Dangerous Games (16 page)

“You don't look so good,” she told him.

“I'm getting older, Maeve. It happens. We had you late.”

“No, you're not. I forbid you to get old. You're fighting with Gloria, aren't you?”

“Not exactly. Basically she's going through some sort of crisis she won't talk about, and it worries me.”

“How about your own crisis? That hasn't been over for long.”

“Who said it's over? My daughter, the psychiatrist. I should be asking about Oskar.” Turning the tables on her was always a good idea.

“He's okay. I'm used to him now, but he still has a few tricks. Let's just pretend I'm normal.”

“You are normal, just a lot smarter.”

She gave him a half hug with her left arm. “What did you think about the book?”

He pursed his lips. “She can write, but the whole thing's kind of cribbed from
Lear.
”

“Is that so bad?”

“I'm not sure what
King Lear
is supposed to tell me about Midwest America, and I'm also not sure I believe that recovered memory stuff.”

A giant black Hummer came past slowly, looking for parking, and he almost expected clowns to come out.

Suddenly, her eyes went wide as saucers.

“What is it, hon?”

“Oskar sometimes gives me a hard time. He bubbles and farts, and I'm afraid of overflowing.” Once again, she looked startled, and she clapped a hand to her side, roughly above the bag. “I'll be back,” she said, and she scurried inside.

For a few moments he watched the door where she had disappeared, then he realized his own anxieties couldn't help her and might even make things worse. It was all normal, if temporary, he thought. He mustn't make a big deal out of it.

The warm dry wind seemed to have grit in it, even this close to the ocean, and it seemed to carry unease and heartache along with it, too, like a blast of air out of a room where somebody had just died. A party of businessmen trooped out of Houston's talking earnestly. Each of them clutched a cell phone like a prize, a token of the world that they each aspired to unquestioningly.

Then Maeve was back out, waiting for him to stand up. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, daddy.” Her voice was strange. “It's okay. Oskar's fine after all. They just had the beeper set to vibrate, and it was in my pocket. The Liffeys are up.”

In the afternoon Jack drove out again to the Malibu beach house to see if the young man who'd fled had returned. He'd found out the place's renter was listed as Keith Long, which sounded like another
nom de porn.

Driving past as slowly as he could, he thought the place seemed unchanged. Before leaving, he'd closed the garage door to keep out real burglars. He did a Y-turn across the highway via somebody's driveway and came back to park right where he had been before. He let the VW drift the last few yards with the engine already off, and got out quietly.

The rote of the surf was light here but insistent, and almost no one was on the beach. Even if it was warm enough, the calendar said it was early winter, and people believed what they read. Jack Liffey walked down to the front door and rang the bell. “Delivery!” he called. “Package.” Nobody ever could resist that.

After a while he knocked, then started thinking of breaking in again. Suddenly, the door swept open and there was the young man with his tousled blond hair. What caught his attention, though, was the fact that he was wearing nothing but a shorty muscle shirt and a big diaper. If that wasn't enough, he was holding a long-barreled pistol in Jack Liffey's face.

“Where's the fucking package?” he demanded.

“Don't make a mistake here, I'm your friend,” Jack Liffey said.

“Step inside or die,” the boy said. His eyes made him seem crazy enough to do anything. “You're looking at my only friend in my hand.”

Keith recognized the Cadillac CTS parked on the pad in front of the hilltop house as Levine's. If it hadn't been so shiny, reflecting back the stars, it might have been nearly invisible in the pitch black of the Malibu hills night. A lot of houses up here had motion-activated security lights—his Miata had tripped several of them driving slowly up Highline Road—but this one didn't, and there were no regular streetlights at all. The upper side of the house along the road was blank and windowless.

He'd had a long talk with the man named Jack Liffey but didn't believe his story about hunting for Luisa. He was sure he must work for Levine and Terror, so he had left him securely strapped with gaffer's tape to a chrome kitchen chair.

It had been hell getting pants on over his throbbing penis, but he'd finally managed by wearing the limpest, thinnest trousers he had, a pair of much-washed linens. Still, it took a ludicrous wide-legged waddle to keep even that fabric from bringing pressure and friction to bear. If he took another Vicodin, he'd probably go to sleep right here at the wheel of the Miata so he toughed it out.

They hadn't even bothered to lock up the Caddy. That would make it easier. He worked slowly and quietly, using brief flashes of a penlight to see, removing the five wheel lugs from one of the big seventeen-inch wheels in front. Then, he popped the hood very gently and propped it open. The engine was smothered by so many wires and hoses and tubes that it took a while to find the throttle cable down in the spaghetti. He crimped a lead fishing weight over the cable, just beyond a cable guide.

The first time somebody stepped on the gas it would resist a bit as the weight slid but then the accelerator cable would jam wherever they left it and the over-revved engine would just keep on pulling. He wondered if whoever was driving would have the sense to switch off the engine in time as the runaway car threw off a front wheel and zoomed off Highline Drive.

Dear Diary,

I seem to have become a vegetarian out of love, but it dont matter to me what I eat. This man is so sweet I wood do anything he asks. I got that fuzzy feeling you get in your belly & I just want to be with him all the time and try to see threw his eyes. He sees stuff in funny ways & I like to hear it hes so sure of what he says. Like he says he wont put no cell phone to his ear because it sends rays through your brain & the other one gets angry when he has to make all the calls but he wont budge an inch.

He told me we got to enjoy the scenery in life because you never see it exactly the same twice. I never thought of that. He put a cap from the ginger beer out under a rock & came back & said that cap would always stay there & we could remember it & come back any time to remember this very time we was here.

FIFTEEN

No Humans Involved

The young man stripped the silver gaffer's tape off Jack Liffey's mouth in one yank, but only after establishing with extravagant threats that his prisoner wouldn't try anything funny. He sucked in a breath at the abrupt sting. Gaffer's tape, used in the film business, was a lot stronger and gummier than ordinary duct tape.

“I got to know if Levine sent you to fuck me up.”

“I already told you I don't know Levine.” Jack Liffey flexed and worked his lips trying to soothe the sting.

Abruptly, a ragged-looking cat raced into the room, did a noisy tour of all four walls like a bike riding up on a velodrome, and raced straight back where it came from. They both watched it.

“Another country heard from,” Jack Liffey said. “Yours?”

“I hate cats. An old girlfriend's.”

“I hope you feed him.”

The kid glanced at Jack Liffey as if he were crazy. “I hope the little fucker dies and goes off to meet God.”

“What would God want with a dead cat?”

Something had got the young man riled, probably to do with the diaper that still seemed to be under his drawstring trousers.

“Are you in pain?” Jack Liffey asked.

“I got things on my mind. Like that shit Levine. But I made sure he's gonna be seriously inconvenienced now.” He gave his flat smile and walked restlessly, bowlegged, plucking now and then at the loose fabric over his crotch.

“Good for you, I guess.”

The young man took a Corona out of the fridge. “I'd give you a beer, man, but you got no hands free.”

“I'd rather talk about Luisa Wilson, anyway.”

“That Indian chick? She was hanging with me, and I was showing her stuff,” Keith boasted. “But Levine and Terror, they took her for what they called collateral, since I'm a little short on an investment.”

“Did you say Terror?” That got Jack Liffey's attention.

“Huge Jamaican motherfucker. You know him?”

“Ginger ale,” Jack Liffey said. He watched for a reaction. “Terror Pennycooke, if it's him—used to like to persuade people of things by blowing ginger ale up their noses. Ginger beer actually. It's like lighting one of your sinuses on fire.”

“Never tried it.”

“I thought I sent him home with his tail between his legs.”

“You must be one tough guy.”

“Everybody's tough when you get the drop first. Look at you.”

“Yeah.” Keith took the pistol out of his waistband and looked at it before setting it on the counter. “People's karate. No skill needed. You sure you don't know Levine?”

“Come on, kid. Listen up. I do
not
know Levine. I
did
know Terror Tyrone Pennycooke, but it was a long time ago. All I want is to see that Luisa is safe so I can tell her family.”

“Well, don't think I abused her. She was ready, willing, and whatever. We even got touched some in our emotionals.”

“Could you tell me where Levine and Terror are?”

“I won't talk about that. You'll mess my plans for them. The young man seemed to look at him seriously for the first time.

“Where you in Nam, man? You're about the right age.”

“Sure. Mostly I watched a radar screen in an airconditioned trailer and got bored.”

“You never killed nobody?”

“Is that so great?”

“It's a test, don't you think? It's got to make you different. Like you've got extra responsibility in the world, you've got to live for the guy who's dead, too.”

“Never killed anybody.” Jack Liffey had been forced to kill a man, looking him in the eyes while he did, but he wasn't going to tell this unhinged young man about it.

“At least then you know you're not a coward.”

“You never know that for sure, young man. There's always worse fear than you think. What happened to you that's got you waddling around like Popeye?”

“Terror cut me. Not even for any purpose, man, just to fuck with me. But I already done something to help even the score.”

“Fine. That shows initiative. But I think it's time for you to release me now and let me make a call to stop a police raid on this place. The woman I live with is a cop, and she's been to this house with me. It's the first place she'll think of.”

“Right, and I'm the tooth fairy.”

“I don't care what you are. Gloria Ramirez is a detective in Harbor Division L.A.P.D. You saw her in the RAV-4 out front when you rolled under the door and hightailed it out of here.”

That troubled something behind his captor's eyes.

“I've got nothing against you, Keith.” He used the name on purpose. “If you let me go now, I won't press any charges. I believe kidnapping is a capital crime.”

“I didn't kidnap you. You came here.”

“You moved me at gunpoint, and then tied me up. That'll do the trick in court. Come on, I told you right off I'm your friend. You want to get over, and so do I. SWAT may be on the way as we speak. I'm not fooling around.”

That made the young man look to his left, as if there were helmets and flak jackets about to appear at the patio windows.

Finally, they managed a compromise. He would make a call on Keith's cellphone to make sure Gloria wasn't sending an air strike. But Keith got to hold the phone, and if he liked the tone of the call, he'd untie him. It was a risk, but Keith just didn't seem hardass enough to shoot him. He dialed and held the phone to Jack Liffey's face.

“Glor, don't get excited. I'm okay. I'm having a little discussion over in Malibu, and I'll be home soon.”

Keith cut off the connection. “You weren't supposed to say where you were,” he complained.

“The tape on my arms was your insurance. So that was mine. Now let's clear the bets. Get this shit off me.”

The young man thought about it for a while, pacing and opening another beer. He even opened the cylinder of the revolver and checked it, as if some plan of action lay in there. Then he slammed it home again, nearly giving Jack Liffey a heart attack. Eventually the young man started unwrapping the prodigious amount of gaffer's tape he had used.

“Have you ever thought of getting a job you can be proud of?” Jack Liffey suggested, rubbing his arms. “You're still young.”

“I'm not good at much.”

“What did your dad do?”

Keith laughed. “You want to know my role model. He drove a big vacuum truck around building sites in Ohio and mucked out the port-a-crappers. No matter how many gloves and jackets he wore, he always smelled like the job. I'd die before I'd do that.”

The boy jumped clear as Jack Liffey's right hand came free. He brought the pistol out again and held it ready as Jack Liffey set about freeing his left hand himself. “Look at this house, man,” Keith said. “I'll bet it's cooler than the one you got. I ain't no loser. I'm my own boss, I get up when I want. I supply girls for trade shows and stuff like that. It's not so bad.”

“Pimp is the job title. I'll bet your mom didn't raise a son to be a pimp. Just tell me where Levine and Terror took Luisa.”

“No way. Get out of here now, man, and get your woman to leave me alone. I done you right.”

“You're so full of shit, Terror.”

“No man, blessings, you's the one wrong. You no seeit?”

They'd tried to light a fire in the outside oven, but it kept going out. Now the night was chilly, and it was time to go inside. “There's no big time money in Dangerous Games, trust me, T. It's two slacker college kids exploiting winos for peanuts.”

“Dat de ordinary stuff. I know
dat.
Dese guys, dey got movie number two for big stuff. Real stuff. Real money, I knaow it.”

Luisa rested her head against his shoulder and let his strong reassuring arm hold her.

“Look, Terr, there
is
a second Dangerous Games, but it's just more of the same cheesy stunts. These guys, I know them, they're seriously pathetic: When they finished cutting the first one, they took it in to Full Flesh Video to distribute, just walked in the door like baby chicks, and the Italians took one look at them, gave them a check for chickenfeed, and said, Don't call us, we'll call you, chumps.” He chuckled. “Full Flesh made twelve million on it. It's what happens when the minnows play with the sharks.”

Terror Pennycooke shook his head. Luisa could see that he wouldn't let anybody tell him a thing, not even his partner. “Nao, man, is all of it lies. Dese guy, dey know waa gwan inna world. Dey no stupid.”

Levine shrugged. “Have it your way, man. Pigs can fly. If you've really gotta have money fast, take some H off Keith and sell it around.”

“I-an-I no like that hair-o-wine. It not worthy for a serious man.”

Something had ticked Levine off, and he went into the house. A little later, they heard an outside door slam and the Cadillac up on the driveway purred to life. It idled for a while, and they heard it roar out of the drive. Suddenly, there was a dull thump, as if something heavy had been thrown out of the car onto the dirt road—but the engine kept accelerating. Luisa and Terror could barely believe their eyes. The nearly invisible black Cadillac, marked only by its lights, left the road with its engine screaming and arced out over the drop-away canyon at the steepest point.

They sat up in astonishment, just as there was a long cry of wa-hoo-hoo-eee! on the night.

“Jeeze,” Luisa said. “Why'd he do that?”

“He on someting!” Terror said.

The car struck the hillside and bounced once, but it didn't explode the way they always did in movies, just tilted sideways and plunged hard to earth again and finally clanged and thudded to a stop well down the canyon.

It was pretty late for a visitor, but maybe Jack had lost his key, she thought as she made her way to the door in her bathrobe. But through the gauze curtain on the little window of the front door she saw Thumb, the kid Jack was so determined to help. She sighed once and opened three inches on the chain.

“It's pretty late for a visit, son,” she said.

“Mr. Liffey wanted me to fix my essay today, and I got hung up.
Lo siento, senora.
”

“
No hay de qué. Dame el ensayo.
” She held her hand out near the cracked door for the essay, but then she felt silly for being so cautious. “Oh, wait.” She shut the door to slip off the chain and opened it for him. She decided to inspect this kid with her own eyes.
“Pasale.”

“Gracias, dama.”

“My fiancée has nearly got us both into a lot of trouble concerning you,” she went on in Spanish.

“Mr. Liffey is not biting his own tongue, I think.”

“It is true. He's a straightforward man. Sometimes. Not always. Would you like a Coke? We have no beer in the house. My fiancée does not drink.”

The young man looked uncomfortable, but he nodded. “Thank you very much, lady.”

His Spanish was not very good, she thought. North American formulations and tenses, mixed with street
Calo,
with all the innate politeness and clarity of the Spanish going haywire. He'd seem like a real rube, talking like this in Mexico, even if he couldn't know it. “Have a seat. I'd like to talk to you,” she switched to English.

He hesitated, then sat.

“Not as a cop. As Jack's
novia.
I want to protect my man from your horseshit. If it's going to be necessary.” She had started out seething, but the reason now eluded her. Thumb was truculent, sure, but without malice. What he was was a worthless kid who would never escape the barrio tide dragging him down. She could sympathize with that, in a way, but without wanting to go down with him, or letting anyone close to her go down with him. It was what you learned fast on the street: Save your overtime for the one percenters who showed they deserved it.

“Lady, he's making me do this essay thing.”

She handed him a Coke and sat opposite him. “Listen, Thumb. I love Jack. I love his daughter. You
shot
his daughter.”

“I didn't mean to.”

She shook her head. “How can that be enough?”

He started standing up as if to leave. “
Sit!
If you can convince me you're not dangerous to my man, I may let him have his hopeless little game of trying to save your ass from the street. I may not even arrest you. Me, I don't think you can be helped, I don't think you've got the guts to turn around and lead a straight life. Why should I entrust the most important person in my life to you?”

He shrugged.

“Far as I can see, you're nothing but a very bad dream. Hanging out in the land of the losers.”

“Maybe you shamed where you come from,
ruca.
” He bridled and pulled himself erect. He hadn't touched the Coke.

“That's better. A little spirit. I don't come from where you think,
mijo.
I come from people who used to ride ponies into battle out on the plains and were known as the greatest light cavalry who ever lived.” Actually, the California Paiute hadn't ridden horses, but everybody else thought all Indians were the same so she might as well swipe a little prestige from the Comanches and Apaches.

“
Hijole!
You're
norte indio?
”

“
Claro que
yes. What are you proud of in life?”

“I can draw,” he said quickly, with his chin jutted out.

“With a spray can or for real?”

Painstakingly he took out his wallet and extracted and unfolded a photograph, much the worse for the folds. It seemed to be a mural on the side of a concrete embankment, probably part of the mile-long Wall of Pride out in the valley or one of the similar mural projects. It was almost worn away, but from what she could see it was a peaceful seventeenth-century hacienda beside a stream. It seemed pretty well done, especially compared to the much cruder bits of other paintings she could see on either side.