Gato looked up from the book in his hand as Mallen got in the car. He’d imagined it would’ve been a bible, but to his surprise, it wasn’t. It was a book on creative visualization.
“What, vato?” Gato said off his look. “You don’t believe that we have the power to change our lives?”
“Of course,” he replied as his friend started up the car, “I just figured you thought that was God’s job, or something.”
The Falcon pulled into the street. Gato said, “it’s not God’s job to wipe our ass, it’s ours.”
Mallen had to admit that was a totally correct statement. “Where we goin’?” Gato asked.
“I need a drink. Take me to the Cornerstone.” He caught the glance Gato shot him. “And don’t worry, man,” he continued. “It’s all good.”
However, as he sat there, the thought of visiting Dreamo for business reasons and not to just check up on him crept into his mind. He shook his head at that. Growled under his voice. He had to admit: he really wanted to shoot. The feeling was hard, sharp, and ugly. He could ignore it while he was thinking or talking to people, but as soon as he sat still, it was there. Like the ticking of a clock he’d tuned out for a while but that was now almost the only thing he could hear.
He kept his eyes focused out the window. Counted people on the street that had grocery bags. When that didn’t work, he counted the ones walking. Anything to keep his mind off the junk. It’d been a long time, but not long enough. Maybe it would never be “long enough.”
And maybe that was just the way it would be from now on.
If he were strong.
Gato decided to come into the bar with him. Like he didn’t think it was good idea for Mallen to be alone with the temptation oh so fuckin’ close by. Gato was right, too, given Mallen’s current mindset.
The Cornerstone was filled with the usuals. There were the same alcoholics (some he knew) and addicts (many he recognized by name) prowling around the place. The joint was jumpin’, actually. When he glanced up at the TV he saw the reason why: a big football game. It must be Sunday, he thought. Mallen made his way to the bar as Gato found a free table. Bill was so busy he didn’t have time for more than a “Hey, get the fuck out!” as he put a double scotch down in front of him and moved on.
He kept an eye on Bill, hoping to get the man’s attention, to see if he knew a guy named Julian Wood. The name was pretty singular. Maybe Oberon could help him out with a name search. He thought hard as he went and sat down at the table where Gato was. Nursed his drink.
“What’s goin’ on?” Gato asked. He obviously wasn’t enjoying being in the bar. Kept watching the addicts and shaking his head.
“It’s about my friend, is all. I can’t figure out why out of all the people he would’ve run into while doing time, he would only mention one guy to anyone.”
“Being inside, man? You become a different person. Can’t avoid it, you know?”
“That seems to be the only thing everyone agrees on.” He took a sip of his drink. “You know anyone doing time up in Folsom?”
Gato thought for a moment. Shook his head. “No man, I don’t. Not now, anyway.”
Mallen took another sip of his drink. Wondered how Dreamo was doing, if he were in his office, if his face had healed any. Wondered again why someone would beat on Dreamo like that. Maybe Dreamo just didn’t want to admit that he had a business rival? Gato shifted at his side. He really wanted to be gone. Mallen looked around the bar then and realized he couldn’t blame his friend. Decided not to wait to talk to Bill, as it looked like the bartender was making money and he didn’t want to interrupt him. He jotted down a quick note on a napkin, saying he needed info on a Julian Wood, adding his new phone number. Handed the note to Bill with a nod of his head before making his way back to his table.
“Come on, my friend,” he told Gato. “Let’s get out of here.”
The rain had started up. Not a lot, but the temperature was falling pretty rapidly. He dialed Oberon as they walked down the wet street toward the car. The rain felt good on his head, clearing it of thoughts of needles and junk. They were approaching the Falcon as Oberon’s voicemail picked up. Left Julian Wood’s name and why he wanted to know about the guy. Mentioned he was wondering if there was anyone still inside who knew both Julian and Eric. “Might be something,” he said, then hung up.
“Where to now, bro?” Gato asked as he unlocked the driver’s side door. He reached over and opened the door for Mallen who slid inside quickly, the rain really starting to pour. Yeah, he thought, where to?
“I guess home.” He needed some down time, and that was a fact. “Thanks again for the ride. You’re a godsend,” he added with a smile.
Gato laughed in response. “From your mouth to His ears, as my madre would say.”
Mallen asked Gato to drive around the block a couple times. Just to be sure. No black Escalades, but with the rain it was difficult to see if anyone was hanging out in their cars. He told Gato thanks again, and that he’d call.
“Bro,” Gato said as Mallen was getting out. “You need that other defender?”
He got it. A gun. Considered for a moment. “Nah. I lost the other one, right? I’m already way in your debt. Thanks though.”
“How can a friend be in debt to a friend? Look, I’ll find you another gun. Don’t worry about it. You’ll be helping me one day, just like you’re helping those people that live out in the avenues.”
“You think?”
Gato nodded. There was a brief glimpse of some sadness there. “Yeah, I do.”
“Well all you have to is ask, G. See ya,” he said and got out of the car. He glanced up and down the street before going up to his door. It looked all clear, so he made for his lobby door. Got inside and up to his apartment door not meeting anyone. Sometimes the place felt empty, and sometimes it felt like it did now: people barricaded inside their boxes, hoping to keep out an angry and wrathful world.
He came into his apartment and flipped on the light.
The click of the hammer being pulled back was like a slap in the face. There was Jas, sitting on the couch, grinning, his .40-caliber pointed right at Mallen’s chest.
“I told Griff to just wait it out,” he said as he got to his feet. “Told him you were better than you looked.”
“Thanks.”
Jas indicated for him to get his hands up. He complied, his mind racing a mile a minute, going over everything in the apartment that could be used as a weapon. Measured distances, trajectories.
“How the hell did you get out of the bay, fucker?” Jas moved closer, standing only about five feet away but blocking Mallen’s chance to leap at the table for the old steak knife he used to cut the wood for Anna’s kites. It was probably too dull to do shit, anyway.
“I swam. You assholes broke the first rule: always wait to confirm the kill.” He looked around his room. His old, derelict, hated room. Strangely, he felt very calm. Like he was outside in the backyard of the house he’d grown up in, waiting for the first snowflake to fall. It was a very different setup from being thrown in the back of a car and driven to the bay. A part of his mind told him that’s exactly what they should’ve done this time, too. “Where is Griff, anyway? Eating babies?”
Jas leapt at him, the gun barrel slapping across his mouth in a flash, the pain stabbing him through his entire head, exploding throughout his entire body. He went down to one knee, spitting some blood out onto the scratched and chipped floorboards. But now Jas was closer, and he knew that was all he’d get.
Jas pulled out his cell. Speed dialed. “Donkey’s in the pen,” he said with a grin. “Meet in the street.” Then he clicked off the call.
And it was all suddenly so quiet. Mallen knew what he had to do, and only seconds to do it in. He thought of Anna, could see her there in his mind’s eye, as clear as if she were standing right in front of him. She was the kite t
hat kept him running over the grass on a sunny day.
As Jas shoved the cell back into his pocket, he made his move. Jas wouldn’t expect it, and there was a part of him that was also surprised that he remembered any of this shit after trying to kill it all with the needle. He was still down on one knee, and he used that leverage to charge up into Jas, using the top of his head as a battering ram. Pain shot through his neck and spine as the crown of his head connected with Jas’s jaw and Jas fell backward, losing his footing on some tissue paper Mallen was going to use for a kite one day.
The gun fell to the ground and discharged. He’d have only minutes now before Griff arrived. Maybe seconds. As Jas fell, he climbed up the man’s body, clawing at his clothes, needing to grab at the face. He was rocked by a fist against his temple, then a knee to the groin, but he had to make it. It felt like climbing Everest as he clawed and scratched his way, ignoring the blows. He reached up, desperate, feeling every second go by, no longer aware that Jas was fighting desperately, probably freaking out at the fact that his plan was turning against him.
Eyes. Eyes, nose, throat. His thumbs found the eyes, and he pushed. Pushed and pushed and pushed again. Jas howled, and then he knocked the man’s head on the floor a couple times, answered by someone below banging on their ceiling, pissed at the noise.
Gotta love life in the city.
His hands slid down then to Jas’s neck. Hard work, being they were slippery with blood. He pressed with his thumbs, pressed like he was crushing an aluminum can. Jas continued to struggle, but then that struggle went weak. The air filled with the heavy odor of shit and piss, an odor that told him he’d survived. He rolled off of Jas’s corpse, lay on his back. Jas’s phone rung then. The ringtone was Run DMC’s version of “Walk This Way.”
Probably Griffin wondering why they hadn’t come out. He still had to deal with the Griff. Mallen scooped up Jas’s automatic, then grabbed the phone. Spoke into it in harsh voice, like he’d been strangled or something. “Fucker got away, Griff!”
“Where to?”
“Dunno! Be down,” and he cut off the call. Stood silent then, waiting for the throbbing pulse in his head to calm. Listened for any sirens. None. Maybe the gun going off was a car backfire to everyone. Or maybe that’s just what they’d wanted to believe. Everyone was probably figuring that someone else would call it in. Happened that way, everyday, all the time.
He had to go. He glanced around the room one last time. Felt like it was the last time he’d ever see it. Knew then it would be. He had Jas’s gun. Went to the corpse and found the wallet. Wow, he thought, Jas was doing alright for himself. A few hundred, all in twenties and tens. He went and scooped up Anna’s nest egg, pocketing it as he ran out. Tossed the wallet down the trash chute. The cops would want to talk to him, he knew, but they wouldn’t give too much of a shit over a piece of shit like Jas.
It was then, as he walked calmly down the stairs, that he realized he’d never known Jas’s last name.
Walked down to the lobby. The building was still quiet. No sirens from outside, which was good. If they hadn’t been heard by now, they wouldn’t be. Instead of going out the front door, he made a left and went down the first floor hallway to the door that led to the back of the building. There was a small grassy area there, populated by a few potted plants and an old deck chair left behind by a tenant long since gone. He went to his right, then right again and walked quietly through the hall the garbage men used to come and get the trash bins. Passed the area used by the motorcycle owners who paid an additional $100 a month to park their bikes there, and went to the gate. Peered through it. It was still raining, and very dark out. He could see the Escalade doubled parked.
Griff, waiting like a patient old dog for his master. Joke was on him. Mallen pulled Jas’s phone. Dialed 911. Gave the address of his building. Said a killing had happened. Gave Griffin’s description and street name, saying everyone on the street knew him as a mad dog. Probably armed. “Oh no! He’s—” Mallen said, then cut the call like he’d been suddenly attacked. He popped the battery out and dropped the phone in the grime. Grinned in the darkness. The cowboys would be coming fast now. When the sirens were heard, Griffin would have to leave, not knowing what the hell happened. He laughed at that, feeling better than he’d felt in a long time.
Fuck him. That was life, yeah?
He quietly opened the gate, the pouring rain hitting him like a bucket of water. He walked away from his place, heading against the flow of traffic. He was at the end of the block when he heard the sirens, approaching fast.
He spent the night camped out just off Bush Street, in the parking lot of the old neogothic cathedral St. Dominic’s. The walk through the rain to get to St. Dom’s would’ve been pure, fuckin’ wretchedness at any other time, but not then. He’d welcomed the time to think.
He knew that he’d killed a man. Jas was dead. He knew that fact like someone knew how to add two and two. But, the other side of the ledger told him that that man had wanted to kill him … had tried to kill him, with everything he’d possessed. Had even beaten on him just for the joy of giving Mallen pain and anguish. That man would’ve kept on doing that until he, Mallen, was dead.
But he’d survived. And that’s what mattered right now. He’d survived to fight another day.
Killing had never made him feel good. Never had. The three occasions he’d been forced to take a life while as a Police had left him a fucking basket case. They offer up people to talk to, and books to read, but none of that shit can ever help. You’ve taken a human life. No matter what the circumstances were: you killed someone.
That’s a game changer, and that’s a fact.
But he had to admit, as he thought more and more about it, that after the long years of scrounging for dope and hiding from the cops and trying to keep on the down-low, it felt … pretty okay … to have sent a message to Griffin and everyone else that he was back.
And everyone would know it, now, too. The news of Jas’s death, in Mallen’s apartment, would travel. What the outcome of that news would be, he couldn’t guess. And right now?
He didn’t give a shit.
All he cared about right now was staying as dry and warm as possible, here on this rainy night, curled up under an overhang outside a church. He knew he’d have to be gone early, before school started. He huddled up, listening to the rain, conscious of the weight of Jas’s gun in his coat pocket, wondering if Griffin had left in time or had been caught.
The last thing he remembered before he finally fell into sleep was a crack of lightning above, followed by a boom of thunder that felt like God turning a page in a book only He could read …
His cell rang, almost sending him into the next world. It was early morning, gray and ugly, but at least it had stopped raining. Had no idea how long he’d slept, but it looked like school hadn’t started yet. He was stiffer than a board and more cold than he could ever remember being, even after his swim in the bay. And this was better than shooting nice, warm drugs? Pushed that thought away as he took a deep breath and answered his cell. “Mallen,” he said.
“Hey, Mal, it’s Bill.” He could hear a TV on in the background. Then a woman’s voice, asking Bill something that Mallen couldn’t make out. Bill told her to wait a minute. Bill was certainly not at work. It was the first time he’d ever been aware of that side of the man. He’d sometimes figured Bill lived at the Cornerstone, only coming alive when it was time to open, sleeping in some coffin in back after closing time.
“I got your message,” Bill continued, “and guess fucking what?”
“Julian Wood’s married to your sister.”
“Oh, that’s funny, Mallen. You should go on TV with an act like that.”
“Gotta keep you in stitches, man. How else will you not notice the tab I’m running up on you?”
“Got news for you: it ain’t working. Look, all I got right now is that Julian W
ood is still living in the city. Don’t have an address, yet, but I’m working on it. I’ll have it soon.”
“Thanks for checking on it for me, okay? I owe you, B.”
“Fuckin’ got that right, Mallen. See ya,” the bartender laughed as he hung up.
He got to his feet, wishing all this had happened during the late summers the city enjoyed. If this had been October, he would’ve been way happier to be camping out in parking lots, and that was a fact. But now? Now it was March: cold, wet, and dreary.
So, this Wood guy was still in the city. Maybe Obie would be able to get his hands on an address. Maybe his file. It would help to know some background on the only man Eric had ever spoken of with a smile from his prison days. He dialed Oberon’s cell as he left the parking lot, conscious of the arriving cars that probably belonged to the teachers, or the priests.
“Detective Kane,” Oberon said, picking up on the second ring, voice tight with stress.
“Bad time, yeah?” he replied. “You want me to call back later?”
“Yes, I do. What I’ve caught might actually have something to do with … what we discussed earlier.”
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. They always did when something heavy was going down. Monster Mallen’s hair had done the same back in the day. “What do you mean?”
“Another gentleman that knew Dockery and friends was attacked at by an unknown assailant.”
“Jesus. They get him?”
“No. They got his girlfriend.”
Oberon shoved his phone into his pocket and turned back to the body. DeJesus was there, nearby, ordering her minions to swab everything, photograph every aspect of the scene. An ambulance siren hit his ears as it took off to UCSF, Jenks in the back with a bad knock on his head and gun wound in his right thigh.
He glanced around the living room again. What had once been a place right out of a house porn magazine was now a war zone. There’d been some fight here. Went and stood by the beautiful young blonde woman lying on the expensive, hardwood floor. Kate was dressed in nothing but a bathrobe, hair still slightly damp. As if she’d stepped out of the shower right before the attack came. But then why was she here, in the living room? The bullet had gone in through the left chest, directly into the heart.
Untold Damage Page 19
