He'd explained that to Sam Bash the day after he made the delivery, when Bash called and asked in an icy tone why he had not carried out the job he'd been paid to do. "You paid me to shoot a scene that included Animal and whatever woman Tim Murray brought me," he'd explained. "'That's all I did, no questions asked."
It was clear that Bash had been pissed, even though he conceded that they already had two buyers willing to pay two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the tape with the infant. That was more than double what he'd get for a normal snuff film. They'd exchanged a few more words and Sam had rung off with a "you'll be hearing from me," then he'd hung up. Al hadn't heard from him since.
In the last week, though, he'd talked to Tim. They'd been paying close attention to the news and there'd been no media coverage of Lisa Miller's abduction. Tim had even done an Internet search and had come up with nothing. Tim told Al he'd been yelled at by Sam too, and he was nervous. You didn't fuck with these people; Al knew that, and he assured Tim they'd be fine. "You gob her address. I can hold Sam off for another week until the money for these films comes in. That'll be a nice pacifier for him. Then, say in two weeks, me and you pay a surprise visit to Ms. Miller. Get yourself a white panel van and I'll have a shot of morphine all fixed up and ready for her. It'll be a nice quick abduction, and this time we'll just do it. She'll be dead and disposed of within a few hours after we pick her up, and the next day Sam'll be happier than a pig in shit. How's that sound?"
That had sounded fine to Tim, and Al had lain low for the rest of the week. He didn't hear from Tim or Animal, and he tried to keep a low profile. He didn't even call Sam to check on where his money was. Then this afternoon he got a phone call from Rick Shectman telling him to get over to his print shop for an evening meeting regarding the next job. Rick and Sam were acquainted, and from the brief conversation he had with Rick, Al surmised that Sam had gotten over his anger regarding the last job. The money the organization had just made must've sweetened them up.
Al reached under his seat for the coke vial he kept in a compartment he had gouged into the seat. He opened it, reached a pinkie in, and scooped some blow out with his fingernail. He took a snort up his left nostril, dipped his nail back in for seconds, snorted that up his right nostril, then rubbed the residue over his gums. He replaced the vial under the seat and checked himself out in the rearview mirror. Might as well get this over with. He opened the door, swung his long legs out of the Fbrsche, and headed to the office. He felt amped up and ready to do business as he entered and paused for a moment at the threshold, letting his vision get adjusted to the darkness. "Yo," he called out. "You here, Rick?"
in the back," a voice called out.
Al made his way through the office to the rear of the establishment.
Mark and Sons Printers had originally been a commercial printer that operated a four-color press. The back room was a darkroom where paste-ups were shot and converted to plates for printing. There had once been two presses, but one had been sold and the other sat against the rear wall under a layer of dust. The remaining floor space of the shop had been cleared away from other printing machines and was now used as a makeshift studio for some of the hardcore S&M loops Al shot. Rick Shectman, the guy who had inherited the printing business from his father, only did business as a printer occasionally. Mostly he used the press to generate child pornography or other illegal underground smut. He also ran drugs and stolen jewelry through the shop. And he leased space to Al for the production of some milder hardcore S&M. "As long as they don't get blood and shit all over my floor," Rick had told Al one day a few years ago in that thick Slavic accent he'd inherited from his father. "You can use my shop. You use big-titty women, you tell me so I watch, yes?" He'd smiled a gap-toothed smile.
Rick Shectman was a man who conducted himself in a casual manner, but Al knew he was a heavy key player in the illegal hardcore community. He was one of the money people. He knew the clients. And he knew the talent. Al, Tim, and Animal had worked for Rick five times in the past three years, and Al knew Rick to be a fair man, but a hard one. Rumor had it that he'd once beaten a customer who had commissioned a torture film with a lead pipe after the customer failed to come up with the fee for the finished product. The beating had been so bad that the victim had lost both eyes. Al had heard of worse crime bosses. The guys back east in New York and New Jersey, they didn't tuck around. They usually had a goon squad get medieval on your ass if you tucked with them, and you wound up at the bottom of New York Harbor with a pair of cement boots.
When Al rounded the comer where the darkroom flanked the rear of the print shop, he saw that Tim Murray and Animal were there. They were leaning casually against the printing equipment. Rick was seated on a skid of computer paper that had been carted back there for storage. He smiled at Al. "Nice that you could join us." His teeth were very white, and Al felt his limbs go numb. There was something about the look on Rick's face, which was usually happy-go-lucky, bright and cheerful, that was sharply different. Now Rick's Slavic features were dark, with a hint of menace swimming beneath his blue eyes.
"What's up?" Al asked, trying to sound casual.
"We need to talk," Rick said.
Al glanced at Tim quickly. He couldn't tell if Tim was nervous, but he guessed the man was; he could tell that last job had been too hardcore for him, and during the drive to Los Angeles Al had soothed whatever worries Tim might have by telling him how much money they were all going to make. That seemed to work at lifting the man's mood. Now Tim wouldn't meet his gaze. Only Animal looked indifferent. He looked bored.
"Okay, let's talk," Al said.
"What did Sam tell you to do when he gave you this last job, Al?" Rick asked.
Al felt the blood drain from his face. He looked from Tim to Animal, who refused to meet his gaze. "He said that… that..
"When Sam called and said that Tim had our star, I related this news to the ddnt," Rick said, smiling calmly. "He was very pleased. Very pleased. Then, when Sam called a few days later and gave us the news about the other one and the baby and what had happened, well… I wasn't happy, but I saw the potential. I ran it by our client. Personalty, he wasn't interested in a baby. But I knew some in the group would be. I knew they would pay a lot of money for it. I made the arrangements for it not knowing… what?"
Al was mortified. He swallowed a dry lump. "I don't understand. Everything-"