Assume Nothing (21 page)

That moment was coming, of course, for Clarke as well as his two friends Perry Cross and Will Sinnott, but for now Reddick was content to bide his time. He was a walking wreck, emotionally spent and sleep deprived, and he desperately needed some rest. While the clock was still ticking on the twenty-four hours he had asked Cross’s girlfriend to give him before calling the cops, he thought it better to back off and regroup than push ahead and risk making a fatal mistake. Wherever Clarke was, he could wait.

But he wouldn’t have to wait long.

TWENTY-FOUR

G
iven explicit instructions by Cross to go straight back to Culver City to watch over Clarke, Will Sinnott had gone looking for Iris Mitchell instead.

When he rang the doorbell at the Brentwood home of Lester and Ellen Mitchell, Iris’s parents, a few minutes after seven p.m. Sunday night, it was Iris herself who answered the door. He thought she might slam it right back in his face, so obvious was her impulse to do so. But she didn’t.

‘How did you know where to find me?’

Sinnott shrugged. ‘I’m a lush. Not an idiot. You weren’t at home, so . . .’

He’d been here once before, at a Christmas party last year, and it wasn’t the kind of home one could easily forget. Set far back from a curbless street off San Vicente, at the end of a driveway that seemed to go on forever past walls of hibiscus and azaleas, the Mitchell estate was a single-story monument to postmodern architecture, turrets and columns intermingling with gabled roofs and oversized windows. It had every right to be an eyesore, but the overall effect was stunning, especially in the muted light of early evening.

‘What do you want?’ Iris asked. She was thankful now that she’d decided to hide out with her parents for a while; she hadn’t told them anything about her reasons for coming, but her father was upstairs in his study and could be counted on to help if Sinnott made any attempt to lay a hand on her.

‘May I come in?’

‘You haven’t answered my question.’

‘I’m not going to hurt you, Iris. Jesus. I just need to talk to you, that’s all.’

She surveyed the dark carport behind him. ‘Are you alone?’

‘Of course. And no, if you’re wondering, Perry doesn’t know I’m here.’

She gave him a lingering look, then nodded her head and ushered him in.

They settled in a living room as spotless and beautiful as a furniture ad in a magazine, burning logs snapping and popping discreetly in the fireplace. Iris didn’t bother offering Sinnott anything to drink.

‘Well?’

He just sat there for a moment, trying to convince himself all over again that this was the right thing to do, and not an act of cowardice he would long regret. ‘Are we alone?’

‘Mother’s out, but my father’s upstairs. If I were to scream, he’d be down here in three seconds with the loaded gun he always keeps in a desk drawer.’

‘Have you—’

‘No. I haven’t told either of them anything. Hurry up and get to the point, Will.’

Sinnott nodded. ‘I know you told Perry you wouldn’t go to the police until we’re sure we can pay Ruben off. But I wanted to hear you say it for myself. I need to know you intend to keep your word.’

He didn’t care if he was being paranoid. Once Cross had told him how his meeting with Iris at Farmer’s Market had gone down, that he’d been forced to tell her everything there was to tell about Gillis Rainey’s death and Clarke’s attack upon Joe Reddick’s family, Sinnott had been consumed by fear. Despite all of Cross’s assurances, he simply couldn’t believe Iris would make good on her promise to remain silent, even if for only forty-eight hours.

And he had good reason to be concerned, because Iris herself was indeed having similar doubts. In the two hours-plus since her rendezvous with Cross, she had picked up the phone more than once with the intention of calling the police, convinced she’d been a fool not to do so sooner. But she had yet to follow through. Each time she tried, she thought of Reddick, and remembered the crazy man Cross had said he and his friends were in debt to, and what he was likely to do to them if they were unable to pay him off. It sounded absurd, yes, like just the kind of oversized lie Cross might tell to save his ass, but there was no way to test its validity without risking the unthinkable, having to live with the knowledge that some maniac had skinned three men alive – or worse – because she’d made a simple phone call.

Still, with every passing minute, her resolve to keep silent had been wavering more and more, just as Sinnott feared it might – until now. The look on Sinnott’s face, and the terrible apprehension his inebriation couldn’t hide, seemed to erase any doubt that what Cross had told her was true.

‘I haven’t called the police yet, and I have no immediate plans to do so,’ Iris said. ‘Is that good enough for you?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sinnott said, ‘but I had to be sure. You don’t know this guy, Iris. What kind of animal he is.’

‘You just said his name was “Ruben”? Is that right?’

‘Ruben Lizama. Yes.’

‘So tell me. Who is he? And what kind of “animal” is he, exactly?’

‘Perry didn’t say? I thought—’

‘He only gave me a rough outline. But since you’re here, Will, you may as well enlighten me further. If I’m going to continue to be an accessory to kidnapping and murder for you boys, that’s the least you could do in return, don’t you think?’

Sinnott hesitated. If Cross had been vague with her in regards to Ruben, he must have had his reasons. Still, Iris was right: In exchange for what they were asking of her, telling her what little of the truth she didn’t already know seemed a small price to pay.

‘You can never repeat what I’m about to tell you,’ he said, ‘most especially to the police. You can tell them everything else, but not this. Your life, as well as ours, may depend on it. Swear to me, Iris.’

Her
life might depend on it? This was something Iris hadn’t been prepared to hear. Still, she nodded in agreement.

‘His full name is Ruben Lizama, like I said. He’s a friend of Ben’s. His father is Jorge Lizama, head of one of the largest and most powerful drug families in Mexico. Ever hear of him?’

Iris shook her head. A Mexican drug family. God in heaven, was there no end to how bad this nightmare could get?

‘These are the people leaving notes for the federal
policia
on headless bodies all over Michoacan. The ones who walk into drug rehab centers in broad daylight and kill everybody inside just to make a point, women and children included. Ruben does the worst of their dirty work and he does it because he
likes
it.’

He told her all the rest: How Ben had talked them into agreeing to launder a quarter million dollars of Lizama family money, just so the moron could say he was in business with a criminal he admired; how one crazy thing after another had conspired to prevent them from paying Ruben off on time. First, Cross had made the insane decision to feed his pathetic gambling habit with Ruben’s money, then Gillis Rainey refused to return the $100,000 they’d foolishly entrusted to him, money they could have used to make up for Cross’s losses. Their botched kidnapping of Rainey, resulting in his death; Andy making a possible witness out of Joe Reddick after disposing of Rainey’s body; Ben unilaterally attempting to ensure Reddick’s silence by threatening to kill him and his entire family; Reddick responding to Ben’s threat by seeking to kill them all. Sinnott left out nothing, telling Iris the whole, sordid story in intricate detail, unable to see how holding back now could serve any possible purpose.

He was pleading for mercy, hoping once she’d heard just how badly fate had fucked them over, how the most innocent of their intentions had led to a disaster beyond their control, she’d have no choice but to empathize and cut them some slack. Andy having a fender bender with Joe Reddick, the worst possible person to run into that night, was just one example of how doomed they’d been from the start.

‘What do you mean?’ Iris asked.

Sinnott told her what he’d read about Reddick on the Internet, about the family he’d lost nine years ago in Florida to a maniac not that far removed from Ruben Lizama.

‘He was probably already insane. God knows I would have been. Starting all over again here in LA just to have Ben put a knife to his wife and son’s throats must have been all the excuse he needed to lose it completely.’

Iris was struck dumb. Her inclination to take Reddick’s side over Cross’s had been a mystery to her, but now she understood what it was about him she had found so deserving of her sympathy. For once, the pain and vulnerability she’d sensed in a man she barely knew had actually been real, and not just a figment of her imagination.

‘Perry says he let you go without hurting you,’ Sinnott said. ‘Is that true?’

Iris nodded.

‘But he didn’t tell you anything about his intentions. What he plans to do about me, Ben and Perry now, I mean.’

‘No.’

‘You think he might just let it go? Is there any chance of that?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ She actually doubted there was any chance whatsoever of Reddick letting it go, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. ‘And you?’

‘Me?’

‘You and Ben. Perry promised you’d all leave Reddick be if I waited two days before going to the police, but maybe he was only speaking for himself. You say Reddick killed Andy and tried to kill Ben. Are you and Ben willing to forget that?’

After a pause, Sinnott said, ‘Andy was my friend, and I’m not fond of the idea of his killer going scot-free. But he and Ben were the ones responsible for making an enemy of Reddick, not me, so I couldn’t care less what happens to Reddick after this. Right now, my only concern in life is Ruben Lizama, and doing whatever I have to do to keep him from sticking me feet first into a goddamn wood chipper or something.’

It was the same argument for leniency Cross had made earlier, only coming from Will Sinnott, it sounded more pitiful and genuinely desperate. Iris had never cared much for any of Cross’s three friends-slash-business partners, but Will was the one she distrusted the least. Clarke was an asshole from the ground up and Andy Baumhower had been a spineless weasel; Sinnott, on the other hand, was just a walking cocktail glass so intent on impressing his parents, he could be talked into anything that might help him build a fortune of his own.

‘Do you know where I could find Reddick?’ Iris asked.

‘What?’

‘If Ben went to his home, you must have an address for him. I want it.’

Sinnott shook his head from side to side, said, ‘No way. Forget about it.’

‘I don’t want to see the man suffer any more than he already has, Will, and one of you is going to kill him if he keeps coming after you. It’s just a matter of time.’

‘And you think you can stop him?’

‘I can try.’

Sinnott laughed. ‘You’re crazy. This guy’s as psychotic as Ruben is, only different. You got near him once and lived to tell about it, but next time—’

‘I’m willing to take my chances. I want that address, Will. If his little boy ends up an orphan over this, I’m going to hold you just as responsible as anyone else. Is that what you want?’

He should hardly have cared what the lady thought of him at this point, but he did. Over the last few months, thanks to Ben and Perry, he had become somebody he barely recognized, and his sense of self-loathing was almost overpowering. He wasn’t just an unscrupulous momma’s boy stinking of gin anymore – he was a kidnapper and an accessory to murder. The level of disgrace he had brought to his family was something he would never be able to live down. And yet Iris could still see some good in him, some sliver of decency that separated him from real assholes like Ben Clarke and Perry Cross. It wasn’t much, but it was something worth holding on to.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, navigated to the notes he’d taken from his online research on Reddick.

‘Get a pen and something to write on,’ he said.

TWENTY-FIVE

‘
W
here the fuck are you?’ Cross asked. ‘Ben says he’s still at the house all alone.’

‘I was hungry and stopped to get something to eat. I’m on my way over to his place right now.’

It was going on two hours since Cross had sent Sinnott off to keep Clarke company, so he knew there was more to Sinnott’s delay than he was telling. But Cross let it go, because their goddamn cell connection was bad and he didn’t have the patience to ask the other man to repeat everything he had to say twice.

‘Well, hurry the hell up and get over there. Fucking Reddick called him on his cell phone and Ben’s about to lose his goddamn mind.’

‘Reddick called him?’ Sinnott asked in a panic.

‘You heard me. He thinks Reddick’s right outside his door and needs somebody to hold his hand before he has an aneurism.’ Sinnott said something else but static broke his voice into a dozen unintelligible pieces. ‘You’re breaking up, Will, I gotta let you go,’ Cross said. ‘Just get over to Ben’s right away and call me the minute you get there.’

He ended the call without waiting for Sinnott to respond.

Clarke was waiting for Reddick in the dark, sitting in his living room in a plush leather chair that offered a clear view of the front door. His Glock was still clutched in his right hand, dangling precipitously over the edge of the chair’s armrest.

From time to time, his head bobbed forward and his eyes fluttered closed, then opened again, though he was only barely aware that this was happening. Several minutes ago, he’d succumbed to the rising discomfort of his injuries and washed four Vicodin tablets down with a shot of Johnny Walker Black, paying no heed to the ‘two tablets every eight hours’ directions on the bottle, and now the blessed fog of anesthesia was gradually closing around him.

He caught himself nodding off, snapped to attention. Reddick was coming for him first, he was sure of it, and there was no fucking way Clarke wasn’t going to have a warm, full clip of 115-grain hollowpoints ready and waiting for his ass when he got here. Cross was sending Sinnott over to help him defend the fort, and that was fine, but Reddick belonged to Clarke and nobody else. If Will even thought about popping a cap in him before Clarke could have his fun with him, he’d be the next one to die. That was no bullshit.