by Tony Bulmer
‘You want to park in the driveway? What happens If someone is home?’ asked Martino.
‘There ain’t no one home. We cruised the block seven, eight times already, what is the matter with you Martino, you losing your cojones or something?’
Martino gave Diego a look. He figured he could shoot him right here, if he wanted to. But this wasn’t he kind of neighborhood that was used to gunshots. If he wasted the little prick right here, he would have to drive round with the corpse twenty to thirty minutes minimum, before he could find somewhere to dump it. Then what? How long would it take the cops to find the body? Diego’s shit-stink corpse would draw the carrion quick, and the first thing the cops would do when they found the body was run a list of his last known associates. That would mean moving south, Martino knew that. If he stayed in LA, the cops would find him five days tops. He gave Diego a crooked smile. Jail had taught him one thing. He had all the time in the world. When he popped a cap in Diego, he would do it properly—professionally and he would bury the body deep, get the fucker to dig the hole himself—watch him sweat before, so the little prick could really savor the moment.
‘You coming Martino?’
Martino nodded quietly. He pulled the brim of his ball cap down low and got out of the car. As they walked back to the Costello house, a female jogger headed along the sidewalk towards them. When she got close, Diego hooted out, a needless obscenity. The woman veered into the road, a look of fear on her face. ‘Hey, where you taking the booty, I am right here baby, where you goin?’ Diego swiveled, watched the woman go. ‘You see that Martino, the bitch is in love with me,’ he laughed, ‘Hey, you’re awful quiet all of a sudden, what the fuck’s the matter with you, you lost your sense of humor, or something?’
‘Just playing it low-key, like Frank said, remember?’
‘Hey, forget about Frank, that motherfucker is weak, he’s running scared of his uncle for Christ’s sake, that dude is like eighty years old!’
‘I hear you Saint. But Frank is your man. He is Mr. pay-check, right?’
Diego gave a braying high-pitched laugh, ‘Soon as we scare the diamonds out of this Costello dude, we are branching out on our own, partner, guns, pussy, yeyo, there ain’t no one in this town who will be able to touch us partner.’
Martino took a look at Diego now, a long cool look. The cat was smarter and more dangerous than he had thought. If he was talking about cutting his buddy Frank out of the picture, who knew what else he had been thinking? If he could cut a meal ticket like Frank Rothstein out of the loop, how fast would he cut out his cell-block homie?
They walked into the front yard of the Costello house. The place was big bucks swanky. Looking the place over made Martino feel empty inside. He knew that no matter what he did, no matter who he turned over, he would never be able to afford a place like this on the level. You had to play the game to buy a place like this, have a workplace career and a bank account and an education at some big time college.
That Costello cat must have been pissed he had to give this sweet spread to his old lady for free,’ said Martino softly.
‘Forget about that sucker, he shoulda known better than to marry the bitch from the get go. Rich dude like that shoulda had more smarts. Besides he’s going to be a sight more pissed, when he finds we got hold of those juicy little girls of his. They’re so sweet looking too, bet he wanted to keep them all for his self—What you say Martino?’
Walking around the side of the house, Martino said nothing. He popped the box on the alarm system and went to work with his tools. Three minutes, fifty-seven and the alarm was out. He looked at his watch, figuring he must be losing his touch. Time was he could have done a system like this in half that time. He snapped his tool kit away inside his jacket and turned to look at Diego, the cat was bobbing around, his eyes greedy with excitement.
‘We clear Martino?’
‘Yeah, we are clear, but put your gloves on, and keep it clean, we don’t want no forensics snoop putting a make on our DNA, you dig?’
‘Hey don’t worry about me partner, this is a sweet pad and we are going to have some fun before the Swiss Family Robinson get home, you get what I am saying?’
Martino knew what he was saying alright—he knew the Saint of old—he got inside someone’s crib, he went nutso. The kid was an amateur. You crack a pad properly the mark might take a week to figure things out. Give you time to make good with your haul, maybe even clear out their bank account as a bonus. Getting away with robbing homes was easy, unless you made the mistake of snatching the brand name electricals, that kind of MO was strictly small time. Martino always played it smooth. People were careless, always left their financials laying around. That was a meal ticket that kept on paying, if you knew how to work it. Course he liked other things too: cash, jewelry, guns, drugs—they left those about, they were going to lose those too, stood to reason.
Inside the house now, the place was big, even bigger than he thought it would be. It smelt of flowers and fresh laundered clothes. The furniture was expensive and well coordinated. He marveled that anyone could live like this. It was like a magazine, or a TV show or something. His thoughts moved fast as the adrenaline rush hit him. Always the same—the power of the heist running through him. Martino moved through the house, his feet moving fast and deliberate. He hit all the sweet spots first. All the smart-ass places where people like to hide their valuables. All the places the cops tell you crooks will never find them. He hit the utility room, the chest-freezer in the garage and the kitchen. He heard Diego crashing about over the other end of the house, the kid was running riot again, smashing the place up, like a crazy man. Martino stayed out of his way. He found credit cards and bank details in the study. In the master bedroom he scored pills, cash and a box of high-end watches. He moved quickly to the master closet. The closet was big—bigger than most places he had lived, and lined with a treasure trove of designer clothes. He marveled at the hoard, wishing he could figure some way to shift it. Snapping back into business mode, he sifted through draws and cupboards, giving jackets a five-finger pat-down, to see what he could find. Then, towards the back of the closet, he found it, tucked out of sight behind one of the cabinets: the gun safe.
For a long moment Martino stared at the safe, adrenaline pounding through him. Shining his micro-torch on the digital keypad. He formulated numbers. If you knew what you were looking for, you could breeze past a push-button security lock without breaking sweat. He keyed out possibilities. The sound of Diego coming closer, whooping and hollering as he came. The crash of breaking glass, Martino’s pulse raced faster, his fingers running feverishly across the keypad. Working fast, he lost count of how many attempts he made, his mind moving so quickly his fingers could hardly keep up. Finally, he made the numbers he was looking for, an electronic bleep and the gun safe cracked open. Martino felt like he had just won big at the championship slots in Reno. Inside the safe were several hand guns, a couple of full autos by the looks of things: Sig, Colt, Glock and a few others he didn’t recognize. Martino coveted the weapons. He wanted the guns for himself. Rapidly he scanned the closet, saw a patent leather gym bag hanging up on the back of the closet door. Quickly he dumped the contents. Then bent down before the gun safe, scooping the contents inside the bag. All the while, a new and radical plan raced through his head, a plan so wild he figured he must be crazy to even think it. But if you can’t think crazy, how can you think out the future? You live your life within limits, where the hell will that get you, except stuck in the same old life you’ve always been in. Martino had heard some cellblock shrinker call it, thinking outside the box. He was never too sure what the cat had meant when he said thinking outside the box. You never knew for sure with shrinker talk. But far as he could figure, it meant having big ideas most normal work a day folks couldn’t even consider, trapped as they were in their lives of workplace obedience and commuter drive drudgery. The sound of Diego getting close now, his footfalls loud on the polished floor. Approaching t
he master suite calling out his name.
Martino slid the gym bag beneath one of the clothes racks. He pulled the snub nosed.45 out of his waistband and stood behind the closet door. Quietly he eased off the safety and waited.
THE SEX NET 32
Martino waited behind the closet door, the snub-nosed .45 raised for a headshot. He figured, soon as Diego poked his head in, he would pop him point blank. Martino could hear the footfalls getting closer now, moving forwards with finality—then the foots-steps stopped—a moment of nothingness that stretched eternal. He strained to hear, his mind working crazy in the panting silence, thinking he could almost catch the sound of Diego’s breath—reach out and touch it with deadly fingers. A waft of body odor and fried food stink carried through into the closet. Martino’s nostrils flared, his fingers tightening on the .45.
Suddenly from outside lights, and the sound of a car engine. Sounded like someone pulling into the drive? The gun weighing heavy now, Martino felt the barrel sinking, as the euphoria of the moment evaporated. As the barrel dipped lower, Martino felt his spirits dip too. Scurrying footsteps heading away from him now, as Diego rushed from the room.
Martino un-cocked the revolver, he felt the trickle of sweat running cold on his body. He held the gun down, let the safety float. He had a feeling he would be pulling some quick moves and soon. The euphoria of the moment turned to sickness, an acid feeling running through his guts. He cursed his luck, told himself that another chance would come, but he knew that it would not come again so easily. Martino walked out of the closet with quick, silent steps. Edging to the window, he watched the car lights outside, saw figures moving in silhouette. He heard talk, but couldn’t quite make out what the figures were saying. He moved forwards, keeping close to the wall. He walked quickly out of the master suite and down the hall, almost colliding with Diego, coming out of one of the bathrooms.
‘Hey, where you been Martino? You hear me calling?’
‘I thought I told you to keep it clean—You haven’t even got your gloves on for Christ’s sake.’
‘Hey forget about that, tough guy. You take a look out the window?
Sure I did, looks like Costello is dropping his kids off home to Mommy.
Diego pulled a face, ‘’Cept mommy ain’t home is she Martino?’ he gave an ugly high-pitched snicker.
Martino’s stomach queesed, he knew what Diego was thinking and didn’t like it. The kid was a jailhouse amateur, an accident waiting to happen. Martino sensed a deep spiraling pit, opening up—an unbreachable chasm between the hard fought past and an unattainable future. Events were moving, but he felt a disconnect—like he was watching from above.
‘This is even easier than I thought it would be, we really lucked out this time,’ snickered Diego.’
Martino heard his own voice bark harsh commands. He was surprised at the ferocity of the delivery, shocked at what he found himself saying. He moved down stairs now, Diego following close. He felt the gun in his hand. It felt good, like it was part of him. Every step down the stairs the gun rose higher, until it was leveled to his shoulder. His fingers tightened, a two-handed grip, waiting for the off. Sinking into the darkest shadows, he moved backwards, into the kitchen. The angle was instinctive. A hiding place that would let him get a drop on who ever came in the front of the house, and an escape route out back, if he needed an out. Diego stood up front, hiding behind the front door, so he could trap the new arrivals. Martino watched him, angling the gun backwards and forwards between the front door and his partner. He sensed a new possibility, building on the chance he had just missed, a voice inside now, telling him it was not to late to let rip, and to hell with the consequences.
The font door opened. The light snapped on. Two young girls, standing in the brightness.
Martino stepped out of the kitchen. ‘One sound I shoot you both,’ he said.
Diego moved fast, slamming the front door, grabbing the taller blonde girl around the neck, pressing a gun to her head. The blonde, was cute, Martino guessed she must be about seventeen, but she looked older. Diego was holding her close laughing, whispering in her ear, more excited than he should be.
Martino circled into the hallway. The younger girl looked at him sullen and recalcitrant. She had ugly teenage dress sense, all black like she was some kind of Goth rocker. The look didn’t suit her, made her pretty face look unpleasant when there was no need, all heavy make up and attitude. JC pointed the gun at her, beckoning her through to the kitchen.
‘My dad is just outside parking up the car,’ warned Dakota running her fingers through her heavy black hair. ‘He is going to be walking through that door any second so you better get the hell out of here right now.’
‘Her daddies just outside,’ parroted Diego. He twisted Paris off balance, clamping the neck-lock, until she gasped for breath.
‘You better hope he doesn’t come in sweetheart, or I will shoot him dead,’ said Martino evenly.
‘We know all about your fucking daddy sweet-lips, he got himself a condo out at the beach ’cos your bitch faced mommy done kicked his ass on the street,’ cackled Diego. He dragged Paris forwards into the kitchen. She lashed out with crazy blows, in a desperate bid to escape.
‘Hey, leave my sister alone, you fucking bully,’ snapped Dakota.
‘Aw, ain’t you the cutest, sticking up for your big sister like that. You got yourself a boyfriend little girl?’
‘What’s it to you, you fucking creep?’
‘Hey, watch your mouth kid, get yourself over here by the kitchen table and keep your hands where I can see them,’ snapped Martino, gesticulating with his gun.
Dakota gave him a sullen look. Stood where she was.
Hey it’s OK Martino, the kid is sore because the boys ain’t interested in her like they are her pretty little sister here, ain’t that right sweet-lips?’
Dakota threw Diego a pitying look, told him to, drop dead.
Diego pushed Paris forwards, forcing her face first over the table, ‘Want me to show you how a real man works things sweet-lips? Want me to show you right now, over the kitchen table, with your pretty little sister here?’
‘Ewww, what’s that horrible smell,’ wondered Dakota out loud, ‘Just a second—it’s you, isn’t it?’ Staring right at Diego now, looking directly at him.
Martino felt the chasm inside him yawn wider. Saw his partner forcing the thin blond girl forwards over the table, hearing the other girl smart mouthing, like she was talking back to her parents, or something. JC felt panicked. He felt control slipping away. He angled the gun backwards and forwards between the black haired girl with the smart mouth and the horror-show scene unfolding over the kitchen table. Diego holding the blonde girls head down against the table now while he unbuckled his pants. Watching in horror as Diego, enraged by the slur on his personal hygiene, raised his gun pointing it at the black haired girl, aiming right at her head.
Martino knew Diego would shoot. He had no restraint that is why he would always be strictly small time. Martino cursed his luck, first the Rothstein debacle, now this. JC had never had any problems taking care of business, but shooting and raping teenyboppers in the parental home? Even he could see the fucked up morality at work here. For the second time that night, indecision ran through him, in cold paralyzing waves, the conflict of the unfolding atrocity too abhorrent for him to deal with in real time.
It was Paris who resolved the conflict. Feeling the release of pressure as the outraged Diego switched his attention to Dakota, she pulled a Hapkido move her father had taught her. Reaching back she threw a hammer-fist blow that impacted hard in her attackers groin. At the moment of impact, she twisted her body simultaneously sending a powerful arcing elbow shot up and around. The blow curved long and hard, meeting its target in the sweet spot between the cheekbone and the bridge of the nose. The effect was dramatic and instant. Her attacker leapt away from her as if he had been convulsed by an electric shock. A pitiful shrieking wail filled the air, as Diego toppled backwa
rds clutching at his face, his unbuckled trousers falling down around his feet.
Martino still holding the gun stared at his partner in amazement. ‘That little blonde girl pulls Kung-Fu moves like her daddy. Maybe that will teach you to keep your dick in your pants while we take care of business here?’
Diego rolled on the floor, sharp waves of pain stabbing at his head and groin. He balled up, in agony, his brain short-circuited, by the double-pronged attack. The only words he could manage: she hit me in the same place he hit me with that telephone. As he writhed on the floor cursing, his automatic lay forgotten on the table.
JC Flinched at the unseemly spectacle. He waved his gun at the girls. ‘Back against the wall ladies, don’t think I won’t shoot you, because I will. We got a few things to take care of here, so you be cool and things will be right back to how they were.’
‘What do you to losers want, why are you in our house?’ asked Dakota.
‘…and how come you know our dad? Enquired Paris, her voice dripping with teenage malevolence.’
JC smiled weakly. ‘Well now ladies you just relax, fix yourself a soda or something, you don’t have to worry about the business we got with your Daddy. Suffice to say he’s got something that belongs to us, and just as soon as he tells us where that something is, you can go back to the sweet little lives you been leading up until now.
‘What the fuck do you know about our lives Jacko?’ spat Dakota nastily
‘Just enough to have you worked out, you little brat, now sit yourself down in that chair over there and make yourself comfortable. You keep throwing your opinions around and you are liable to make me nervous and this gun right here has a real sensitive trigger. You get what I am saying?’
‘When my dad finds out what you and your creepy friend are up to you are going to be in trouble,’ said Paris.
Martino smiled, ‘I been in trouble all my life sweetheart, a little more ain’t going to hurt.’
