Nothing (6 page)

I laugh.

I approach the gates to Yama's place. It's ten after. I'm late. I don't think Largo will mind unless they have his balls in a vice. I push the intercom and announce my presence. The gates slowly drift apart. I chamber a round in the 9mm and place it beneath my seat.

The driveway curves between box shrubs, tall palms and low lateral Japanese bowing trees into the imposing entrance. The black Escalade is pulled out front. Dallas and 2 other Mercs stand beside it, waiting. Legs slightly apart, rooted, hand over hand clasped in front of they abdomens. Real military.

Dallas holds up his palm. One of the Mercs wears shades. Wraparound. I stop. He moves to my door and unclips it. I push the car into park and turn off the engine. Shades says.

Leave the keys.

I get out. Dallas flicks his fingers in a come-towards-me gesture. I walk over. Keeping eye contact. Shades climbs into the car and starts patting the panels inside. Opens the glove box, slams it shut. Reaches beneath the seat. He gets out holding the 9mm. He makes it safe. Dallas tuts and thrusts my arms outward. He pats me down. He even feels my balls and cock.

Dallas speaks.

Don't be shy. I'm not.

I think that's pretty obvious.

He smiles and says.

He's clear. Follow me.

I follow him into the house. The 2 Mercs stay outside. I see the one with out the shades get into the rental and drive it slowly down the driveway keeping the car out of sight. This is not a good sign.

We enter another room I hadn't even noticed before. Men, Japanese men, are seated, talking in an animated way. Animated Japanese. They pay Dallas and me no attention. Whatever they are discussing is more important. We pass through into another room. This is room is beautiful. Perfectly furnished, virtually all white with a bright red patent leather couch on a heavy white rug in the center. We keep moving until we arrive at what appeared to be a dead end. It was a gloomy concrete corridor, almost a janitors store room. A strip light sputtered and farted it's neon above us. I notice a door about ten feet to my right with a tiny porthole at head height. This room impressed me. It was ideal for torture. I say.

Where's Largo?

Oh, he'll be here.

Dallas looks me in the eye. I look back.

The handle on the door with the porthole clicks and fumbles as if someone is trying to get in from the other side. I feel tension in my abdomen. If Largo is here half-dead then I'm next. I consider options. Angles. If I'm going all the way out, then some fucker is coming with me. The door swings open spilling bright white sunlight into the concrete box. I squint. Largo falls through the doorway. He is wet and wearing a blue and white bathing suit to match the enormous smile on his face. His grey hair had black streaks from water. His grey chest hairs spiked, he holds a multi-colored striped beach ball. He was laughing. I wasn't. He saw me. Stopped and placed the beach ball onto the concrete floor. 2 small bikini's with tanned flesh rear-end him due to the sudden stop. They were giggling. I was not. I say to Largo.

These 2 chasing you?

Yeah.

So, you stole their beach ball?

Er ... yeah. This is Candi, and this is Trudi.

Trudi or Candi speaks. To me they are the same and interchangeable. Generic. They would probably suck a thousand cocks to get onto a reality TV show.

OMG, is this your boss?

I ask.

What does OMG mean?

Largo ushers them back out of the porthole door. He tells me.

I'll explain later.

They both do a finger-ripple wave goodbye, one of them blows me a kiss. They frolic away to some heaven that contains lots of chlorine.

Largo turns back to me. Dallas has a smirk. I don't.

Get some fucking clothes on and grow a pair.

Largo picks up the beach ball. I say.

I'll take that.

I take the ball. Largo walks between me and Dallas. He pads wet feet marks out on to the Travetine tile. I shove the ball under my armpit and tell Dallas.

This torture routine you have out here. It's a little different where I come from.

I flip off the right canvas shoe again. I had bought them from a surf shop near the morgue. I present my missing toe.

Dallas nods in appreciation.

Nice work.

I put the shoe back on.

Can we cut the shit now. Where's Yama?

I'll take you right to him.

I follow Dallas again. I keep the ball lodged in place under my arm. It is red, yellow, green, white and blue. It has a new fresh plastic smell that assaults my nostrils.

As we pass back again through the Jappo businessmen, they are still in heated conversation. I fist the ball into the face of the one talking the most. It bounces away frantically in diabolical directions. He yells some shit in Japanese and waves his arms around. I allow myself a smile, Dallas laughs.

We walk a long way. The official tour. By the time I arrive to meet Yama, Largo is dressed as he was last night when he got picked up. His shirt had been cleaned and pressed.

I wink at him and say.

That's more like it.

Yama is in the sunken pit again. Cushions, pillows and pampering surround him. 2 women dressed as Geisha are manicuring each hand. He spits something in Japanese, they get up and leave his hands. It's amusing to watch the women as they try to shuffle backwards though pillows with wooden shoes on. One finally gives up and under her breath says fuck this shit and pulls the wooden shoes off stalking through the pillows until she reached the steps ascending to our level. Largo reaches forward and assists her to safety.

Yama still has that fucking stupid grin slapped across his face.

I tell him.

Okay, so you have my full attention. But only since you subjected my associate to the hell of water sports ... with babes. So what gives, you fat fuck?

The smile drops.

I look around and admire the space. That's what affluent people have: Space. All around they create space. It's not enough to have a large home, one that makes a statement. It needs to be so big that even when installed with furniture there are great vast canyons between people and objects. Huge expanses in just one area allow these degenerate overpaid pricks room to maneuver. Yama's sunken lounge was a sea of colored comfort but still too large. Too large for one man.

He points with a stabbing finger at the couch I had sat on yesterday. I waded into the waves of fabric and slouched onto the couch. Largo followed me. Dallas followed him.

Yama speaks.

Santana is dead yet you still remain in California.

Not for long.

You are familiar with Leonardo Da Vinci?

Of course.

He said that if a bird flaps it's wings and lands in a tree the world has changed.

He's probably right.

He is. He is. You have flapped your wings. Here and now the world is different. This is not a favorable position for me.

How's that?

Santana was a good person for this family. He made plenty of money. Good earner.

He was a murderous pedophile fuck and I don't give a shit how much money that equates to.

But the world has changed. Michael Cappaletti has given instructions to make the world right again. He mentioned a tale of New Jersey.

New Jersey has fuck nothing to do with Mike or You.

It does. It does and may work out to my advantage and yours and Michael's if you help with the little favor I requested.

Fuck you.

That is well and good, will you say the same to Mikey when you return?

I don't say another word. I let him sit there and look at me with his weird face. Non-committal. No risk. Yama repeats.

Do as I ask, my small favor.

And if I don't?

Then Michael does not want you back in Chicago.

Mikey said that?

You can call him if you wish. Please use my phone.

I've just put my sister to rest. I just want to go home and bury her with some dignity.

That is honorable. One small favor and I will even pay for the flight.

I could feel Largo looking at me sideways. I could feel the rage rising inside and around me. Prowling. My options evaporating. I could feel Yama smiling. I could feel Dallas rolling a silencer into the muzzle of a H&K. I speak.

I will complete your favor ... to a degree. I won't do your wet work. Use soldier boy for that.

Yama's silly grin returned. He speaks.

The world order is returning. How long shall I expect before I hear from you again?

One day.

He nods sage-like.

Very good. Dallas has a cell number. Please keep him informed.

I stand. My hands have a slight tremor. My legs feel heavy.

Largo stands and we wade out of the sunken pit on to the upper level. A stooge has arrived to escort us out. Dallas follows. He stops at the entrance we are walking through. Dallas shouts to my back.

Keep in touch.

I raise my middle finger and don't look back. Regrets are for morons and sheep.

The rental car is parked before us. If I had refused the favor I think this car would have been found at LAX with me and Largo in the trunk. Largo asks.

So what's the favor?

Yama wants me to go to a Cafe in West Hollywood where I'll meet a guy who will point out another guy. Yama wants to meet the second guy face to face.

That's it?

That's it.

Largo makes a face and gently nods. He thinks this is good news. Easy. I think this is bad news. Largo drives the rental out of LA to a place that needs no description. It was a black neighborhood, the hotel had suites and apartments. I had packed all our clothes into 2 suitcases. I placed the artillery and ammunition split evenly between the cases.

I checked in. Largo checked in. We took our room key. Against our protocol we were sharing a suite and headed for the room. I went to bed. I was fucked. Largo went for a walk.

YOU GOTTA GO THERE TO COME BACK

Carly, my beautiful sister, came to me tonight. She looks good. Sky is blue within blue. Sea air wafts her bangs as they slant across her tanned face. She smiles. She looks happy. We speak. I can't remember our lips moving but it seems like we talk all night. She tells me it's nice where she is, all the people there are nice, she spends time at the beach and apart from a light fog in the morning it was always sunshining.

Wall to wall sun?

She smiles. Yeah, wall to wall.

How's mom?

Carly looks confused.

You haven't been to see her?

Not yet. Timings all wrong for me. She doesn't want to see me anyway.

Carly places her small tanned hand upon mine.

Mom misses you.

I smile. The muscles in my face feel alien to me.

I doubt that very much but I know right here - I point to my heart - She misses you.

Carly giggles. It's a different giggle she has. It makes me laugh.

Why didn't you come here more. To see us.

Well, it sounds crazy now, but mom and me, we decided that the city was too dangerous for you and her. When Pa died then it was left to me to protect you both. I was always a problem. I had to work, had to be away. People know me, knew who my family was, where they lived. It was too much, so I set you guys up out here. Mom wasn't happy, wasn't happy that I didn't quit my job and come out here as well. I couldn't. Quitting in my business can be dangerous. I thought about it. But it would have made things worse.

Worse?

Yeah, I know how that looks. Can things get any worse?

An eagle screams as it revolves in the thermals above a grassy canyon. It is black silhouetted against the sun within the blue blue sky. She says.

You need to watch.

What does that mean?

Everything that has happened here is not what you think it is.

You mean in California?

Carly nods.

I have to go to the beach. They're waiting for me.

She stands on the sidewalk in downtown San Clemente. I realize that I am sat on a stone bench. I try to stand but I can't, gravity is too strong or my legs are too weak in this place. I look down at my hands, my skin appears old and thin. Blue veins, bulbous pipes lattice from my shirt cuffs. My shirt is a white and red check. Not a shirt I would ever wear.

Wait. I need to talk more. What do you mean?

She smiles. Answers.

You already know what I mean.

She laughs and runs down the sidewalk. Turns the corner on to Del Mar and is gone. I try to stand but I am too heavy, my legs cannot bear my own weight. I collapse back into the stone seat.

Fuck!

ELMO

Largo shouts.

You want coffee? I'm going downstairs to the coffee place.

My eyes feel glued. I feel glued to the bed, unable to bear my own weight.

What?

My mouth feels glued.

Forget it. I'll be back with coffee. Get in the shower. We gotta move.

I manage to move my Breitling close to my eyes to see the time. I refocus. It's 10:15 am. I rip back the sheets and lie there, sweat cooling on my bare body. I ignore my hard on. Run the shower. Get in and turn up the heat. I turn it so hot my skin glows red and feels real clean. I think of politics, business and crime. My deeds in all three. My work in all of them. I think of my dream, I think of Carly's words 'You Already Know' and I did. It wasn't a ghost or other supernatural bullshit, just my subconscious warning me. Glowing red means warning. I towel down. Take a shit. Clean up. Grab a shirt from my bag. Take one of the smaller handguns and a box of shells. Fill it up. Grab a pair of jeans, bought them at Kohls for $15, they fit well.

Door opens. It's Largo. I can tell by the look on his face and the gun in my hand he knows I'm ready to blow.

Why don't you fucking knock or whistle or something? I could've popped one off on a reflex.

Yeah, and I've spilled the coffee.

You okay?

Fine. My nose is still a little sore but nothing ain't happened before. Listen.

What?

Why don't we just fuck this Yama shit. We got Carly put to rest. The asshole killed her, he's gone. We don't owe no one nothing and if this was a clean pick up, then Dallas would have this fag in front of Yama in seconds flat.