SK01 - Waist Deep (27 page)

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My mind
raced
.
The picture of Yvette was a different size than the rest, a little shorter and not quite as wide, as if it had been taken by a different camera.
She was in front of a fireplace.
It definitely was not
Roger
Jackson
’s house in the photo.
From what I could remember of her face, the photo didn’t look like it had been taken that long ago.

Then I heard the sound of a car come to a stop and idle in front of the
Jackson
house.
I moved to the window, but it was blacked out.
I shoved the picture of Yvette and the three shots of Kris into my windbreaker pocket and hustled out of the room, through
Jackson
’s laundry room and up the stairs as quietly as I could go.
As I reached the top of the stairs, I heard a car door slam.
The car engine accelerated and began to diminish.

The clock in the living room read a quarter to two.
I hid around the corner from the front door, drawing my .45 and listening.
I could hear the sound of footsteps on the walk, then the porch. T
he metallic creak of the screen door opening
came next
.
T
here was t
he
jingle of keys, followed by
the
unmistakable sound of one being slid into a lock.
The door lock clicked over and the door swung open.

I waited until he shut the door, counted to two and stepped around the corner.

His small glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose just like in
his driver’s license photo. T
he wispy blond hair on top of his head was combed over the same, too.
He stood a shade under six feet and
yet,
I probably outweighed him.

“What the—” he started to say and I cracked him upside the head with the barrel of my pistol.

In the movies, that move always knocks the guy unconscious for however long the hero needs.
In reality, it doesn’t work that way.
It still works pretty well, just not that way.

Jackson
howled in pain and fell to his knees, clutching at his face.
I’d landed the blow right on his left cheekbone and I imagined it hurt like hell.
Before he could yell again, I grabbed him by hair at the nape of his neck and gave a twist.
Then I jammed my gun upward, pressing the barrel against his other cheek.

“Shut up,” I told him.

“Oh, God, my face!”

“Shut up or I’ll put a bullet through the other cheek,” I said, a growl in my voice.

“Okay, okay, okay, okay,” he whimpered, holding his hands up at his sides in the international sign of surrender.
“Take what you want, man.
My wallet’s in my back pocket.
I’ve got some cash and—“

I pressed the gun barrel into his cheek, mashing the muzzle against the bone.
“I said, shut up.”

“Okay, okay.” He was breathing fast and there were small hitches in his breath.
I realized after a moment that he was trying not to cry.

“I don’t want your money,” I told him.
“Just be cool and we’ll work things out, all right?”

He nodded frantically.

“Now stand up.”

With my help, he stumbled to his feet.

“Walk.”

Together, we shuffled into the kitchen.
I lowered him into one of the chairs at the dining table.
When I released my grip on his hair, he made a point to lower his chin in submission and wave his hands in a surrendering motion.

I took a seat opposite him and leveled the gun at his chest.
“Put your hands on the table.”

Jackson
dropped his palms onto the tabletop.

“Good,” I said.
“Now, we are going to talk.
You lie to me, I put a .45 slug into your chest and your days on this earth are through.
Rozumiš?
”

He started to nod, then stopped.
“Ro-zoo-what?”

“It means, do you understand?
Do you,
Roger
?”

He nodded his head repeatedly
, his voice rapid.
“I do.
I understand.
Was that Russian you spoke?
Jesus, man, are you Russian Mafia?
If you are,
I’m s
orr
y.
I didn’t know you guys had any part of the market.
Listen,
just tell them I’ll pay whatever they want, whatever’s fair.
I just—”

“Shut up,” I barked at him and he jumped in his seat.
“Who I am doesn’t matter.
What does matter is that you answer my questions.
You do that,
Roger
, and you will live to see tomorrow.
You don’t and…”
I leaned in slightly and tapped the butt of the gun on his table.
“It’s lights out, mister.
You get me?”

Jackson
nodded.
“I don’t want to die,” he said, starting to tear up.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

“Tell me where
Kris
is.”

He looked at me blankly. “I…I don’t…”

I leaned forward. “I am not fucking around with you, Roger. I want to know where Kris is. You play stupid with me and—”

“But I don’t know anyone named Kris!” he sobbed
. “Please don’t kill me. If I knew, I would tell you, but I don’t know.”

I paused and considered. Then I realized the problem. “How about Star?”

Jackson
’s face turned white and his jaw dropped open.
His bottom lip quivered.
“How did you—“

“It doesn’t matter.” I waved the gun. “Where is Star
?”

He swallowed.
“In an apartment.
Her apartment.”

“Which apartment?
Where?”

“At the base of the Five Mile Hill,” he said.
“The Greyhouse Apartments.”

“Which number?”

“Nineteen.”

“Nineteen?”

“Yeah.”

I gave him a cold smile.
“See how easy that was?”

He nodded and swallowed again.
“Are you going to kill me now?”

I didn’t answer right away.
Instead, I sat and watched that lanky pervert squirm and sweat and then begin to cry.
White phlegm collected in the corner of his mouth and his hands shook.

Finally, I broke the silence.
“We’ll see.
So far, you answered my question.
You’re ahead of the game.
Let’s see how you do with the next one.”

He took a deep, wavering breath and let it out.

I took Yvette’s picture out of my windbreaker pocket and held it up for him.
I hadn’t thought it was possible for his face to get any whiter, but he blanched at the sight of Yvette and his shoulders slumped forward.

“Yeah,” I said.
“I’ve seen your little porno studio downstairs and your website.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks, but I ignored them.

“How
did
you get this picture?”

He shook his head, a low moan rising in his throat.

I leaned forward and raised the pistol level with his eyes.
He stared at the barrel and quivered.

“Big hole, isn’t it?” I said.
“At this range, it’ll take the top of your head off.”

His moaning raised in pitch, but he stopped shaking his head.

“Where’d you get the picture?” I asked him again.

“Gary!” he squeaked.
“Gary gave it to me!”

I looked down at the picture again.
Of course.
It had to be LeMond’s living room.
He probably took the shot before they went out to his hot tub one night.

“Why did he give it to you?”

“Because,”
Jackson
said.
“He steers the good ones to me.”

“Like he steered
Star
?” I guessed.

Jackson
nodded frantically.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does he send them to you?
What’s in it for him?”

Jackson
sniffled and wiped his nose.
“I pay him a finder’s fee.”

I lowered the gun and leaned back.
“How much?”

He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands.
Talking seemed to calm him down.
“Two hundred if they agree to do auditions.
Five hundred if they do a shoot.
Plus he gets twenty percent of the net from the website.”

I gave a low whistle.
“And how much is that?”

“The twenty percent?” he asked.

“No.
The total net.”

He looked away
.
“I’m not sure. I’d have to run the numbers.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” I said.

He glanced up at me and shrugged.
“
Fine.
I made a hundred and forty last year.
But traffic is up huge.
I’ve made almost fifty so far this year.
But I can’t get to most of the money, man.
It’s all off-shore, so you’re going to have to wait until—”

“I don’t want your blood money,” I told him.

He gave me a confused look.
“Wha-what?
Then what do you want?”

“
Kris
,” I said.
“Out.”

He remained confused for a few seconds while he touched his cheek tenderly.
The cut had stopped bleeding, but the cheek was already swelling up, making it look like he had half a tangerine buried in his cheek.

“That’s her real name? Star’s?”