Edge of the Pit

by Bill Thesken

  “All I have to do is get by you?”

  “Get a single inch by me and you’re in.”

  “One inch?”

  “That’s all its gonna take pal. I’m gonna feed you to the animals out back, and keep your hundred bucks.” He planted his feet, cracked his knuckles, and got ready to repel me.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, alright I guess it’s worth a try. If I can’t get by a fat slob like you, I don’t deserve the hundred back. What’s your training if you don’t mind me asking.”

  He smiled, and I could see he was missing a front tooth. “Fifth degree black belt Taekwondo. You?”

  “Tenth degree kick your teeth in.”

  Some guys laugh at a challenge, when it comes to the critical moment and it’s time for fists to fly, some guys seethe and the anger simmer out of their skin. This guy was of the simmering demeanor. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowed and turned red at the corners, little specks of spit coming out of his mouth as he bellowed. “I’m gonna tear the crap out of you!”

  I backed up a step, made like I was a sprinter at the track ready to race, feinted left, feinted right then went straight at him and brought my rigid right hand from down deep and karate chopped him on the neck, right at the L-18 ligament.

  It was like I was karate chopping a concrete wall. This guy was built like a brick shit house with extra mortar in the cracks.

  He grabbed me by the neck with both hands trying to squeeze the life out of me while kicking and kneeing me from below with fifth degree black belt moves.

  I reached down and pulled out the buzzer from my pants pocket, pressed it against his forearm and lit him up with fifty thousand watts, and he turned into a human pin ball machine on tilt, the eyes in his head rolled around a couple of times and he flopped back on the concrete, white as a sheet and out cold.

  “I don’t play fair,” I whispered into his ear as I grabbed him with one hand by the front of his belt buckle and the other by the back of his hair and dragged him into the bushes.

  I glanced over at the two guys leaning against the railing, they were smiling from ear to ear, and obviously very pleased with what had just happened to the bouncer.

  “Mind if we go in too?” One of them ventured.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Be my guest.” They jumped at the offer and jogged towards the entrance in front of me, and I followed them in through the double doors.

  It was dark and dingy and crowded at the bar. It was basically a big warehouse sized room fifty feet by fifty feet, with a long bar on the left side of the room as you entered, and a stage on the right side with tables and chairs set up in between. A sharp rancid smell like sweat mixed with stale beer and booze and cigarettes and pot wafted through the air while a monotonous back beat drum solo accompanied by a dreadlock rapping gangster wannabe waltzed around on stage with his pants half way down around his skinny ass showing his underwear with his hat on sideways, pointing at the crowd now and then with two fingers like a gun barrel, boom boom pah, boom boom pah. I knew I’d finally arrived.

  Well, I thought. They sure named the place correctly. The Pit. It smelled like an armpit.

  I saw an open space near the end of the bar where the waitresses picked up their orders and walked over and sat down.

  “What do you want?” The toughest looking bartender I’d ever seen asked me. Tattoos running up and down his arms and circling around his neck, religious quotes and voodoo skeletons, crosses and people’s faces, flowers and daggers, hearts and bullets all rolled into one.

  It was apparent to me right off the bat that we weren’t going to get along, but I tried to be nice.

  “Scotch and soda, hold the scotch.” I told him.

  “What are you a wise guy? Scotch and soda’s seven fifty, with or without the scotch.” He grabbed a glass, filled it with ice and soda from the soda gun and set it down in front of me without a smile. “Seven fifty.”

  This had to be the most unsociable place I’d ever been to, but I needed info and thought I’d be a good guy as long as possible. I pulled out a ten spot, slid it onto the bar in front of him. “Keep the change.”

  He frowned and grabbed the money, changed it in the register, threw the tip in a big jar at the back and went down to the other end of the bar. There was a mirror lining the back of the bar where the glasses were stacked, and I could see the wood stock from a sawed off shotgun a couple of seats over and under the bar from where I was sitting.

  Like the wild-wild west.

  I had about five minutes to see what I needed to see, before the bouncer woke up and came looking for me, and I got busy and took it all in. Lining the walls were pictures of performers standing with some guy in a suit and gold chains. In every picture was the same guy with a suit and chains.

  “How you doin’ sweetie, haven’t seen you in here before.”

  It was a study in contrasts, one of the toughest looking bartenders I’d ever seen was behind the bar, and yet here was one of the most stunning waitresses I’d ever seen in my life in front of it. Short curly brown hair and big round brown eyes made for melting a guy on the spot, and eyelashes made for cooling him down into an immovable object. Slim and taut and pert were the words that instantly came to mind. Perky, very perky was another analogy that seemed about right. She smiled, and it was just about the easiest thing in the world to smile right back at her.

  “Yep, it’s my first time here,” I said, as steady as I could manage. “I heard a lot about this place and thought I’d give it a shot.”

  She emptied her tray that was filled with empty bottles and glasses and napkins, and counted out her money while keeping one eye on me. “Well, you can sit right there all night sugar.”

  “Say, who’s the guy in all the pictures on the wall with the suit and gold chains. Is he a famous rapper?”

  She looked at me with shock on her face. “Why that’s Mr. Charles Washington the second. C-Dub’s his nickname. He’s not a rapper, he’s the owner. This is the first club he opened, and he comes back every once in a while just for old times’ sake. He’s a real big shot now though. A billionaire.”

  I saw the star that I’d lost, Gale Nighting in one of the pictures with C-Dub. They were standing on the red carpet at some big event, obviously not in front of this club. “Hey, check it out,” I said to my hot waitress. “There’s that girl that got kidnapped.”

  She glanced over to the picture and frowned while shaking her head. “Poor thing, I hope they find her soon.”

  “Did she ever come in here?”

  Her eyes scrunched up. “In here? You crazy? That girl has way too much class to come into a place like this.”

  “Well, you’re here.”

  She blushed, and the bartender came back from the other end of the bar and started making her drink order, crashing ice into glasses, pouring booze, popping the top off bottles of beer while looking sideways at me and said gruffly. “There’s a couple of tables up front pal, you should go sit there instead, you’ll be more comfortable and you’ll hear the lyrics better.”

  “I kind of like it here, but thanks.” I turned back to the waitress. “Were you working here the night she got taken?”

  “Who you talking about?” asked the bartender.

  “Private conversation,” I warned him.

  He got close to my face. “I thought I told you go sit somewhere else.”

  She reached out and pulled his shoulder back. “It’s okay Bobby, he’s just making conversation.”

  “What are you, a cop?” He asked me.

  I shook my head. “I’m nobody.”

  He scowled, then whispered low, “You got that right”, and finished her drink order and went back to the other end of the bar where a pack of thirsty animals were waving and yelling for him.

  She got busy loading up her round tray with the drinks, arranging each glass and bottle nice and tight and uniform, taking her time and looking at me whenever she could. “I was working, yes. I work just about every night in here.
Too many nights maybe.” She glanced down the bar where the loud and tattooed one was slamming drinks on the bar for his buddies.

  “Is that your boyfriend?”

  She scoffed. “He wishes.”

  “He seems pretty jealous right about now.”

  “Well he should be with someone like you sitting here, sugar.”

  I looked deep into her brown eyes. “Call me sugar one more time and I might have to kiss you.”

  She smiled and leaned close over the bar. “Sugar.”

  Calling my bluff. I cracked and hesitated and she giggled at the sight of it. I wasn’t so tough after all.

  She picked up her tray and strictly advised me. “Don’t you move, I’ll be right back.” Then walked into the crowd to deliver the goods.

  My new best friend the bartender sauntered back down and posed in front of me, flexing his arms and generally scowling. He seemed pretty heated up this time around, clenching his right fist like he was ready to throw a punch at me.

  Well I thought, I’d been here long enough and found out what I needed to know. The star never came in here, and wasn’t expected that fateful night. Maybe the inside security team had kept it all a secret, and maybe she was headed here, and maybe she wasn’t. The waitress told me everything she knew. I sure wasn’t going to get any answers from this boneheaded bartender. He was trying to drill holes in me with his bloodshot and angry eyes.

  “So what,” I asked him. “Did they have a special at the tattoo shop? Buy one, get a hundred free?”

  He leaned closer. “I’m just about ready to jump over this bar and beat the crap out of you.”

  It was the second time in past fifteen minutes I’d heard something like that. I shook my head. I’d had just about enough of this guy.

  “All I hear is yap, yap, yap like a little Chihuahua. I don’t think you could jump over a penny laying on the ground. What I’ve found in my life, is that having a tattoo doesn’t make a guy tough. A lot of times, guys get tattoos to make themselves seem tough, to themselves, and to others. Mostly to seem tough to themselves though. It’s kind of a lack of self-esteem issue. They get a tattoo to build themselves up mentally, to meet the challenges that face them throughout the day, kind of like a shield, or a mask to hide them from the harsh reality of everyday life. With the amount of tattoos that you have, I’d say you have issues.”

  He pulled a deep breath into his flaring nostrils slammed his fist on the bar and yelled. “That’s it!”

  I had my hand on the buzzer, ready to put it into action again, when there was a commotion at the front entrance. The bouncer staggered in holding a large handgun and people started moving away, scattering. Someone shouted GUN and the music stopped. This was not looking good.

  “YOU!” he shouted and pointed the gun at me from about twenty feet, it had a long barrel and he was holding it with both hands to keep it steady. I was trapped. I looked over at the bartender and he was long gone, the tough guy scurried away pretty fast down to the other end of the bar.

  I moved quickly to the right and jumped over the bar. Two pops from the pistol, screaming from the crowd, the mirror at the back of the bar shattering, all at once sounds, my quick breathing as I crouched behind the ice well and stinking bottles of booze, the wooden handle of the double barrel shotgun at eye level, and I pulled it out and checked the twin barrels, it was loaded and I aimed it at the ceiling over the entrance and pulled both triggers.

  Very loud, a sawed off shotgun has a wide range of pellet splatter and at this range it hit the ceiling with a fifteen foot wide circle of destruction which rained down on the bouncer and gave me an opening. I pulled out my pistol, peered over the bar and squeezed off a couple of shots at his ankles and he went down. Again.

  He was yelling and writhing in pain but still had his handgun and was firing wildly. The ceiling, the walls. The crowd had mostly scrambled out the back with a few stragglers trying to get through the door, and I saw my waitress waving me to come that way. I didn’t hesitate and ran to the end of the bar and leaped over it, zigzagging around tables and chairs that were strewn about as though a pack of elephants had stampeded through. A pack of wooly mammoths like the old days. I pushed her through the door and followed her out into the black alleyway. Sirens wailing in the distance. I had to get out of here.

  Bob Marley said one time that the biggest coward is a man who wakens a woman’s love with no intention of loving her. I had no intention of loving her, but I did promise her a kiss and I owed her at least that much for getting me out the back door of the rap club.

  I pulled her close and pressed my lips against hers and she did not resist, in fact it was the opposite, she held my shoulder, wanted me to linger but I pulled away and ran. The cops were coming and I had to get out of there fast. I followed some people who looked like they knew their way around these back alleys. Down and around the corner, I looked back for an instance and felt a stinger in the back of my leg, right above my knee and I stumbled. Felt like I’d been stung by a wasp, then it went deeper like someone stabbed me with an icepick. I’d been shot.

  Back by the entrance stood the tattooed bartender with a small handgun, smiling. He knew he’d gotten me. I kissed his girl and he shot me, the bastard.

  I could still walk, and walk I did. Steadily, heading as far and as fast as I could away from that place without drawing attention. I headed East towards Wilshire boulevard, following a like-minded group of rap club getaways. We all put our heads down and our hands in our pockets as the cop cars raced by, the occupants checking us out as they sped by. We weren’t trouble makers, no sir just average citizens out for a stroll after a shooting spree in the ghetto.

  The group ahead of me looked back and recognized me as one of the shooters in the bar, and they slowly crossed the street and angled away from me. When we got to Wilshire they went north and I went south.

  I flagged a cab down and climbed in the back without letting on that I was injured. I was bleeding and could feel the warm sticky stuff in my shoes and running down my leg.

  “How you doing tonight mister?”

  “Fine,” I lied. “Take me to Bell Plaza please.” It was two blocks from my nurses apartment. I needed help. I was bleeding on the taxi seat and he would find out about it after letting me out. I figured if I got out at the plaza and walked the two blocks to her apartment, he wouldn’t be able to track me down. Traffic was light at two in the morning and it took about fifteen minutes to get to the Plaza. I paid my fare and literally slid off the seat and out into the night. Waiting until the cab was out of sight I limped past the bus stop and into the apartment complex. Taking the steps one at a time and pausing with both feet at each one I finally made to the second floor landing and knocked on her door.

  One second stretched into two, two to four and I needed to sit or lie down. I blinked my eyes hard and tried to stay awake.

  Maybe she wasn’t home. Maybe I was at the wrong door, maybe she had company. Too many maybes.

  Feeling very woozy now, when the door opened she was a fuzzy blur, an outline of a person and she was asking me a question, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying. I was having a hard time focusing my eyes, and I tried to say something, anything but my mouth wouldn’t work, I was like a guppy out of water, my jaws gaping, gulping at the thick air, and everything went dark.

  13.

  The CCTV image was black and white and a little blurry with the low light. The head of the agency, Mason Takegawa and the head of the police department sat in the police chiefs office and watched it again.

  “Is that your guy?” asked the chief.

  “Sure looks like him, play it again. Damn, why can’t they make a surveillance camera in HD?”

  On the screen was the scene outside the entrance to the club looking towards the street. The bouncers back was to the camera and he had his hands around someone’s neck, and then he’s flopping around and falling backwards on the concrete.

  “See that object in the perps hand? Port
able juicer.”

  They watch as the perpetrator throws the bouncer into the bushes, then the tape jumps to inside the club, from the center of the bar over the mirror looking towards the entrance. They watch as the bouncer enters the bar holding the gun, then pointing it and shouting, and people running everywhere, the perpetrator who threw the bouncer into the bushes is now being shot at. He leaps over the bar and grabs the shotgun, fires it and the whole ceiling, lights and fans and all, come raining down on the bouncer, who is then shot in the ankles by the perp, and the screen goes blank.

  “Want to watch it again?” asks the chief.

  “Naw, I’ve seen enough. That’s Badger alright, that’s our guy. Why in the hell would he go to the rap club?”

  The chief tapped his finger against his forehead. “Maybe he was thirsty and wanted a drink. Maybe he likes rap music at one the morning. Maybe he had a beef with the bouncer from the past, and he was there to settle the score.”

  “Maybe he was looking for the girl,” said the head of the agency. “After all that’s where we were escorting her to, when she was kidnapped. You got to admit he’s got a lot of balls to go in there, with half the town looking for him.”

  “You see how he took out the shooter, the big bouncer? Twice.”

  “If I was that bouncer I’d think twice about going up against Badger again. Next time he might find himself dead. He only got zapped and shot in the ankles, he’s lucky it was only that.”

  “There’s one other thing,” said the chief. “We have surveillance of the back alley. This one is really dark and blurry and hard to see, but check this out.” He rolled the tape and they could see the back of someone running who was about the same size and shape and wearing the same clothes as Badger. He stumbles as he’s heading around the corner of the building and they see him look back and hold his leg. He froze the last frame on the screen.

  “Look at the timestamp on the bottom of the frame.” It read 01:36:08.

  “Now look at this footage, from the back entrance that looks out towards the alley. The next sequence shows the bartender at the back entrance, holding a smoking gun and smiling. The chief froze the frame. It also read 01:36:08.