by Dan Taylor
“Let me just stop the bleeding first.”
It has stopped. I’ll show him amateur-hour. I dab at it, frowning.
Charles watches me with casual interest, that stupid smirk still on his face. He takes a swig of whisky before saying, “You don’t have a plan, do you?”
“I would if I could think. This pain’s blinding.”
“I’d love to see how you’d react if you got shot proper, Jake.”
I ignore that comment. “Let me just take stock of all the information, think about what Charles really knows, based on what I’ve said while I had that thing in my pocket.”
“Okay.”
“So he knows who you are, now. We know that. He knows you plan on killing him and everyone involved in this thing. If he didn’t believe you when you said it, he certainly will now.” I turn my ankle towards him, illustrating my point. “He knows that I didn’t actually kill my wife, but I knew that already. He knows—”
“Wait, back up a bit.”
“To which part?”
“That part about your wife.”
“Oh, I just faked the execution of my wife, to trick Charles into thinking that I had become the heir to the O’Cain estate, and to get her off the hook.”
“So you’re saying that Charles doesn’t have your wife?”
“He said he does.”
“And did you believe him.”
“I wasn’t completely convinced.”
He slaps his forehead theatrically. “Stupid…”
“What?”
“The whole time I’ve been sitting here, I was under the assumption that he’d gotten her, too.”
“I’m not convinced that he hasn’t.”
“He told you he had, right?”
“He told me that.”
“What made you not believe him?”
“It seemed like an ‘all-in’ move with a busted flush. It was the way he said it. The man’s been so cool when he said everything else. It jarred me when he said that.”
“What if he has, but he’s tricking you into thinking he hasn’t?”
I frown. “Why would he do that?”
“Beats me. But this Charles guy seems like a slippery fish. Could be that there are advantages that we can’t see yet.”
“Like what.”
“I need to think about that.” He tosses over the whisky bottle. “Pour some of this on your wound. And have a drink for good luck. The Irish believed in whisky for good luck.”
“That sounds like a load of horseshit, but I’ll go along with it.”
I pour the whisky on, and Kevin laughs when I wince. When the pain has subsided, I think about what Kevin said, about tricking me into thinking he hasn’t.
“Wait a minute. What if it’s a double-bluff?”
“Nah…I don’t think so.”
“Hear me out. So he hasn’t got her, and then he tells me unconvincingly, but on purpose, that he has, knowing full well that I would question it…playing mind games. He lets me go under the pretense of having me torture you for information, and he leaves me just a stone’s throw away from my apartment. He knew where I would head. And what would I automatically go and do?”
He snaps his fingers. “You’d go and make sure. Jake, you’re a genius.”
I stand up. Start pacing the room. “And he had the phone bugged. He knew I couldn’t use that phone.” I go over to the landline, looking to see if it’s been tampered with. “Doesn’t look like it’s been messed with.”
“They never do. Let me take a look.”
He comes over.
He shakes his head as he inspects it, as though finding nothing. Until he says, “Here, look.”
I don’t see anything at first, then I see it. Along the vertical joint of the casing there’s one of those whitish stress marks. As though the phone has been forced open. “I guess I can throw away that manufacturer’s warranty I’ve been hanging on to.”
“Right.” Then he mouths, “Do you think the apartment’s bugged?”
And I mouth, “I don’t think so.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Good point.”
He frowns.
I mouth, “Let’s get out of here.”
Kevin didn’t mention that he’s ex-military, but he does those hand signals, as though maneuvering a squad silently through the jungle.
Attempting to use similar signals, though I just end up pointing, I indicate that I need to go to the bedroom first. Get new socks. While he puts his rifle into the brown leather duffel bag he brought with him, I put them on, and then my shoes, and we leave the apartment.
We end up in a bar on Hollywood Boulevard. It’s loaded. Since it’s their jazz night, a jazz pianist plays in the corner; it’s some variation on a classic.
After ordering a couple beers, I say, “So what next?”
“I’ve been thinking about that since we left your apartment.”
“And have you come up with anything?”
He sips his beer. “What’s the last thing that Charles is expecting us to do?”
“I don’t know…ride camels through town while singing ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“I suppose the last thing he would expect us to do…assuming that the apartment was bugged…is to get in contact with my guy who’s looking after Regan.”
He snaps his fingers again. “Exactly.”
“But why would we do that? She’s safer if we don’t.”
Kevin rocks back on his stool, takes a toothpick from the bar, and starts picking at his wisdom teeth. “Maybe not.”
“How so?”
“Think about exactly what you said while in the apartment, or you can go even further back, up until the point you destroyed the phone.”
I think a couple seconds. “I don’t think I said anything about where my guy’s stashing Regan.”
He leans in close. “Not even while you were with the guy just before he stashed her?”
My heart sinks. “Shit! You’re right.”
I had told the special effects guy to tell Regan to go to any airport, insistent that she didn’t tell him which one. This was just in case he got captured and they were able to torture it out of him. But I don’t tell Kevin any of this.
“Exactly. Maybe it’s not about doing the opposite of what Charles wants us to, to try and gain an advantage, but about getting to Regan before he does.”
Under my breath, I say, “Thank God you’re here, Kevin…” I down the rest of my beer. “But wait, won’t Charles already have her?”
“Nah.”
“I’ll go make that call and then we can go and get Regan ourselves.”
“Sounds like a great plan, Jake.”
I head off to the bar, ask if I can use the phone. I’m informed that I can, as long as it isn’t long distance, I’m not phoning for a pizza from Sourdough on Leland and Seward, or I’m not phoning for “ladies of a certain nature.” I tell the bartender I’ve never tasted that type of pie, and pizza’s not my thing.
He looks at me like I’m a prick, but hands the phone over, anyway.
I take the phone number out of the inside pocket of my suit jacket, look over at Kevin, who’s sitting with a vacant look on his face. I delay dialing until he glances over, then I raise the note, dial the number and put the phone to my ear, which he encourages with a thumbs-up.
I go back to Kevin. He waits a second before asking, “So, where are we meeting them?”
38.
“A BUREAU DE CHANGE? Why there?”
“My guy’s brother runs the place. I phoned ahead and he’s going to leave the key under the welcome mat.”
“I don’t know about that. We get followed, we’re boxed in. Don’t we want to meet at a place with good access, for a quick getaway?”
I lean in close. “The plan is this. Two cabs. We both get in one, pull up outside the front. We get out, go into the basement. It’s an old building, and the adjacent room used to be
an air raid shelter, used during World War Two. There’s an adjoining door—one of those heavy blast doors—which leads to the storeroom for the adjacent shop, Quadruple X Rated, also owned by my guy’s brother. It’s there that Regan and my guy will be waiting. We collect Regan, go through the porn shop, then out the entrance, where the second cab’s waiting.”
“Just in case they’ve followed the first, right?”
“Right. We make our getaway. At some point during the ride, you get out before the destination. No offence, but I don’t trust you with knowledge of the location.”
“How do you know I won’t just shoot Regan on the spot when I see her?”
“I thought that over. When I said ‘we’, I actually meant I. I’m going to collect Regan and get her in the cab. You’re going to wait outside the bureau de change, as though keeping guard. I’ll come back and collect you once I’ve dropped Regan off at the safe house.”
“See, that’s a little bit different from the plan that you just told me.”
“Do you mind?”
“Not one iota. It gives me opportunity to put a bullet in that son of a bitch.”
“So we’re cool then, with the plan?”
“As frozen cucumber.”
39.
WE PULL UP OUTSIDE the bureau de change.
It doesn’t look like we’ve been followed, though it hasn’t the whole night, which makes me nervous. Kevin hasn’t said a word the whole drive. Just held on to that leather duffel bag of his, as though any second he was ready to pull that rifle out and start shooting up the street. The cab driver noticed, asked him what he was transporting that was making him so nervous. Kevin’s response was classic. “It’s our week washing my daughter’s gymnastics team’s leotards. Don’t want these babies getting into the wrong hands.”
The cab driver—an oldtimer, nicotine-stained claws gripping the steering wheel—shrugged his shoulders, then turned his full attention back to the road.
We get out; I pay the man, then nod over at the entrance, indicating to Kevin to stand in front of it. He does, unzipping the duffel halfway, and placing it carefully in front of his feet. Then he takes out a cigarette, lights it, and takes in a deep lungful of smoke.
I go past him, take the key out from under the welcome mat, then go through the entrance. I fumble for the light switch for a frustrating minute or so, and then find it. Kevin turns, looks at me through the security glass, and nods.
I go down into the basement, take a second to locate the blast door, then go through. I find what I’m looking for straightaway, unwrap it, and test its weight by slapping it into my hand a few times. I decide that it’ll do the job, and put it into the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I fasten the jacket closed by the top button.
I go back through the blast door, into the bureau de change’s storeroom, which I leave open, and then up the stairs. I creep towards Kevin, knock on the door and wave him in.
He tosses his cigarette, mouths, “What?”
“Just come in.”
He picks up the bag and comes through the door. “I thought I was supposed to be keeping watch.”
“There’s been a change of plan. I went down into the storeroom and they weren’t there. Blast door was open too.”
“Do you think they got here first?”
“I think that’s definitely what happened.”
“Okay. Turn off the light.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to see my complexion under these bright lights. Why do you think? I’m going to arm myself.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“The glare from the streetlights. Cop catches a shadow of that while they’re crawling past, we’re done for.”
He shakes his head, unsure.
“Do it on the stairs if you have to, but not in the shop.”
“Lead the way.”
“No, you.”
“Why?”
“Do you see me carrying a gun that could take down a herd of elephants? These guys are dangerous.”
“Okay, pantywaist. Let me through.”
We go through the door, Kevin leading. Halfway down the stairs he stops. There’s that military precision again as he loads the magazine into the rifle, loads a bullet into the chamber.
Then he uses hand signals, indicating for us to make our way down the stairs and into the basement.
When he’s at the bottom, scoping out the storeroom, I’m two steps higher, giving me maximum leverage. I take out the Mr. Marcus 9" Cock and Balls Black Dildo I stashed in my suit pocket and smash Kevin on the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.
40.
AT LEAST I THINK I have. Though he hasn’t gone down. He’s staggering around, groaning. In the process of, maybe? To make sure, I whack his head again. It’s a hell of a weapon, this dildo. As the middle of it connects with his head, making the glans whip onto his skull a fraction of a second later, it produces a sickening thud.
He suddenly stands up straight, as though he’s just been poked in the ass with a cattle prod, then does this funny snakelike dance as he weaves and winds all the way to the floor. Sleepy time.
When he comes to, he’s bound by the only supplies I had at hand, a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs, which chain his hands to a solid-looking pipe. He’s got a shiny red ball gag in his mouth. He wakes as though from heavy sleep and frowns when he sees me leaning over him.
“Want to know what gave you away?”
“Wohhhh wohh wohh wohhh!”
“One wohhh for yes, two for no.”
“Wohhhh wohhh wohhhhh!”
“Oh fuck it. I’ll tell you anyway. First, it was that story of yours. It sounded like something a bad Dickens imitator might write. Seriously, you needed a better cover story than that. The whole ‘going to put a bullet in everyone’s head’ bit was just laughable. It didn’t make any sense.”
“Wohhh wohh wohhh!”
“Shh.” I put my finger on the ball gag, as though stopping the motion of his lips. “Second, I thought it was maybe a coincidence that I was dropped off by Charles so close to home, as tired as I was. Then I realized there have probably been few coincidences this whole night, if any. I was supposed to go wandering home. You were supposed to break into my apartment and gain my trust.
“Do you know what finally gave you away?”
“Wohhhh wohhh wohhhhhhhh!”
“A couple months ago, I was getting kinky with a waitress who was visiting Hollywood. A southern girl, all rodeo, cowgirl hat, tits popping out of a gingham dress…brought a horse whip with her in her carry-on. I’d pulled out the plastic covering for my mattress, and I was seeing how she’d look with a couple ounces of oil lathered on her body, when my phone rang. Hopeful that it was my attorney delivering the good news that my wife had signed the divorce papers, I jumped out of bed, ran over to the telephone, struggled to get my pink Marigold gloves off. I decided to pick up the phone anyway, despite the oil on my gloves, and dropped the thing, causing that white stress mark in the plastic that I pointed out to you tonight. And sure enough, you went along with my suggestion, using it to your advantage. Before I’d suspected, but then I knew. You’re just like Leo or Terry. You’re not some Bible salesman hell-bent on revenge. Charles planted you.”
“Wohhhh!”
“Shh.”
He starts thrashing, kicking out at me. I move away from him like a cowboy from a blind wild horse, pick up the dildo. “Stop, or I’ll crack you over the head with this again. I liked you better when you were out cold.”
“Wohhh wohhhhhhh!”
He’s a big guy, so it comes as a surprise when he manages to move his whole body in one swift motion towards me, straining the handcuffs, and manages to kick me right in the bullet graze on my ankle. It hurts like a son of a bitch. “Fuck!”
I’m pissed, and despite my wanting him to be lucid, so that he can talk when I take out the ball gag, I move round his still-kicking l
egs, and hit him with the dildo.
It’s only a glancing blow, this time. But I nearly gag from the damage it’s done. At his hairline is a flap of flesh, hanging disgustingly.
I turn away, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. I double over, retching. It looks gross and my head’s spinning from shock. I glance at the dildo, wondering how it could’ve done that damage.
I turn back to him, barely able to look at it. I almost apologize but stop myself.
Then I realize something. Something I suspected before but forgot during the melee of knocking Kevin unconscious.
I kneel down next to him, at the head end, well away from his kicking legs and, without looking at that nasty gash at his hairline, start patting him down.
I shake my head at what I find.
41.
I’M HOLDING ONE of those tracking devices Charles pulled out of my pocket. Light flashing on top of a wobbling aerial. It was stashed in his pants pocket.
I stand up, drop it on the floor, and then stamp down on it…but barely make a dent. The light’s still flashing. “God damn thing.”
I go to town on it, making sure the ridge on my heel connects with it, and finally manage to smash it to smithereens.
Without looking at him, I say, “How long have I got before the cavalry arrives?”
“Wohhh wohhhhh!”
I ignore him, pick up the rifle. Despite being American, I’ve never used one of these things. It’s loaded for sure; I know that much. I point it at the floor, apply some pressure to the trigger and wince, but only find resistance, no give. The safety must be applied.
As I’m inspecting the rifle, looking for the safety switch, I hear a noise from what sounds like the upstairs of the porn shop. Only slight. Like the controlled footsteps of an assassin.
My heartbeat starts punching me in the throat, and I’m all thumbs as I handle the weapon, desperately trying to get this thing battle ready. There it is!
I push it up, aim it at the floor again, wince, and find glorious give in the trigger!
I leave Kevin wear he is, hoping to use him as a distraction for Charles or Terry, whichever one comes through the blast door first, so that I can surprise them, maybe shoot one of them in the leg.
