Piggyback (10 page)

“
It
’
s me.
”

“
I
’
m a little busy right now, can I call you back?
”

“
Make sure you do. It
’
s important.
”

“
I know it
’
s important or you wouldn
’
t be calling me now. I
’
m on the way home; I
’
ll call you in an hour.
”

“
Make sure you do, it
’
s important.
”

Without saying another word, Damon hit the button on his steering wheel again and the throbbing beat flooded the car once again.

Sacramento

Paul sat across from Jimmy. He was sweating more than usual, even as the cool night air filled the car to help flush out his cigarette smoke. His bottle was empty now and he leaned forward keeping watch for any open liquor stores. In his left hand, he turned over and over the key that he
’
d been using to spoon up his blow; in his right, the last slow burning American Spirit, a brand he
’
d begun to like after sucking in almost a whole pack. He was too nervous now even to play with the radio; letting songs he hated play quietly in the background. With a prisoner in the back seat, a dead body in the trunk, and no sign of his lost load anywhere, he was feeling both hopeless and helpless.

Tristan sat terrified behind his captors. The mood in the car had changed. He knew something was wrong. The man in passenger seat, who
’
d been talkative to the point of annoyance, was now silent, and the driver—the cold violent one—kept gripping the steering wheel like he was having a bad dream. Tristan knew that something had gone badly back at Jerrod
’
s parent
’
s house. He knew that Jerrod
’
s folks knew nothing about what he and Jerrod were up to, that they were, as always, useless and clueless, but something caused Jerrod
’
s old man to take a potshot at them when they left. He only wished he could talk with Jerrod about what to do next. Being separated like this reminded him of when they were both caught shoplifting at Macy
’
s, when security kept the boys in different rooms while they interrogated them. Only at Macy
’
s, he didn
’
t fear for his life. The security guards were not sadistic psychopaths like the lunatic driving the car.

Jimmy found his way back to the freeway and got on the I-80 West, then veered right, taking the downtown loop. He looked in the rearview and eyed Tristan for any reactions. The kid kept a good poker-face, considering the jam he was in. It was getting late and the conversation with Jose hadn
’
t bought them any time. He could read between the lines, though. He
’
d better show some results soon or he
’
d be in as deep as his troubled friend, Paul.

They exited on J Street and Jimmy found his way to the liquor store. He slipped Paul thirty bucks and watched him go in and make his purchase. While Paul waited behind two young black kids at the register, Jimmy turned and faced Tristan. He looked him straight in the eye, trying to give him his most serious dead-eye stare.

“
Look kid, enough is enough. We
’
ve been in this car for hours. It
’
s time we put an end to this evening and go our separate ways. I know you
’
re supposed to meet the girls at Shelly
’
s house. It
’
s time you told me where it is. I
’
ve got your parents address. If you don
’
t tell me where your girlfriend lives, I
’
m going to go to your parents
’
house, get on the computer, find out where she lives, then burn the house down. If you lied about mom and dad being home, then they
’
ll both die tonight. I
’
ll shoot
‘
em both or I
’
ll just torch the house. I know just how to do it so that no one will get out.
”

Tristan tried to keep his poker-face, but Jimmy could tell he was fighting back vomit.

“
Do we understand each other?
”

Tristan nodded and Jimmy continued, his voice was slow, calm, and methodical.

“
I want you to remember that I haven
’
t lied or exaggerated to you all night. I
’
m a man of my word, especially when it comes to this kind of shit. You and your friends have put me and my partner in a very difficult spot. This may not seem to you like something that people die over, but trust me, it is. You are interfering with our ability to make a living, with our reputations. You have stolen from us, and when I say us, I mean more than me and my partner. You have fucked over a fucking army of nasty individuals. Now, before I have to get out the stun gun and cook your balls some more, where does she live?
”

It didn
’
t take Tristan long to think about it. He believed Jimmy. His captor was colder and meaner than anyone he
’
d ever met, anyone he
’
d even seen in movies. He had no doubt that Jimmy meant every word of what he said.

“
1266 43
rd
Street.
”

When Paul got back into the car, Jimmy was smiling and Tristan was crying.

Linda Lafleur was woken by crashing sounds coming from her garage. It took her a moment to remember where she was. She wiped drool from her mouth and lifted her head, immediately feeling a sharp painful kink she gotten from sleeping upright on the sofa. Her eyes adjusted to the room. The TV was still on, giving an unsteady light to her surroundings. Slowly, she recognized the furnishings and realized she was at home. The next thing she realized was that she was hung-over. She needed a drink.

There was another crash followed by the voices of her daughter arguing with someone. The voices were coming from the garage. Blearily, she got up and stomped toward the door to the garage at the end of the hallway. She threw open the door and found Shelly and Becky standing in their bare feet arguing with each other. There were empty suitcases strewn all over the garage floor. Boxes of Christmas decorations stored neatly on shelves had been hastily pulled off and opened. It looked like a burglar had been through her husband
’
s rarely used work bench.

“
Michelle! What the hell is going on here? Are you two fighting?
”
A brawl was the only explanation that came to her mind. What else could have caused such destruction?

“
Go back to bed, Mom.
”

“
I wasn
’
t in bed. I was watching TV.
”

Shelly gave a quick roll of her eyes.
“
Go back to the couch then.
”

“
I want to know why you two girls are destroying my house. Look at this mess.
”

“
I
’
m trying to find my roller-skates.
”

“
Roller-skates, you don
’
t even own a pair of roller-skates.
”

“
Mom, go back inside.
”
Shelly
’
s voice was angry, low, and masculine. Linda hadn
’
t heard her daughter speak this way before. She didn
’
t know how to respond.

Becky interrupted,
“
It
’
s okay, we
’
ll settle this. We
’
ll clean up this mess.
”
The vodka was calling her anyway; Linda was about to turn back into the house and make herself a fresh drink when the small windows at the top of the garage door were lit up with headlights. A car was pulling into the driveway.

Linda assumed it was her husband and quietly said,
“
Shit.
”

Becky and Shelly said simultaneously,
“
Finally,
”
thinking it was the boys. Becky was closest to the switch for the automatic door-opener; she reached over and smacked it with the palm of her hand.

The vehicle
’
s headlights remained on as the garage door rolled up. It surprised all three of them to see an ugly brown Camry in the driveway; or was it green? With the headlights in their eyes, it was hard to see the color—or who was inside.

Kevin the rose guy had a pretty sweet deal. He lived on the outskirts of Salt Lake City in a duplex that had all the modern amenities. The owner of the duplex was also his neighbor and his best customer. The symbiotic relationship kept his rent down and he never had to worry about noise complaints or suspicious looks when his endless stream of guests came knocking day and night.

Kevin was lounging. That was his favorite term for it. He had his shoes and socks off, his feet up on the ottoman, and was flicking the channels of his giant flat-screen TV. The cable, also courtesy of his landlord, boasted 198 channels, but Kevin always had trouble settling on something to watch. He sipped at a beer from a local micro-brewery and contemplated loading up his new bong, a three-and-a-half-foot behemoth with a grinning skull for a base. He loved to lounge; he felt relaxed and good.

Then there was a knock at the door. Damn, he thought as he got up expecting to find his neighbor, it was well past midnight; didn
’
t this guy ever get enough?

But when he opened the door there was no well-intentioned neighbor with a pocket full of money, there were two short Mexican-looking gentlemen. Neither of them were smiling.

“
Can I help you?
”
said Kevin the rose guy.

One of the men extended his arm and pushed Kevin straight back into his house. The other one followed and closed the door behind him.

“
Excuse me,
”
said Kevin, still hoping there had been some kind of mistake.

“
¡
c
á
llate!
”
said the first one. Kevin had no idea what that meant.

The second man pulled out a gun. The gun had what looked like a homemade silencer screwed onto the barrel. The contraption was huge and appeared to be bigger than a 40oz can of beer.

Kevin thought he was being robbed.
“
What do you want, what do you need?
”
He was ready to give these two anything they desired.

The man with the gun, the shorter of the two, pointed the end of the silencer about six inches from Kevin
’
s chest and fired. Kevin was pushed back by the impact and fell flat on his back. He was wheezing for a moment, then his breaths turned to short gasps. Intense pain set in, a burning square in the middle of his chest. He was surprised to discover he was still alive. He wished for a moment that this was a mistake, that one of these men would realize that and call him an ambulance. He tried to say ambulance, but nothing came out.

The man with the gun bent over and pressed the silencer against Kevin
’
s forehead. He fired once more.

Jimmy pulled the Camry all the way into the garage before opening his door and getting out. He gave them all a benevolent smile before saying,
“
Ladies, ladies. How are we doing tonight? Alright? Good. I know you two, Becky and Shelly, how are you?
”

Jimmy wasn
’
t sure which one was which, but spoke to them both. He was standing in front of the Camry
’
s headlight with his arms held out, embracing no one. He turned his attention on the disheveled woman at the doorway to the house.

“
You must be the lady of the house. How are you?
”
He formalized his tone only slightly to show deference to age. Mrs. Lafleur bought it hook, line, and sinker.

“
How are you doing, sweetie? Did you come to see the girls or are you selling something.
”
She tried to tease like she was in control, but she was fussing with her hair and remembering she still had on that long leather coat. She must have looked like shit.