Plaster City (A Jimmy Veeder Fiasco) (10 page)

“Go fuck yourself,” Bobby said.

I pushed lightly on Bobby’s chest, playing peacemaker. This was turning ugly faster than I could keep up. I turned to Tomás.

“Bobby’s daughter is missing. Julie. The one he was asking about inside. She’s been missing five days. We were told she worked for Driskell. We came here to ask some questions. You saw how that went. Don’t know who he is. Didn’t know you’d be here. And while you know full well I don’t have any say in what Bobby does—that I couldn’t control him if I wanted to—I got his back in whatever dumbfuckery he does.”

“Goddamn right,” Bobby said.

“Sorry about your daughter, Maves. I’ll be honest. I didn’t know you had kids. Never cared. But it explains your excitement.”

“I don’t give two fat shits. Who the fuck is Craig Driskell?”

“He’s a local businessman.”

“Why am I talking to you, if you’re telling me fuck-all?” Bobby said. “I’m going to go talk to him with my fists.”

Bobby took two steps toward the house, but Big Piwi stepped in his path.

“That’s not a good idea,” Tomás said.

“I like bad ideas,” Bobby said.

“Me and Driskell were having a business meeting. Because you jumped in and knuckled up, we didn’t get to finish. I still need to discuss some things with Craig. I can’t let your bullshit affect my business. So I’m not going to let you talk to him until after I’m done.”

“You’re not going to let me?” Bobby said.

“Not just me.” He smiled toward Big Piwi.

“What is Driskell into?” I asked. “If you know him, I’m assuming it’s illegal.”

“I’m hurt, Jimmy. I have legit business connections, too,” Tomás said. “But yeah, he’s in the game. Fronts money for shit. Likes to play Scarface to the crowd, but keep a safe distance from the hardcore action. His cash puts him in contact with some straight-up lowlifes though.”

“I can see that.” Bobby fake-laughed loudly. “You keep talking. Saying things. But you ain’t telling me shit.”

“Do you have a photograph of your daughter?”

Bobby stared at Tomás for a moment, took the picture of Julie out of his back pocket, and handed it to him. Tomás held it at arm’s length, and took a flash picture of it with his phone. He studied the photo, and then stared into space, not saying a word.

“What? What is it?” Bobby said.

“You said your daughter’s name is Julie?”

“What do you know?”

Bobby didn’t get an answer. When he reached for the photo, his shirt lifted and exposed Driskell’s pistol. Big Piwi reacted quickly, pulling the pistol from Bobby’s pants, tossing it to Tomás, and wrapping Bobby in a bear hug. He lifted him off the ground, Bobby’s feet kicking wildly. Big Piwi was quicker than a man that size should be.

“Get the fuck off me,” Bobby said.

“Let’s all calm—” But my words were crushed by Little Piwi’s squeezing arms. I guess he wasn’t taking any chances. He didn’t lift me off the ground, but I couldn’t move. It felt like my organs were going to shoot out my mouth like toothpaste from a tube. My mouth being the best-case scenario.

Tomás held the pistol in his hand, looking toward the house, distracted.

Big Piwi might have had leverage and size, but Bobby had often been the smaller dog in the pit. He leaned forward and brought his head back fast, connecting with the center of Big Piwi’s massive face. It sounded like stepping on a frog. All squish and crunch. Before Big Piwi could react, Bobby did it again. Big Piwi roared and flung Bobby to the side like a scratching cat. Bobby splashed into the swimming pool.

A few curious partygoers looked over, but the tableau of Big Piwi’s bleeding face, Tomás casually holding a pistol, and Little Piwi restraining me seemed to dissuade any further investigation. I caught Driskell watching from the house.

Bobby surfaced and swam to the edge of the pool. Big Piwi reached into his jacket.

“No,” Tomás said, handing his goon a handkerchief. Big Piwi gave Tomás a dejected look but dropped his arm. His jacket had opened enough for me to see his shoulder holster and an enormous pistol.

Tomás nodded toward Bobby, who had reached the edge of the pool. With one hand, Big Piwi picked up Bobby by the collar of his shirt. Before Bobby had his feet on the ground, he was kicking wildly and throwing hard punches at Big Piwi.

Little Piwi sighed loudly and threw me in the pool.

By the time I surfaced, the Piwis had Bobby on the ground, arms held to the side by Little Piwi and Big Piwi’s knee in his back. He wriggled in protest, but wasn’t going anywhere. I swam to the edge.

“You can get out of the water,” Tomás said. “I now have all the guns.”

I nodded and pulled myself up. I made eye contact with Bobby, but he looked through me at Tomás, too deep into his rage.

“Fuck you, Morales,” Bobby wheezed. But with all that weight on his back, he couldn’t get any decent volume.

Tomás ignored him and gave a Queen Elizabeth wave to Driskell, who continued to watch from the house. He waved back but didn’t look happy about it.

“Where are you staying?” Tomás asked.

“Date Palm Motel, out by—”

“I know it.” Tomás said. “That place is a shitbox. I could find you extra work if you need cash.”

“Let Bobby go. We’ll leave quietly. No more drama.”

“What’s your room number?”

“Twelve. Why? What’re you going to do?”

Tomás turned to the Piwis and barked orders in rapid-fire Spanish. “Big Piwi, Tome Maves al Date Palm Motel. Indio del sur. Busque en Google para la dirección. Permanezca con él en el cuarto doce hasta que oiga de mí.”

“You don’t need him to take Bobby back to the motel. I can do it.”

“No, you can’t. We’re going to talk.”

The Piwis pulled Bobby to his feet. He gulped in huge lungfuls of air. Tomás took a step toward him, his face close.

“I know you’re pissed, but listen to me. I got nothing against you finding your daughter. I’ll give Jimmy anything I know that doesn’t directly affect me. On Driskell and anything to do with your girl. I can’t do it with you here though. You’re too unpredictable. Big Piwi’s going to bring you back to your room. Don’t fight him. He’s mad at you. I may not be your friend, Maves, but I’m not your enemy. Not yet.”

Bobby turned to me.

I shrugged and nodded. “I told you. The kamikaze bullshit has to stop, Bobby. It’s not getting us anywhere. Let me talk to Tommy. If nothing comes of it, we can always beat the shit out of the world after.”

Nobody said anything. When Bobby finally spoke, his voice was a whisper. “Okay.”

The Piwis waited for Tomás to give them the sign. When he nodded, they let Bobby go. There was a thirty to forty percent chance Bobby would attack again, and we all waited to see if it was going to happen. I don’t even think that Bobby knew himself. After a moment, he walked toward the back gate. Big Piwi followed him out.

For a minute or so, nothing happened. I stood, dripping water. Tomás stared past me, toward the house.

“I don’t know where Bobby’s girl is,” Tomás finally said, “but I have seen her.”

“Where? When?”

Tomás pointed at the house. I turned around.

Through the enormous glass windows, I saw what Tomás was pointing at, the gigantic television on the wall in the living room.

“Oh, shit,” I said, before I even knew what I was looking at. I just knew it was bad.

A banner across the bottom of the screen read “Extreme Girl Fights: Runaway Edition: Julie vs. LaShanda.” Above the banner, highlights of a Mexican girl fighting bare-knuckle against a taller black girl flashed on the TV. Both the girls’ faces grew increasingly bloodier, but the Mexican girl was definitely Julie. They traded wild punches. No hair-pulling or kicking, just fists to faces and body blows. A small group of men created the ring around them. It was hard to tell where they were, some kind of industrial site. The ground and structures all looked white, like they were covered in snow.

“What the fuck is this?” I said.

“It’s an interesting niche market.”

Julie threw an uppercut that started at her feet. It caught the black girl square on the chin. LaShanda was out before she hit the ground. None of the spectators checked to see if she was okay. The camera moved in closer to Julie, who held up her hands in triumph. She spit blood on the ground and smiled broadly through red teeth.

SIX

Julie’s face star-wiped out and a new couple of girls appeared in another series of highlights. It was all quick shots. More of an ad than anything else. The girls shadowboxed in the same white industrial setting, prepping in their makeshift corners with their makeshift seconds. Lety vs. Kiki. They shouted and pointed at each other, but with little anger in their faces. One of them laughed. And then the shouting stopped and the fighting began. The bloodlust of the small, all-male crowd blurred in the handheld camera as the two teenage girls beat each other with huge flailing shots to the head. They connected with forearms as often as fists.

I grew up around violence. I’d fought and seen more fights than I could remember. However, watching those girls fight was something different, unnecessary. But the most disturbing part was that—if I was honest with myself—it was captivating, entertaining in a perverse way. I could see why people would watch it. Sometimes our depths surprise us. My stomach cramped and I finally looked away.

“This fucking world,” I said. “I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

“You really haven’t explored the Internet, have you?” Tomás said. “Bum Fights. Street Fights. Backyard Brawls. You name it. The raw fight footage market is rich and varied. This is pretty tame. The girls look more or less willing. Not like what comes out of South America or Poland.”

“I don’t want to know things like that. When I think I’ve got a gauge on how fucked up the world is, there’s always something out there to raise the depravity bar.”

“Supply doesn’t exist without demand.”

“All that means is there are sick bastards at both ends. Just because some asshole wants something doesn’t mean someone has to make it for them. They’re just girls.” Something occurred to me. “Had you seen this before? Seen Julie?”

“No, only tonight. They’ve had the entertainment running on a loop. When Maves showed me that photo, I recognized her face. That smile’s hard to forget, bloody teeth or not. She has star quality. I admired the fire in her eyes.”

“She’s sixteen, Tommy.”

“Young, but not a child.”

“The law would tell you different.”

“The law?” Tomás laughed, unimpressed. “What law?”

“There’s no such thing as a sixteen-year-old adult.”

“Only on this side of the border. Put a fence up, everything changes. A few miles south, sixteen is all grown up. Why is it Americans think they make the rules? That their rules are the moral ones?”

“Christ in Hell, Tommy. That was my best friend’s kid up there.”

Tomás walked away, but not before saying, “Everyone is someone’s kid.”

I stared at the swimming pool, watching the reflection of the house lights and television violence on the water, abstracting the horribleness into something that was almost pretty.

“What happened to your face?” Tomás asked, coming back with a deck chair and sitting.

Instinctively, I touched the side of my face. The bruise still hurt. “The usual. Walked in the wrong bar. With the wrong person in it.”

“You need me to talk to someone about it?”

I shook my head, wanting to get back to it. “Does Driskell make these movies? Is that his thing—what he does—why you’re here?”

“I’m not going to tell you why I’m here, what my relationship to Driskell is, or why we were meeting.”

“Okay, but is that movie his?”

Tomás took a few seconds before answering. “Yes and no. He’s not the filmmaker. But he finances a number of productions, mostly gonzo stuff like this, some porn. He supplies the budget, the location. He doesn’t find the girls or shoot the footage. He has people for that. I doubt he would have had contact with anyone in the movies, unless he took a personal interest.”

“I got someone saying Julie worked for him.”

“If she got paid, he was the one that paid her. But it doesn’t mean they met.”

“I need to know who made that movie. When they made it. If they know anything about Julie—where she’s at now. Seeing her tells us what she was doing, who she was with, but still not why she’s gone or if she wants to be there. That could have been filmed yesterday or months ago.”

Tomás nodded. “I’ll find out who made the movie, Driskell’s involvement. But don’t forget, if your interests and mine are opposed, mine come first.”

“Right,” I said, a little pissed off.

“And make sure it’s clear to Maves that I’m not involved in his kid’s disappearance. He’s going to have to take my word on that. I can’t have a fucking loco like him showing up and disrupting my business.”

“I told you I can’t control him, but I’ll try to convince him.”

“He comes after me, he’s putting himself in danger. He should know that much.”

“Don’t threaten my friends, Tommy,” I said, my voice rising.

Tomás shrugged. “It wasn’t meant as a threat. It was a warning.”

I sat with that for a while. I didn’t want to antagonize Tomás any more than I had, but it sat wrong with me. I got back to concentrating on why I was there.

“I have to figure out how to destroy all the copies of that video,” I said. “Something like that can ruin Julie’s life. Is that a disc playing inside or a computer or what?”

Tomás took out his phone, pressing and sliding his finger on the screen at a rapid clip. “That’s not the way the world works anymore, Jimmy.”

“What do you mean?”

Tomás held up his phone. On the screen was the same image of Julie bouncing around, bloody teeth, arms up in victory.

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “Is that online?”

“Found it in a Google search for girl fights. Clips for free. Full video for sale. Already picked up by some pirate sites. It’s out there, and once something is out there, it’s forever. There are maybe ways to get rid of it, but it’s a lot of work for little reward.”

Tomás studied the screen for a moment too long, nodded, and then put his phone back in his pocket.

“I have no idea how Bobby is going to react to this,” I said.

“Exactly.”

I stared at Tomás for a moment. “You had Big Piwi take Bobby out of here for Bobby’s sake, didn’t you? You were trying to save him seeing his daughter that way.”

“He would have exploded,” Tomás said. “And with all these people around. He would’ve been humiliated.”

“I thought you didn’t like Bobby.”

“I don’t dislike him that much. I might be a sociopath, Jimmy, but I’m not a monster.”

I grabbed a deck chair and sat down next to Tomás. I hated the idea of all those douchebags watching Julie and other young girls beat the shit out of each other, but what could I do? I could turn off the TV or throw a chair through the screen, but I didn’t really see the benefit. I wanted to punch everyone at the party in the face. Instead, I lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

“I thought you quit,” Tomás said.

“What’s the fucking point?”

I had no real reason to be at the party anymore. It was clear that Tomás wasn’t going to let me talk to Driskell and I sure as shit didn’t want to mingle with the edging-toward-blackout-drunk crowd. I should’ve gotten up and gone back to the motel. But I wasn’t ready to deal with Bobby and his reaction to the fight video. He wouldn’t sit on his hands. That was for sure. I was going to have to hide the guns before I pulled that Band-Aid off.

Tomás and I watched the idiot partygoers get drunker and stupider. They spilled their drinks, puked in the pool, and generally showed no regard for Driskell’s home. It was like watching drunk lampreys trash a coked-up shark’s house. (I’ve never been good at similes and metaphors.)

The best part of the show was when Driskell rushed out the front door and returned super-pissed. He waved his hands wildly and screamed in a substance-fueled rage. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but his apoplectic fit spoke volumes. His face was the color of a dog dick, veins threatening to burst. Nobody liked finding a busted window on their Hummer, but the dude had money, so the overreaction was a show for the crowd. His low-rent Tony Montana moment. I wondered if he even noticed that his gun was missing or if he was saving that for a separate tantrum.

“Does that have something to do with you and Maves?” Tomás asked.

“Most definitely. Driskell’s a complete tool. This party. These shitheads. Why would you do business with that moron?”

Driskell was literally jumping up and down, stomping his feet. Everybody left the living room, their mellows sufficiently harshed.

Tomás shook his head. “In Mexico, I have latitude to run my businesses. Criminality—illegality—is different for different people. Things that are a crime for an average person—a barber or a carpenter—aren’t illegal for me. The Mexican system works on a sliding scale. Crime is relative. Money is atonement.”

“That’s messed up. Just because you have money doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be accountable for the things you do.”

“Am I to blame for working and benefiting within a broken system? You can’t play chess on a Monopoly board. And I hate to burst your childlike bubble, but it isn’t any different on this side of the border. It’s only more expensive. Rather than a little mordida here and there—some strategic friendships—everyone in the US wants a piece. You can’t just bribe a few cops or a politician. You have to run the money through the system, the courts. In the US, it’s the lawyers that make all the profit. More than the criminals. And when the dust settles, the person with more money wins. The limits of American greed are boundless. It’s good to have a network of local—white—businessmen that can act as a cushion.”

“And that’s where this dipshit comes in?”

Tomás nodded. “He’s corrupt enough to work with, but has the appearance of legitimacy. You don’t always want the guy in a business suit. Everyone takes Driskell for the wild rich guy. Which is what he is. Too clean and he’d raise suspicions. He hides in plain sight. He could’ve been a good front, but obviously he’s too volatile, too stupid, and it’s not about the money for him.”

“So who the fuck is he?” I lit another cigarette.

“His file is in my laptop, but I can give you a basic rundown from memory. His father founded CaSO-Corp. For the longest time, Craig was on a fixed income—a trust fund. When his old man died, he took over the business. He liked the title of CEO, but didn’t know what it stood for. It took him two years to drive CaSO-Corp into the ground. He shut down the factory, found a buyer for the name, and sold enough of the assets. He made plenty on those deals. Fucked every one of his loyal employees. But that’s business.

“So he’s got cash and nothing to do. Bored rich people are dangerous. It always gets weird with them. He’s the worst that wealth makes. The kind of person that hasn’t been hungry. Never known pain that he didn’t create himself. He’s got no respect for money or people or work. The only creativity he has is in his perversions. He’s the kind of guy that would kill a hooker, get arrested, and not understand why he was being persecuted.”

“Sounds like a piece of work,” I said. “Definitely someone that could be involved in Julie’s disappearance.”

“Another good reason to be careful. And patient. Money is more dangerous than muscle. You could go in there, but he could sic some bad people on you.”

“Worse than you?” I smiled to make sure Tomás knew I was mostly joking.

Tomás smiled back. “Doubtful. Depends on your definition. Either way, you’re a tourist in this shit. I can talk to him because he’s afraid to not talk to me. I can tell him to fuck off and he’ll smile and take it. The moment he knows your name, you’re in it. As tough as you think you are, Jimmy, this is not your side of the street.”

“I don’t want anything to do with him, but Bobby. Once he hears about that movie, he’s going to come back here. And there ain’t going to be no way to stop him.”

“But that’s not you. That’s Maves. I know he’s your friend, but I don’t care about him. If you want to keep yourself and your family safe, let him go. Let him off the leash and run in the other direction.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Bobby would never abandon me.”

“Neither would a loyal dog, but do you risk everything for a dog? You have people that depend on you. You’re willing to put yourself at risk, but are you willing to risk their safety for your friendship?”