The Interview (8 page)

“And you're a pimp.” That was probably pushing the
bounds of the polite guest but, drunk or not, I was over the whole
dignified, young businessman thing.

“No. I am many things, Kelly. A pimp is not one of them.”

“And I'm a lot of things, Tristan. Stupid is not one of them.”

He stared at me in response. Alex was silent, running her finger
along the rim of the glass.

“Seriously, kids. We have a problem. I don’t like guns
being stuck in my face. I don’t like people breaking into my
home and threatening me. I don’t need cops hassling me for no
reason. I beat up a guy. Big deal. Those two psychos don’t care
about that. What they care about is you. I want to know why. And I
want to know now.”

They shared another look. I rolled my eyes. “Come on you two,
you were supposed to get your story straight while I was making the
drinks.”

Alex was the one who finally answered. “The cop is a rogue.
She’s working off the clock, off the books. She’s got her
eye on Tristan. That’s it. She’s harmless. She’s a
patrol officer, Kelly. She has more ambition than brains. That’s
it.”

She glanced at Tristan once again. “As for the other guy. I
don’t know.”

“Why does she have her eye on Tristan? I’m sure you guys
are all legal and above board. Christ, you have a financial
department run by the hottest girl I’ve seen since you, Alex.”

“Thank you, Kelly.”

“Your welcome. But cut the shit, please. I don’t care
what you guys are doing. You seem to be doing whatever it is very
well. You got houses, cars, money, big guys who search people, and
gorgeous women running around. It’s impressive as hell, but I
am not a part of it. And I don’t want to get caught in the
crossfire. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Alex.

I looked at Tristan. He said nothing.

“Right. Well, this has been fun. But, I've got to work in the
morning, and I don‘t have time for more of your ‘taking
measure of the man’ crap.” I stood and dropped my
cigarette in the pitcher where it sizzled then died. “Alex,
real pleasure.” I reached my hand out and she took it. “You
are without a doubt the hottest woman I've ever seen. I mean that.”
I kissed the back of her hand, then released it.

“Tristan, I like you. I appreciate the drinks and an
interesting evening. Next time just give Yolanda a bonus rather than
wasting my time. Do what you have to do to make everyone understand
that I am not part of your game. The cop. Batman. And anyone else who
is watching your house or tapping your phones or banging your girls.
If you don’t, you and I are going to have a problem.”

I left and drove home. My Cougar proved once again that it was indeed
magic by getting me there in one piece. No way I could have done it.
The Ranger would have been wrapped around a tree somewhere along the
way. But the Cougar took care of me. Magic.

BATMAN WAS SITTING IN MY backyard when I got home.

I saw him through the kitchen window while I was making a sandwich. I
waved. He waved back. I finished putting turkey on sourdough,
mustard, mayo, slice of tomato, cheddar cheese, and a piece of
lettuce. I grabbed a Mike’s Hard Lemonade out of the fridge
because I wasn’t drunk enough apparently.

“Surprise, surprise. Batman, in the flesh.”

“Where you been, Kelly?”

“You know where I’ve been. Please, I don’t have the
patience. Is Annette asleep?”

“Yes.”

I sat down. Took a bite of my sandwich. Excellent!

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Bat?”

“That’s a nasty cut. I apologize.”

“I’ve had worse. You could have just told me to close my
eyes and count to ten or something.” I took another bite of my
sandwich. Washed it down with lemonade.

“Maybe next time. Your calm is remarkable.”

“Yes, it is.”

“How do you manage it?”

“Really? That’s what you want to talk about? OK. For
starters, you don’t threaten me. I don’t mean that you’re
not an imposing figure. You are. And that mask is a creepy touch. But
for some reason I don’t think you’re going to kill me or
anything.”

“Correct.”

“Good to know.” I took another bite. Another drink.
“Second, I got hit in the head when I was a kid. But you
already know that.”

“Correct again.”

“How?

“Trade secret.”

“Whatever.” I finished my sandwich. Lit a cigarette.
Heavy
Bones
started playing in my left ear.
Good song.

“I have low blood pressure, and my heart rate is something like
fifty beats per minute.”

“Fascinating.”

I blew smoke. OK, I’d play along for a little while. “I’ll
tell you a story.”

“I like stories.”

“My dad took me fishing a lot when I was a kid. Ocean, lake,
river, we did it all. Just about every weekend we were out killing
fish, sometimes crab, but mostly fish. When I was ten, my father took
me and a buddy salmon fishing on the Puget Sound. He had a 24 foot
Glasply.
Fishkiller
. But this one time was different.

“It was three years after the accident. I was used to not
feeling anything by then. Happy, sad, angry, scared were just
figments of my memory. So we're out there on the water when a pack of
killer whales comes through. They weren't like Shamu down at Sea
World. These were
Killer
whales. Most of 'em just swam
by us. A lot of them were scarred, chunks missing from their dorsal
fins. They were beautiful to me. Scary to my friend. This one big
guy, he must have been twice the size of the boat, stopped to check
us out. He had his head out of the water and I could see some of his
body beneath the water, but I couldn't see all of it. He was too
fucking long. Half of his body vanished in the dark water. He opened
his mouth and showed me his teeth. They were each as big as my head.
Sharp. His tongue was longer than I was tall. My friend started to
cry.

“My father came up beside us. He placed his hand on our
shoulders and said, 'If he decides to eat you there's nothing you can
do about it. Don't be scared. Fear will only make you look tastier.'
He was talking to both of us, but his words were meant for my friend.
The poor kid was freaking out. I understand it now, but back then I
didn’t get what his problem was.

“The Killer kind of floated down beneath the surface. Then he
swam underneath the boat. I could see him down there. Like a ghost.
He could have come up and tipped us over with a bump of his nose. But
he didn't. I ran to the other side and watched as he came flying out
of the water. His entire body broke the surface. He was gigantic. The
splash from his reentry soaked me and the boat. Then he swam off.

“They're smart. You can see it in their eyes. Sharks are
killing machines and I wouldn't want to meet one, but Killers are
worse. They can see your fear. They understand it. If they ever
killed a human it wouldn't be to eat them, it would be because it was
fun.”

I took another drag off my cigarette, downed the rest of the bottle,
and said, “You remind me of that killer whale. You could come
and tip my boat over and eat me anytime you want. But if you're going
to kill me, kill me. I'm not scared of you, Mr. Batman.”

I flipped him off with both middle fingers.

My voice had remained flat, and my volume never rose above a loud
whisper throughout the entire story. I wasn't angry, and I certainly
wasn't scared. I was, however, over this bullshit.

He sat motionless for a time. I wanted another lemonade.

He was dressed in all black. Shoes, socks, pants, and long sleeve
shirt, all topped off by the Batman mask. “That a true story?”

“Every word.” If he liked that one, I had another one
that would knock that mask right off his head. Another time.

“Do you know the Romanoviches?”

I did a mental check and came back with the picture of a dad, a mom,
and a curly-headed blond kid with glasses. “Yeah, they live
over on El Dorado. 1215. Dad's a real estate guy. Mom's a housewife.
Kid plays in the front yard by himself a lot.”

“That's them.”

“I'm sure there's a reason for you asking me.”

He nodded his head, but remained silent.

“I’m gonna go grab another drink.”

He waved his hand as if to say do what you will. I did. I took a few
extra seconds to check on Annette. She was out cold. I sat back down,
cracked the bottle open and drank.

He asked how Annette was doing.

“Sleeping like the big baby she is.”

“I think I can trust you, Kelly. Am I right?”

“Well, I haven’t called the cops yet.”

“True. I have a business proposition for you.”

“What is your business?” Now why would I ask that? Did
I really want to know the answer?

I swear Batman smiled beneath his mask. “My business is good.”

Took me a second to recognize the phrase. “You a
Megadeth
fan, Batman?”

“Peace sells, Kelly.”

“But who's buying, Batman? Killing is your business and
business is good.”

“Something like that.”

“Are you going to kill the Romanoviches?” Like he was
going to tell me.

“No.” He bent to his left and slid a large, black
briefcase over to me. “I need you to deliver this to Tristan.
Tell him it concerns the property on the corner of Rose and Alta
Vista.”

“That's it?”

“Yes, that's it.”

“What's in the case?”

“There are some papers that need to be signed. Alex, your super
hot new friend, is a notary, among other things. She can handle that
aspect. She will know what she needs to do with the papers. And there
is one point one million dollars in there as well.”

I didn't just spit my drink out. I threw up. Alex was a notary! What
the hell? I thought she was some kind of badass ninja chick or
something. I wonder if she wore glasses. I could definitely get into
Alex wearing glasses.

I pointed to the case. “Right there?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to deliver one point one million dollars to
Tristan and have him sign some papers.”

“No. I want you to deliver one million dollars to Tristan and
have him sign some papers. The point one is your ten percent
commission.”

Huh.

“Why?” It was a simple question but I could see the
answer coming from a mile away.

“The Romanoviches will die if you don't.”

Dramatic pause.

“Sorry,” I said. “That was actually three
questions. Why are you willing to pay a million dollars to protect
the Romanoviches? Why do the Romanoviches owe Tristan a million
dollars? Finally, and this is the most important question, why are
you asking me to do it?”

“Can't answer any of those. You just need to trust me.”

“In addition to my emotional problems, I also have some issues
when it comes to trust. And, I gotta tell you, I'm not sure I trust
you. I think you might be playing me.”

“I'm not. I'm leaving a million dollars in your care. I think
that should earn me a little credit in the trust department.”

“What makes you think I won't just trek off to Mexico? Start a
new life with all this cash. I'm a pretty simple guy. Money like that
could last me a long time.”

“Two reasons. First, I'd find you and I'd kill you. Second, I'd
repeat the process with Frankie.”

He had a point. I didn't it like it very much, but it was a strong
point. The fact that he knew about Frankie should have bothered me,
but Batman was a resourceful guy.

“I don't like you very much, Batman. You're kind of an
asshole.”

“Understandable, given your position. Just do what I ask.
Deliver the money to Tristan. Get the papers signed. I'll find you
and get the papers from you. You keep the hundred grand, and you'll
never see me again.”

Somehow I doubted that.

“I work tomorrow. I've got a 6:30 game that I'm not missing.”

“After your game is fine, Kelly. Just don't forget. I want this
wrapped up by Friday.”

“Have to go kill some people?”

“Something like that. Off to Seattle. Your parents are up that
way, right?”

“You give Batman a bad name.”

“I'll work on it. Now, close your eyes and count to twenty.”

I closed my eyes and counted to a hundred just to be on the safe
side. I didn't hear him leave. He just vanished. I didn't hear a car
start up outside, so he definitely hadn't hopped in the Batmobile. I
stared at the case, smoked a cigarette, and reversed my position on
Monday's game getting canceled. Had I actually thought it was a good
thing?

Not.

SO WHAT TO DO WITH one point one million dollars? I could bury it,
but that sounded like a lot of work and Annette would probably notice
a fresh mound of dirt in the backyard. I could give it to the cops,
but somehow I thought that would end about the same way as me jetting
off to Mexico.

I couldn't put it under my bed because I don't have any space under
my bed. Stupid drawers. What was I thinking when I bought that thing?
What good was a bed if you couldn't stash stuff underneath it?
Course when I bought the bed I had no idea that I was going to kick
some guy's ass then get pulled into some giant mess involving killers
and pimps as a result.

So where?

Closet. That would work. There was space. No one went in there except
me. Sure, that would work. I put the case in the closet and shut the
door. I remembered who I lived with and realized I could have just
put the case on my bed. Annette doesn't come in my room. She's good
like that. We respect each other’s privacy. Still, I felt
better now that the money was out of sight. Not out of mind, but out
of sight. Can't have everything now can you?

I lay in bed. Couldn’t sleep. I counted sheep. Thought about
Alex. Counted more sheep. Thought about Frankie. I tossed and turned.
I should have been out. I was drunk. Still couldn’t sleep. I
gave up.