“Can I get you two some coffee, the goddess caffeine is my one true love.”
“No, listen, some really bad men are after Cass. I need a safe house for her until I can straighten it out. I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“What sort of bad men? Moses?”
“Bad enough.”
“The less I know, the better, is that it? What the heck, is this one of my screenplays come to life?”
“I won’t be any bother, I promise,” Cass said, with a coy smile that almost sent Helen giggling.
“Of course you won’t. I have a guest room I never use and I’m on hiatus so I can use the distraction. But it’s all so mysterious, you sure you don’t want to tell me more, Moses, so I don’t have to drag it out of this sweet girl?”
“Let it lay, and when it’s all over, I’ll tell you about it,” I said.
“Every gory detail.”
“You got it.” Cass followed me out to the car for her suitcase. Wrapping her arms around my waist she hugged her head to my chest. I could feel her trembling in my arms. Leaning down, my lips met hers, we stood there kissing, as the sun sparkled on the water below us. Pulling myself away from her I kissed her forehead, got in and drove away. In the rearview mirror I could see her standing in the street, shoulders slumped, she stood there until I rounded the corner. I had to shake her from my head. No room for soft memories where I was going.
On Hillcrest I pulled into a liquor store and bought a pint of Seagram’s and a bottle of ginger ale. In the car I mixed a drink and pulled my whites stash out from under the seat. I needed the jangle and the edge, I needed to wash Cass from my mind. I wanted to run back to her, fall into her arms, make love until dawn and then drink rich coffee while we watched the dogs play. But that was a dream. And I had work to do.
I hit the Pony Express gun shop just before closing. They were out in the sweaty end of the valley, it was a large shop with stuffed dead animals hung across the ceiling. They supplied most of the black powder shooters and re-enactors, folks who liked to dress up as cowboys and play shoot ‘em up. I bought a box of frangible slugs for my.45. They were designed to act like a hollow point while still loading smoothly into an automatic. Under the soft copper casing were four steel balls that split out at impact leaving a deep and wide ugly entry wound. Air marshals and city cops used them because they didn’t over-penetrate, they hit like a fist but didn’t come out the back to kill the innocent. I also bought a length of cannon fuse. From my trunk I took a red highway flare and jammed the fuse into its end. Acme couldn’t have made a better fake stick of dynamite. Crawling back on the freeway I headed for Glendale.
I found the same ugly brown apartment building, pausing at the door I could hear the thump of rap music. I knocked and waited. After a moment the big Armenian opened the door, he didn’t fight me this time, he stepped back and let me enter. The skinny boy in the cast was sitting on his sofa watching rap videos. “What the hell do you want now?” he squeaked. I dismissed him with a glance and focused on the big guy.
“You want some work?” I said, the big boy shrugged, noncommittal. “I need back up, pays a hundred. You interested?”
“Gregor does what I say,” the skinny boy said.
“That true?” I said to the big boy, still not even looking at the punk on the sofa. Gregor shook his head. Grabbing his coat off the back of a chair he followed me out.
“You’re a real chatterbox, aren’t you?” I said, as we drove down Colorado. He shrugged looking out the window impassively. A layer of baby fat surrounded his face giving him a sweet look, his thick black hair was buzzed to a fine fur. The only thing really scary about him was his size and the dull look in his eyes that told you he just didn’t care how things turned out.
“You packing?” I asked, he looked at me like that was the stupidest question he had heard in years. From under his shirt he pulled a matte black 9 mm with a squared trigger guard and a lanyard ring at the base of the grip. It looked more like a tool than the pimped out penis extensions most baby gangsters carry. “What’s that, Russian?”
He shook his head like I was an idiot and handed me the piece. It was Czech, a CZ75. The kid knew his guns I’d give him that even if he wasn’t a sparkling conversationalist. In Highland Park my street was quiet. The Lincoln was still parked down the block. Moving in the shadows I checked out their car, it was empty. Crawling along the hedge I slipped onto my porch. A dim light glowed behind the curtains. Slowly I slipped my key into the lock aware of every click. Striking a match I lit the fuse, it burst into sparks. Popping the door open I tossed the red flare into the room, and pulled the door closed. I waited for a second then burst in sweeping the room with my.45. On the living room floor two mob boys were diving for the flare. They looked up at me stunned. From the kitchen I heard the deep thud of a fist on flesh. The older well dressed thug tumbled into the room and went down. Gregor followed him in, leveling his CZ at the man’s face. Moving between the other two I stepped on the fuse, crushing it out.
“Are you fucking nuts?” Jogging suit said.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. Guns on the floor boys, before I have to make a mess I won’t be able to explain to my maid.”
“Do you have any idea who we are?” the sweater boy said, standing up into my face. A backhand sent him back down. “Oh, you’re a dead man. I’m talking to a dead man.”
“Shut up.” The older well dressed man said, wiping a spot of blood off his lip onto a monogrammed handkerchief. The younger man closed his mouth, shooting me daggers with his eyes. “Now, let’s see if there is a way we can all walk out of here with our heads held high. What do you say, Mr. McGuire?”
“That, or I kill you all and call it a day well spent.”
“Obviously that remains a viable option, however, it will only lead to more destruction down the road. So let’s say we put that option to the side for the moment, you can always pick it back up, but for the moment let’s look down other avenues,” he said as cool as a banker working out a loan.
“Do you like scotch?” I said.
“Single malt?”
“Of course.” As an afterthought I bent to pull the sweater boy up, he smiled like I was finally showing him his due respect. Pistoning my arms I propelled him across the room backward. Stumbling over the coffee table he fell sideways onto the floor again. “Kill him first,” I said to Gregor and left him covering the two young thugs, leading the suit man into the kitchen. “Ice?” I said, pulling down my McCallans.
“That would be a crime,” he said. I poured us each a glass and sat down.
“You have a name?”
“Call me Leo.”
“Is that your name?”
“It will do.” He was around fifty with the body of a man who likes to keep in shape, his black suit hung beautifully, hand tailored I suspected. There was nothing off the rack about this man. “As I see it, you have accidentally stepped into a rather large bear trap. Now as for options, the cleanest would be for you to give us the girl. We part friends and all this becomes a sad but soon forgotten incident in your life.” Looking at me he swirled the scotch around in the glass, then took a small sip. “This truly is fine scotch.” I met his gaze, scratching my chin with the barrel of my.45.
“Twice, you and those two clowns have come after me, and twice I’ve handed you your ass. Now I’m supposed to wet myself ‘cause you may or may not be connected. I’m not wearing a skirt, so don’t treat me like your bitch.”
“I meant no disrespect. And you could kill us, but it would solve nothing, and I think you know that.” Again he sipped the scotch, closing his eyes he let it drift over his tongue.
“You want a deal? Tell me who your boss is and maybe I let you and Heckle and Jeckle walk. Or I let my boy go to work on them, see who talks first.”
“My employer is not germane to this conversation. I think you’ll be surprised by the effort we will go to protect his confidence.”