“Probably. He’s hurt people. I know that. I don’t know if he ever killed anyone.”
“Okay, but that still means if it comes to it, it might be him or me. You understand?”
She touches the side of her head. Brushes some hair out of the way.
“I know it’s a lousy thing to ask, but please don’t kill him.”
“Didn’t you just hear me? If he draws down on me, I might not have a choice.”
She takes a step toward me. Gropes for words.
“You know how to do these things. Trick him. Use all that strategy you learned in the arena.”
“Why don’t you want me to hurt him?”
“I didn’t say don’t hurt him. Hurt him all you want. Just don’t kill him. I’d feel so guilty. He’s here because I stole his money. If he dies, it will be my fault.”
“I get it. I understand buyer’s remorse when it comes to killing. I’ve had it myself. Okay. I can probably handle this without making it a terminal situation, but I need your permission to make a mess.”
“As long as he doesn’t die, I’ll trust you with whatever you need to do.”
I think the scene over. I sort of remember the layout of her apartment.
“I’m going to need you to get some things for me.”
She calls up an empty note on her phone and types as I talk.
“A large painter’s tarp. Waterproof. Make that two. A gallon-size jug of dishwashing soap.”
“Got it. Is that all?”
“No. Glasses or empty bottles. Lots. When you think you have too many, that will be half of what I want.”
She tilts her head up at me.
“Are you going to make him drink something?”
“They’re not for drinking. They’re for breaking.”
“Don’t tell me anything more. I don’t want to know.”
“No you don’t. One more thing. I want to bring Candy along.”
She gives me a pleading look.
“Do you have to? I’m already so humiliated by this.”
“Candy doesn’t care about bad old lovers. We’ve all had a few, and hell, she puts up with me. Besides, she can help. She has a mean streak, and if I do what I’m thinking, I’ll have to leave Matthew alone for a while. She can babysit him.”
“Fine. Just don’t let Kasabian know.”
“No problem,” I say. “How’s Brigitte doing?”
She shakes her head.
“She’s stopped crying for now. I brought her to the clinic with me. She doesn’t know anything about medicine, but she can file and talk to the patients. I just want her a little distracted. And I want to be able to keep an eye on her.”
“She’s a killer. She’ll pull through.”
I can tell Allegra doesn’t like hearing me call Brigitte a killer.
“Is it true that Liam went to Hell when he died? Because he was excommunicated?”
“Those are the rules.”
“The rules stink sometimes.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Is there anything else you need from me?”
“A key to the apartment.”
“The door is unlocked.”
“I know. I want to lock it. It will confuse him. Or at least piss him off. Either one’s okay.”
She digs in her shoulder bag for a key.
“Can you do it tonight?”
“I’ll have to wait until he goes out to set up, so it depends on him.”
“He goes to a bar in Westwood every night around eight.”
“Perfect. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know how it went. With luck, you’ll never see or hear from him again.”
She hands me a key.
“And no killing.”
“No killing.”
She smiles for the first time since getting to the store.
“I’ll pick up this stuff right now.”
“I’ll see you later, then. Bring Vidocq by for an early dinner. We have leftover steak and dim sum and cake from the Chateau. None of it’s more than twelve hours old.”
“You’re living the Hollywood dream.”
“It’s the last good free food we’re likely to see for a while.”
“I’ll get you your soap and tarps.”
“And glass. Lots of glass. Two pairs of work gloves. And wire cutters. I’ll need those too.”
She starts away when I remember something.
“One more thing. Tell Vidocq to bring me some of Traven’s favorite books.”
“Why?”
“Do us both a favor and don’t ask.”
She nods and heads out. I go inside and pull Candy aside. Explain the situation to her.
“Sure,” she says. “Let’s do it tonight.”
“Perfect. It’ll give Kasabian time to change all the locks.”
Kasabian limps down from upstairs, carrying sheets and pillowcases.
“What are you two whispering about?”
“We’re planning your birthday party.”
“Good. I like piñatas.”
“And porn,” says Candy.
“Piñatas full of porn. Got it.”
Allegra comes back with the supplies a couple of hours later. I’ll have to get a van to transport all the gear to her place. I can tell Kasabian is curious about what we’re planning, but he’s smart enough not to ask questions, especially after he sees the roll of barbed wire I steal off the back of a PG&E truck.
I STEAL AN Escalade from the parking lot in front of Donut Universe. It has a built-in sound-and-video system that’s better than most movie theaters. Only a few hours since we left the Chateau and I’m already feeling nostalgic.
We load the Escalade in the alley next to Max Overdrive. It’s a tight fit. I had to drive the Hellion hog over and it takes up a lot of room.
When we’ve loaded the gear, Candy and I head out to Allegra’s place on Kenmore, due south of Little Armenia. Her building is a converted seventies-era motel called the Angels’ Hideaway. Dying palms out front. A pool with a foot of black water out back.
Someone comes out of Allegra’s apartment around eight. Heavyset white guy with his hair combed into an idiot fauxhawk. He carries himself so that everyone will notice his bulk. Typical jailhouse attitude. He doesn’t look like Allegra’s type, but I didn’t know her back in the day, so maybe she liked big boys with cinder blocks for brains. I have a feeling he didn’t spend his time in prison getting a GED or learning Latin. Probably pumped a lot of iron. Probably got dumber and meaner. By the time he walks out of sight, I don’t feel at all bad about what’s going to happen.
It takes two trips to carry everything into the apartment. The place has a simple layout. A short entryway that leads to a living room. A kitchen off to the side. You can’t get anywhere in the apartment without going through the living room first. That’s important. Candy and I shove all the boxes and furniture against the walls. Then the real work begins.
First lay down both layers of tarp. Next, cover them with plenty of dishwashing soap to turn them into slip-’n-slides, careful to leave dry areas around the edges to walk on. After that, Candy and I have a party breaking all the glasses and tossing the pieces onto the soapy tarp.
“Is this too mean?” she says. “Couldn’t we just beat him with a bag of oranges?”
“Hammering people up just makes them angry. If you want to permanently modify someone’s attitude, the thing to do is go full-tilt diabolical.”
“This is more like a Road Runner cartoon.”
“We haven’t gotten to the diabolical part yet.”
We put on the work gloves and roll out a few yards of the barbed wire, slicing it to length with the cutters. Then bend the wire into a wide circle and keep bending along its length until we have a spiral big enough to fit a man inside. When we’re finished, it goes over by the end of the tarp farthest from the door. Lastly, we unscrew all the bulbs in the room except for one small table lamp that I keep turned off for now. The only light in the apartment is what filters in through the blinds. I close those so the place is as dark as midnight in a jug.
After that, there’s nothing to do but wait for handsome, young Matthew to come home, happy and a little crocked. Candy and I sit and lean against the refrigerator.