by John Locke
“Good point.”
“Plus, I want to figure it out for myself.”
“Are you that bored?”
“Last time you called me was a week ago. I could’ve been in the Bahamas all this time.”
“You’re breaking my heart.”
“What heart?”
“Good point. Again.”
17.
“WE’RE FRIENDS, RIGHT?”
Carmine “The Chin” Porrello, west coast mob boss, is on the phone. Wants to know if we’re friends.
“That’s a tough one,” I say.
He chuckles. “Well, I were you, I’d say yes.”
“Then, yes.”
“’Cause this is a friendship call.”
“Good to know,” I say.
“I don’t approve of you bustin’ in my house.”
“I know.”
“On the other hand, you could’ve killed me, and you didn’t.”
“And I paid you fifty grand.”
“True,” he says. “Plus, I hear our friend survived the shooting.”
He’s talking about Gwen.
“She did,” I say.
“You datin’ her?”
“It’s up in the air.”
“Women, right?”
“Tell me why you’re calling.”
“You young people,” he says.
“What about us?”
“You’re too impatient. You don’t understand the art of chit-chat.”
“There’s an art to chit-chat?”
“See? You don’t know.”
I feel like reaching through the phone and pulling the purpose of his call from his throat. He’s right. I don’t like idle chit-chat. I’d rather have a root canal. I’m sitting on a cot in the windowless room I built in the center of PhySpa, talking on the phone to a guy who’s so old, last time I saw him his nuts were hanging out of his underwear and he didn’t even know it. Until the phone buzzed, I’d been holding the ceramic device we recovered from Gwen’s boob a few hours ago. Working it around in my hand the same way I used to work the silver dollar my grandfather gave me all those years ago. I wonder why I keep playing with this device instead of smashing it with a sledge hammer like any intelligent person would do. For some reason I’m content to hold this weapon of death in my hand. This device that can kill me instantly, should it fall into the wrong hands.
I wonder what that says about me.
Finally, after what seems like months, Carmine gets to the point.
“Someone wants to take out a hit on you.”
“Thank goodness!”
“This news makes you happy?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why?”
“It’ll add excitement to my life.”
“I didn’t accept the hit.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re friends.”
“Oh.”
We’re quiet a minute. Then Carmine says, “Don’t you wanna know?”
“What?”
“The person who wants you dead.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“That’d make it too easy.”
“I think you’ll be surprised.”
“I’m just messing with you,” I say. “I already know who it is.”
“Really?”
“Tony Spumoni. You know him?”
“Sure. He comes to the club.”
“I embarrassed him today.”
“How?”
“Ripped one of his ears off.”
“No shit?” Carmine chuckles. “You’re somethin’ else, you are. That must’ve hurt.”
“You’d think so. But you’re right, I am surprised.”
“Why’s that?”
“There’s a lot of uncertainty in his company. I’d expect him to wait till the dust clears.”
We go silent again. Then Carmine says something that surprises me even more.
“It wasn’t Tony.”
“What?”
“It was your other business partner.”
My other business partner? I frown. “Who, Wadsworth?”
“Nope.”
I think a minute.
Of course!
Who stands to lose the most in the new business arrangement? The vice president of research and development.
“George Best,” I say.
“I don’t know Mr. Best,” Carmine says.
“Okay, I give up. Who is it that wants me dead?”
“Our friend, Gwen Peters.”
18.
WHAT? GWEN WANTS to put out a hit on me? Why?
That’s what I want to say to Carmine. Instead I say, “You spoke to Gwen personally?”
“I knew you’d be surprised.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, I spoke to her personally.”
“No possibility you might be mistaken?”
“I’ve known her forever.”
“Sometimes phones can be tricky,” I say. “And face it, you’re hard of hearing.”
“Creed.”
“Yeah?”
“I spoke to her in person.”
“What?”
“She came to see me.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago. She just left.”
“Did you ask why?”
“Of course! Like I say, she and me, we go way back, you know?”
“What reason did she give?”
“She wouldn’t. Said if she had to give me a reason, she’d take her business elsewhere.”
I shake my head, move the device around in my hand some more. I’m careful not to press the single button. There wasn’t supposed to be a button, but there it is, right in the center. I was told the device attaches to a hand-held unit and can be reprogrammed with a new four-digit code. It can work that way, but as the others filed out of the board meeting today, George and William told me the board wants the device back. When I asked why, they explained it can be used on its own. In other words, if I press the button four times within ten seconds, it’ll fry my brain. I told them they couldn’t have it. I could keep it or turn it over to the police. They weren’t happy about either possibility.
“You still there?” Carmine says.
I know why I’m feeling a little blue. My abandonment issues are kicking in. The device reminds me of my silver dollar, and the silver dollar reminds me of my original family, all of whom are dead, which reminds me how alone I am in the world. I know what you’re thinking. I’m supposed to look on the bright side, right? Well, maybe you can help me find it. My ex-wife Janet hates me. My daughter Kimberly won’t return my calls except to punish me. The woman I loved, Kathleen, is married to another guy. My girlfriend, Rachel, is a homicidal maniac. When we were together I had to drug her every night to keep her from killing me in my sleep! My close friend and facilitator, Lou Kelly, tried to kill me recently, which has severely impacted our working relationship. My boss at Homeland Security, Darwin, ordered a chip to be planted in my brain so he can kill me whenever it suits him. Callie, my best friend in the world, doesn’t trust me. She used those exact words to describe our relationship recently, and gave me her death stare an hour ago.
And now Gwen wants to pay someone to kill me.
“What did you tell her?” I ask Carmine.
“I said I’d think about it.”
“Doesn’t sound like something a friend would say.”
“If I gave her a quick no, she’d call someone else. This way you can nip it in the bud.”
He’s right.
“Thanks, Carmine.”
“You’re surprised, aren’t you!”
I am.
“I owe you,” I say.
“That’s what I like to hear!”
The PhySpa phone rings, so I tell my friend, the mob boss, I’ve got to run.
“Come see me tonight,” he says. “At the club.”
“Which one?”
“Top Six.”
“When?”
“Ten.”
I click off the cell phone and pick up the PhySpa phone.
“Who’s this?” I say.
“Tony Spumoni.”
“I was just talking about you,” I say. “Your ears must’ve been burning.”
“You think that’s funny?”
I think it’s hilarious. But what I say is, “What do you want?”
“I want to settle this thing between us.”
“How?”
“I did some checking. I know who you are, what you do.”
“So?”
“Can we meet tonight?”
“Why?”
“I got a proposition for you.”
“You can’t tell me over the phone?”
“I already said too much.”
My cell phone vibrates. Lou Kelly. To Tony I say, “You know the club, Top Six?”
“Carmine Porrello’s club?”
“Yeah.”
“What time?”
“Ten-thirty.”
I hang up the house phone, answer the cell. “That was quick.”
“I’m going to take a stab at this,” Lou says, laughing. “Kimberly’s boyfriend’s a pre-Rapture pet salesman, right?”
“You’re good. You found him?”
“I don’t know where to start. There are hundreds of these guys scattered across the country. I found six in Duval County. Their standard sales pitch is pets have no souls, so they’ll be left behind when the Rapture takes place. If you love your pets, you won’t let them starve.”
“So Kimberly’s boyfriend has to convince them he’s sinful enough to be left behind but loving enough to care for their pets.”
“Odd way to make a buck,” Lou says.
“Anything else?”
“Kimberly’s grades.”
“Do I want to know?”
“You do.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Perfect attendance, A’s in every subject but one.”
“Biology?”
“Right. B plus.”
“He’s a dick.”
“Who, the teacher?”
“Yeah.”
“She said that?”
“She did.”
“Kids talk like that to their parents these days?”
“I don’t know how kids talk. Like we said, she’s pushing my buttons.”
“You say anything to her about it?”
“No. She’s got all the power.”
“How so?”
“She can hang up anytime she wants.”
“You can stop sending her money.”
“And what type of message would that send? Respect me or else?”
Lou pauses a minute. Then says, “Well, at least she’s still enrolled, making good grades. That’s a good thing. And she’s always been a great kid.”
“And still is,” I say. “So yeah, I’m lucky. It could be a helluva lot worse. How about our guy, Jimmy T.?”
“You still want her followed?”
“For a little while. Until I’m completely comfortable about things.”
“I’ll track Jimmy down and put him to work.”
“Thanks, Lou.”
19.
I FOCUS A pinpoint of light on the face of my watch as it turns 9:00 p.m., thinking, two hours ago Gwen Peters asked Carmine “The Chin” Porrello to have me whacked.
I’m in the Las Vegas Zoo, standing by the monkey cage. The monkeys are so surprised to see a visitor after closing time, they actually stop picking their asses to stare at me.
“You talkin’ to me?” I say, channeling my inner Robert DeNiro.
The zoo’s been closed three hours. It was harder to break in than you’d think. Probably because they house endangered cats, apes, and exotic reptiles, so their security needs to be top notch.
It’s dark, but not pitch black. I might need the pen light to see my watch, but I can see the monkeys without it, and they can see me. I snap the light off and put it back in my pocket, remove the ceramic device and move it around in my hand.
The monkey cage isn’t actually a cage. It’s more like a deep, circular pit with a rock mountain in the center, and some artificial climbing trees. The monkeys have lots of space to move around in, and the trees and mountain offer them opportunities to exercise. The chain link fence around the perimeter comes up to the middle of my chest, high enough to keep kids from falling into the pit.
I fling the ceramic device at the monkeys.
Several rush to the place where it strikes the mountain, and scramble around, fighting for it, until one emerges with the prize.
I watch with amusement as he tries to keep it away from the others. He jumps onto one of the trees and makes his way to the top. He sniffs it, puts it in his mouth. For a moment I think how funny it’ll be if he swallows it. But he removes it from his mouth and works it around in his hand the way I’ve been doing.
Pressing the button four times in ten seconds will fry my brain.
The monkey gives up and tosses the device to the ground.
Dozens of monkeys begin fighting over it, and I assume it won’t take long for this many monkeys to press a single button four times in ten seconds.
Why am I doing this?
I don’t know. It’s fun? I’m in Vegas? I need the rush? My fate is in the hands of a bunch of monkeys, which seems appropriate, somehow.
I start to laugh. And keep laughing. Kimberly’s not the only one who can push my buttons!
“Have at it!” I shout, and walk away. I get about five feet when something hits me in the back of the head.
I bend down and pick up the device.
The monkeys have spoken.
I wipe the device on my pant leg, put it back in my pocket. Then head to Carmine Porrello’s club, the Top Six.
20.
“HOW OLD IS that one?” I ask Carmine, pointing at the skinny blond on the far left.
“The nurse?”
I feel like saying, “nurse costume,” but what’s the point?
“You like her?” Carmine says.
“She doesn’t look legal.”
“I run a legit club. She don’t look eighteen, but she’s got a driver’s license. You want me to call her over?”
“No.”
I look at the skinny girl a second time. Her hair is close-cropped, with a streak of red on the front of each side, framing her delicate, pale face. She looks like she’s completely drugged out. But there’s something else in her face that would break my heart if I were her father. It’s something you don’t normally see at her age.
She’s given up.
This is the type of kid who probably won’t live to see her twenties. I’m looking at a dead girl, I think.
“You keep lookin’ at her,” Carmine says. “Here, I’ll call her over.”
He waves his hand until she notices him. She looks over her shoulder a minute, then back at Carmine, then reluctantly climbs off the stage and comes over.
“Hi Shirl,” he says.
“Is something wrong?” she says. “I’m supposed to go on next.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Shirl looks nervously to the left of the stage. “But Roy—”
“I’ll take care of Roy.”
She looks dubious.
Carmine says, “You trust me, yes?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Porrello.”
He nods. “Good. I want you to meet a friend of mine. A good friend.”
She looks at me. I notice Carmine didn’t say my name, which is his way of showing respect. He’s old school. He’ll let me decide if I want to use a fake name.
“Hi Shirl, I’m Donovan Creed.”
I put my hand out. Shirl looks at me with utter confusion, bites the corner of her lip and looks at Carmine, who says, “He’s offering you his hand. Shake it.”
Shirl looks completely bewildered, but takes my hand. It took her exactly ten seconds to make me feel like I’m mentally challenged. She loo
ks back up at the stage, clearly agitated, shifting her weight from one leg to the next, while looking at the big, angry slab of beef who’s giving her a hard look.
“That’s Roy?” I say.
“Uh huh. I better go.”
She starts to move, but Carmine puts his hand on her arm. Shirl stops, but looks as though she might pee her pants, she’s so frightened.
“Don’t be rude,” Carmine says.
“We’re about to play PNQ,” she says, by way of explanation. “I’m up first.”
Carmine nods. “Okay. After that, you come back down.”
“I’ll ask Roy.”
“You’ll what?” Carmine says.
Shirl realizes she’s made a big mistake. By fearing Roy more than Carmine, she’s disrespected the old Don.
In front of me, a good friend.
She’s in full-blown panic mode. It’s pitiful to see.
I know what’s going on here. Carmine’s older than dirt. Roy’s the young tough. They’re about to butt heads. Carmine, needing to prove he’s still got it. Roy, not wanting to be disrespected. I’m in a position to prevent it. Normally I wouldn’t give a shit either way, but Carmine did me a favor telling me about Gwen. And this little girl shouldn’t have to live in fear like this.
“What’s PNQ?” I say.
Carmine’s about to blow up, but my question simmers him down a bit. He actually starts to chuckle.
“PNQ stands for penny, nickel, quarter. It’s a game our friend Gwen made up when she used to work for me. Since you never played, I don’t wanna give nothin’ away. You’ll like it.”
“I’ll walk Shirl back up on stage,” I say.
Carmine starts to say something, then looks over at Roy, who’s scowling at both of us. Then says, “That’s good.” He smiles, and adds, “That’s real good. And Creed?”
“Yes, Mr. Porrello?” I say, showing him respect in front of Shirl because I, too, am old school.
“Have fun with it,” he says.
“You know it.”
21.
“WHATEVER YOU’RE ABOUT to do on stage,” I say to Shirl, “You don’t have to.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“Me too. Of all the things I have to do, this is the easiest. It’s no big deal, and it’s fun for the customers.”
