by Mike McCrary
Skinny Drake shrugs his shoulders.
I write: Trust me?
He gives me a thumbs up with a smile.
I smile back. As I turn back toward the front I catch Gordo eyeballing us through the rearview mirror. Can’t get a read on his eyes, but something is going on.
I tear out the page, wadding it up into a ball, making sure Gordo sees me doing it. Need him to understand he doesn’t own this situation. Things have changed. It’s not like before with New York and the condos where Gordo and company held the cards. There has been a seismic shakeup. That was then, and this is now.
And now?
Now, I’ve got some serious input into the situation.
Chapter 49
We land at LAX.
Gordo rents a car and we’re now driving up the PCH. I’ve never been on the West Coast before and, brothers and sisters, this is nice. I know I was debating getting lost in New York awhile back, but now I’m thinking somewhere around here might be better.
It’s seventy-two degrees and damn near perfect. Sun and the ocean are calling me to consider a move. They’re making a strong argument and I am listening. All my life I’ve heard people in Texas badmouth California for various political and ideological differences. Right now, I don’t give a damn about their politics or sexual preferences, not that I ever did. I can get along with anybody anyway, but throw in perfect weather, sexy people and a beach? I’m your buddy. I haven’t said much since we landed. I saw three people I recognized from TV at the airport and everybody else is gorgeous. Even the homeless are a five or six.
We’ve been driving for a couple of hours—seems like minutes to me—and Gordo says we’re close. There’s a little beach town between LA and San Diego that the first son is hanging out.
I tried to talk a little about the plan on the plane, but Gordo told me not to worry about it. His response did not help soothe my trust concerns with him. Skinny Drake still seems to be all in. Tried to talk to him on the plane as well, but didn’t get very far. I’m snapping out of my Cali trance, and really need to clarify what I’m about to walk into.
We didn’t travel here with any weapons, not even my bat. Gordo didn’t think it would be a good idea, not to mention a big risk with security and so on.
“Do we need to find guns?” I ask.
“Why?” Gordo asks.
“Well, we’re about to kidnap someone. Right?”
“That’s the plan as I understood it.”
“You think we need something more forceful than our charm?”
“Not really.”
Skinny Drake is plastered to the window, checking out a jeep full of bikini-clad beauties who are egging him on. Does anyone else feel like we are stepping into something slightly dangerous? Is it me?
Gordo senses my worry from the front seat. “Trust me on this one,” he says with a smile.
I don’t trust him on this one. Or any other one.
Chapter 50
We park in front of a small but nice beach house that calls the Pacific Ocean its backyard.
As we step out from the car, the ocean air caresses my face like a tickle from the gods. The sun touches me, warming me to the core. It’s amazing that I’m only now realizing this is the first time I’ve ever been to the ocean in my life. I now understand what people have been saying all these years. How they go on and on about the beach and the ocean. Its rhythms. Its magic. Over the last couple of hours I finally got it. They aren’t stupid. I’m stupid. This is fantastic.
I’m having a damn near spiritual moment here.
Here.
Now.
As we’re about to go storming into this house to snatch someone.
“You sure we don’t need anything? Not anything at all?” I ask.
Gordo shakes his head while pulling a stack of cash from inside his jacket. He moves to the front door without a hint of ceremony. Skinny Drake shrugs his shoulders and follows his uncle. Against all better judgment, I do the same.
Gordo doesn’t bother with knocking. He kicks in the door with a crack and simply strolls on in. Smoke drifts out, but I don’t hear any screaming or any noise at all, aside from some light music playing. Sounds like jazz, maybe.
Skinny Drake and I step inside.
It’s like the morning after an orgy.
Half-naked and fully-naked people are scattered about the floor, couch and chairs. Boobs, penises, you name it—it’s all out there, front and center. There’s also no consideration to the fact narcotics are illegal, either. There are drugs everywhere. I’m not an expert, drugs were never really my thing, but I’m fairly certain that’s an anthill-sized pile of cocaine on the coffee table. Stink of dope fills the smoky air that’s probably been trapped in here for hours, if not days. There’s also a plateful of pills beside a copy of Wired, which lies next to some soiled condoms.
Gordo cuts through the mess of drugs and humanity, heading toward the back. I watch my step as I almost crush some poor bastard’s scrotum. I’m being kind, but I also don’t want to wake anyone up if I can avoid it.
Skinny Drake is in the kitchen, raiding the fridge.
Unbelievable.
Looks like someone forgot where the toilet is.
“Let’s go,” I hear Gordo say.
Spinning around, I see Gordo moving fast toward the door with a passed out dude over his shoulder. Two naked girls have stepped out of a bedroom looking like hot corpses. Like models who are bouncing between this world and the next. They each hold a healthy stash of cash I’m assuming Gordo provided them.
“You bringing him back?” one of the girls asks.
“Doubt it,” Gordo says, walking out the door, carrying the guy.
The girls look to me.
I wave.
They wave back with eyes wide and jaws dropped.
Skinny Drake pokes his head out of the kitchen with a spaghetti noodle falling from his mouth. He waves his stained fingers to the girls. They slip back into the bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as they can.
Pretty sure I hear them giggling.
Chapter 51
I’m told this passed-out sad sack in the backseat next to me is named Rondo.
“Don’t remember seeing a Rondo on the trust,” I say.
Gordo is driving, with Skinny Drake riding shotgun. We’re headed back up the PCH the same way we came. The glory of the blue skies and ocean are losing their appeal. No matter the weather, reality has a way of messing everything up.
No, I’m more focused on this Rondo cat and what his place in this thing might be. He’s a good-looking kid. His chest and abs are cut from tan slabs of marble, but the slobber he’s got pouring from his mouth is cutting deeply into his sex appeal. He’s also snoring like a sonofabitch and snot is flaring off his nose like a really shitty-looking dragon.
“Hello.” I tap Gordo’s shoulder. “Who’s our little Rondo friend here?”
“He’s Mama McCluskey’s first son,” Gordo finally says.
“He’s not one of the M-sons on the trust. So, please help me out on why we have him. Not to mention, what the hell is wrong with him?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s been abducted and he hasn’t moved and he’s got shit coming out of every orifice.”
Gordo cranes his neck back toward me. “He’s from a previous relationship. Mama McCluskey was with a guy prior to Jonathan.”
“Married?”
“No.”
“So he’s like us,” I say, motioning between Skinny Drake and me. “I mean similar to us, but just from the other side of the equation.”
Gordo pauses. Thinks. Looks to Skinny Drake, then to me through the rearview mirror. “Well yes, I guess I never really worked all that out. Yes, you’re right. I guess the only real different is that he got his money a lot sooner than you did.”
“When did he get paid?” asks Skinny Drake.
“Pretty much at birth. Jonathan paid off the dad to go away and left a trust for the kid tha
t kicked in when Rondo turned eighteen.”
I glance over at Rondo. My new brother, or is he a half-brother? I really don’t know how all this family math works. I was an only child until a few days ago. I’m immediately jealous of Rondo. The one who got off easy. The one whose parents survived. Who probably remembers his childhood. The one who’s spent his life stoned on the beach, surfing, working out, having sex parties and sleeping the day away.
Sounds pretty good in comparison.
“Fucking balls hurt!” screams Rondo.
The car rolls silent. Rondo hasn’t opened his eyes. He isn’t awake, still snoring with snot flaring.
Gordo shrugs. “He’s got some dependency issues.”
“Ya don’t say.”
“Make him do it again,” Skinny Drake says.
“It’s involuntary. He’s coming off a bender. He just blurts things out while he’s in his little party-coma.”
“Okay, fine. We’ve got Rondo, now what?” I ask.
“Was hoping you knew,” says Gordo. “You said you wanted a son. Well, to be fair, you said you wanted the favorite son, but you jammed a meat cleaver in that one’s head and buried him in the yard. So, I got you the next best thing.”
“He’s right, Teddy,” Skinny Drake says.
“I did my bit,” Gordo says.
“You did great, man.”
“Thanks.”
“Stop,” I say.
He’s right. I know he’s right and I don’t need Skinny Drake driving the idea home. I did push for this, but I haven’t figured out a plan, really. Need to pivot, hard.
“Give me some of that sugar,” Rondo says while making a play for my chest.
I land a punch to his nose with a crack. Fairly sure I broke it. He’s still out, however as he slumps back to his side of the backseat. His snoring has changed. A much different pitch and tone. More animal-like now. Snot’s still there.
My travel companions didn’t even notice. Skinny Drake has the window down and is playing in the wind with his hand.
I lean forward toward Gordo so I can be heard over the open window. “You need to call Mama McCluskey. Tell her Skinny Drake and I want to make the peace. Tell her who we have and we don’t want to hurt him, but we want this to be over.”
“Okay. Where should we have this meet?”
“Take her temperature on the idea. If she’s down, then tell her you’ll get back to her.”
Gordo nods. “Skinny Drake, get your hand in the car and close the damn window.”
Skinny Drake obeys like a scolded child.
Gordo pulls his phone and takes a deep breath.
Chapter 52
I appreciate the fact that Gordo has the conversation in front of us.
Plus, he did it without me asking to listen in. This helps in the whole can I trust Gordo thing. Not a slam dunk, but it does help. He could have also been doing it to help generate my confidence in him, and then talking in some McCluskey code I don’t know about on the other side.
My head is a mess.
I might be losing it.
I think it’s justified, however.
From what I could gather off only hearing one side of the chat, it seems like it went relatively well. There were some long pauses while Gordo listened and there was a moment when Gordo had to move the phone away from his ear because of the yelling.
That was right after he told her we had Rondo.
She was not pleased.
I heard it. I liked it. Wish I could bottle up her discomfort. I’d save it. Hoard it. Pop it open and take just the smallest of tastes on special occasions.
When Gordo hung up I could see the tension in him rising, even sitting back here.
“Dick Eater!” screams Rondo.
Ignoring, I ask Gordo, “What did she say?”
Gordo takes his time in answering. He looks out the window, then at me through the rearview mirror. Clears his throat and says, “She didn’t say no, but she was less than enthusiastic about making any form of peace.”
“What does that mean?” Skinny Drake asks.
“Means she’s thinking about it.”
I’m starting to get angry. She doesn’t get to decide. I hate that she still thinks she’s in control. Hate that she thinks she’s holding the cards. I really hate the fact that she actually does hold the cards.
“And Rondo here? She doesn’t care that we have him?” I ask.
“Oh, she cares. It’s the only reason she’s thinking about it.”
Gordo’s phone rings.
We all look at each other.
I hold my hands up. Well?
Gordo answers. He doesn’t say a word. He hangs up.
His face flashes pale. Expressionless.
“We’re on,” he says.
Chapter 53
We’re on.
He only said it a couple of seconds ago, but it rattles around my head like a bad song. I got what I asked for, so why do I feel so much panic?
Now what? What do we do now?
These are the two questions being thrown at me by Gordo and Skinny Drake in one form or another. Life and death questions being thrown at me by family I didn’t know existed until recently.
Whatever my answer is, it’s going to have a drastic effect on my and their lives going forward. This is the type of decision I’m not usually making. I’m a princess, a bartender, a pimp and a bat wielding ass-beater. Life and death decision-making?
Not my skill set.
We’re at a stoplight along the PCH. They are both turned around looking at me. Outside my window is nothing but beach and ocean. Plush sand and wave after wave of water. Children are playing. Beautiful people are playing.
I hate them.
I hate them for being free, for being able to have fun in the sun and for not having to carry the weight I’m hauling around. This situation locked around my neck that I’m dragging no matter where I go. Outside my window, those people, they are all weightless. All laughing and playing without carrying an ounce of my burden.
I want to play.
To be weightless.
But the only way I can do that is to keep on breathing. The only way is to stop a few other people from breathing. The only way is to end this thing with Mama McCluskey.
“Balls!” says Rondo.
“Teddy, what do you want to do?” Gordo asks.
Balls indeed.
“What do I want to do?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. I know what I want. I want this to be over, but I have no idea how to get there. I don’t know if I can trust Gordo at all, and I know I can’t trust the McCluskeys to do shit.
Gordo eyeballs me, looking for an answer. He’s anxious. So is Skinny Drake. I close my eyes, hoping the answer will come to me. I dated a guy who would never make a decision when we went out to eat. He had a system. When we went out to dinner, no matter where it was, he’d choose three things on the menu and when the waiter or waitress asked him what he wanted he just went with the first thing that came out of his mouth. He said it was probably what he really wanted all along, but his brain was just getting in the way with all its bullshit. He believed the answer was there, and the immediacy of the question would bring out his true answer.
I liked that guy, until I didn’t. That’s usually how it goes.
Problem here is I can’t think of one, let alone three. So now I really don’t like that guy. Besides, he did this weird shit with this mouth when he said hamburger. Come to think of it, shit like his little restaurant system drove me nuts.
Enough.
Life-and-death plan.
Need one.
Now.
A plan slams into my brain. Not a great one, but it’s one I’ve played with for a while over the last few days. At least the edges of it. Like I was running my fingers over an imaginary ball, unable to find the core of it. Now that I’m forced to really think about it? It might be the only way to truly be done with Mama McCluskey.
Not a complicated plan, to be sure. T
he best plans are usually simple. Read that somewhere. Requires some luck, but finding a foolproof, risk-free way out of this is probably not going to happen.
“I want to meet them at their house. Have them, all of them, meet us at their home. You think they can all get there by tomorrow?”
“All the sons live at home with her,” Gordo says.
“Of course they do. Set it up for noon. Tell her I said high noon. She’ll think it’s stupid. She needs to think we’re stupid.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Gordo says, picking up his phone.
As he calls, my mind begins to spin more and more. Turning this idea over and over. Trying to think of a better way before I’m locked and can’t get out of it.
Too late.
Gordo hangs up and glances back. “All set. She does in fact think you’re stupid.”
Skinny Drake turns to me with concern hanging all over his face.
“Can I ask why?” Gordo asks me.
“Why what?”
“Why do you want all of them at their house?”
I watch a little girl, four, maybe five, building a castle in the sand.
“Because I want Mama McCluskey to know. I want her to feel afraid in her own home. Because we’re going to show up early, way before high noon. Drop by the night before even. Because I want a home invasion.”
Chapter 54
Gordo whips the wheel, cutting through traffic and slamming us into the curb.
Front tires are up on the sidewalk and the back bumper is stuck out into the PCH. He jams it into park and flies out the door, heading toward the beach.
Skinny Drake shakes his head at me before chasing out after him. Horns blare at our car, upset with the half-assed parking job. I watch Gordo stomp through the sand with Skinny Drake fighting to reach him. This is a good test. A test for Gordo. If he is with us, if he’s truly with us, then he’ll come around on this idea. I’m going to let Skinny Drake talk him off the ledge. If Gordo doesn’t go along with us and Skinny Drake sides with him, then I’m out. I’ll bolt with what I’ve got and go ghost. I don’t want that. In a very short amount of time I’ve grown to like the idea of having a brother. A family. I’d rather not give that up, not before I’ve had a chance to really get to know it.
