Drawing Dead (4 page)
Authors: JJ DeCeglie
Inside I ate and drank. Two outta three. When done I read some Henry Miller just to keep things as they should be. I checked my email and set up a meet with a legit pervert slimebucket for just after lunch. He was hunting his daughter down and I’d been working it for him and was pretty damn sure the girl was better off without him. The whole thing stunk but he paid well and was as dim-witted as his dick. After this I drank some more and laughed to myself about a couple of things Miller had said, well had written, hell it felt as though he was talking directly to me, like we were drinking together in Paris watching all the pussy saunter by. I kicked my shoes off, sat back and chatted freely to him, we were real pals me and Henry, expounding on all the important subjects, sex, death, literature, love, time, whores. We covered it all. I wanted him to play a game of chess but he said he had to leave. Great guy though, great guy.
I was all set for a mid-morning nap when the goon squad showed up. I knew they’d be coming so it wasn’t much of a surprise. I was all set to catch a beating and plead for mercy and wait until they showed in another three days post. I heard the car pull up and went to the window. There were three of them, and I knew one by name. Hell I’d worked on finding a few deadbeats with him. Now the fucker had found me and had my initials written on his fists. I sat back down and a poured double bourbon. I swung my feet up on the desk. I wanted to play at being the asshole awhile and fuck it was my desk wasn’t it. They barge in like they own the joint, they always do this, it sets precedence. Nick, who is the guy I know, leads the way and starts going about fumbling through my stuff. I just sit like king-dick, feet up, swilling my cocktail. I figure they’re looking for anything valuable 'cause they figure I got no money. Both parties were on the money.
Jesus Jack, you got anything in this place worth a shit.
I ignored Nick and focused on the tough about to open the bottom section of my mostly empty filing cabinet.
Hey dipshit, leave that alone will ya, it’s personal.
Just as I’d ignored Nicky boy, the asshole going through my drawer ignored me. He was a big bulky son of a bitch but I didn’t care and it seems neither did he. He pulled out the photos I had stashed there and started flicking through’em.
Who’s this broad?
He leant over and showed them to his fellow asshole who snatched them from him and did his own inspection.
Nice looking piece of ass. You got a thing for someone’s kid sister? How old she look to you?
With measure I took my feet off of the desk and then got up and went around it and over to him. I took my drink with me.
Give me the pictures.
I was thinking of taking’em with me. I like’em young too chief.
I smiled at him, laughed a little. I knew anyone who used the word ‘chief’ in a sentence was a complete fuckwit. I’d known that a long time. He’d call me ‘champ’ in a second just to cinch it. Obviously a lifetime asshole. He laughed back at me and then so did Nicky boy and the other animal. We all had a nice little yuck up about it. She did look young for her age but I wasn’t about to admit it. All I got was an image of nesting worms having a party in her rotting eye sockets and with it I swallowed my drink in a vicious gulp.
Big drink champ
Like clockwork. It was the cocksucker who wouldn’t give me back the pictures.
I didn’t wanna waste any of the bourbon.
What you mean?
He found out. I smashed the glass in his face and while he screamed about it I gave him one with everything I had in the gut which doubled his tough ass up. As an encore I slammed my elbow into the back of his now bent over head. He made a sound like he was gonna vomit but didn’t and instead went down and didn’t come up. The bigger they are right.
Jack?
Nicky boy said it to like he was my father and I’d just pissed my pants. He knew it was coming but he still had hoped I could hold it in.
I told him it was personal Nick.
You did didn’t ya.
Now the other tough starts up, giving me his best Charles Bronson and coming off like some car park security guard, this guy was an A-grade asswipe.
Brother you owe twenty-five grand. Our instructions are such that if you don’t have the agreed to installment, then you get hurt. All of us here know you ain’t got shit, on top of that you fucked up one our best guys…now things being as there were, we were gonna hurt you anyway, but now I’m gonna give a little something more.
That was one of your best guys.
Nick laughed at that. Charles Bronson just looked at me like he’d shit himself.
I told you he was some sort of asshole.
It was Nick again, and he was still chuckling.
You’re not the first to think so Nicky boy, and you won’t be the fucking last, I can tell ya. By the way, I do have some cash on me. In the one place you geniuses forgot to look…my wallet.
Nick, as he can do, turns cold-blooded on my ass.
We’ll just take that when we’re through with ya.
Not now?
I took out the wallet and offered it to Nick and he just stared through me with eyes like goddamned burning lasers. Allowing for that with a shrug, I instead gave old Charles Bronson the very same offer. He took the bait. As he reached for the prize I waited for the exact moment his pupils switched from me to the wallet and in that instant chopped the back of my hand hard across his throat. He went to his knees choking and Nick came at me with a right that actually grazed my chin. It was a good punch, and if it had connected it would have been lights out Jacky, but my dodge and counter were first-class. He almost walked his gut into my fist for the first one. I let him have two more and when he made for the praying position I grabbed his head in both my hands and drove my knee square into his face. Charles Bronson was thinking about round two so I picked up the bottle of bourbon from the desk and smashed it over his big head. He was done, under floor arrest, but for safety I threw in a few boots, both head and gut, Nicky boy got the same dose and I even put the equal treatment on tough number one who was bleeding all over my carpet. All things considered, it was a damn shame about that bourbon. A damn shame.
You’re dead Jack, you’re fucking dead.
It was Nick. A tough guy till the bitter end.
You say that Nicky boy, but I don’t think you really mean it.
I stomped his head. Rocked him so that he finally shut the hell up. I picked the photos up from the floor and wiped the small amount of blood that had got on them carefully with Charles Bronson’s right pant leg. I then kicked him in the ass with about three-fifths of what I could have and went over to the same drawer they’d pulled the photos from on a pretty solid hunch.
It was a boy-oh-boy sun through the clouds state of affairs.
There were at least ten more photos in there, and a godsend bottle of rotgut whiskey. I was so happy I went over and kicked Charles Bronson square in his left kidney with everything I had. Then I uncapped the sweet promise and took a thorough swig. Then another. Then I kicked the motherfucker who started the whole thing one last time. He should of just given me the photos, could have avoided this entire shitfight, bet he was wishing to God he had. I made a parting speech.
Lock up for me huh fellas. You’ll do that for me right. And if you think of burning the place down, or smashing it to shit, or whatever takes your fucking fancy, remember to wave to the camera on your way out, the same one that you should have waved to on your way in. Records off site and everything. In fact I might, yeah, I’m gonna go there right now and erase the part where I whipped all your sorry asses. That’s thinking right? Oh, and tell your boss that I’ll see him in a couple.
Out the door. Phone ringing. My pocket. I know what he’s selling. Don’t want it. Don’t want any of it. Ever again. Throw it. Far as you can. Splash. Atta boy. Blow it a kiss. Done.
Big breath of ocean clean air. Solid jolt. Light a cigar. ‘Nother jolt. Smoke. Laugh. Smoke. Jolt. Drive. And all in under two minutes.
That jazz I spun about the camera was complete bullshit. I didn’t know how the thing worked, where it recorded or what, the owner had installed it before I even rented the joint and fuck knew why or how, hell, I didn’t even know what day of the week it was. I took a commemorative drink to that, didn’t happen very often in a lifetime.
I had maybe two hours before I met with Worbich. He was the sleazebag fuck looking for his runaway daughter. I’d set the meet back in the city and had to go to see this wacko because I badly needed the coin. An underground car park. Basement floor. Real gumshoe spot. I figured I best get back home and grab some shit before the heat reached out for me. It would be the first place they’d go and by then I’d be drunk in a cheap hotel room. Maybe get a dame over on the credit card. I was thinking a Latino, they were hard to come by in this part of the world, but well worth the effort finding’em. Bitches fucked liked wild horses released.
I wheeled it fast but steady the full distance down along the freeway. I rounded the block twice getting a good look before pulling into my house. Seemed safe enough. Few things to do – sponge the blood from my shoes, change shirts, comb my hair, wink at myself in the mirror. I had a bag packed before you could say ‘Gee Whiz’ and was wheeling the car again. This time into the city.
I finished the rotgut in the car parked outside the casino. It was only a shortdog. I still had an hour to kill before Worbich and was by then somewhat drunk. Seemed like a good idea to wander into a place where every second asshole knew me by name and play the ponies for just a little while. I only had about a hundred and fifty on me. There was a tad more in my bank account, maybe two hundred, minus the twenty-five large I owed and by all accounts and purposes I was thoroughly fucking broke. Even better than that I blew a hundred in about fifteen minutes betting random horses on a jag-off run of epic fuckhead proportions. Real complete asshole stuff. I thought some citizen was giving me the eye and went over and stared at him from about an inch away. Right in his ugly face. He slinked off and I thought to myself ‘Son, watch yourself’ and in the same mental swish ‘I wonder if I could hang myself in the men’s room’. I stormed out of the place and drove hard to a nearby café I liked. It was lonely and dirty and open twenty-five hours a day. I ordered coffee and a burger with fries and had a little chat with myself.
Get a fucking grip Jacky, you look like complete and utter shit.
I haven’t slept in days jerk-off…days...what’s your excuse?
Messed up real good this time huh?
Yeah, real good.
The world could give a shit, you know that, just think harder, you’re a pretty smart guy sometimes.
Yeah and I’m an asshole all the time.
You said it.
I need a drink.
You need coffee.
I need coffee and a drink.
Need money right?
Right.
You got any accounts you can call on, you know guys that owe for jobs or the like.
Who? Ballinger? Jones? Those deadbeats are broker than I am.
Take a deep breath. Relax. Smile.
How about I throw this coffee cup against the wall with everything I got instead?
Hey! Watch it numb nuts…you almost took my fucking head off! And you got coffee all over me, thanks a lot, this is just great. Good day, real nice.
Leave it there, don’t clean it up. Leave it you moron! Ah you’re a real fucking sorry bitch, you know that?
Maybe you should get out of the city awhile Jack. Go up to that place you and Lexy went to those times. They were real nice times right? The best of times you ever had. Take a few books with you. Lay low. Loosen up. Get a tan.
Listen, it’s been a riot but I gotta blow pal. I got a client to meet in a car park and like you said I need the scratch.
I got a list of titles prepared for you and all Jacky, you know to read down by the inlet, in the sun. Trust me you’ll have a blast. Here goes - ‘Inferno’ by Dante, ‘Inferno’ by Strindberg, ‘Hell’ now that’s written by Barbusse.
Quit being an asshole while you’re ahead buddy.
I could say the same thing to you.
I paid for the food and coffee and threw in some extra for the cup and the clean-up. Then I made my way back into the city with the sun blazing like a vengeful flamethrower down upon me.
Worbich was already waiting for me when I arrived. Sitting on the hood of his truck parked in the faint light of the back left corner of the place as we’d arranged. He was real Walt Whitman looking son of a bitch. Kind of ghastly and sturdy in the same heartbeat. Bearded, giant and with teeth yellow as corn, solid as a brick wall he was. You’d swear this mother ate small children for breakfast. I was ten minutes late and he let me know about it.
Thanks for showing up Jack.
Did you take a piss in the corner Worbich? It fucking stinks in here.
It did; that typical urine, sweat and semen stench that haunts most undercover parking lots. He ignored my wisecracking and got down to business.
Did you find my daughter Jack-ass?
See what he did there?
I paid you enough for it didn’t I? I bet you didn’t did you…you fucking shitheel.
Pipe down Worbich. Give me a damned break would ya, I found her okay, I found her.
His eyes lit up like firecrackers.
Where is she?
There’s a problem with that. See, she doesn’t really wanna see you Worbich. We had a little talk, me and Hannah, a heart to heart you know. She told me all about you. About your bad habits.
What bullshit did she feed you?
You’re smart guy aren’t you Worbich, you can work it out for yourself can’t ya?
Are you gonna tell me where she is?
I clammed up and reached inside my pocket and pulled my lighter out. Then I walked the few steps to my car, got in, leant over and got a fresh cigar from the glove compartment. When I got out I lit up. Worbich had a wad of bills in his hand waiting for me to bite. I did and then counted it out. It was four hundred in fifties. I pocketed it.
You gonna tell me Jack?
I’m not really sure that I want to.
He coughed up two hundred more. I jammed that in my pocket too then took a deep draw on my stogie. I blew the smoke out the side my mouth and took a deep breath to add some drama. The place still stunk like piss.
She’s north Worbich. The long haul. Bumming about with backpackers. Staying on a tent site. She’s picking fruit for cash, a place called Henwood’s, just out of Carnarvon.
He didn’t say a word. Just patted me on the back then got in his truck and drove the fuck away. There was no natural light in that place. And to add to the piss I was getting a faint aroma of shit now too. I slapped myself on the back for job well done, nodded to myself, mumbled some incentive, yeah, I was a prince wasn’t I, then wheeled the hell outta there in screech of rubber and reverberation.
