two minutes passed. The phone rang. He smiled and picked it up. He laughed and slapped his leg and acted the fool without being spatially aware of his surroundings. Anyone could walk up and stick a shiv in his back. He wouldn’t know it until his lifeless body slid to the dirty sidewalk, his dead eyes looking at nothing. That image of his demise gave a bit of solace, yet at the same time I had to swallow down the sadness of a life lost.

  If I didn’t fix this problem and save Olivia, I feared I’d never smile or laugh again.

  I got out, still unsure of any plan of action, knowing only that I had to do something, that I had to put my hands around his throat and squeeze.

  Maybe just a little.

  That’s all it would take. Whisper in his ear to leave town and never come back, or else next time …

  If he were smart, he’d get the message before things went too far. But Derek Sams wasn’t smart.

  Cars whizzed by on the busy street. Central was a main drag that ran through the heart of Los Angeles. As I crossed, I wished for fewer cars and less light. I stepped over the curb and up on the sidewalk. Derek suddenly lost his grin as he froze with his back to me. I stopped. His eyes had not seen me to register that I stood so close. Something else tore his world out from under his feet. Derek said into the phone, “O, this again, really? I thought we made it past this. Listen to me, we been over this and over this. I’m tellin’ ya true, I promise. I tolt ya, I borrowed that money from those dope fiends. I did. I won’t lie to ya. I know it was a big mistake and I promise I won’t do it again. I know. I know. I said I was sorry. No, I didn’t take any rock on credit. I don’t care what your daddy, the cop, says—that’s not what happened. What? I … I borrowed the money to … to buy you a present. What? No, I’m not going to tell you what it is, that would ruin the surprise.” He listened and nodded. And nodded again. The smile returned to his voice. “Ya, I love you, too, O.”

  He even used the nickname I had for her, a nickname that sounded disgusting coming from his lips.

  His back stiffened. His eyes suddenly focused on the big shadow he caught in the reflection in the window glass.

  Me.

  He slowly turned. His hand snaked under his oversized football jersey, trying to yank something clear.

  With one hand, I reached out and slammed down the receiver, cutting off the call to my daughter. She didn’t need to hear what was about to happen.

  With the other, I grabbed Derek’s wrist and leaned in. “What you got there, under your shirt, poo-butt? You planning on throwing down on me? Is that the play? Not too smart.”

  He let go. With his one good eye and battered mouth, he shot me a vehement sneer, making my job that much easier. I pulled his hand out and found a Raven Arms .25, a little popgun, a cheap Saturday Night Special made of pot metal. I peeled it out of his hand and leaned in close to his ear. “Boy, did you have this on you while you were out with my daughter tonight? Did you jeopardize my daughter’s safety by carrying a gun?”

  He tried to jerk away. I slammed him up against the huge glass window of Big G’s Pager Store. The entire window shook.

  With my hand around his throat, my mouth close to his ear, I spoke in a harsh whisper. “You punkass, I ought to pinch your head off and shit down your neck.” His good eye bulged. His battered lips formed a little circle as he tried to push out entreaties to spare his pathetic life.

  Down to the right, the door to Big G’s opened. Out stepped three senior Grape Street Crips all wearing oversized blue Dodger jerseys. “Hey!” the leader yelled. “What the hell?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I LOOKED AT them and then back at Derek Sams. That’s when I noticed that in my blind rage, with one hand I had unintentionally lifted him by his neck until his feet dangled free above the ground. I eased him back till his feet touched before I inadvertently strangled the devil pup. I kept a hold of his scruff and jerked a couple of times to let him know I wasn’t done with him.

  The fattest of the three gangsters, the leader and mouthpiece, said, “Let him go. He’s with us. If you’re messin’ with him, you’re messin’ with us. Understand?”

  I held on and turned to face them the rest of the way, surprised at the declaration that Derek had joined the Crips, and at the same time not surprised at all.

  I let go of the back of his neck. “Don’t sweat it, I’m his dad.” Derek opened his mouth to refute the accusation. I C-clamped his throat with my left hand choking off his words. His good eye bulged a little.

  The leader looked me up and down. “I know you from somewhere, don’t I? Where you from?”

  I was wearing the blue bandana around my head, indicating that I belonged to some other Crip set. Asking where I was from was like asking what set I claimed.

  I swept the bandana off my head. The gang member next to the leader startled and jumped back. “Dat’s Bruno Johnson.”

  The leader smirked. “That ain’t no Bruno Johnson. He’s dead. And look, his shirt says ‘Karl.’”

  Shortly after I’d left the street to work in the court, an unsubstantiated rumor went around that I’d met my untimely demise at the hand of a punk named Rodney Simpkins, a big-time gangster that I had tangled with in the past. I’d let the rumor flourish. I wore the tan and green uniform in court, which somehow, to the criminals, changed my app
earance just enough to be unrecognizable. It standardized me and made me just another pig in their eyes, a robot of the system, like all the other uniforms.

  “No. No. Don’t make dat mistake. Dat right there is Bruno The Bad Boy Johnson. Ax poo-butt if it ain’t. Go on, ax him.”

  The leader nodded to Derek. “Ease up on my boy—let’s see what he has to say.”

  I let go of Derek. He slumped over coughing and choking.

  I took the opportunity to break down the Raven .25. I tossed the parts out into the street and stuck the barrel in my pocket to discard somewhere else.

  Derek recovered enough to point at me and nod. He choked and sputtered. “It’s him. He’s Bruno Johnson. Do something. Don’t let him treat me like this.”

  The leader straightened up a little. He let his hand slowly wander up to his waistband, where it disappeared under his jersey. “What are you doin’ with our poo-butt? You do that to his face?”

  I again took hold of Derek by the throat and eased him in front of me. “Let me see your hands, all of you.”

  The gangster that recognized me turned and took off full tilt down the street. The other one instinctively moved away from his leader, a street tactic. It was harder to hit targets when they weren’t so bunched up. He moved his hand behind to his back waistband.

  The leader shook his head and looked down the street in the direction his fellow gang member had fled. “Mmm-mmm. Later on, me and dat boy’s gonna have words.”

  I said, “If you two so much as twitch, I’ll drop you both. You understand? And I won’t lose a minute’s sleep over it.”

  The leader looked back at me. He kept his hand on his gun under his shirt and said, “You didn’t answer the question. What you want with my boy?”

  “He’s been messin’ around with my daughter. Now he’s got to pay for it.”

  The second gangster muttered, “Dumbass.”

  The leader smiled, showing off several front teeth capped with gold. One had the letter “G.” “Boy, I hear dat. Fuckin’ around wit’ Bruno The Bad Boy Johnson’s daughter, whatta fool. What are you gonna do wit’ him?”

  “What do you think I’m gonna do with him?”

  The leader slowly brought his hand out from under his jersey. “I think you gonna make him pay the price. Dat’s what I think.”

  “You got a problem with that?”

  “No. No. We don’t need no fool who’s stupid enough to go ’round stickin’ his little—”

  “Don’t. Don’t even say it.”

  “I hear ya, big man. Be on your way wit’ ya. Havin’ Bruno Johnson out front of my sto’ ain’t good for bidness.”

  I let go of Derek’s throat and again grabbed him by the scruff. I backed up on the sidewalk, bringing him along.

  Derek didn’t like that he’d been so easily thrown to the curb by his gang. “Hey. Hey. Don’t let him do this. Help. Help me.”

  I whispered, “Shut up or I’ll tell them where I found you today, over in Piru territory at a rock house run by the Bloods.” Derek stiffened. He knew they would snatch him right out of my hands and do him dirty for collaborating with the enemy. He decided to shut up.

  The leader shook his head, opened the door to his pager store, and with the other one following along, disappeared inside.

  I continued to back up until we passed the edge of the strip center and entered the shadows cast by the building in the open field. I spun him around and shoved so hard he almost fell face-first. I caught up to him as he recovered from his stumble and shoved him again. I fought the rising rage, grit my teeth, and clenched my fists. I wanted to pull the blackjack from my back pocket and teach him how the cow ate the cabbage, a term Dad often used. The thought of Dad backed me down a little. If I carried through with what I intended, a long drive out to the Mojave Desert and a lonely drive back, how could I ever look Dad in the eye?

  We made it to my truck. I pushed him up against the front wheel well and handcuffed his hands behind his back. He said nothing. I turned him around. The sodium vapor streetlight on his red hair gave it a yellowish tint and made it surreal, clown-like. The swollen side of his face looked right out of a low-budget horror movie. His green eye glared at me. “Whatta ya gonna do to me?”

  “What do you think I should do to you? What do you think you deserve? You came to my house tonight. You took my little girl for a ride. You had a gun.” I grabbed the front of his shirt. “You little punk, you had a gun. You put her in danger and for what? Put yourself in my place. What would you do if you were me?”

  An LAPD cruiser came down the street.

  Derek smirked. “Now what’s you going to do, old man? You’re about to go to jail your own self.”

  The passenger cop put the spotlight on us. Blinding, turning everything white. I put one hand up to shield my eyes; the other I put on Derek’s chest and pinned him against the truck. After a moment, I took my arm down and slowly reached around to my back pocket. I pulled out my wallet flat badge. Derek squirmed and tried to see around me as the patrol car rolled up and stopped. I flipped them my badge. The sheriff’s star glinted in the spotlight. “Sheriff’s Violent Crimes Team, code four.”

  “Help,” Derek yelled. “He’s going to kill me. He’s kidnapping me. You have to help me.”

  The patrol car moved forward, coming a little closer to the passenger’s open window. I smiled at the officer and said nothing, just shrugged and shook my head.

  The patrolman smiled and asked, “You want us to transport him for you?”

  “Hey? Hey?”

  I grabbed a hand full of Derek’s jersey, shook him a little, and said to the patrolman, “No, thanks, I got it. You have enough problems with that pager store across the street where I just nabbed this guy.”

  “You took him out of Big G’s? By yourself?”

  I said nothing.

  Derek struggled and tried to break away. “No. No. Wait. He’s going to kill me. Really. You have to believe me.”

  I smiled again and shrugged. “Seems everyone I arrest nowadays says the same thing.”

  “I know what you mean, buddy. Good luck, and hey, keep your head down.”

  “Thanks. You boys take it easy.”

  The passenger gave a salute as they drove by.

  Derek sighed. His shoulders slumped. “Ah, man, that ain’t right.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I DROVE IN and out of streets in a mindless state, trying to decide what to do. It seemed so obvious when I stood out in front of Big G’s Pager Store with Derek’s throat in my hand, the throb of his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin. None of that mattered. Not while enrapt in rage. I wanted to crush and destroy him for what he was doing to Olivia. Nothing else mattered.

  Derek sat as far over in the seat as he could with his back to the door, as though he were trapped in a cage with a hungry animal. In the strobe of the passing streetlights, the truck’s interior lit up. Tears glistened on his cheeks and his eyes remained locked on my face, on my eyes. They searched for an answer to whether or not, this night, he’d take his last breath.

  The swelling in his battered eye had gone down some. I hated myself for thinking it, but now he looked less like a monster and more like a scared seventeen-year-old kid who’d made too many mistakes. Everyone made mistakes. What chance did a kid have growing up in the ghetto? My brother, Noble, had the same breaks I did. Now he was doing life in prison for murder. He’d never get out, never experience life outside fences topped with razor wire and a cramped concrete cell.

  When my mind finally came back to the road, I found I’d driven deep into Long Beach, down by the commercial part of the harbor. I pulled over on a dark side street with no curbs or gutters and few streetlights. The houses sat dark and foreboding.

  I shut the truck off. The quiet took over. The windshield turned wet and blurred from the near-invisible mist coming in off the ocean.

  “Is this the place?” Derek asked, his voice a croak.

  “What?”

 
“This the place where you’re going to do it? You going to do me in? You going to float me out into the ocean? Are you going to leave me for the fish to eat? I don’t want to be eaten by the fish. Please don’t.” His body shook as he sobbed.

  “It’s what you deserve.” I felt bad as soon as the words slipped past my lips. They came from a residual anger that lingered and wouldn’t die.

  The sight of a child sobbing over what I’d said hurt.

  I couldn’t do it and realized from the start I never could have. What did that say about me being able to defend and protect my precious child?

  I swallowed down the hard lump in my throat. “Then convince me. Tell me why I shouldn’t. I’ve done everything I could to keep you away. I’ve warned you too many times in the sternest possible manner. You just throw it back in my face, flaunt your arrogance and wannabe gangsta life. Tell me why I should give you one more chance. Convince me if you can.”

  He just stared. Finally, he found his words. “Because O is the most beautiful woman in the world. She’s—”

  “Don’t call her that.”

  He opened his mouth to say something else, shut it, then said, “You don’t want to hear anything I have to say. You just want me to beg. I won’t do it. I won’t.”

  “She’s not a woman yet. She’s still just a young girl. Too young to be experiencing the things that … the things that …” I couldn’t say it, not in front of him. He’d suddenly shifted from a vulnerable teenager back to street punk, which set my rage back on a low simmer. I didn’t like myself for it. My hand shot out and grabbed his oversized Raiders jersey and yanked him over. I pulled him right up to my face. “I can do it. I know I can. If it means saving my daughter from the likes of you, I can do it.” I stopped short of saying, And I don’t care what kind of black mark it would leave on my soul as long as my daughter is safe.

  The devil’s advocate in my mind whispered in my ear.

  Then what? What if you do take this punk off the board? What makes you think there won’t be another? And another?