“What the hell you think you’re doing?” he said pointing the stick at Blackhawk.
Blackhawk said, “I’m here to see the fight.”
“What fight?” Maupin said.
“Between you and me,” I said and hit him in the mouth.
I hadn’t put any real force into it, just enough to split his lip and knock him back a step. That was a mistake. I should have hit him harder. He recovered faster than I expected and he swung the pool stick at my head. I blocked it with my forearm. Luckily it was the small end and it snapped in two. He kept coming, swinging the stick back and forth.
Thousands of hours of hand to hand training, and the first thing I was taught was to choose the area of conflict carefully. I guess I was rusty because the crowded bar was not conducive to me avoiding his attack. So when I ran out of room, I had to step into the swinging stick and take a hit. I turned and took it on the muscle on my side, under my arm. I clamped my arm down on the stick, trapping it.
He let the stick go and tried to take me by the throat. He got my shirt in both hands and tried to knee me in the groin. I twisted and took the knee to my left thigh. Using that momentum, I swung my left arm over both of his wrists, trapping them and using my weight I pulled him off balance. I rapidly elbowed him in the face three times and he let go. I grabbed a bar stool and swung it at him. It hit him in the forearm and he wrenched the stool from my hands and it flew across the floor, scattering the customers.
We stood four feet apart. He was bleeding heavily from his nose and his breath was coming in gasps. I knew parts of me would hurt tomorrow, but the blood was moving through my veins and my breath was even and I felt good. God, this was fun.
He stood with his ham hands clenched and sweat running into his eyes. He ignored it. His eyes were small and piggish and cold. I had shot at a charging wild boar once and the eyes were the same. Brutal, cold and murderous.
“I’m going to beat you to a pulp,” I said. “I told you what would happen if you touched Melinda.” I stepped in and snapped two straight lefts to his face and danced back. He let out a bellow and charged me, and I danced farther back, then lunged forward, meeting his momentum with two more lefts and an overhand right. It stopped him for a second and I danced back. There was a mirror behind the bar and I could see I had a clear twenty feet behind me before I ran out of room.
He came at me again, this time catching the point of my shoulder with a thunderous right. My arm went numb. He tried to wrap me up and use his weight advantage. I tried to slip away but got caught up in a high top table, and he got one of his massive arms around my neck. I worked on his hand and managed to separate his little finger. I was seeing spots. Running out of air, I kicked him in the shin as hard as I could with my prosthetic foot and at the same time, snapped his finger. He howled and let me go. I spun and he was looking at his broken finger, and I kicked him on the side of his knee and his leg bent a little funny and he stumbled back, struggling to stay upright but he fell down. Now he didn’t know what to hold, his finger or his knee. I moved to the side and kicked him in the gut and all the air left him and he rolled to his side, curling into the fetus position.
I heard Blackhawk say, “Put it down.”
He was still sitting on the pool table, but he had the Sig Sauer in his hand resting nonchalantly across his thigh. He was talking to the bartender. The bartender had a phone in his hand. He lay the phone aside and raised his hands.
I leaned down close to Maupin’s ear and said, “You touch that girl again, I’ll kill you.”
One of the customers in the back said, “Jesus, I never saw anything like that.”
Another said, “You better go ahead and kill him, mister, he ain’t the kind that will let this go.”
I stepped over to the bartender and leaned into him, “You never want to see me again, you let this go. You want to see me again, call the police.”
Driving away, I was looking at my knuckles. They were beginning to puff.
Blackhawk said, “Have fun?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Not as much as you.”
43
We parked in my reserved spot and walked in the dusk down the ramp to my pier and out to the boat. We each carried a sack of groceries. The Moneypenny was deserted. Spiders had already spun webs across the gate opening in the aluminum railing that rimmed the bow. Spiders that live on the water are quick to claim their territory.
A half mile across the water, Captain Rand had the party boat out and the lights were on and the band playing. The whooping and laughter carried across the water and sounded like it was right next door. There were times the revelry was so raucous I would resort to wearing my sound suppression gun range earmuffs just to sleep. It was especially bad on the good weather weekends. All the boat owners that lived nearby would come down and fire up the gas grills and pour the cocktails and inevitably one or two would crank the music up, thinking the whole world was as enthralled with their music as they were.
My infrared warning light was green so there were no surprises aboard. I turned it off and stepped on board. Blackhawk followed me in. I began putting the groceries away and he made the drinks. I dialed the radio service to some Alison Krause. He filled two large rock glasses with ice, added a dash of bitters and a little over three fingers of Plymouth gin. We took the drinks up top. We sat in the captain’s chairs at the cockpit and watched the evening find the water. The speakers up top had individual volume controls. I wasn’t sure the rest of the world wanted to hear Alison Krause so I tuned it low.
The afternoons on the lake are usually windy, but with the sunset the wind dies to a mild breeze. The breeze kept what bugs there were at bay.
Blackhawk had a foot up on the rail and was watching me in his bemused way.
“What?” I said taking a bite out of my drink.
“That little girl.”
“Melinda?”
“If she don’t have, what’s his name -”
“Maupin.”
“Maupin. If not him, it’ll just be another dipshit. Girls like that need to be taken care of. And they’ll take a lot of beatings to get what they need.”
“So I should just let it go?”
He shrugged. “Up to you. Here’s the question –“
I waited.
“You doing it for her or for you?”
“Ah, Dr. Blackhawk. You think I have some psychological need to protect?”
“Don’t know about psychological but that’s all you been doing. And, yeah you are a male and we males are fixers. Woman has a problem, we want to fix it. Man has a problem, the woman will hug him and nurture him and tell him it’s going to be all better, then he’s on his own to fix it.”
“Doesn’t mean she should be beat up.”
“Men been beating up their women since the stone age.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“No it doesn’t, but it’s our nature.”
“To beat up women.”
“Men have always been the hunter gatherers. We been stabbing, sticking and clubbing things since the beginning of time. Killing is a violent act. Women take care of the nest. They are the nurturers. No violence required.”
“So I am predestined to violence and at the same time to take care of these girls.”
“Pretty much.”
I laughed. “Oh well, keeps me busy.”
“Busy beating the shit out of people.”
“Know anyone that needed it more?”
He shook his head. “Can’t say I do. But we both know you were just toying with him.”
I shrugged.
“Don’t know if you were just bullying him or playing the punisher but you could have put him down immediately any number of ways.”
“How can I kill thee, let me count the ways.”
“Cue ball, cue stick, bare hands, beer bottle. Many ways. You baited him.”
“But I didn’t kill him. Finger will mend. He’ll walk funny for a while.”
&nbs
p; “You told him you’d kill him.”
“Yeah, there is that.”
“Will you?”
I shrugged again. “Won’t know unless he beats the girl. Then we’ll find out.”
“I know who you are,” Blackhawk said. “Once you said it, it’ll be hard to take it back.”
The party noise moved farther away as Captain Rand’s boat moved further down the lake.
“Yes, there is that,” I said.
We were silent for a while, both thinking about that.
“Who we are now seems like we came from a faraway time in a faraway land,” I said. “For God and country. Instead of for a little girl whose crowning achievement in her life is getting pregnant.”
“The Colonel always said to never let emotion get into it.”
“Easy to do back then. Most targets were nameless.”
“Harder now?”
“Yeah. Meet a little girl looks twelve in a place called Safehouse that she thinks is, but is not.”
“What about the other girl?”
“She’s out there somewhere.”
“Hope is the poor man’s bread.”
“Hope is the thing with feathers – that perches in the soul. And sings the tune without the words, and never stops – at all.”
“Wow,” Blackhawk said. “You reading Dickinson again?”
“Never stopped.”
“Unit always thought that was a little pansy.”
“Reading Dickinson?”
He shrugged.
“No one ever said that to me.”
“They weren’t fools.”
Now he grinned.
“What now?”
He took a drink, the ice cubes clinking.
“Seems like saving little girls is a weakness of yours.” He tilted his glass at my prosthetic, “Starting with the little girl that cost you that.”
“I should’ve been faster,” I said.
Again we sat in silence. This time it went on for a while. It was one of the small things that had bonded Blackhawk and me. We didn’t have to endorse our being together by talking. Neither of us minded the quiet.
Finally I said, “So, since we’re males we are predisposed to beat our women?”
“Pretty much.”
“So, you beat Elena?”
“You crazy?”
“Why not?”
“She’d kill me.”
44
“You hanging here or going back?”
“Owning your own business is like being married,” Blackhawk said. “Spend too much time away and you start feeling guilty.”
“How would you know?”
“I read it in a lovelorn column somewhere.”
The temperature had dipped and we had moved back into the main lounge.
“I’ll drive you back,” I said.
We buttoned up the Tiger Lily and I activated the alarm. Walking down the pier I could see Danny Valenzuela, one of the security guys, with his two-seater golf cart at the end by the restaurant waiting on us.
“Saw you coming,” he said as we drew close.
We piled into his cart and he drove us up the hill to the Mustang. Blackhawk tipped him with a fifty.
It was ten-thirty when Blackhawk and I pulled up to El Patron. The parking lot was packed. Both the side bars were crowded to overflowing with couples with drinks in hand lounging in the hallway or moving from one bar to the other. In the main room Elena and the band had the crowd in a dancing frenzy. I found a spot at the bar. Blackhawk went upstairs to do some bookwork. Since I intended to head right back to the boat, I had Jimmy give me a tonic and club soda with a wedge of lime. Nacho was nowhere in sight.
Elena was in full voice, her olive skin glistening with perspiration. Men sweat, women perspire. She was a joy to watch. The band was in sync down to the smallest move.
I was finishing my drink when two men came up on either side of me. They were both dressed in dark silk suits with silk shirts and dark silk ties. Took a lot of silkworms to dress them.
One was tall and broad, his features flat and ethnic like he had Indio in his Mexican blood. His flat black hair was oiled and combed straight back. He looked like Mike Mizurki from the old Bogart movies. He leaned forward, both hands on the bar, and the guy on the stool next to me looked at him, slid off the stool and moved away.
The other guy was his opposite. Slender with rusty colored hair. His eyes were pale and when he was younger he must have had really bad acne. It had left pitted scars across both cheeks. These guys weren’t Feds.
I looked at Jimmy and he was watching. He reached under the bar and I knew he was pressing a button.
“Mr. Jackson?” Rusty asked, even though I was sure he knew who I was.
“In all my glory,” I said. I swiveled, putting myself full face on him, figuring he would be the easier escape route. “I was just wondering how many silkworms died for your sartorial splendor?”
He looked puzzled.
“Mr. Bavaro would like a minute of your time.”
This surprised me.
“Mr. Bavaro?”
“Yes sir. He is waiting outside.”
I looked at him for a moment.
“Is Romy with him?”
“No sir,” Rusty said with nothing in his voice. “It will just take a moment.” He stepped back and indicated the way with his hand palm up.
I thought about it for a split second, then slid off my stool and followed him out. Mizurki was behind me. We made our way through the crowd. Rusty was very patient and polite, gently edging people out of the way. Mizurki didn’t have any trouble. People just naturally got out of his way.
Duane, the part time bouncer, was manning the door. He nodded as we went out. The lot was surrounded with overhead lights that left dark shadows around each vehicle.
There was an itchy spot behind my right ear where I expected Mizurki to hit me, but he didn’t. Rusty led me to the outer edge of the lot where a dark Cadillac Escalade sat. It had the wrong license number. As he reached it, Rusty leaned down and opened the back door.
The man that got out wasn’t tall but he had the aura of power that some men have. He was dressed immaculately in a dark pin striped suit with a grey silk tie and matching handkerchief in the breast pocket. He was dark with dark eyes, a dark mustache and dark hair combed straight back from a pronounced widow’s peak over a balding head.
He held his hand out to me.
“I am Frank Bavaro,” he said without making it sound important.
“Jackson,” I said taking the hand. His grip was firm and dry.
“Thank you for coming out to see me. Most men would think twice about coming out into the dark to meet a stranger.”
“This is just a guess, but I’m guessing I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“There are always choices. Some just come with consequences.”
“Well put, Mr. Bavaro. How’s Romy?”
The lights that illuminated the lot also illuminated his face. He looked surprised. His face hardened slightly.
“My wife has nothing to do with us.”
I shrugged. “What does have something to do with us?”
He smiled, but it wasn’t warm, “I like that. You get right to it.”
I had shifted in a natural fashion until the entrance was in my line of sight. Blackhawk, Nacho and Duane were standing by the door watching.
Long ago Blackhawk and I had settled on our signals and all I had to do was touch my nose.
“Why would you come here to talk to me?” I asked.
“I am told you are looking for a girl.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I am also looking for this girl,” he continued. “She is the daughter of an old friend and we are all distressed that she is on the streets and may be in danger. I came to see what you have found out.”
I thought about it for a second then decided it didn’t make much difference.
“You speak of Gabriela Revera?”
&
nbsp; “You know I do. What do you know of her? Do you know where she is?”
“The best I know is that she is probably with some of the Seventh Avenue Diablo Playboys.”
“Do you know where?”
I shook my head.
“I am told that you are working with the police trying to find her.”
“The police are looking for her, yes.”
“You don’t know where she is?”
“No,” I said.
He looked at Rusty.
“How much cash do you have?”
Rusty looked a little bewildered, “Couple of grand maybe.”
Bavaro held out his hand and Rusty dug a roll of bills from his pants pocket and handed it over.
Bavaro handed me the roll of bills.
“Consider this a retainer,” he said. “Anything you find about Gabriela, you will call us and tell us immediately.”
He took a business card and a pen from his inside pocket. He wrote on the card then handed it to me.
“You call the number on the card. I have written an extension number on the card also. That will get you directly to me.”
He turned and climbed back into the back seat. Rusty closed the door and the window came whirring down. Bavaro leaned forward his face in the window.
“You call me first.”
“You before the police,” I said.
“Yes, after I have the girl you call the police. When you find her I will give you fifty thousand dollars for your trouble. Do we understand each other?"
“Yes, I think so,” I said.
Mizurki got behind the wheel and Rusty walked around to the passenger side and got in.
As soon as he was in and couldn’t see me, I stepped into Bavaro’s blind spot and turned and pointed at Nacho. Then I pointed at Bavaro’s vehicle.
Blackhawk said something to Nacho and Nacho took off in a run to his car. As Bavaro’s Escalade moved out of the parking lot and onto the street, Nacho’s Jeep was following.
45
Blackhawk, Elena and I were in Blackhawk’s apartment when Nacho returned. El Patron was closed and shut down. I had decided to stay until Nacho returned so I was sipping some Ballantine’s and club soda with lots of ice.
Elena had showered and was wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts and one of Blackhawk’s tee shirts. Even with no makeup she had that healthy skin look with full eyelashes and full lips. She had the TV remote and was cycling from show to show.
The Girl at the Deep End of the Lake Page 17
