by Nick James
“It’s awfully rough sir, not the best section of town.”
“Sometimes what it takes is the residents and the property owners, such as yourself, getting involved.” Montcreff let that last statement just hang out there for a long moment. “Sometimes you have to just roll up your sleeves and shovel some of the shit out of the barn.”
“Well, I just worry about them. I don’t want there to be an incident. Certainly wouldn’t want to see somebody hurt.”
“If there is an incident, if somebody is hurt, I can just about guarantee it won’t be Camila or Ignacio.”
“I can only hope you’re right, sir.”
“Trust me. Have you seen Denton today?”
“Not yet sir, I was planning to stop over there at the end of the day. He seems to be a bit more relaxed at that hour. There is one other item I’d like to discuss.”
“And that would be…”
“It’s actually a couple who came to me for assistance. I’m in no position to help them. It may be an opportunity, it may be a scam. I’m not sure which.”
“I’m listening.”
“The man’s name is Bannon, Jonathan Bannon. He is the sole owner of Bannon Dynamics, some sort of a software company or something. He was always rather vague when I asked for details. He’s in need of a cash investment. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say the bank has called his loan or loans. Probably has his home remortgaged as well.”
“And, exactly why would I want to play the Good Samaritan to this person?”
“If he’s to be believed he’s sitting on some sort of potentially large order from China. The problem is it seems he’s let just about everyone on staff go. He’s talking about hiring or rehiring, but he doesn’t seem to have the capital to do so. Sort of the classic between a rock and a hard place, a large potential order is sitting out there, but he can’t afford to get it.”
“What’s the name of the company?”
“Bannon Dynamics.”
“Spell that first name for me.” It sounded like Montcreff was writing it down as Bobby gave him the correct spelling. “You got a phone number?”
Bobby gave him Jonathan’s number.
“And his name is John?”
“Jonathan. I should also mention that he is married to my ex-wife. Believe me I don’t have any interaction with her. Either one of them for that matter.”
“All the same, nice of you to help them out,” Montcreff said not sounding at all sincere.
“I’ll be honest, I got initially involved hoping I could make a few bucks. One look around and it was obviously out of my league. That said, it might be something you’d be interested in. I didn’t want any misunderstanding to exist between us regarding the Frogtown property.”
“Humpf, you know Custer, maybe, just maybe, you’re beginning to catch on. I’ll look this over and see if an opportunity exists. In the meantime, you just make sure you get that power back on and the locks changed for Camila and Ignacio.”
“I’ve already contacted the power company, it will be on in the next twenty-four hours and the locksmith will be there tomorrow.”
“Nice chatting,” Montcreff said and hung up.
Since he couldn’t scam Jonathan and Fran out of any funds, setting them up with the likes of Morris Montcreff seemed to be the next best thing. Bobby did a quick online search for a locksmith then dialed the number.
Chapter Ten
Forty-eight hours later Bobby’s phone rang. “Bobby Custer.”
“Camila Morales.” No greeting, no small talk, no introduction other than her name.
“Oh yes, Camila, great to hear from you,” Bobby said as he tried to calm himself once he heard her voice. He waited for a long moment, but she didn’t carry the conversation forward.
“Hello?”
“Yes, Mister Custer, did you do the things I asked? Are things in order?”
“They are. The power went back on yesterday, and the locks have been changed. Although I haven’t been able to get over there to check on anything,” Bobby said then hastily added, “I was planning on doing that later today.”
“Why don’t you plan on meeting me over there, say in one hour.” It sounded like more of a command than a request.
“An hour,” Bobby said looking at the time displayed above the game on his computer screen. “I’ve got a meeting then, but let me make a couple of calls to reschedule and I’ll plan on meeting you over there. If there’s any conflict I’ll call you back.”
“I’ll see you there in one hour,” she said ignoring his “any conflict” line.
Bobby pulled up in front of the house fifty-five minutes later. In the intervening seventy-two hours since he was last here, someone had spray-painted four-foot high black letters across the front of the house. The script looked almost like Arabic and Bobby couldn’t determine what, exactly it was supposed to say. He could only hope it might be enough to convince Camila how misguided her thought process was.
At exactly eleven, a large, shiny black Cadillac Escalade with spinning chrome wheel rims and dark tinted windows came around the corner and pulled to a stop behind Bobby’s Mercedes. Camila climbed out of the door and flashed a blinding smile. She wore a pair of blue stretch pants and a white top with tiny straps that left her navel and very flat stomach exposed. A small gold crucifix hung around her neck and dangled intriguingly over her cleavage.
By the time Bobby climbed out of his car she was walking toward him with her hand outstretched and all smiles. “Thank you so much for adjusting your schedule, Mr. Custer,” she said in a tone that suggested she knew there was really nothing to adjust on his schedule.
Bobby held up a small key ring with four keys between his thumb and index finger and handed them to her. “Let’s see if these work. I feel I should warn you again, it’s quite a mess inside.”
“I think we’ll be able to deal with it.”
As they turned to head toward the house two young men walked past, eighteen, maybe twenty. They both had that walk, the wide steps to keep their jeans from falling down. Red plaid boxers were exposed with the jeans belted just below their ass. Hands in the pockets held the jeans up. They gave Bobby a collective dismissive look, then eyed Camila.
“Fresh pussy,” one of them said and then they both laughed. The one who’d made the comment gave Bobby another look that suggested he dared him to do something about it.
Camila smiled and said, “You should probably keep moving.”
“You talking to me, bitch? Maybe you be wantin’ some of this,” he said grabbing his crotch.
“Come on, let’s go inside,” Bobby said and attempted to take her by the arm and lead her toward the house.
She shook her head ever so slightly in disgust as if to suggest wasn’t it just too bad, then she pushed a button on her key ring, a moment later all four doors on the Escalade opened up. Ignacio came out of the driver’s door. He still wore his cowboy boats with the sliver toes and strap. He had on jeans and a white t-shirt commonly referred to as a ‘wife-beater’. His arms and upper chest were hugely muscled and the t-shirt exposed the hint of an intricate blue tattoo that appeared to cover his entire chest. At roughly six feet and maybe two hundred and ten pounds he appeared to be the smallest of the four. He half shouted something in Spanish as he came around the front of the vehicle as the four thugs spread out and approached the two wide-eyed men.
The one who’d made the comments hiked his jeans up and started to run down the sidewalk. He was into maybe his fourth step, holding his jeans up with both hands and just approaching full stride when a massive fist from a guy with a crewcut and no neck landed just under his chin at the same time a leg swept both feet out from beneath him. He went completely horizontal then dropped to the sidewalk with a large “Uff” and lay completely still.
His partner attempted to take off in the opposite direction, but Ignacio grabbed him by the collar and swung him around twice, laughing like it was just a game then sent him back into the crowd of mus
clebound thugs. They battered him around for a half-dozen punches until he dropped to the ground. He rolled over and attempted to rise, but a silver-toed boot to the face kept him in place.
“Shall we go inside?” Camila said, and then tugged a shocked and speechless Bobby toward the front door. Ignacio opened the rear door on the Escalade and the four of them began to drag the two unconscious bodies into the vehicle.
“I’m sorry about that, but I told you I just don’t think this is a good idea,” Bobby said watching over his shoulder as one of the thugs slapped the guy who’d made the comment, then pulled his jeans off and tossed them into the street.
“Actually, I think that will work to our advantage. Let them know we’re here to stay. It would be best if they remained at a distance, maybe two blocks and…”
“These people are lawless. Two blocks? How do you expect to accomplish that?”
“I thought we just did,” she said and smiled. “Now, isn’t this just charming.” They were standing on the front porch and she examined the spray paint close up for a long moment. Then she kicked a couple of empty beer cans aside, slipped the key in the lock and pushed the door open. The smell of garbage, stale smoke and a half-dozen other things Bobby didn’t even want to contemplate washed over the two of them. “Oh, my god,” she gasped.
“I warned you,” Bobby said then watched as the Escalade pulled away from the curb. Two pair of jeans lay in the street. Ignacio and one of his accomplices stood on the front sidewalk and seemed to be discussing certain aspects of the house.
One of the broken windows in the dining room had been raised and a sparrow sat on the edge of the collapsed Foosball table. As Camila took a step toward the dining room the bird chirped then flew out the window.
“Hmm-mmm,” Camila said glancing at the windows then up at the light fixture holding the remains of a bulb. She stepped into the kitchen and muttered, “Mother of God.” The room didn’t look any worse than Bobby remembered, although the pizza delivery boxes stacked by the backdoor were now scattered across the floor.
They walked back through the living room, past the remains of the couch and the coffee table piled with store circulars and mail. Bobby noticed the bong that had been on the floor was gone.
Camila stopped for a moment in the doorway to the bedroom then stepped inside. Bobby looked over her shoulder and spotted the figure of Arundel’s three-hundred pound sister passed out on one of the soiled mattresses. Fortunately, she was wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt. He looked around for the cat but didn’t see it.
Camila kicked Arundel’s sister in the ribs, none too gently. “Time for you to leave, culo gordo,” she said then began to aggressively shake her placing a foot on her wide rear end.
“You know who she is?” Bobby asked as the massive figure mumbled something and then groaned.
“No, but I’m familiar with the type,” Camila said and continued to shake her. “Come on, get out of here.”
“Stop it, Jesus, stop it, you’re gonna get me sick.”
“This is my house now, time for you to get out.”
“Fuck you,” she said then rolled away and attempted to go back to sleep.
Camila walked out of the bedroom and called something to Ignacio in Spanish from the front door. From her tone she could have been telling him he had a phone call or dinner was ready. A moment later she was back in the room. Ignacio and another thug entered shortly after. Camila indicated the snoring figure on the floor with her chin then said something else in Spanish that, given the tone, really didn’t need any translation.
The two men stepped over and picked her up by the wrists and ankles, groaned when they lifted her and began to carry her out. After a few steps she began to kick and squirm. Ignacio said something and laughed, they hoisted her up another foot or two, then he nodded and they both let go. She fell to the floor sending a shudder across the room as if the place had just been hit by a car.
“Jesus, what in the hell are you trying to do to me?”
They picked her up by the wrists and ankles and carried her out to the living room. Ignacio said something again and a moment later there was another massive shudder as she was dropped to the ground.
“Sometimes it takes a while for them to learn. I think it would be a good idea if she didn’t come back. This will work, we’ll get to work in just a bit,” She said and pulled out her cellphone. She placed a call, spoke in Spanish for no more than a minute then carefully gave the address. “A dumpster,” she said once she hung up and looked at Bobby.
Someone began screeching out in the front yard, but it was suddenly cut short. Bobby stepped to the front window and saw Arundel’s sister staring back with a shocked look on her face. She had both of her hands placed over her nose as blood dripped down her chin and onto her t-shirt.
Ignacio stood in front of her with his arm outstretched pointing down the street. She shook her head back and forth a few times, but once he stepped toward her she hurried down the sidewalk pausing only once to look over her shoulder.
“Another problem solved,” Camila said and shrugged her shoulders.
Chapter Eleven
Bobby sat in front of his flat screen sipping his third bourbon. It had been a very long day. He’d left Camila at the house with Ignacio and his friends, then driven past the place again on his way home.
The black spray paint had been painted over. As a matter of fact the entire front of the house had been repainted, including the front door which was now a glossy, fire engine red. A large dumpster took up half of the front yard and was already loaded to overflowing with discarded furniture, trash, bald tires, old mattresses and sitting on top of all that, the damaged Foosball table. He’d caught the six o’clock news and listened to three or four radio broadcasts for any reports of assaults in the area but never heard anything.
He’d yet to discuss the subject of rent with Camila and he worried about her seeming to step into the owner’s role as if the house had been given to her. He wondered if the violent display with the two jerks on the sidewalk that morning hadn’t been for his benefit as well as for the surrounding area.
At a little after four that afternoon he’d received a text message from Fran announcing that she and Jonathan “Have been invited to be dinner guests of Mr. Montcreff this evening at Michael’s. Seems to know a good thing when he sees one.”
Michael’s was an exclusive restaurant in town specializing in steaks and strong drinks. The idea of Morris Montcreff listening to Jonathan and Fran for an entire evening brought a smile to Bobby’s face and he raised his glass in a mock toast. The two of them were so self-absorbed Bobby figured Jonathan would be under Montcreff’s thumb in a matter of weeks if Montcreff didn’t kill him outright.
Curiosity got the best of him and he drove past Michael’s at a little before ten that evening, just to catch a quick glimpse. What he saw was Montcreff’s SUV parked in front with the doors open. Hippo, one of Montcreff’s thugs, was leading a very intoxicated Fran and Jonathan by the arm and pouring them into the back seat. Bobby just kept on going and prayed to God he hadn’t been spotted.
He slept soundly that night and drove past the house on his way into the office the next morning. Other than an old television someone had placed in the dumpster nothing seemed to have changed overnight.
His phone rang a little before nine-thirty.
“Bobby Custer”
“Mr. Custer,” Marci at the front desk said. “Miss Camila Morales is here.”
“Please send her back,” Bobby said.
He stepped out of his office to meet her. Today she wore an attractive pair of slacks, a silk blouse and sort of cream-colored heels. The same crucifix dangled over her cleavage and she flashed a large smile as she approached.
“Thanks you for seeing me, Mr. Custer. Sorry to arrive unannounced, but this should only take a moment.”
Bobby nodded, shook her hand and asked if he could get her a coffee or beverage as he led her into his office.
&n
bsp; “No, much as I’d like to, I’m really pressed for time this morning.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I’d like a receipt for the month’s rent.”
“Certainly, we haven’t really discussed a monthly fee, I’m thinking fifteen hundred. Of course, I’ll cover the utilities.”
“I really don’t care what figure you arrive at, I just need the receipt. With that incident yesterday I want proof of legal occupancy just in case the police make an appearance.”
“Bear with me, I can print a receipt off for you in just a moment, please have a seat. You can just make the check payable to me,” Bobby said then sort of waved her into one of the client chairs as he stepped around and settled into the chair behind his desk.
“I’m not sure we’re communicating.”
“Excuse me?” Bobby said and looked up from his computer screen.
“I said, I’m not sure we’re communicating. I just need the receipt, writing a check isn’t part of the deal.”
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
“We’re moving in, we’ve already done an awful lot of work. Probably saved the structure from being posted ‘Unfit for Human Habitation’ by the health department. I was under the impression this was going to be a good faith agreement between you and Mr. Montcreff, I’m merely the, how should I say, facilitator.”
“That’s not my understanding, Mr. Montcreff never intimated to me that…”
“I believe it might have something to do with the method you used to acquire the property. I’m not sure of specifics, but it would seem to me that an investigation, of any sort, into the title would not turn out favorably for you. Isn’t that correct?” she said, then flashed a becoming smile that suggested something along the lines of ‘Don’t screw with me.’
“Well, I mean, yes, if that’s Mr. Montcreff’s understanding,” Bobby sputtered. “I certainly wouldn’t want him, or you, to get the wrong idea.”
“Ignacio will appreciate your attention to this as well,” she said and just let that last statement hang out there for a long moment.
