Bullets Are My Business (9781101616413) (12 page)

“Hey, guy, welcome back,” he said, a bit more chipper than I expected him to be considering that I had let him down. “You're in the hospital and you're gonna be here for a while. You got messed up pretty bad.”

We sat there in silence for a while. Not by choice, mind you, but because I couldn't speak. I grunted and groaned at Jacks in frustration until he realized that I had no idea what the fuck had happened.

“Calm down, Levi,” he ordered me. “Maise's fine. She called the cops from the bedroom while you were keeping the guys busy in the living room. We showed up just as you were doing your acrobatics out the window. God damn, I wish we could've been there a few minutes sooner, but there was no way. We were hot on Vincent's heels. Between you at the apartment and my guys at the site, Vincent's bodyguards took quite a beating. All told, a few of his crew escaped, but I think we took out pretty much all of them.” I waited in silence for Jacks to fill me in on Vincent himself. I widened my eyes to tell him I was waiting in anticipation.

“Maise's out of the woods,” he told me. “Vincent was taken care of. I wish I could take credit for that, but he was dead when we found him. I don't know who the hell did it, but they were professional. They knew that his guards were busy and they took advantage of that.”

Jacks continued talking, but I didn't care about the rest of the story so I didn't really listen. I perked up a bit when he started talking about my injuries and found out that I had to have my jaw rebuilt, I had lost a lot of blood, and had a lot of tissue damage, but it was all expected to heal up just fine over the course of the next couple years. Jacks told me I was a lucky prick that I hadn't broken anything when I went out the window. I had landed in some bushes and wound up with no more than some scratches from the fall.

I closed my eyes on that note. Yeah. I'm a lucky fuck. Remind me of that after I reach the end of recovery road.

Just Long Enough for the Asian to Finish His Cigarette

“Does any of this ring any bells for you, Mr. Maurice?” he asks, snuffing out his last cigarette and motioning for the Irishman to remove the ashtray. Of course this was ringing a bell. It was ringing a fucking carol of bells. This was the job that had left me sipping all my meals through a straw. This job was the reason that Jacks owed me what he saw as a never-ending barrage of favors.

“Yeah,” I reply, “I remember this. Your men were like a bunch of rabid badgers. They put up a hell of a fight. I actually felt kind of bad taking them down.”

“I'm sure you did.”

“Did you guys piece this all together on your own or did you have help?”

“It took us a while to find out who you were and approximately where to find you,” the Asian tells me, “but the pinpoint came from a pretty little thing who knew all about you. We met her in a bar. She was drunk and more than willing to give up everything she knew about you. I assume you know her, otherwise she's a better tail than I am. She said her name was Quill.”

I started out in a bad mood, but now I'm pissed. That would explain why she wanted to apologize to me. I'll have to remember to thank her next time I see her. “What exactly do you want from me?”

The Asian leans forward again, staring me down. “I want retribution, Mr. Maurice.” I saw that line coming. This is how hired help works. People are wronged in some way and they come to people like me to find them the vengeance they need. The vengeance they feel they deserve. The Asian lost a lot of good men on that job. Of course he wanted recourse. That was to be expected.

“What are we talking about here?” I ask, popping my knuckles. Now he's speaking my language. “Who needs to die to make this right with you?”

The Asian just stares at me. “You do, Mr. Maurice.”

That's unexpected. I stop midpop. I have to keep my cool. I swallow the last swig of rum.

“How about another one of those cigarettes?” I gotta buy myself some time. That's the only way I can get out of this in one piece. I raise my empty glass. “Hey, Lurch, how about a refill, while we're at it?” The Asian nods as he takes the silver cigarette case out of his pocket and holds it out to me. The giant takes my glass and disappears back into the kitchen. I light the smoke. My gears are grinding so hard and so fast that I'm certain the Asian can hear me thinking. I gotta start by getting the scoop.

“Why do you have to off me?”

“As I said, we need retribution.”

“I feel it's unnecessary for me to have to say this, but I'm gonna go ahead and say it anyway. I had nothing to do with the death of your former employer.”

The Asian raises his eyebrow and leans back on the couch. “Is that so?”

“My only role in that scuffle was to make sure that the girl got out alive and well. I was getting paid for her well-being. Your boss was worth no money to me. I don't stick my beak where it doesn't belong.” The behemoth returns from the kitchen and slaps the drink down on the table in front of me. “Thanks.”

“I have a source that tells me otherwise.” The Asian seems pretty keen on believing what he's already been told. I gotta steer him away from that mind-set.

“Your source has his head up his ass.”

The Asian sits motionless, waiting for me to continue. I take a drag off the cigarette.

“Listen, you seem to run a pretty tight ship around here,” I tell him, motioning around the shitty apartment. The Asian nods, seemingly curious where I'm going with this but not willing to show me. “Which makes you a businessman. I get the feeling that you, like any good businessman, will make goddamned sure that the business he's running is worthwhile.”

The Asian lights up another cigarette and waves at me with his free hand. “Get to the point, Mr. Maurice.”

I nod. “You must do research on guys like me. I'm only looking out for two things when I go on a job. Number one, I look out for number one. And number two, I look out for my investments. All told, I go into a job making sure that I'm coming out alive and that there's a payoff at the end of the rainbow.”

“I did gather that from my background checks.”

“Okay, now, on the job in question, my duty was to make sure that the hooker got out clean. I did that. I walked away. So, my job was done. What good would it have done me to kill some run-of-the-mill, scumbag drug dealer, unless it was going to earn me some extra compensation?”

I pick up the rum and take a drink. My eyes are fixed on the Asian and I'm not letting them move. I gotta stay cool or I'm toast. I can feel the mick's eyes burning a hole into my skull. He's ready to pounce, and what's more, he wants blood. Right now, he doesn't care if I'm innocent or guilty, he just wants to fight and he wants to win. The big guy doesn't care either way, he'll just do whatever the Asian tells him to do. That's why I gotta focus on the Asian. He's the one that counts.

I gotta give it to him, he's got a good poker face. Sitting before me, not moving a muscle. I can't read him at all. He's trying to make me sweat, something I haven't done in a long time, and he's doing a damned good job because I'm sweating right now. He wants me to give up some information that I hadn't previously alluded to, he wants me to come right out and say that I killed Vincent, and, if I don't come right out and say it, he wants my body language, my facial expression, to slip up and let him know that something happened. I don't want to send him a signal that could be misconstrued, so I sit, stone faced, and wait.

His eyes are piercing through me, like a bullet is going to rip through my skin if he has even the slightest inkling that I had something to do with this job. He hasn't said anything; in fact, I can't even hear him breathing. He's just sitting on the couch, slowly smoking his cigarette and focusing on me. The cigarette is almost down to the filter. He's got two more drags, tops, and he's gonna milk those puffs for all they're worth. Staring at me staring at him. The only question is, how's this gonna end?

“Well, Mr. Maurice,” the Asian says without warning, leaning forward on the couch toward me and holding out his dead cigarette for the mick to take, “I've learned a great deal in the business that I'm in. One of the things I've learned is how to read someone who's lying, and sitting here talking to you, I've come to one of two conclusions. Either A: you're telling me the truth, or B: you're damned good at bluffing your way out of interrogations.”

I set the dirty glass on the floor at my feet. “I'm telling you the truth.”

The Asian stands up. “And for the time being, I'm going to believe that, Mr. Maurice. However, the fact remains that I need retribution for what has befallen my crew.”

“So, you're gonna kill me regardless.” I lean back in my chair.

The Asian shakes his head. “No,” he tells me. “I've come to believe that you're of far more use to me alive.”

I stare at him for a moment, trying to let the confusion rattle itself out of my head. “I'm not following you.”

“This is not a terribly difficult concept to grasp, Mr. Maurice.” The Asian is getting condescending. I have to watch my step or I might walk right back into the noose. “I need to extract vengeance for what has befallen my crew. If you, as you claim, had nothing to do with the untimely demise of my former employer, Vincent, then I am in need of your services.” He pauses. I keep my mouth shut. I'm finally starting to get used to the water. He's easier to read than I thought. I get the feeling that his pause was more for effect than for anything else. He's a showman. He'll start up and finish this off in a moment. I take a drag from my cigarette.

“You will find the man I'm looking for. You will bring him to me. And you will do so in one week's time.” Just as I expected, he finished his thought before looking at me. I mull over the prospect of this business venture.

“What kind of pay are we talking?” The Asian finds this question funny, as he half chuckles before responding. I sit in silence.

“If you are talking about monetary compensation, Mr. Maurice, you will be receiving none. I am allowing you to live in order to clear your name with me. I am giving you one week, seven days, in order to do so. Your payment will be the continuation of your existence.”

I nod my head. “To be perfectly honest, I'd rather have the money, but it sounds fair enough to me.”

“One week, Mr. Maurice.”

“Seven days, I got it.”

The Asian nods. “We'll be in touch, Mr. Maurice. Maestro and Kenny will make sure you arrive home in a timely fashion.” The Asian disappears from the room as the behemoth and the mick move in toward me. I look up at the two of them and smile.

“Am I going to get a kiss at the door too?”

I have time for only one fleeting thought as an enormous fist comes rushing at my forehead.

Shit.

Who Knows?

The shoe digging into my ribs rocks me back to consciousness. My eyes open and I see a cold gray sky above me. A silhouette comes into my line of vision.

“What are you? Everybody's official knock-around guy?” Jacks extends a hand. I take it gratefully and he pulls me to my feet. I look around, acclimatizing myself to my surroundings. I'm back in the same damn alleyway that the Asian's guys picked me up in last night. An envelope falls off of my chest and flutters to the ground. I don't even have to look at it to know what color it is. Mint green. Why would it be any other color? I bend down to retrieve it.

“Levi, what the fuck? I've been calling you all night.” My eyes follow the voice and I see Chenille coming around the corner. I swallow the knot of dried saliva that has taken up residence in my throat and I reach for my flask.

“Levi, are you okay?” A second female voice. Megan is coming up the alley now. I feel like I'm on
This Is Your Life.
Did the Asian send out an APB on my drop-off point? I can feel all three of them staring at me, but I figure that they can wait as I move my dented flask to my lips to take a long pull.

“Introductions?” Chenille says. I can tell without looking at her that her arms are crossed over her chest and she's got a stern look on her face. I want nothing more at the present time than to punch her in the head.

“Jacks, Megan, Chenille,” I growl. “You figure it out.” I can hear them making with the casual salutations as I tip the flask skyward. After a few swallows, I look down at the envelope in my hand. I'll open it upstairs.

“Okay, enough with the getting-to-know-you bullshit,” I say. I point at Jacks. “I need to talk to you. Tonight, nine, Blues.” I don't wait for a response. I don't have the time. I turn to Chenille. “We'll talk now, upstairs.” I look at Megan. “Go home. I'll call you later.”

“Are you okay?” she asks, with something that should sound like irritated concern in her voice. To me, it just comes off as irritating. I have to get her out of here before she starts pouting. I can't deal with that right now.

“I'm fine. Go home, I'll explain later.” She nods sullenly and pecks me on the cheek before leaving. I face Jacks again.

“Better idea, you should be in on this discussion,” I state. “Upstairs.”

I fling open the back door of the apartment. Chenille and Jacks follow me up the stairs. I can tell that they're both waiting to unleash a barrage of questions, but when I open the door to my apartment, Luna beats them to the punch and starts giving me grief. Chenille and Jacks both know that the time for their Q & A session will come soon enough, so they keep their traps shut for the time being. I walk into the kitchen and start dishing out food for Luna before she whines herself into an explosion. She stops whining and starts eating. While Luna is feverishly devouring her food, I lean against the kitchen counter and light up a cigarette. The silence in the apartment is unbelievably satisfying. I take it all in, knowing full well that it's not going to last much longer. I can tell that Chenille is about to burst, but I keep her waiting anyhow. This is a game we used to play when we were kids. It's called “who snaps first.”

I turn to the cabinet above the stove, looking for a bottle of rum, before I recall that I drank the last of it before my excursion last night. Looks like I'll have to rely on my flask. I pull it from my pocket. That's running low as well. When that's empty, I may have to resort to rubbing alcohol. I wish my chauffeurs had made a stop by the store on the way home. I walk to my chair and sit down, sinking into the vomit-colored fabric.

“Levi, what the fuck,” Chenille snaps. I win.

“I got picked up by a couple of guys last night,” I start. I point at Jacks. “Remember that job I did for you? The one that came fully equipped with the barrel of favors?” Jacks nods his head and I continue. “Well, this was the opposing team. They think I whacked the guy that they were in charge of. . . .”

“Vincent Bagliato,” Jacks says.

“That's the guy.”

“Did you?” Chenille asks.

“No,” I reply. “I didn't, but because of that, I now have a week to find the guy who did plug Vincent and bring him in.” I raise my eyebrows and take another pull from the flask. Jacks is taking all of this in and Chenille doesn't say anything, she just stares at me. She finally opens her mouth to speak.

“That's all I know as of right now,” I tell her, cutting her off and answering her question before she can form it into words. I look at Jacks. “Which is why I'm meeting up with you tonight.”

“What's the plan?”

“Those favors,” I tell him. “I'm calling them in. Every last one of them. I need you to round up some informants. Tell them to be at Blues at quarter after. You be there at—”

“Nine, I remember,” Jacks says, opening the apartment door. “I gotta get moving.” I give him a wave and he exits. Chenille walks to the window and looks out at the alleyway in silence. These are my favorite times with family. The quiet ones spent drinking.

“Who was that floozy?” Chenille asks. “Megan?”

“Yeah, Megan,” I say. “Megan Basset. You went to high school with her.”

“I've never seen that girl in my life,” Chenille informs me, turning away from the window.

“Yes, you have. She was always hanging around the house your sophomore year. I didn't see her much after that. I just assumed you two grew apart.”

Chenille stares at me and shakes her head. “I don't know that girl.”

“Yeah, you do. That was Megan Basset.”

“I know who Megan Basset is,” Chenille tells me, slowly, like she's speaking to a mentally retarded kid. “Megan moved out to the West Coast right after sophomore year. Ran away from home with dreams of being a starlet. Wound up a coked-out waste. That's why you didn't see her much. That girl down there was not Megan Basset.”

“You must be thinking of someone else,” I state, already feeling a knot growing in my stomach.

Chenille shakes her head. “Levi, my graduating class had three hundred people in it. I remember everyone I went to school with.” She motions dramatically toward the window. “That broad wasn't one of them.” She grabs my flask from my hand, polishes it off, and then slaps it back against my palm. I sit in silence, mulling over what Chenille just said. There was absolutely no recognition in the alleyway. Chenille's got a way with names and faces. I try to convince myself that Megan Basset has lost some pounds and maybe had some work done. That would've been the easy way out of this dilemma, but the knot in my gut is refusing to let me take that route.

“Levi?”

“I got it, not Megan Basset.”

“Right, but, if she's not who she claims to be, then who is she? Why is she claiming to be someone she's not?” Chenille poses the questions as though they're not already pounding away in my brain. I don't even justify them with a response. She starts talking again, so her questions must've been rhetorical. “Where did you say you met this girl?”

“She got me out of that bind last week,” I reply. “At the gym.” Chenille moves toward the door.

“I'm going to go get some word from the street.”

“Be careful,” I warn her as she exits. “They're a tough crowd.”

Chenille stops in the doorway. “You forget, brother of mine, that infiltration is what I do best.” She exits the apartment and closes the door behind her. I sit for a moment before I bolt from the chair and launch myself across the room.

“Hey, you better pick me up a handle on your way back,” I yell as I tear open the door. I wait for her response, but she's already gone. Dammit. There's nothing worse than working on an empty stomach.