So what had happened? Al had fucked up royally and the bitch had escaped. Tim had been freaked out, and even Animal had been a little nervous. But at least they had gotten the money they'd extorted out of her, and Rick had earned some extra money. The tape of Animal and the infant had fetched a nice price from a wealthy pedophile in Seattle, and that had almost made up for Al's fuckup. The client had been royally pissed, of course, and demanded they get the bitch back and do what he had fucking paid them to do. During that first phone conversation he'd had with him in a phone booth after the fuckup, Rick had told the guy to fuck off-didn't he see that they'd almost been caught? The numbfuck didn't get it, and actually threatened to expose him. "I'll bring you down, Rick. I'll fucking expose you, I've got shit on you that'll have the DA on you so fast it'll make your balls burst." Rick had responded accordingly. Oh yeah? What about you? You commissioned the fucking film, you goddamn pervert motherfucker. It takes two to tango.
And the client… that rich, smug, corporate bastard… he'd tucking laughed. "You think the police are going to believe you?You're a convicted criminal! Your father was a peddler of child pornography and bestiality films! The cops know you make hardcore S&M films, that the so-called mainstream stuff you do straddles the line. They know you've produced child pom, that you've trafficked in other shit. You're a fucking convicted sex offender! You think they're going to believe you? You out of your fucking mind?"
"Yeah? Big fucking deal! Tim will back me up, and so will Animal and-"
And you'll squeal on them to get me busted? Listen to yourself, you cheap bastard! Nobody's going to believe you. You can't pin me to this. There are no records, no witnesses, nothing! Nobody even knows we met. All of our phone calls were done at pay phones. We've had all our meetings in public places, at restaurants in the fucking men's room. As far as the cops go, we don't exist. This transaction doesn't exist. There's no way to tie us together because, by the very nature of the product you produce, you have to stay as far away from people like me as possible. Am I right?"
And Rick had nodded, wanting to reach out and wrap his fingers around the man's neck and squeeze until he couldn't see his knuckles. He'd had to restrain himself. So he'd nodded, said he'd do his best, and the guy had said, "Don't just do your best. Just do it. I'll give you a few weeks to collect your bearings and I'll call with a new plan. And don't even think about having somebody come after me, either. If I go missing, or if I get hurt, I've already made sure that the cops will find you and you'll be fucked."
"Oh, and you're willing to disgrace your family? Is that it?You gonna hurt your family's memory of you by exposing yourself for the perverted motherfucker you are?"
The client had laughed, and it was a laugh devoid of a soul. "I won't give a shit, Rick. I'll be dead. Won't I?"
Rick stood up and retrieved his keys from the table in the living room. He had to call the client. It was the least he could do… tip the client off to what was happening and lay low. Well, Rick would make a few other calls to New York, to a certain family he knew in the old neighborhood that was tapped into the scene. Fill them in on what was going on. And if the cops came nosing around, Rick would know that the client had spilled the beans. Then one phone call would be all it would take to get Eugene and Maxwell out from New York to pay a visit to the client. He'd think of a way to distance himself from the job he'd done.
He left the house, locking it behind him, and got in his car. As he drove to the liquor store on the comer of San Gabriel Boulevard and Foothill, he replayed in his mind what had happened next. Rick had agreed to follow through with the client's plan, but he had been pissed over the fuckup. Somebody had to pay, and if it wasn't the client then it would have to be somebody else. So he had called the meeting at the shop, telling Animal to ready himself up for some torture and bloodshed. Rick figured Tim or Al had fucked up, and he didn't really care which one went down-he had been growing rather tired of both of them lately. Still, Al was a cocky sonofabitch, and things had played out naturally that night when he'd immediately started denying everything. Tim had started squealing the minute he got to the shop, and Rick knew the shit had gone down exactly as Tim described. He already knew from Sam that Al had never called him. Al had had explicit instructions to deliver a product to Rick. He'd delivered, all right-and he'd lied to Rick and Tim when he told them Sam had OK'd it. Guy was a fucking weasel. That just made it easier to kill him right there, that night, on the floor of the print shop.
Well, Animal had done that part, of course. But it had been Rick's decision. And he'd felt better after having made it.
Rick pulled into the liquor store parking lot by the bank of pay phones. He turned off the ignition and climbed out of the sports car, hurrying to the phones. He'd committed the client's phone number to memory, and now he dialed it after dropping a quarter in the slot, waiting for him to pick up after two, three, four rings-
"Hello?"
Rick had been poised to hang up if somebody other than the client answered, but he recognized the voice. 'It's me.'Iheres a problem!
'Now what?'
Rick could tell that the client had an idea something was afoul. He had that tone of voice that seemed to suggest he was bothered by something.
"1 just got a call," Rick said. it didn't sound good. You never saw me, you've never met me, you've never heard of me before. Furthermore, you've never been involved in the circle. I'm going to call a few people we both know and ask them to deny they've ever seen you. Do you understand?"
The client tried to sound tough. "What the hell happened? If you-"
"She got away," Rick said, more firmly. "Remember. We've never met. My guess is that the cops will start knocking at your door. You know what to tell them, and you know what to expect if you start singing" He hung up, closed his eyes, his breath harsh in his ears.
For some reason it felt like a tremendous weight had been taken off of his shoulders. Rick sighed, picked up the receiver, and dropped another quarter in the slot. He couldn't relax now, even though he felt better about warning his client. He had to be on guard, lay low. With that in mind, he dialed the next number he had in mind from memory, beginning the process of covering his trail.
Thirty
Her mouth was dry; she was thirsty.
She could feel her energy draining… her body growing light with sleep.
And each time she felt herself weakening she shook her head, reawakening herself, then trudged on ahead, concentrating on piloting the SW over the rocky terrain.
The pain in her side had dulled to a slow throb. She kept her right hand pressed to the gaping wound, trying to ignore the slickness of her flesh as she felt something slosh inside. She knew she was probably holding her intestines inside her abdomen, but she didn't look. She couldn't. If she looked she knew she would faint. And if she fainted she would lose control of the vehicle and would either crash it into a cliff or drive herself off one. The impact might not even kill her outright; she might lie pinned in the wreckage for as long as it took her to die of shock and blood loss. That was all there was to it.