“Good Lord.”
“They even delivered a hand drawn image of the decedent to my house, the bastards.”
“They’ve contacted you?” Halladay sounded genuinely surprised.
“Yeah, it’s a good thing my wife and daughter weren’t there.”
I could hear Halladay breathing hard as he considered this new information. The long silence only served to agitate my growing unease.
“We maybe should go to the police, but before we do, I want to meet and explain my reasons for the secrecy.”
“Okay. Your office?”
“No, too public. Where do you live?”
“Whittier.”
“Text me your address and I’ll see you in an hour. Does that work?”
“Sure.”
“It’ll be nice to meet your wife and daughter.”
“They left for Mallorca, Friday afternoon.”
“I love Mallorca. It’s my second favorite place after Ibiza. Shouldn’t your daughter be in school, though?”
“We home school her. My wife insists on exercising considerable control over her education.”
“Very smart. Anyway, I better get moving. Later, Nick.”
“See you in a bit.”
As I called Tony I was laughing. Home school Maleah? Fat chance. Tony didn’t answer. Bobby and I left in the Yukon. I was carrying my Colt and my Walther. Bobby had his nine, but also brought his fully auto M14, made all the nastier by the black silencer. I pulled up on my driveway, let him into the house and parked on the next street over, hotfooting it back to the house. Bobby was down in the den, attaching the bayonet to the M14. The intimidation factor was off the charts. Bobby handled it with practiced ease.
He grinned at me. “Haven’t touched this baby in a while.” He was chewing the inside of his mouth, a holdover from his drug days. The TV was on mute, and he looked completely at home and completely relaxed.
“I assume he’ll be alone, but just in case, be ready.”
“I’m ready. Feel like shit, I always do when I drink, but I’m ready.” He leaned his rifle up against an end table and stretched out on the bed. I had the feeling he’d be asleep in about 60 seconds but wasn’t too concerned. Any double-cross from Halladay would almost certainly be by proxy.
I went back upstairs and turned on the coffee pot. Then I waited. By the time Halladay arrived, I had a pot of Colombian dark roast waiting on the coffee table, plus two mugs and cream and sugar.
“Come in, Mr. Halladay.”
He was in his workout outfit and smiled warmly as we shook hands. “Thanks.”
“Please, have a seat.”
We entered the living room, sitting opposite each other. “Coffee?”
“Black.”
I poured him a cup and handed it to him. He took a sip and seemed friendly enough, but my instinct was telling me to be careful. “We appear to be sitting on at least two murders, Cicero’s and that goddamned actor’s.”
“Actually, that’s not quite accurate.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because it’s you that’s sitting on two murders.”
He looked at me curiously as his friendly vibe began to evaporate.
“Our constabulary, as you call them, jacked me up Thursday afternoon. They were laboring under the misapprehension that I had killed that goddamned actor.”
“Really?”
“I was home here in bed with my wife when he was beheaded and dumped. I gave them my theory, which they were very interested in.”
All ears, he gripped the mug so tightly, I thought it might explode. “Which is what, exactly?”
“Cicero’s death was a cover-up, and he was probably whacked by the two assholes that’re impersonating cops, per Arnold Clipper’s orders. They also talked to Jade and now, in their own peculiar way, LAPD has a real fucking hard-on.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” said Halladay quietly.
I was surprised. His normal dominant personality was momentarily blunted, which made me all the more suspicious. “Not the sort of thing I like to talk about on the phone.”
“You didn’t even contact me.” His eyes, suddenly glistening and hard, bored into me.
“You wanted me to take care of this on the D.L, so you could distance yourself as much as possible. Am I wrong?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think you paid me 100 G’s to call you every five minutes.”
Halladay nodded as he mulled this over. “What should we do?”
“I’m no lawyer but if I were you, I’d inform the police you had your paralegal run a Vital Records check and to your surprise, it turns out Cicero wasn’t killed in a hit-and-run after all. All you risk is embarrassment.”
“Sounds messy.”
“Yeah but you clear yourself on any possible misprision of felony charges.”
“Maybe you’re right.” He put down his coffee cup and rubbed his hands together to get the circulation back that he’d squeezed out. He looked at me and sighed. “Me and Cicero were making so much money, it was ridiculous. I mean cash was flowing in like Scarface. Then the idiot stopped selling Persian Brown and switched to blow. Cut our profit margin in half because we didn’t have the same fantastic connections as we did with the brown. And then Cicero got bored and quit. One day, out of the blue, he phones me up and tells me we’re out of business. I suppose I should have been relieved but I’d gotten very used to the money. You know how that goes?”
I nodded and deliberated. “You shouldn’t really be telling me this.”
Halladay shook his head. “Without even asking me. I could never understand why.”
As I listened to his confession, I felt like I was having an out of body experience. “Mr. Halladay, I--”
“--Have you ever seen, I mean physically, how big of a stack 300 million dollars is?”
“No.”
“It’s the most amazing sight. You feel like you own the world and it gives you the biggest hard-on of your life.”
He fell silent and we looked at each other. I was fascinated but acutely aware that he wouldn’t be telling me this unless he had ulterior motives. I had an opening and took it.
“Why were you sleeping with his wife?”
The blood drained out of his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind and sat there in the telling silence.
“You know it was bound to come out sooner or later.”
He sucked in his top lip and sighed out of his nose. “Prison changes a man.”
“He came out Cindy instead of Cicero? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Dominique had a voracious appetite that he no longer wanted to satisfy.”
“So you served her?”
“Yes, but with his complete knowledge and permission.”
“Did Jade know?”
He shook his head. I wanted to twist it right off his pompous neck. “We were discreet.”
“Not discreet enough.”
“I’m sorry?”
My coffee had gone cold, but I drank it down anyway. “You remember the day Richard came home unexpectedly and caught you two?”
He blanched and licked his dry lips. “How do you know about that?”
“Dominique had a therapist. Jade and I met her in San Francisco.”
“Oh my God.”
“Richard never forgave her. It broke her heart and she cracked, and pulled the trigger.”
Halladay seemed genuinely moved. Then again, I’ve been wrong before.
“That’s why she did it?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Stupid whore.”
“Sorry?”
“She did this to get back at me.”
“I don’t follow.”
“It’s not my fault that Richard, the waste of skin, wouldn’t speak to her anymore.”
“You knew?”
“Yes, of course. She would call me, begging me to take her back.”
He was either delusional or a c
onsummate liar. Either way I didn’t care and regretted not listening to Cassady when she advised me to give him the retainer back.
He shrugged. “Anyway, what’s done is done.”
“As simple as that?”
“Yeah, simple as that.”
Regret became a fleeting memory as he looked at his watch. “It’s been illuminating.”
“Very.”
“Sorry, but I have to send a text.” I watched fascinated as this arrogant prick, without waiting for me to reply, took out his cell and sent the text. He put his phone away and headed for the front door. “I’ll be in touch.”
I held it open for him and he stepped outside without so much as a backwards glance. I watched as he drove away. I went back into the living room and was about to sit down, when the patio doors exploded as two Latino bikers burst through. Jagged shards of glass flew through the air and I stumbled backward, falling on my ass. Before I could even get my Colt out, the fat one was smashing me across the face with his gun. I covered up as best I could, and he jumped on top of me, sitting his 280 pound frame on my chest, pinning me down. He began systematically punching me in the face and the world went dark. I heard voices swirling around and felt myself being lifted up. I opened my eyes just as I was dropped onto the sofa. My two assailants were looking down at me. I tried to focus, but the ringing in my ears had me flailing.
The larger one grinned revealing a gold tongue stud that nicely complimented his black gang tattoos. “Wake up, motherfucka!”
The skinny one, dressed in jeans, motorcycle boots, and a tee-shirt under his denim vest, glared down at me. I looked at his 1% patch and the Los Muertos insignia on the other side of his vest. He grinned, revealing a gleaming row of gold teeth, sucked noisily on them and knelt down next to me; his fetid breath almost made me puke.
“Where’s your money, bitch?”
“What?”
He looked at his partner. “Go see what this motherfucka got upstairs.”
I was so happy when the big one got up off me and headed toward the stairs. He wasn’t happy though when the bayonet on Bobby’s M14 stopped him dead in his tracks. He looked incredulously at the Vietnam vet, who was in full kill mode. All men of violence recognize that look and the consequence of ignoring it.
“Back the fuck up,” snarled Bobby.
Skinny, caught off guard, recovered and went to raise his gun.
“Hey, fuckhead, this is fully auto. I can spray right through him and blow you out the front door.”
“Bullshit.”
Bobby pressed the bayonet into fat man’s gut, piercing his tee-shirt, drawing blood. “Put the gun down, and I ain’t gonna tell ya again.”
“This dude got me cold, man!”
Skinny looked at me and started to raise his gun. I grabbed it with my left and hit him hard in the balls. He screamed and doubled over in agony.
“How you like me now, asshole!” I yelled just before I smashed him on the back of his head. He passed out and crashed to the floor.
Bobby grinned his approval and forced the other biker to back up. “Sit down.”
He sat down.
I was feeling crappy, but adrenaline had kicked in and was keeping me on my feet. I aimed the gun at him. “You’re Los Muertos. What the fuck do you want with me?”
“Fuck you,” he snarled.
“Arnold sent you?”
“Who?”
I slapped him hard across his face. Humiliation reddened it. “You want another, ya fat fuck?”
He shook his head and kept his mouth clamped shut.
“I’m gonna ask you again, and if you don’t tell me, I’m gonna let him go to work on you.”
Bobby’s eyes lit up at the prospect. He put down the rifle and flipped open his razor sharp Spyderco knife. The biker eyeballed it, sweat oozing out of his pores.
“Naw, man, it wasn’t him,” he said.
“He’s all yours.”
I stepped back as Bobby stepped forward, the knife gleaming in his hands.
“Wait, man, wait!” he pleaded.
“Nick, get a roll of paper towels for the blood.”
“Okay.” I took a step toward the kitchen.
Fatso looked like he was about to start frothing. “Please, I can’t tell you. He’ll kill me.”
Bobby’s thousand yard death stare was blazing into him.
I said, “What do you think my partner’s gonna do to you?”
He opened his mouth just as Bobby wrapped a massive hand around his throat, bringing the edge of the blade toward his left eye. This was all too much for the no longer tough guy. Urine darkened his crotch.
“Jesus, bro,” chuckled Bobby, stepping back instinctively.
Humiliated, he blurted out, “It was the lawyer dude! He paid us to fuck you up, man!”
“Halladay?”
“Yeah.”
Although I’d suspected as much, the confirmation still took my breath away. “Shit,” I said quietly.
Bobby looked at me and shook his head. I glared at the biker.
“What’s your name?”
“Gordo.”
“You got ID, Gordo?”
He handed me his wallet. I pulled out his license, looked at it and gave it to Bobby. “Hand him Sleeping Beauty’s there.”
Gordo pulled Skinny’s wallet out of his back pocket and gave it to Bobby, who extracted the license and tossed the wallet back to him.
I considered him for a long, tense moment. “Now we know who you clowns are, and where you live.”
“What’re you gonna do?” he asked.
“Was this gonna be a beat down, or were you supposed to whack me?”
“Naw, just a beat down.”
Bobby voiced what I was thinking. “Doesn’t make sense.”
“Unless it was to get me outta the way for a couple’a weeks ‘til he and Clipper could complete whatever it is they’re up to.”
Bobby nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”
“And Clipper didn’t know?”
Gordo shook his head.
“So you do know him?”
“We do shit for him, you know, when he need us.”
“I don’t get that,” said Bobby.
Gordo shrugged. “He ain’t tight with the lawyer. They don’t like each other.”
Skinny, A.K.A. Flaco, began to regain consciousness.
“Lean Piss Boy against the sofa, but not on it,” I said.
Gordo helped him and sat next to him. Bobby picked up his rifle, fingering the trigger. This wasn’t lost on them.
“You did the hit-and-run?”
Gordo looked at me and shook his head. “Naw.”
Each bad answer infuriated me more. I stepped forward and cracked him hard in the nose. His head snapped back. “I ain’t gonna ask you again.”
Flaco glared at me. “You a bad motherfucka with that nine in your grip.”
I cracked him across his face, almost knocking him out. I turned to Gordo, pressed my boot into his crotch and applied a little pressure. He moaned and paled and I eased off.
“It was you two, wasn’t it?”
The fat fuck nodded. I stood up and glanced at Bobby, who shook his head as anger coursed through him.
I said, “Who ordered it, the lawyer?”
Gordo nodded.
“Who went to the doctor for the Death Certificate?”
“Them other two fools.”
“The white dudes?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you know this?”
“We was all getting twisted one night, and he got pissed.”
“Who did?”
“The lawyer, Halladay, ‘cause he wanted a straight coroner’s report, to make it legit.”
“These white dudes, what’re their names?”
“Ernie and Tom.”
“Did you kill Cicero?”
They glanced at each other, sharing a knowing half-smirk. I wanted to smash in their faces. Bobby beat me to it and cracked Flaco in the mouth wi
th the rifle butt. He spat blood and teeth, his eyes rolling up into his head as he slumped back into semi-consciousness. Bobby turned to Gordo.
“Stop beating on us, bro!”
I motioned Bobby to stop. “Then tell us what’s so funny.”
“You dunno what you up against, puta.”
“I know all about Arnold Clipper.”
“No, you don’t. He ain’t just crazy, he Satan, bro.”
“I don’t give a shit about him, you or the devil. I wanna know if Cicero’s alive.”
“We didn’t smoke him, but that don’t mean he ain’t dead.”
I was tired of the runaround and looked at Bobby. “Convince him.”
Bobby raised the rifle butt and drew back to smash him in the face again. “You can grind me into hamburger, motherfucka, but I ain’t saying no more.”
Again I motioned Bobby to stop. Again he looked disappointed.
“What about Richie?”
“We don’t see him too much, but Halladay told us Clipper treats him like a chavala.”
“Chavala?”
Gordo nodded and smirked. “A bitch, just like his father.”
“What?”
The biker smiled but didn’t elaborate. “Where does he live?”
“He moves from hotel to hotel. We don’t even know how to contact him.”
“So how’d Halladay find you?”
Flaco opened his eyes, wiped the blood away and said, “He sends us a text, cabron.”
“Is that right?”
He nodded and cast a quick, fearful glance at Bobby, who was still fingering the trigger on his fully auto rifle.
“Bobby. Bobby!” He looked at me with seeming reluctance. “Give ‘em a garbage bag and broom.”
He lightly tapped the trigger, flexed his jaw muscles and went into the kitchen.
Flaco snarled. “You better finish this, motherfucka!”
“You’ve got more balls than brains, pendejo.”
He looked at the blood on the back of his hand and grinned. “You the pendejo, ‘cause you still don’t get it.”
“Mira,” hissed Gordo.
Flaco ignored him, locking eyes with me.
“Then enlighten me.”
Flaco shook his head.
“That means--”
“--I know what it means, cabron. You gonna find out yourself, sooner or later.”
Bobby returned with the garbage bag and broom, and dropped them on the floor in front of them.
Cicero's Dead Page 14
