Nothing (7 page)

I listen to Largo. He doesn't say much but what he does say it is worth a lot more than some fucking stupid twenty year old rapper who can't shut the fuck up. I think about what he says.

There are complications Larg. Yama somehow has Mikey on board for this pick up. Why? Who knows but there's more to this than we know about. Don't think I've gone soft. I know this is wrong. You wanna go back. I won't blame you. There's the door. Go. No regrets at this end.

Sure?

Sure.

He laughs.

You think I'd let you do this alone ... you're fucking crazier than Yama.

I smile.

Thanks friend.

He lifts his cup. I appreciate the gesture and lift mine.

I'm ready but don't want to leave yet. I want to wait. I flip on the TV. An actor is waving a gun around. This BS makes me want to shit on the TV. He waits in some alley for some guy who he easily disarms with some fancy Kung Fu moves that wouldn't work against a nine year old school girl. He narrates over the still image, mean streets style, his face in the still looking moody and cool. Slide in shots of Miami make it look like some '80's pile of crap. I feel subtle anger. This is good. I pick up the revolver and toss is between my hands feeling the weight and balance of the handgun. I'm sat on the end of the bed. Largo is stretched out on the other bed.

I tell Largo.

Call the guy.

He looks at his watch.

Think the time is good?

We won't know until we call him.

What's the number?

Largo picks up the handset from the cradle. I tell him the number Yama gave me. Largo speaks to someone.

The man in the show has some gorgeous chick as his sidekick, she's supposed to be some kind of psycho but she pouts too much. Another guy is introduced, I suppose he is supposed to be the comic relief, he has a huge chin.

Largo says.

He's a she. She'll meet us at the Coffee Bean on Sunset. The one opposite Book Soup.

Book Soup? A woman. You serious?

That's what she said.

How'd she sound?

Very gay.

And?

Scared.

What a fucking combination.

How'd you mean she sounds very gay?

You know. Manly. Butch.

You ready?

He sips his coffee. Must be hot. He says.

Let's go.

I check the gun between my hands once more. The hero in the show smiles with teeth too white. Commercial break comes on. I'm glad. I feel the tension in my abdomen. Deep. Like hunger. I'm not sure if it was because of the show or the meeting. It was good. I like tension. It's sharp gnawing inside me. I drink some of the coffee. It burns. I want to yell at the screen. I press the standby button. Push the revolver into my waistband and pull my tee-shirt down and get the door.

Largo drives downtown across Wilshire and onto Sunset, the sun was lowing. I flip the sunshade down. Largo flips his down. I see the stores , the famous spots, infamous spots. An orange glaze brushes the buildings of LA. It looks good. Doesn't look fake. Reminds me of home. A kid on a skateboard slides along the sidewalk. I hate skateboards. I like street hockey. My jaw sets on edge as we get closer.

Book Soup in on the right.Coffee Bean opposite. It has a too-small parking lot. Largo pulls us into a space, a valet takes the keys. He speaks no English. We walk into the Bean order a medium latte and a cappuccino. Inside at a counter top is a small man on an Apple laptop. Probably another useless screenwriter.

Largo motions his head. Outside. At a brushed steel table, was a small framed person wearing denim with a Texas longhorn hat and boots to match. Largo goes first and stands near the table. The person raises their eyeline to Largo. It's a woman. The rim of the hat tilts to show her pale elfin face. She nods at Largo.

Largo looks to me through the glass. I walk to stand beside him with my latte.

Guess this is Elmo.

She sucks on a cigarette. Exhales. Nods.

Her features are delicate. Beautiful. Her eyes a fragile pale grey. Normally I wouldn't give a fuck about some losers face, unless I was carving into it. Since Carly. Since coming to California, under the lowing sun, under the bluest blue sky. It's all become connected to Carly.

Elmo stubs out her cigarette. I sip my latte through the plastic lid. I feel the sensation burn my mouth. Elmo speaks.

I thought you'd look kinda tough.

I don't think I could look as tough as you no matter what I had on.

She smiles. Beautiful smile. White straight teeth. She says.

Sit down. Join me.

Largo and me scrape some chairs over. Squinting in the sun I sip more coffee. Largo studies Elmo in a relaxed casual way. He was ready to move fast if he needed to.

So what's the plan?

Straight to business I like that. Direct.

We can do the foreplay thing if you want but I get the feeling you're a woman of action.

The smile. Takes a packet of Camels from her breast pocket and pushes one into her mouth, rolling it as she does. She offers me one. I take it. Largo declines. She cups a lit match around both tips. I draw the smoke into my lungs. It feels good.

I enjoy the caffeine and nicotine rushing into my bloodstream. Small speakers behind a planter offer up a low key Beach Boys number. It's a good one. Harmonies as the Boys voices blend into each other. Wilson's voice keening it's way above the others. Could this be one big cliché, or something that's just over-produced. Ahhh do diggitit darlin' your so fiiiine. Ahhh Ahhh, No three words could say but darlin' I'll find a way...

Wilson's voice drifts into the warm smog. Elmo continues.

I have to give you the keys to a car. It's in the lot. Take the car to this address.

She places her cigarette between her lips, they barely hold it in place. She stands making Largo tense, this was imperceptible to her but I notice it. She fishes around the pockets in her blue jeans until she pulls a small piece of paper. She looks at it. Sits down and passes it to me. It was some kind of night club in West Hollywood by the name of Dune. I pass the paper to Largo, he reads and nods. She says.

You know it?

Largo says.

I know whereabouts that area is.

Her eyebrows raise a little she makes eye contact with Largo

You do?

She makes a respectful nod. I ask.

Now we've firmly established where this place is. What's next?

Go to the parking lot at 8pm and wait for a Lincoln Navigator. It's white with a chrome trim. All blacked out and easy to spot. A black guy with a black crew will get out and go into the club. One of them will be wearing all white. He will stand next to another black guy. Before they get into the club the man in white will place his hand on the shoulder of the other black guy, that's when you ask him to go for a ride or something. Then just take him to the place.

All this seems pretty black and white. The place?

Yes. Delivered. Gift wrapped to where the instruction came from.

Ok. We got it.

She took a deep draw from the cigarette and looked at me. He pale eyes beautiful. I ask.

You have a question?

I thought you would be the one asking more questions.

She said this in an exhalation of smoke.

Why doesn't the mystery man, the man whose name we dare not speak ... in case you don't follow, that fat cunt Yama. Why doesn't he get his private crazies to take care of this. And why does he need you to ask me to do this? This could have been dialed in.

She grins and snags a fleck of tobacco from the tip of her pink tongue. She shrugs before saying.

Our special friend likes to remain friends with everyone in the Ocean. Our Ocean. Why is such a powerful question, who would know his motives.

I say.

And we, I include you in that we, don't think our black friends in this Ocean, will just come along nicely for a pleasant drive through Bel Air?

She looks at me, the smile still there. Incredulous. She burns the paper with the address on it. I don't think the black kid will want to come along. Largo doesn't think he wants to either. She says.

We don't think he will to come at all. Why do I need to get mixed up in this. Right now I don't need this shit. I deliver messages, period, all over LA. I work for many faces. When I got here I was the same as all the other flesh - fodder. But I had a brain and knew 2 names here. These 2 names let me live, work and survive here. That's because I am very discreet.

You don't talk?

Never.

To no one?

No one.

Never's a long fucking time. You reckon it's a long time Largo?

He nods. She says.

I heard stories about you before you got here. Word was you were coming, so I asked around.

Like to share those stories.

Like I said I never talk.

Yeah, like, never.

And on that note gentlemen - she places a key fob and a valet ticket on the brushed steel table - my business here is concluded.

She stands. We remain seated. I say.

Say we need to get hold of you Elmo. How'd we do that?

I stub out the cigarette. It smolders into a grey ash lump.

She touches my shoulder as she maneuvers her tiny body between the chairs and bends towards my face then close to my ear. I feel her warm breath and the scent of nicotine. I can almost taste her. She whispers.

These stories I heard about you. None of them were good.

You know why that is?

No. Why's that?

They're all true.

KILLERS ARE HERE

Inside the dark metallic blue Infiniti what could be described as a cross-over car. Part coupe, part four wheel. It was better than the rental. I trace the dash looking for the air con. Heat had pounded the car making the interior airless. Largo waits in the rental. I call over to him. He gets out slow and takes his time coming over. I say.

You need to know that in the trunk of the rental is a bag. A sort of suitcase. It has quite an amount of coke and rocks in it.

How much?

At least a twenty stretch worth.

Shit! How'd you come by that?

Not important. But if this goes bad it might give you a bargaining chip.

For reasons unknown to me, I remember Yama's guys running through the car. They were looking for weapons, they must have seen the case. I closed the door on the Infiniti and walked back with Largo to the rental.

Pop the trunk.

Largo leans inside and fumbles until the trunk lid doinks open. I grab the lip and lift it.

Fuckers.

The drugs were gone. In their place sat a long black case. I open it. Inside is a long range Remington sniper rifle. Probably get 20 years for having this type of carbine in a built up area concealed. Largo says.

Dallas. Smart.

What?

We won't need white powder right now, but if you're going to do this meet alone, what better than to have me watch your back through that.

Largo points at the scope.

I shrug.

He smiles. Says.

Night vision.

I smile.

Dallas. Seems to think of everything. Okay. Let's have a little look around, then get in the mood for this shit. The sooner this is over the better. Mikey will be happy and I can get back to Chicago. I need to find out who sent Santana to see Carly and ...

Santana was in Chicago?

Forget it. Let's go. Let's get this over with. No one gives a shit about details these days, just results.

Ain't that the truth.

Largo gets into his car. I get into mine. He starts the car and waits for me. The Infiniti didn't feel right. It was new and had that new car smell. I turned it on, I thought it might explode, these mercenaries could make a small building evaporate without a trace. I had one of the key fobs that armed the car and allowed me to start it. No key. It just sparks into life. I double flash Largo and follow him onto Sunset Boulevard.

Traffic was heavy and slow. We seemed to stop at every traffic signal. We crawl Loring Avenue to Charing Cross Road until we end up in the lot of a Super 8 opposite the night club Dune. Largo parks beside me with the window dropped. I study his face, hairline, his teeth set on edge, his squinting eyes. He surveys the rooftops nearby looking for a vantage point he could set up the rifle.

I look at him, really look at his features, scan him through the tinted windows of this new car. He could not see me watching. A one-way mirror effect. I stare, look deeply. Chicago. I roll my window low. Wind barrels against the cars and our faces. Largo's hair waves around. I was positioned too far inside the car to really feel the wind. It was hot though. Blowing in from the desert. He squints until he closes his eyes against the dust and drifting sand. I tell him.

I need to check in with Dallas.

I hold up the untraceable cell. He nods and gets out of the car. Says.

I'm gonna have a look around. Couple of spots look good but getting there might be a problem.

I look at him and flip open the phone while rolling the window back up. Largo walks towards the entrance of the Super 8. I dial.

Dallas?

Yeah.

It's me.

Good. All well?

As can be expected.

You get my little gift?

Thanks. Not sure if it'll be useful. Not convinced what we're doing here yet. Seems a waste of time. More your line of work.

I'm sure the project will reveal itself.

Very mysterious. Hope you're not trying to spook me out.

He laughs. Says.

Don't worry. The spooks will be there. It's early yet.

That's why I'm calling I need you to do something for me.

The gift not enough.

It's not so much a request as a question.

Shoot.

I ask him a couple of questions. The answers were curved but I think I got the meaning. I know now what he is trying to say. He put the phone down. I check the balance on the cell and make 2 more calls. East Chicago. While I was talking and listening. Really listening. I could feel the wet. The cold. The aching cold of the Mid West. It made the corners of my mouth curl upward. I listen. Really listen. I don't say much if that. As I sign off I say.