by Tony Bulmer
The guests were none too happy about that. Ramirez and Cullen weapons high and ready, both of them drawing a bead on me.
‘What the hell you doing here Costello? You involved with Frank Rothstein now?’ barked Ramirez. He sounded incredulous, like I was Robbery Homicide’s most dangerous nemesis.
‘Hands in the air where we can see them,’ shouted Cullen. He looked dirtier than usual, and sweaty with it.
I gave them a sad look. Slowly releasing Corin Cabrillo, I inched my hands to the stars. Then broke a smile. ‘How’s it going guys? I was just about to call you, so as you could get started on the paperwork of the case I just solved for you.’
Ramirez looked at me through narrow eyes. ‘Never mind the smart mouthed bullshit Costello, you got a lot of explaining to do.’
‘It has been a while since we spent quality time.’
‘Can it Costello, or I will shoot you now, on principle.’
‘You got principles officer Cullen? That’s good to know, I will file that away under who gives a damn, so if you want to find out what is going on here, you best listen up to what I got to say.’
Cullen shot Ramirez a glance, his finger caressing the trigger of his service piece, like he was going to shoot me out right and to hell with the consequences. I figured he was packing a Glock seventeen, so if the creep did plug me it would be a more fashionable death than being popped with .22 caliber purse pistol.
‘We heard gunshots, lots of gunshots…’ said Ramirez.
‘Gunshots, really? You sure it’s not the fourth of July?’
The cops didn’t like that crack. I could see it in their faces, and it wasn’t pleasant. The pair of them stared into me, with a cruel melting hatred that said they would just as soon shoot me now and worry about filling forms later.
‘The children,’ growled Ramirez, ‘Where are the children?’
‘I am glad you asked that question officer. The children are safe.’
‘Safe? You expect us to believe that Costello? You think you are some kind of smooth talking operator don’t you?’ The sneer on Cullen’s face was cruel and ugly.
I gave the cops a furrowed look. ‘You guys are right, I haven’t been straight with you, and for that I apologize.’
Ramirez looked tired. ‘Get your hands on your head Costello and turn around, you can save the wise assed bullshit for the Judge, because I am sick to the god-damn stomach of your sob-story excuses.’
‘So you don’t want to hear about the diamonds then?’ I asked with all the innocence I could muster.
Ramirez and Cullen shot each other a quick glance. ‘Keep talking,’ snapped Ramirez brusquely, ‘But you try to shine us on Costello, I swear I will make you hurt like you been hit by a truck. We clear?’
I told them the short version, keeping it calm and reasoned. Told them how Rothstein had tried to put me in the frame, while using me to smoke out his precious diamonds. I told them about the hired goons in the purple flake Chevy Tahoe. Told them about Corin and Louanne, even told them how my quest for completion had led to the discovery of the diamonds and the road to Frank Rothstein’s door.
‘That’s quite some story Costello.’ You expect us to believe that crock of shit?’ snapped Cullen. We got a call about your antics in Beverly Hills tonight, an altercation involving you and Mr. Rothstein, and guess what Costello, it turns out Mr. Rothstein has gone missing. Don’t suppose you got a smart mouth answer for that one, do you wise guy?’ snarled Cullen, his lips flecking white with angry spittle. He paused, then said, ‘Where’s the diamonds Costello?’
I didn’t like the way Cullen asked me the question. I liked even less the way he was pointing his gun. He looked antsy and nervous, like he was going to pop off the entire mag’ I even looked at him wrong. I would like to say that cooperation with the powers of law enforcement is important to me, but that would be an obvious lie. If there is one thing I hate, it is being asked questions at gun point, and cop or no cop, officer Cullen was beginning to annoy.
‘That you Randy?’ The voice of Corin Cabrillo.
Ramirez looked incredulous, half turning, ‘You know this chick Cullen?’
Cullen said nothing, kept pointing his Glock at me, a half snarl curling at corner of his lips.’ I shot him a taught smile. ‘Let me guess,’ I said, ‘You are a fan of e-date?’
‘You think you are pretty smart, huh Costello, but you didn’t answer my question. Where are the fucking diamonds?’
‘No need for nastiness Randy, you are amongst friends here, the diamonds are in my car, I get a reward or something?’
‘You get a fucking bullet if you are lying to me, is what you get Costello.’
I gave Cullen a pleasant smile, knowing a dime to a dollar He was going to start shooting, whether the diamonds were there or not. If he knew Corin Cabrillo, he was working an inside gig and a dirty one at that. The creep had killed Mimi, Randy Cullen and probably a bunch of other people too. The only way he could screw the lid back on top of the ugly mess now, was to plough him self deeper into trouble.
Ramirez, had the situation figured too, though not fast enough to do him any good. He turned to face his partner, with a question that never left his lips, Cullen spun fast, catching him in the side of the head with his pistol. The blow was vicious and unexpected. It sent Ramirez to his knees. I took a step forward But Cullen dodged sideways, spinning fast towards me his gun trained on my head.
‘You are in trouble now Costello, attacking a police officer like that.’
I flashed Cullen a quiet smile. He was going to shoot us all, no question..
‘You and Corin make a lovely couple, I offered.’
Randy Cullen backed up, giving himself the kind of distance I could never cross without taking a bullet, ‘Laugh it up while you still can Costello.’ ‘I want you to call out to that partner of yours, tell him to lay down that rifle and walk into the middle of the lawn with his hands up.
‘What makes you think I brought him along?’
‘That cock rocket Corvette with vanity plates parked in the street. You don’t think we haven’t been looking for that?’ sneered Cullen. ‘Real touching Costello, you and that square jawed ignoramus go every where together don’t you?’
‘Sleazy to the last huh Cullen? You killed the girl didn’t you?’
‘Where are the Diamonds Costello?’
‘They are in the Vette genius, I am surprised you haven’t searched it already.’
‘You got an answer for everything Costello, haven’t you?’ Cullen sneered.
‘You ain’t smart enough to pull this off Cullen.’
‘Smarter than you think Costello.’ Corin Cabrillo shambled to her feet and recovered her purse pistol. Cullen gestured to her with his free hand, ‘Out to the car, all of us together Costello and those diamonds better be where you say they are.’
Corin Cabrillo looked at Cullen then me, ‘You hit me, she said accusingly.’
That was the moment Joe stepped out of the shadows. He had his M16 leveled at in the combat position.
‘Drop the guns,’ he said coldly.
I knew at that point the way things would go—under such circumstances you can never be sure of outcomes, merely the steps that lead to said outcomes and in the fraction of a second that Joe stepped forward, I knew there would be shooting and lots of it. I knew Corin Cabrillo would be disappointed if I hit her again, so soon after the last time. I gave her a don’t blame me smile, so she wouldn’t feel so bad, but she took a step back, her pistol leveled at my torso. I was beginning to feel tired. I knew that Joe, being a man of principle, would never shoot a woman. I guessed I would be catching a hot lead aperitif from the charming Ms Cabrillo, despite my best efforts to the contrary.
I watched as she circled away from me. The way she was holding her gun, I figured she would shoot low, I moved slow and easy, as she waved me towards the Corvette and the million dollar payday that was waiting in the glove box.
We were about to open the gate, when Loua
nne Varga broke out of the shrubbery. I watched in awe, as she took a running leap, on to the back of her former childhood friend. The screaming, clawing impact was cataclysmic. I launched myself sideways, as bullets exploded all around.
Cullen fired wild. Joe unleashed short bursts. I moved into action, spiraling in, with a roundhouse right that sent the corrupt cop sailing off his feet. His gun clattered to the floor and he scrabbled after it, with desperate fingers, clawing to gain purchase. I moved decisively, kicking away the gun and moving in for close quarters work. But Cullen was quick and evasive, rolling away from me, to avoid my blows.
I double-timed after him, catching him a glancing blow on the edge of his face as he squirmed away. He rolled backwards, drawing out a razor sharp push dagger, from a leg sheath and brandishing, menacingly.
‘Out the way shouted Joe.’
‘I’m going to cut you up,’ sneered Cullen, as the dagger flashed before me. I moved forward quickly, catching him deftly by the wrist. He tried to twist away, but it was no use. I hit him three times, in rapid succession, with hard impact combination moves. With the fourth strike, I caught him close to the armpit, with a scything elbow move. The impact was hard, I felt rib bones crack and give way, the dagger flashed by my face, but I danced backwards. As I did so, the harsh crack of the .22 sounded out and hot bullets cut past me, so close I could taste them—three shots in rapid succession. I turned to face the gunfire, and didn’t like what I saw. Somehow Louanne Varga had managed to wrestle the gun from the clutches of her cheerleading chum and had shot her point blank. Caught off balance, I slid backwards, as she turned the gun on me.
Now if Joe had been any sort of partner, he would have shot the girl right there and then. What can I say? The guy has ethics. The trouble with ethics is they are next to useless at stopping bullets, so when Louanne Varga unleashed with the .22 caliber purse pistol, I had only one option and that meant hitting the deck just as fast as I could.
I recovered quick—real quick—like my life depended on it quick. Standing over me Louanne Varga, gun hanging loose by her side. ‘I shot them,’ she said blankly, and she had. Corin Cabrillo lay motionless, the thick spread of blood oozing wide across her chest. While Randy Cullen crawled away towards the swimming pool, emitting horrible choking gasps. The girl had shot him in the neck and very nearly shot me too. I watched Cullen go. It was an ugly sight, a sick and depraved psyche crawling away to die with no chance of escape. Cullen clutched at his throat—a messy wound that was gouting blood. Unless he got attention soon, he would be dead for sure. I thought about poor Mimi strapped to the chair in Lakeside Drive, abused, tortured, left to die on her own. I figured her friend had killed her. Maybe I had been wrong, it had been her lover all along, but not the lover I had been expecting.
Joe racked the slide on his M16. ‘Looks like we made a big mess in Mr. Rothstein’s garden,’ he said.
‘He is not going to be best pleased,’ I confirmed.
THE SEX NET 51
I wish the evening had ended right there, a dozen sirens, screaming through the night—the sky falling red and black with the tungsten glare of death. But it didn’t end there and I guess I knew it couldn’t. The scene was ugly, real ugly. Detective Ramirez was bleeding from the ears and whitewash pale to boot. I fingered his pulse, and looked deep into his eyes—he looked like he had concussion and a set of congealed arteries that would choke him rigid if he moved another inch. I gave him slap around the face, told him he would live, if he stayed down. He gaped back at me, his lips working with an incomprehensible comeback. I figured it for a thank you, but I couldn’t be sure.
Louanne Varga sat on the stone patio, her head in her hands sobbing loudly. She might have shot the man, who had killed her sister, but she didn’t look none to happy about it. As for Corin Cabrillo, not even an ambulance was going to help her. The .22 had caught her in the temple. Seven out of ten times you get plugged with a twenty-two, you are going to live to chat about it afterwards—you get slugged in the brains, it is quite a different story, see a .22 has enough juice to make it inside your skull, but not enough to get out, so once it’s inside it will ping around and turn your brains to lasagna. Tough break—poetic justice, call it what you will.
Meanwhile, Cullen had finally run out of steam. He sprawled supine by the pool, moaning faintly and holding his bloody neck with the steady throb of arterial blood gouting from between his fingers. The blood pooled around him, running down over the edge of the pool, an ugly cloud blooming red in the water. Soon the last of his blood would be gone. In death, no one would know the extent of his treachery, he would be free, absolved, clear to run up an unwarranted reputation in the afterlife, as a good cop, worthy colleague, and blameless soul. And I would be damned if I was going to let him get away with murder that easily. He was going to live. Whether he wanted to make it or not, the creep was going to pay for his crimes at the Federal governments leisure, of that I was determined.
I moved fast, heading through the siren filled night to the Corvette. I knew Joe had an Emergency first aid kit under the passenger seat. As the cold seconds ticked by and Cullen’ life drained shorter. I floundered around in the streetlamp glow, struggling to locate the emergency kit, from under the front passenger seat. Finally, I dragged it out, and snapped it open. It contained everything I would need to keep Cullen alive until the paramedics arrived… My heart rose, with the pure euphoria of the moment, the pounding thrill of possibility driving me back to the Rothstein home, as the sirens blared closer.
I almost didn’t see the beetle black limousine as it glided up beside me. I dodged backwards, between parked cars, and the limo screeched to a sudden halt, hemming me in. The rear window oozed downwards, with a metallic whisper. In the plush leather interior Frank Rothstein sat back and regarded me coldly.
‘Mr. Costello, how the fuck are you doing?’ He peered at me with an ironically raised eyebrow and a bad juju expression that boded deeply unwelcoming.
‘I haven’t got time to shoot the breeze with you now Rothstein, I got a job to do, so you best get out of my way.’
Rothstein looked at the first aid kit with distaste, then back at me, angling his head slyly. ‘You hear those fucking sirens Costello? I’m guessing you just got yourself in a shit load of trouble. The kind of trouble you will be hearing from my lawyer about. Now, to save us both some time, why don’t you just tell me where my diamonds are, and I will allow you to go about the rest of your busy-assed day with your gonads still attached to your body.’
‘The diamonds are in the glove box Rothstein.’
Rothstein rolled his eyes like he was expecting me to say that. He gesticulated lazily and one of his goons dismounted passenger-side. He drew himself up to his full height and gave me the eye. He was wearing sunglasses.
I winced, ‘You got to be kidding, sunglasses, really?’
The goon gave me a wary look, easing around the hood of the Vette, staring at me the whole time. I figured it would be fun to feint a move to amp pulses, but decided that under the circumstances I probably better not.
Your girl friend took a bullet Rothstein. You want to know how she is?
‘I don’t have a girlfriend Schlemiel,’ snapped Rothstein.
The goon rummaged inside the Vette with greedy fingers. It took him seconds to pull out the bubble wrapped package containing the diamonds. He held it up triumphantly, a cheese eating grin spread wide across his face.
Rothstein peered out at me from the plush lined interior of his limousine. He should have been pleased, real pleased, but his face vibed dour and unpleasant.
‘Two things Costello: even one of those fucking stones is missing, you are a dead man—I see you again—see one above. We clear?’
‘You are a real silver-tongued charmer Rothstein, anyone ever tell you that?
Rothstein sneered ‘Get your wide-assed mouth out my way Costello, or I will run you the fuck over.’
I stepped back, watched, as the limo pulled away. The wail of si
rens closed in. Lights strobed the sky: a frenetic pulse of blue and red. Then suddenly an explosion of gunfire, wild and unchecked: bursting through the halide glow on full-auto. Rothstein’s limousine swerved wildly across the road and impacted a fire hydrant.
I hit the street in a fast rolling dive, as bullets cut through the air. I ducked low, high-powered searchlights closing in from all directions. Cops. Emergency vehicles and the angry crackle of a bullhorn cutting through the night: Armed Police. Raise your hands in the air. I thought it best to comply, so slowly, ever so slowly I raised my hands to the stars.
THE SEX NET 52
In the distance—the Santa Monica shoreline. Catalina coming up close as The Naja ploughed forwards through a glassy swell. Sitting in the Captain’s chair, I knew that only a week of sleep would cure the hellish way I was feeling. But there was no time for that. CCP had to cut deals. That’s the way it works when you run a company. Running a ship like CCP ain’t no easy task, let me tell you. Sure you get to deal with the bad guys, that’s the easy bit. You know where those freaks are coming from. There’s worse, much worse. You work my business, you are in the deep-end as far as big-government, baloney is concerned. You got permits, permissions, contracts and provisions, and a zillion and one rules and regulations that will make your ying-yang yowl. Then there are the staff antics, the kind of HR hoopla that will make your head hurt twenty-four hours a day and then some. As for the clients, don’t mention the clients—or their lawyers. You work in Los Angeles you need a lawyer to give you permission to go to the bathroom in the morning. Fail to do this, and you will be swatting lawsuits like flies around a La Paz out-house at noon.
