Grimm Tales (12 page)
By Sean Patrick Reardon
I chose “Rumpelstiltskin” right away and knew it was going to have an Irish theme running throughout the story. I had just finished a crime short titled “United We Fall” for a Do Some Damage Christmas-themed contest, and knew I wanted to write another one called “Divided We Stand.” So, it was a case of already having a title, and I basically had to figure out how to make the story match up with the title.
Melvin Miller figured he could get by as a lefty if they broke his right arm or maybe took a couple fingers, but the thumb, Christ, a monkey with two good hands would be considered twice as civilized as him. Better than a kneecap or tibia. Now
that
would be some serious, long-lasting pain.
Given the choice, Curious George's evolutionary inferior sounded better than walking around Lowell, Massachusetts, looking like a Morgan Freeman version of Verbal Kint.
Mel didn't really give a shit. As it was, he'd been considering cashing himself out, but knew it wasn't an option. Lawyers and banks weren't in the habit of having dead guys sign over mortgages, especially when the new home owner was William “King Billy” McGowan.
Screw him and his fifty large. The bastard offering to help out, loan him the money to keep his wife in the upscale nursing home for the extra six months it took her brain to seize up. And not in some state run Medicaid shit-hole, Mel's only option after his savings and retirement nest egg were sucked drier than 007's martini. She died with dignity, in a proper place. Didn't know it, but she did, and Mel had kept his promise to her. He swallowed the last mouthful of Cutty Sark, knowing McGowan would be there in ten minutes, and thinking about yesterday.
* * *
Mel wished he could have popped the lid off the coffin and jumped in when McGowan showed up at Dorothy's funeral, two of his goons from the Old Country flanking him, while he back patted, offered condolences. Whispering to Mel as they hugged, “We need to think about getting your obligations sorted out.”
Mel watched Tenaya, cringing, ashamed, feeling guilty for lying to her about how Dorothy's last days were financed. His only child, home on two weeks' leave from her job with Pharmesco in North Carolina, looking at McGowan like he was some kind of saint. Tenaya thinking the silver-haired hood helped out his old Lowell Catholic basketball teammate from the goodness of his black heart.
The team was still legend, forty years after going undefeated and taking the state championship. Mel, the star player, only colored kid on the squad. Billy, still talking with a brogue, leading the league in assists. Both made the All-State team, first string.
Now, McGowan was playing for the name on the back of the jersey. The shanty Irish turncoat wanted what was coming to him. Tomorrow at twelve noon he'd be paying Mel a courtesy call.
* * *
McGowan patted Mel on the knee as the Lincoln cruised through downtown, the two of them sitting in the back, behind window tint, a Johnny Shamrock type driving.
“So, what are we going to do about this, Mel? You know as well as I do, there's no room for sentimentality here. I wish there was, butâ¦you understand.”
“I know, Billy, and I'm not asking for any. I have options, I have the house. But with the way the real estate market is, it's going to take time.”
“What are you talking about? Do you think I would do that to you? Leave you homeless? Jesus, Mel, it pains me to be in this position, but things need to be settled, and in an expedient manner.”
“The house is the only thing I have. I've got
nothing
else.”
McGowan stared out his window. “I've given this matter some serious thought. And I think there's a way it can be worked out. Your daughter's a lovely girl.”
Mel played the sympathy card, bowed his head for effect. “Takes after her mother. At least the best parts of her do.”
“Yes, little Tenaya has turned into quite a young lady. You've done well by her, Mel. She went to MIT, isn't that right?”
Mel started to answer. McGowan put up a hand. “Hear me out. She's a scientist, chemistry, I hear, a big position, too. Lots of notoriety. I bet you're proud of her, Mel.”
“Of course I am.” Mel's stomach dropped. “But please, let's not talk about her. She's just lost her mother and, you saw her, expecting her first baby. In three months.”
“I did notice that and it's all the more reason why we need to put this behind us. Don't you agreeâ¦grandpa?”
“What do you want me to do? What can I do?”
The driver stopped the Lincoln in a parking space behind the Owl Diner, turned around in the seat and pointed the gun barrel at Mel's head.
McGowan looked at Mel, his trademark blue eyes fixed on him. “You're already doing what needs to be done. You see, I've taken the liberty of coming up with a solution for you. You're going to be my guest for a few days, while Tenaya tends to something for me.”
“You bastard.” Mel grabbed the door handle, trying to bail out. No dice, childproofed.
The driver made a move to clock him in the head with the gun. McGowan intercepted it, deflecting his arm. Mel froze, eyes bulging, feeling like a rhinoceros just sat on his ribcage, lightning bolts shooting down his arm. He gasped for air as his eyes met McGowan's. “What have you done with her, Billy?”
“Calm down, Mel,” McGowan said, thinking Mel didn't look so good, telling the driver to step on it. “It will be okay. I assure you of that. In three days' time, everything will be fine. I promise you.”
* * *
Tenaya walked through the abandoned mill, the blunt end of a machete poking her in the back, while she processed all the bullshit McGowan had told her over the speaker phone when she was in the van, arms and legs secured, bag over her head.
Ronald “Ronny Tats” Stillman gave her a slight jab on the spine, enjoying being in control.
She played mind games to stay cool. Imagining Tats in green knickers, matching jacket, black buckle shoes, thinking he'd make a good leprechaun. The short, red-haired man-child, acting like a tough guy, thinking he's more than McGowan's flunky. She noticed the tattoo on his forearm, Brando's likeness from
Apocalypse Now,
crossed machetes blessing the throat. Tats' way of showing the world what he's all about.
They stopped when they reached the end of the fourth-floor space. Tats reversed the blade, pointed the business end at the door in front of them. “Let's see what's behind door number one.”
“You'll never pull this off. No fucking way in hell.”
Tats pulled out a set of keys, unlocked the door and pushed Tenaya through the threshold.
“Listen up, missy. That's the last I want to hear of your mouth. I got no problem slicing that bump off you like it was a block of cheese at the deli. And I'll feed what falls out to one of King Billy's mutts. You been warned. I am not a person to be fucked with.”
Tats slammed the door closed, locked it down. Tenaya scanned the room, realizing she was in what looked like an elaborate chemistry lab.
* * *
“It'll go by quicker if you think of it as seventy-two hours. Three days seems longer. It's, you know, like a psychological thing.” Tats shook his wrist, the loose Rolex falling into position, so Tenaya could get a good look at it. “Already down to seventy-one and change. See what I mean?”
“I don't see the logic,” Tenaya said. “That's four thousand, three hundred and twenty minutes.” Tats thinking the way she said it reminded him of that play about the fags living in the apartment building. Same one his old girlfriend had wanted them to go see at the Colonial last year.
“Deal with it however you want. You don't want to listen, fine with me.”
The ring tone of Tats' cell went off. He flipped it open, staring at Tenaya as he answered.
“Hey, King.”
“Are you there?”
“Yeah, ready to get this show on the road.”
“How's things on your end?” McGowan asked.
“I want to talk to my father,” Tenaya yelled, toning it down when Tats' eyes widened and he raised the machete.
McGowan continued, “The plan has changed, something's happened. He had a heart attack right in the fucking car. He's dead.”
“No shit.” Tats laughed, shook his head. “Well, that really sucks.” He winked at Tenaya. “Some guys have all the luck.”
“Do not tell her. She can't know about this. I'll call you later.”
The line dropped. Tats pocketed the phone, told Tenaya it was time to get down to business, start day one.
* * *
Day three and Tenaya's telling Tats things are done, mission accomplished. The new, more powerful form of meth is ready for prime time. They can start killing people and taking their souls. Tats thinking Tenaya's not so bad, he'd like to get his hands on the fucker who knocked her up and decided to lease, not buy. You learn a lot about a person spending three straight days with them.
Tats even told her his real name, how he used to get shit from the other school kids back in Ireland, always calling him that stupid fucking nickname. How the last kid that did it, twenty years ago, ended up with his hands covered in lighter fluid and set on fire. He found out Tenaya wasn't exactly an angel back in the day either. Mel and Dorothy, seeing all the warning signs, sent her to Notre Dame Academy. She met new friends, white friends, and started getting her shit together.
You can really open up to someone, Tats thought, when you know they're going to die.
The whole time Tats is yapping, Tenaya's pretending to listen, making her plan, waiting to strike. Tats fast-tracked the process, telling her Mel's been dead two days now. Treating it like some big joke, telling her “you need to get on with your life,” but saying it like he was trying out his Dr. Phil impression on her.
Tenaya, lightning fast, hurled a beaker of muriatic acid at his head, the glass breaking on impact. Tats' face started burning, smokingâ¦melting. Tenaya pulled the machete from the sheath hanging off his belt. She wound up baseball style, the Brando tattoo motivating her. Tats isn't human, he's a water buffalo.
The first swing opened Tats' left side. He dropped to the floor, rolled on to his stomach. The machete became a golf club, blazing a path through Tats' right side.
Tenaya took a few steps back, raised the machete overhead like an axe.
“This is for my father.” She slammed the blade down on his spine, cutting Tats in half. “Rumpelâ¦fuckingâ¦stiltskin.”
By Sandra Seamans
“Taking Back” is based on the Grimm's fairy tale “The Blue Light.” The story was one I remembered reading as a child and the premise was a perfect setup for a crime story. A soldier who had spent his entire life serving in the king's army was released from duty because the soldier's wounds prevented him from doing what the job called for. Left with no money, the soldier chanced upon a magical blue light and plotted revenge against the king.
Once upon a time if you needed a job done you enlisted Soldier. His name was legend through the dark trenches of the dimly lit bars and bedbug-infested hotels inhabited by the underworld. When men and situations got out of line, you could trust Soldier to set them right. Permanently. The one-man army that was Soldier worked steadily until the day Simon King passed the word that Soldier had let a hit walk.
With the work dried up, his forced retirement found Soldier biding his time at the Black Dwarf Café. He was nursing a second cup of coffee one morning when two ogres lumbered in, eyeballing the small diner for trouble spots. With no danger lurking among the tables, a petite woman stepped out from behind the human wall. She walked toward Soldier's table, waving her bodyguards outside where they took up positions on either side of the door. Soldier had seen her around before, and the café wasn't her usual breakfast stop. Ruby Wishbone conducted her business out of the Mickey D's on Wells Street over in the East Witch District of Grimm City.
Ruby worked the walk toward his table, sex and power oozing with every step. “May I sit down?” she purred.
Soldier pushed the chair out with his toe. As she eased her slender body into the chair, the waitress slid a cup of coffee on the table in front of her and asked if she'd care for anything else. Ruby shook her head, her dreadlocks free-flying around her ebony face. Soldier shook out a cigarette and Ruby leaned across the table, a long flame stretching from her blue Bic.
Soldier leaned into the flame until the end of his cigarette glowed red. He took a deep drag and blew smoke rings into the air above his head. “Business or pleasure?” he asked.
Ruby smiled. “I've heard you're a strictly business kind of guy.”
“Yeah, but business has been slow lately.”
“I'd like to hire you for a job, if you're not enjoying retirement too much.”
“Before we discuss business, you need to know that I have three rules. No women. No children. And no cops. If you can work with those rules, then you can lay out the job, otherwise, just walk away.”
“You're pretty choosy for a man with no prospects.”
“In my line of work a man has to draw the line somewhere. You can't live with the rules, feel free to shove off. No hard feelings.”
“I can work with your rules. I've got several jobs in need of your special talents but I don't want fingers pointing in my direction when they're done. Can you do that?”
“I take the legal notion of client privilege more serious than a lawyer.”
Another smile danced across her lips, but no sign of humor reached her dark eyes. “There's a new dealer trying to move into my territory. You take care of him without a hitch, then we'll discuss the second. I have to make sure you can handle the work. King's dropped the word that you can't be trusted to keep up your end of a deal.”
“King didn't like my rules,” said Soldier, stubbing out his cigarette. “I only work one job at a time, and if the employer isn't satisfied, she's free to farm the next job elsewhere. I'll even supply her with a list of possible candidates.”
“Sounds reasonable. Is your fee the same as always?”
“Nothing's changed.”
“Except you don't work for Simon King anymore.”
“I don't discuss my employers.”
Ruby slid an envelope across the table. Soldier picked it up, glanced inside, then slid the envelope in the inside pocket of his suit coat. She nodded, tossed a five dollar bill on the table for the waitress and walked out.
Three days later she returned to the diner. This time she didn't come to the table alone; her bodyguards were bookending her.
Soldier looked up. “Bad investment?”
“Nothing I can't handle.” She tossed another envelope on the table. “This hit's a little closer to home for you. If there's a problem, say so, and I'll hire someone else to do the work.”
Soldier opened the envelope and glanced at the picture inside. The target was King's lawyer. “He's not a problem.”
“You make sure King doesn't come after me for this one and I'll double your pay on the last job.”
“He won't know you had anything to do with it, unless you or one of your âfriends' here start flapping jaws in the wrong place. King keeps his ear to the ground, doesn't much happen in Grimm City that he isn't aware of.”
King went on a rabid rampage after the hit on his lawyer, making Ruby hesitant to place the final job in Soldier's capable hands. The lawyer was no great loss to King, but the private files that went missing at the same time were. King was detaching body parts around town in an effort to reacquire the files before they wound up in the legal system, or worse yet, in the hands of one of his enemies. When Ruby's name didn't come up during King's inquisition, she once again approached Soldier.
“You won't even break a sweat on this last job, Soldier,” she said. “His name is Manny Kinny and he works for me. He's been skimming the profits at The Well, my tittie bar out on Keyser Avenue, and I need to make an example of him.” She slid the envelope across the table and left.
Soldier didn't like the smile that was playing across her lips as she left the diner. Her eyes were alight with humor. He opened the envelope and studied the picture inside, wondering why people felt the need to break his rules.
Soldier entered The Well, walked up to the bar and ordered a beer. He watched the dancers seducing the poles for a while, his eyes skimming over the customers in the room, picking out Ruby's men. He finished his beer and headed for the men's room, slipping into an open doorway to see who followed.
He felt the poke of a gun in his back. “Manny?”
“Yeah.”
“You know who I am?”
“I've heard and you don't impress me much.”
“You don't need to be impressed, all you need to know is that I have three rules about taking jobs. I don't do women, kids or cops. I'm guessing you're in the third category because Ruby's got her men out there ready to take me down once you're dead. She doesn't want the heat of killing a cop falling on her. She's one smart lady and I expect by using me, she's hoping the heat will land on King. Now, can you get us out of here or do we need to shoot our way out?”
“I figured I'd need a quick exit someday. Let me grab a couple of things and we'll go.”
“Well, hurry up about it. They won't wait long to see if I've done my job.”
Manny opened a small safe under the desk and slid some ledgers and computer discs into a briefcase.
“C'mon, in here,” said Manny, leading the way into a small closet. As he slid open a panel in the back they could hear someone pounding on the office door. Grabbing a flashlight off the shelf, he led the way down a staircase, through a short passage and into the sewers that ran under the city.
“You know these tunnels pretty well,” said Soldier.
“My grandfather used the tunnels during prohibition. He spent hours walking me through them when I was kid. He said you never know when a good tunnel will come in handy.”
“Your grandfather was right,” said Soldier as they came up out of the sewer near the police station.
“You'd best get out of town,” said Manny. “Ruby will be screaming like a wildcat once the DA lays charges against her.”
Soldier shrugged. “I'll be safe enough, but you should know that she's been working to take down King's organization, and she'll want to make a deal.”
“I take it she has the lawyer's files?”
“Heard about that, did you?” Solider pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to Manny. “Whatever Ruby's got won't do her much good once you use this key. Inside this safety deposit box you'll find everything you need to take down King.”
“I thought you and King were friends from way back. Why flip on him now?”
“We've been friends since our playground days. Fought our way up to the top of this ugly business together. He thought that entitled him to break my rules.” Soldier paused to light a cigarette. His face took on a hard look as he blew smoke into the cold night air. “King wanted me to kill his daughter, Emily. He discovered she wasn't his own blood and didn't like the idea of being cuckolded.”
“I take it you've got her tucked away safe somewhere?”
“I don't kill women or children and to me, she was both.”
“Both?”
“Emily is my daughter. King killed his wife because he found out she had an affair, he just didn't know it was with me.”
