by Tony Bulmer
‘Thank you for your concern Mr. Russell, that almost sounds like a compliment, but I will not let the nature of national security affect any aspect of my life. I am sure you of all people can understand that?
Joe turned to the Senator, placed a cigar in the corner of his mouth. ‘You want to play dangerous; I got three special forces Veterans watching the bar. You make any attempt to get smart and exit the building, they have instructions to carry you back to your room, using whatever means they see fit. We clear Senator?
‘You like your job don’t you Mr. Russell.’
‘This ain’t a job to me lady, my team neither, and that’s why we are the best in the business.’ Joe got into the lift, left the senator standing in the lobby of the presidential suite as the doors slid shut.
Walking, out front of the Hotel Joe fired up his cigar.
‘Hey, take your sweet time why don’t you?’ Called Inez out of the Escalade window. She had the engine running, ready for a fast exit.
‘Damn right sweet-cakes, what’s your rush anyhow, you got a hot date or something?’
‘I got to get Costello’s dog some food.’ Max stuck his head out of the truck window and licked his lips.
‘Relax honey I got that covered. I gave the stupid mutt a giant plateful of sausages from the hotel bar. The chef cooked ’em up special. Fastest fifty bucks I ever spent in my life, let me tall ya.’
‘You fed Max sausages?
‘Sure—why not? The dumb hound is like a dustbin on legs, he will eat anything. I figured as we are all on a night out in Beverly Hills I would give him a treat. The restaurant here has more stars than the Golden fricken Globes, if you go for that kind of thing.’
‘Costello specifically told me to only give Max dog food, the poor little puppy has a very sensitive stomach, you know that.’ Max looked at Joe with big yellow eyes, gave a wistful yelp.
Joe puffed on his cigar. ‘What the hell does Costello know? If I didn’t feed the dumb mutt, it would probably starve to death, on that weirdy-beardy organic crap he feeds the poor animal.’ He pulled a face at Max. The dog blinked, started panting, like he wanted to run to the kitchen for more sausages. Joe gave the dog a wry look and sucked on his stogie. Suddenly, he was distracted by the sound of his cell phone.
‘Speak of the devil,’ said Joe picking up, ‘What you want now Costello?’ He listened grimly, as I filled him in with the events at the Beverly Hills Hotel.
Joe turned to Inez. ‘Costello is in trouble; some punks broke into the house in Brentwood. He says they are holding the kids hostage.’
‘So, climb on board,’ said Inez, revving the engine of the Escalade, we got business to attend to. Has Danny called the department on this?’
‘So they can have a megaphone stand off? Call in the touchy-feely social work squad, to work out a focus group solution?’
Inez pulled out of the hotel and hung a screaming right onto Wilshire, ‘I assume that is a no then?’
‘I don’t want to have to scrape any cops, or social workers off my combat boots, when I am shooting bad guys,’ snapped Joe. ‘This heap of armor-plated junk go any faster?’ He reached into the glove box and pulled out a heavy barreled 1911 automatic. He prepped it with expert hands, sliding a fresh clip home, ready for action.
‘You got enough firepower there cowboy?
Joe kept his eyes steady, watching the road. ‘I always find my service piece takes care of business. If you want to get fancy, I got full-auto M16’s in the trunk.
Inez smiled, ‘Is that strictly legal?’ Her smile was sweet, honey dipped in irony.
Joe turned, gave her a look like she was some kind of gun control liberal, ‘I save those babies for special occasions, on the account of the fact there are lily-livered ordinances about mowing down civilians in this state.’
‘Collateral damage is bad for the tourist industry,’ said Inez.
‘You kidding me? Tourists pay extra for that kind of thing, you ask me those city hall bozo’s need to get their priorities straight.’
They hit the back streets now, moving at a rapid clip, the tires of the big truck racing over the tortured tarmac. Inez fell silent, concentrating on the road as they raced towards the house in Brentwood.
THE SEX NET 35
‘You want me to plug him boss, throw him in the trunk?’
Frank Rothstein smiled happily. ‘You hear that Costello, György here is real enthusiastic about his job. I like enthusiasm. How you think those little girls of your will feel, when your fleshless corpse is dragged up from the bottom of the bay a couple of years from now? Think they will even remember your name? Assuming they are still alive to witness that happy event.’
I placed my cell phone in my pocket, making sure it was safe and took a look at György. The gunman was hanging close to his boss, his automatic leveled at my torso. He had a dirty yellow grin spread wide across his face. I returned the smile, then made my move. I started slow to get the jump, leaning back on the desk, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then I changed gears fast, flipping backwards onto the floor—a fluid motion that used my full weight for acceleration.
György figured my move real quick, loosing off a couple of panic-shots from the hip. Trouble with panic shots, is they almost never meet their mark and by now, I was under the desk. I brought it up with an explosive lift, upending an avalanche of bone china and silver service accoutrements into Rothstein’s lap. Bullets zipped through the table top. I counted three at least. Before György had chance to squeeze off number four, I hit him hard in the temple, with a silver pepper pot. It was an ugly impact that had György’s eyes rolling in his head like jackpot time on a Reno coin-jacker. He held onto his gun. Bad idea. When I broke his arm, he loosed off another panic shot, and caught himself in the foot. Painful.
By now Frank Rothstein was scrabbling on the floor on his hands and knees, searching for a weapon of some kind. I scrunched his desperate fingers underneath my foot. Louanne Varga stood incredulous, not knowing where to look. I held out my hand. ‘You want to get out of here, you better come now.’ She stared, frozen with fright, then tottered forwards hesitantly.
We moved volante, heading for escape. I rang valet parking from the lift, told them to have the Dodge by the door, if they wanted to be in the money. They made the deadline, but only just. I tipped big and we burned rubber to Brentwood. The Varga girl sat quiet, subdued, like she had just cheated death. I shot her a glance but she wasn’t talking. I understood. I let her be. I powered through the Los Angeles backstreets, towards Casa del Kimberly. I pushed hard, the tires on the Dodge screaming out in protest. I headed West, taking every shortcut I knew. As I drove, a righteous anger followed me, pounding in my wake as I headed home, to liberate my children.
The ride to Brentwood took fifteen minutes tops. Had to be some kind of record, even for me. I parked the Dodge at a crazy angle, out front of the Steinberg place. Kimberly loved the Steinberg’s; they were her kind of people. I told Louanne to stay in the truck. I told her she would be safe, told her to keep her head down, but she just wouldn’t listen. I guess she figured me for a White Knight protector. Thought she would hang in my wake, keeping me close in case of incoming. After the scene at the Beverly Hills Hotel, I cannot say I blame her. The girl was vulnerable, afraid. She looked up at me with big eyes. I told her things would get nasty, that she better split for cover at the slightest sign of trouble. She nodded fearfully and clung to my arm. Complications, I had no time for them. If there is one thing I do not need when I am liberating hostages, it is members of the general public getting in the way, even if they happen to be real cute members of the public, like Louanne Varga.
I had barely set foot on the sidewalk, when old man Steinberg came rushing out his front door. He was wearing locker room flip-flops and a crushed velvet leisure suit, in particularly gauche shade of puce. Stylish.
‘Oh, Mr. Costello you really cannot leave your vehicle there, the signs are clearly marked.’ Steinberg’s voice was
high-pitched, indignant, sounded like he was trying to be English or something, but I knew for a fact he was from Orange County, and not the good side either.
‘Hey, Steinberg, how are the property values doing?’ I joshed.
‘I beg your pardon?’ His jaw dropped low, like he was trying to form some kind of witty answer that just wouldn’t compute. He peered at Louanne; She stared back at him with frightened eyes, like my former neighbor was some kind of escaped lunatic. He turned to me, ‘Kimberly warned me about you Mr. Costello, she said you were a troublemaker, I must say I always had my suspicions.’
I had almost forgotten what it was like to live next door to Steinberg. It was like sitting down to a picnic lunch on the riverbank during gnat season. I ignored him, holding out my hand, to help Louanne down from the truck. She stepped out uncertainly, her eyes darting up and down the street. ‘Are they here Mr. Costello?’ she asked nervously, because I am scared. You won’t leave me, will you?’
Steinberg’s jaw dropped lower, he followed Louanne’s gaze up and down the street, then turned to me. ‘This is a decent neighborhood Mr. Costello, we do not want any trouble here, I will call the police if I have to.’
‘Relax Steinberg, no need to pop a gasket, but seeing as you are here, I could use your neighborhood watch skills on a little project I am working on.’
Steinberg gave me a horrified look, like I had asked to borrow money, or bury a corpse on his veranda. ‘I have no idea what you are up to Costello, but I want no part of it, please remove your vehicle from outside my property at once or I will be forced to ring the police and inform the duty supervisor that you are causing an unpleasant scene.’
I am sure you will do what you have to Steinberg, but I wouldn’t stand out here on the pavement chatting about it if I were you.
‘Really, Mr. Costello I must protest, you no longer live in this neighborhood and to be frank, your presence isn’t welcome,’ he paused, a confused look spreading slowly across his face. ‘He followed my predatory gaze; his head turning back and forth like a confused chicken. What on earth are you peering at Mr. Costello?’
‘Looking over your shoulder Steinberg, to see if I can see any sign of the armed men who are holding Kimberly and the kids hostage.’
Steinberg spun around, a look of panic spread wide across his face. He fell to his knees and shuffled behind the Spanish colonial style gate post that bordered his drive. He peered uncertainly from his hiding place, ‘I cannot see anyone Mr. Costello. Perhaps you are mistaken…’
But I was already striding up Steinberg’s drive, heading for the house, the clatter of Louanne Varga’s heels following me as I went. Steinberg’s protestations faded in our wake. I hurried along the property line, my eyes super-tuned to the advancing darkness; The former matrimonial home loomed big in the night. A thousand memories of married life and the girls growing up flooded through my head. I paused, scoping out my angle of approach. As I did so, Steinberg approached Indian style, coming close, he hissed, ‘This is quite unprecedented Mr. Costello. I must protest in the strongest terms, to this intrusion on my property.’
‘Put a cork in it Steinberg, you want to be a help, I suggest you take Ms Varga inside, make her a cup of tea, while you write out a report for the next neighborhood committee meeting.’
Steinberg choked out a pointless objection, but I didn’t acknowledge. I mounted the wall. Crouching at the apex, I surveyed my back yard. Looked like the gardeners were slacking off. The bushes needed trimming, and badly too. No surprise really, Kimberly was never much of an outdoors type, unless you counted chawing the breeze with her tennis chums. Moving fast, I disappeared into the darkness. I paused, scoping out the house for signs of life. Nothing. All lights out. I took a running leap into the boughs of the giant eucalyptus tree that overhung the wall, pulling myself up into the branches. I climbed along one of the larger limbs and swung down onto the roof. My rubber soled sneakers gripped tight, to the warm terracotta tiles. I traversed the building, to the back of the property, edging precariously along a narrow tiled ledge that bordered the second story. I made my entry through Dakota’s bedroom window. I favor, as I eased myself over the window ledge, I was reverse engineering the teenage escape route to a thousand night time adventures. Was Dakota that kind of girl? I had no doubts she had worked out her route to splitsville, should she find the need, but I also knew that my girls had the smarts to be safe, and that is what mattered. I moved fast and silent through the dark house, staying close to the wall, every sense fine-tuned for the slightest sign of concealed enemies. I heard a low moan, sounded like it was coming from the downstairs bathroom. I paused momentarily assessing the implications, then hurried onwards, scoping out the darkened rooms as I went. An uneasy feeling spreading through me now, the feeling that I was too late, that Rothstein’s men had gotten scared and flipped out, leaving nothing but corpses for me to find. Dark thoughts filled my head, avenging angels of fear and despair.
A dark figure in the kitchen.
Muffled sounds.
A realization. I moved forward, flipping on the lights, and there she was, Kimberly, my ex, taped tightly into a dining chair, a thick band of duct tape fastened down tight across her mouth.
I favor then, that the kids had been taken. I knew also, that if they had been taken, their abductors meant to keep them alive, for now at least. I was in with a chance and a fighting chance at that.
Kimberly on the other hand, looked mad—real mad, and she didn’t seem pleased to see me, far from it. I hadn’t seen her since the financial bloodletting at the office of her hard-ball lawyer Weinman. An ugly day indeed, but I always like to keep things positive, and today was no exception.
‘Hiya Kim, how are you doing? Her irate expression burned into me, ‘Hmm, not good obviously.’ I said, easing the tape back from her mouth.
‘They took the girls Daniel,’ she said viciously. ‘I blame you for everything, you and that stupid job of yours. You see what you have gotten us into?’
I knew words would not help, but I gave it a try anyway. I told her to take deep slow calming breaths. I explained that there was no time for vitriol. I asked her for a detailed rundown of events, and descriptions of the men who had taken our children. Kimberly filled me in, her voice full of barely concealed venom. As she was feeding me descriptions that fitted the two clowns in the purple–flake Tahoe, the front door burst open.
I was expecting the cops. Instead I was greeted by the welcome sight of Joe and Inez, rushing into the room, their guns drawn ready for action.
‘You guys took your time, you stop for refreshments?’
‘Bullshit Costello and you know it,’ growled Joe, ‘You gonna fill us in with the kind of situation we are running here?’
As I gave my colleagues the run down, Max bounded into the kitchen and ran up to Kimberly. In a delighted show of recognition, he leaped up, placing his paws on her shoulders and gave her a giant slobbering lick. Kimberly recoiled as though she had been French-kissed by a plague victim.
‘Get this dog off me,’ she shrieked, hysterically.
I spoke calming words, but Kimberly was beyond reassurance. She lashed out viciously, scratching and punching, in an uncontrollable tirade. I grabbed her wrists; she struggled and cursed, my soothing words eaten up, in the depth of her fury.
In the helplessness of the moment, I heard sirens, getting louder, converging. I had no doubt where they were heading. Inspector Steinberg of the neighborhood watch had done his work. No doubt the hero of the moment would now be sheltering in his living room, behind twitching curtains, to view the outcome of his handiwork.
‘There is a dude in the bathroom with a head wound,’ announced Inez.
‘He a snappy dresser?’ I asked.
‘I guess,’ said Inez. ‘You know him?
‘That would be Steve… Kimberly’s friend.’
Inez was a smart cookie. She figured the situation and attended to it. I knew that Steve was in good hands, Inez had a paramedics unde
rstanding of blunt force trauma and gunshot wounds. Kimberly on the other hand, seemed unconcerned with the plight of her latest squeeze. She howled and cursed and sobbed in turn, and I can’t say I blame her, because as the police sirens got closer, only one thing was certain, Frank Rothstein’s goons had kidnapped our daughters and were holding them hostage. Worse they wanted Rothstein’s Diamonds, a ransom I could not give them, no matter how much I wanted to.
THE SEX NET 36
As the sound of sirens grew ever closer I could see the storm coming, and hear it too. Once the cops arrived, the questions would start. They would take their time naturally, eating up every precious second I had left, a fatal delay that would cause my children to face a dark and unpleasant future. I had been lucky so far, playing fast and hard with the cops, but the corner they had me in now was tight. Real tight, and the only way I could buy time to save the girls was by staying clear of the law, just long enough to wrap up the debacle surrounding Frank Rothstein’s diamonds.
Inez understood. She told us to go, said she would handle the fallout. The compulsion to stay was strong, but the certain knowledge that I had to go and take Joe with me was stronger. It was a grave departure. I strode out front of the house with Joe and surveyed the street.
‘Joe gave me a hard look, walking out on the lawn, as the sound of sirens grew closer You should have called me Costello. Maybe you thought you could handle this thing by yourself?’
‘Relax partner, when I tow you along to a fist fight, you always spoil things with that giant cannon of yours.’
‘My service piece ain’t no cannon Costello; it is a work of art and American made too. I thought you, of all people, would appreciate that?’ We sat in the Dodge and I revved the engine.
‘Work of art or antique—it is a tough call,’ I said, kicking the Dodge into gear.
