Blues in the Night (29 page)

But Thomas refused to release the weapon. Corrigan tore it loose, accompanied by the sound of finger bones cracking.

Thomas let out a scream of pain as Corrigan rolled free of him. He rose on one knee, the gun aimed at Timmie, who was still transfixed by the image of his brother writhing in agony. Corrigan's first shot was high, tearing a ridge in the big man's upper arm.

It did little damage but it caught Timmie's attention. He swung the sub-machine until it was pointed directly at Corrigan, who was halfway to a standing position. Timmie pulled the trigger. When nothing happened, he looked down at the gun, perplexed. He shook it and tried the trigger again. Nothing. ‘Is this a real gun?' he asked.

Corrigan was standing now, apparently cured of arthritis. He sent his second shot into Timmie's right side. It angered the giant, but didn't seem to do much else. ‘That hurt Timmie,' he said, running toward Corrigan.

The CIA agent fired another bullet into the big man's body. But it wasn't enough to stop his advance. Timmie drew back his useless weapon and smashed it against Corrigan's face.

Mace saw the blood spray from Corrigan's broken nose as he fell backward, losing the gun.

Thomas, holding his hand with broken fingers close to his body, reached out his other hand for the fallen weapon and scooped it up. He tried to get a clear shot at the man who'd hurt him, but his brother had Corrigan wrapped in a bear hug, crushing him. The Brit then turned his gun on the fake Russian, Klebek, who'd had more than enough and was running for the door. ‘Quisling bastard,' Thomas shouted. Before he could pull the trigger, Mace placed a shot in the center of his back.

Mace had drawn the Sig Sauer to use on Timmie. He wasn't sure why he'd switched targets. Maybe it was because he felt the fake Russian deserved the assist more than Corrigan. Maybe it was because he believed an armed Thomas posed a more serious threat than his already wounded brother.

He didn't have time to give it a lot of thought.

Timmie, responding to his brother's death cry, tossed the now-lifeless Corrigan aside. Emitting a wail of sorrow mixed with fury, he turned and stomped toward Mace, his big Elvis-like head swinging from side to side.

Mace held his ground and placed two bullets into Timmie's chest. They forced the big man to take a few backward steps. ‘That really hurts,' he said and continued forward.

Time for a head shot, Mace thought. But he missed by inches. And Timmie was on him, wrapping his massive arms around him until they met, then squeezing, lifting the smaller man off his feet.

Mace couldn't breathe. The Sig Sauer was still in his hand, but it was trapped in a flat position between their bodies. With a final struggle, Mace was able to angle it slightly toward Timmie and fired.

He felt the big man react as the bullet tore through a fleshy portion of his gut. But his squeeze intensified and Mace was too weak and too woozy to try for another shot. He knew his ribs were at the cracking point. He was struggling for breath.

And the old familiar anger kicked in.

With a growl of fury more animal than human, he shoved his head forward, pressed his mouth against Timmie's chest and bit hard enough to tear through the big man's shirt and remove his right nipple.

Timmie screamed and relaxed his hold for just a beat. But it was long enough for Mace to spit the torn flesh in the giant's face, lower his weapon to his pelvic area and continue firing until he was out of ammunition.

With a screech, Timmie unwrapped his arms and Mace fell to the floor, not quite realizing what was happening. He was trying to breathe, but the effort was too painful. Gasping, he let go of the gun and pressed his hand against his chest.

His own touch seemed to have some therapeutic value.

He calmed a bit. That allowed him to inhale a little in spite of his aching ribs.

As his mind cleared, he became aware of the huge figure still standing just a few feet away. Standing, but swaying. Timmie's huge hands, covered with blood, were squeezing his ruined penis and testicles. ‘Where . . . are . . . you . . . Thomas?' he yelled. ‘I hurt baaaad.' He began crying like a baby.

Which is what he was, Mace supposed.

Suddenly, Timmie sat down hard on the concrete. He looked surprised. He whimpered and fell over on his side. His breathing was ragged. Then it stopped.

Mace pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled toward the card table. He leaned on it and when it began to slide on the concrete floor, settled back on his own two feet.

He heard Paulie making a keening sound through his tape gag and recognized it as a warning. He looked up and saw Angela standing several feet away. She had her gun in her hand, pointed in his general direction.

‘Wait,' he said, but she fired anyway.

If he'd been in any better shape, he might have realized she'd meant him no harm. Instead he was still gawking at her when he heard the male half cry, half grunt just behind him. Followed by a soft thud.

He turned to find Honest Abe lying on his back on the concrete floor. Angela's bullet had pierced his chest at an evidently fatal location. Even after the fall, he still clutched the gun he'd been about to use on Mace.

Angela moved to Abe, stepped on his wrist and used her other foot to kick the gun away.

‘He's dead,' Mace said.

‘Thanks for the affirmation,' she said sarcastically. ‘The problem is, he's no fucking good to me dead.'

‘I don't understand,' Mace said.

‘Clearly. We needed this piece of crap to help us nail the real Brox.'

‘We?'

‘I'd show you my ID,' she said, ‘if I was lame enough to be carrying one into this snake pit. I'm a member of the same club as the late Mr Corrigan, only I pay more attention to the rules.'

Mace was experiencing chest pains when he breathed. He felt dizzy. Mainly, he felt like a fool. ‘I . . .' he began. But he wasn't foolish enough to finish the very personal thing he was thinking. Instead, he improvised, ‘I thought the rules said your club wasn't supposed to play in this country.'

She turned her blue eyes on him. If there was a hint of warmth in them, he couldn't see it past the frost. ‘Mason,' she said, ‘you and I shared a memorable night of fucking. And I just blew my assignment by saving your life. So don't be a putz.'

He suddenly realized she was right and, in spite of everything, he felt like laughing. But the joke wasn't quite complete. ‘Brox was your assignment?'

‘Eventually. My original orders were to . . . become friends with the two Southern California entrepreneurs who were bidding on the formula. When I reported my discovery that Tiny was being backed by Brox, I was told to forget him and concentrate on Paulie, specifically to verify that he intended to set up a deal with a USA-approved weapons manufacturer.

‘When the formula – the coin – was hijacked, it was assumed that Tiny was the culprit.
Au revoir
, Paulie. Hello again, Tiny. My assignment from Langley was to verify his possession of the formula and to reclaim it. I found that Tiny had the coin, but I wasn't able to discover where he was keeping it.'

Paulie began making loud mumbling noises. He evidently didn't like being bound and muzzled. Or maybe he just wanted to hear what they were talking about. Mace considered cutting him free but he didn't want to break the confessional mood. And, in truth, he felt Paulie deserved the inconvenience.

‘How did Abe get involved?' he asked Angela.

‘We've known for some time that Brox wanted a toehold on the West Coast and that Abe was running several small operations for him. Employing young Russian émigré hookers, of course. Supplying pornos and bootleg DVDs and CDs for Brox's international distributors. Nothing worth our immediate attention. But it seemed logical that he was at least peripherally involved in the deal between Tiny and Brox.

‘One night out at Point Dume, I overheard Abe and Tiny getting hot and heavy over the coin. Tiny was holding out for a bigger cut of the deal. Abe was threatening him to play nice.'

‘And you became friends with Abe,' Mace said.

‘Yes,' she said, defiantly. ‘My supervisors felt he could be used to induce Maxil Brox to set foot on US soil illegally. Brox's arrest would have not only removed a world-class villain, it would have given his good friend Putin a serious kick in the ass, diplomatically speaking.'

‘Did you set Tiny up for Abe's hit man?'

She hesitated, then replied, ‘I had no proactive involvement. But I knew it was going down. I was ordered to, and I quote, “sit tight and see what develops”.'

‘They thought the coin would surface after Tiny's death?'

‘Or it wouldn't,' she said. ‘Either way, with Abe trusting me, I'd be in a position of control. Then you arrived, Mason, to screw things up royally by taking the coin. Where is it, by the way? I know where it isn't: the back of Paulie's TV.'

‘I don't have any idea,' he said. ‘I never had it. Maybe Tiny ate it.'

She stared at him. ‘If it shows up and you are in any way connected, I'll make sure you get your old cell back. And you'll be sharing it with your fat friend.'

Mace looked at Paulie who was staring at them, red-faced, eyes bulging in indignation.

‘You'd better untie him and get the hell out of here before my associates arrive. When they see this temporary graveyard they'll want to blame somebody and it won't be me.'

‘What about Monte?' Mace asked.

‘Jerry? What about him?'

‘Wasn't Abe working for him?'

She gave him a sad, disdainful look. ‘My God, weren't you listening? Jerry knows less about all this than you do.'

‘What about the pornos being made on this lot? He owns the place, right?'

‘The only pornos Jerry knows about are the ones starring him. He's never set foot on this lot. And he won't until all this is torn down and his West Coast offices are up and running. It was all Abe.'

‘It's hard to believe,' Mace said, getting out Drier's knife to use on Paulie's bindings. ‘Nine years ago, the guy was a happy whoremonger, sitting life out on Sunset. I wonder what made him decide to go for the gold?'

‘Running whores, making pornos and selling coffee most not have given him enough creative satisfaction,' Angela said. ‘Who'd have thought?'

FORTY-EIGHT

S
hit. You ripped the goddamn skin off my lips,' were Lacotta's first words after Mace pulled the tape from his mouth.

‘Get a chap stick,' Angela told him, walking away.

Lacotta wiggled his freed fingers. ‘Oh, man, got those little needle pains.'

Mace handed him Drier's knife and suggested he use his needle-pained fingers to cut the tape from his ankles. He approached Angela who was kneeling beside the now-silent Timmie, checking for signs of life.

She stood, looked at Mace and said, ‘Dead as Hillary's dream.'

He shook his head in wonder. ‘You may be the greatest actress I've ever seen.'

‘Better than Heather Locklear? I always figured if I could achieve that . . .'

‘You were way beyond her last night,' Mace said.

She gave him a half-smile. ‘Suppose I said I wasn't acting then? Where would that leave us? The agent and the ex-con. Tune in next week for more hilarious adventures.'

‘Might be a long-running hit.'

‘Wouldn't last even a mini season,' she said.

‘Hey, Cisco,' Paulie called out, ‘let's went.'

‘Good plan,' Angela said.

‘I get the deal about you following the formula,' he said. ‘That explains your hooking up with Paulie and Tiny and Abe. And me.'

‘I didn't fuck
them
,' she said. She began walking him to the exit, where Paulie was waiting impatiently.

‘Good to know,' he said. ‘But my question is: if Monte wasn't a major player in—'

‘What's your thing with Monte? He was just a bankroller Corrigan hoped to use if we got our hands on the formula. An afterthought.'

‘That being the case,' Mace said, ‘why were you hanging out with him?'

Her smile was patronizing. ‘You may find this hard to believe, but sometimes our caseload includes two, even three, separate jobs. Monte is . . . ass-deep in negotiations with certain Chinese businessmen. We are interested.'

‘Then you're still . . .'

‘His main squeeze? Yep. That's me.'

‘Won't he be pissed off about last night?'

‘Pissed off? Yes. But more interested than ever. He's left dozens of phone and text messages for me. He's a guy who likes to win. Don't you know anything about men, either?'

‘Not Monte's kind,' he said as they reached the exit.

‘He's a job,' she said. ‘Easier than most. It's what I do. If the agency ordered me to get close to Al-Zawahiri, I'd give it a shot.'

‘I sure never figured you for a spook, Angie,' Lacotta said.

‘Are you asking me to kill you?' she said.

He held up a halting hand.

‘You should leave,' she said. She tapped her right ear where a tiny shard of clear plastic was not quite hidden. ‘My crew picked up Sweets on Mulholland about a half hour ago. They'll be here any minute now.'

‘I don't suppose they, uh, cleaned up my place while they were there?' Paulie asked.

‘We claim our own,' she said. ‘Unlike some.'

‘So long, Angie,' Lacotta said, heading out. ‘It's been fun.
Not
.'

‘Before I go . . .' Mace began, but she put a finger to his lips.

He removed her finger. ‘Before I go,' he began again, ‘I left the Sig Sauer on the table. I'd appreciate it if you'd give it a wipe. You might want to stick it in Corrigan's hand. It belongs to him.'

‘I was expecting sweet talk,' she said.

‘OK. Then here's a little: I'm going to steal your car for a few hours. Paulie will get it back to you.'