Bullets Are My Business (9781101616413) (11 page)

I Have No Idea

I can barely breathe. I feel like I'm underwater.

I'm not entirely sure where I am. Must've been one hell of a night. A burst of pain like a signal flare erupts in my brain. I try to rub my aching face. I can't move my hands.

Definitely not a good night. I try to recall the events of the previous evening. I try to take in my surroundings. My head is cocked back. I'm sitting in an uncomfortable chair. Scratch that. I'm bound to an uncomfortable chair. My arms are cinched tight behind my back with rope that makes my skin crawl. My legs are tied to the base. Not a good night at all. Unless I met a dominatrix.

“I think he's waking up.” That nasal voice brings everything rushing back. I open my eyes, ignoring the intense pain and popping sounds as I bring my head up straight. The Irishman is standing in front of me, leaning against a rickety kitchen table and picking his teeth with the remnants of what used to be a toothpick. He's a lot smaller than I remember him.

“That's all you got?” I warble. I sound like I have marbles in my mouth. The Irishman cocks an eyebrow and he points at me with his gnawed-on toothpick.

“Yeah, he's definitely awake,” he says, and moves away from the table. “I liked him better when he was out.” I continue to look straight ahead. I don't really have a choice. I can't seem to turn my head to look elsewhere. My neck is stiff and the room is still spinning. I get the feeling that, if I move my head at all, I might throw up the lack of food that I have in my stomach.

“Maestro, turn him.” A new voice, coming from outside my peripheral vision. Even moving my eyes makes me feel like I'm on a choppy sea. A shadow passes over me as the behemoth steps before me. That's why the mick looked so small. This was the guy I was thinking of. I remember him well from the pulsing ache in my face and ribs. He lifts the chair with me in it and moves me ninety degrees. He must get paid the big bucks in this racket. I'm now looking at an Asian sitting on a battered couch. He seems very relaxed. I narrow my eyes.

“You're the slant from the airport.”

“In all actuality, Mr. Maurice, we prefer to be called ‘flips,'” the Asian tells me calmly. “But, racial slurs aside, you are correct.”

He takes a cigarette from a silver case in his pocket and offers me one. There's no way I'm passing up a cigarette, especially after what I've been through. I nod. The Asian motions for the big guy to bring me one. Maestro puts it between my lips and holds a lighter to the tip as I take a drag. Not my usual brand, but beggars can't be choosers, as the saying goes. With smoke in my lungs, I start to regain my bearings. The spinning slows and I look around the room with a slow gaze, taking it all in. This place is a shit hole. I return my attention to the Asian.

“So what? Is this some kind of a joke?” I ask him, my cigarette bouncing in my lips. “A slant, a mick, and an ogre walk into a bar . . .”

The Asian raises his hand. “I've heard this one before, so I'll stop you,” he says. “The punch line is something along the lines of ‘Then the smart-ass gets his knees broken,' right?” I nod, deciding that it would be in my best interest not to push too many buttons too fast. I take a drag of the cigarette.

“Hey, how about giving me an arm so I can ash this cigarette?”

“That can be arranged.” The Asian motions toward the Irishman, who walks over and wags a finger in front of my nose.

“I don't want any funny shit, got it?” He cocks his head toward the big guy. “You pull any funny shit and he's gonna pull some funny shit . . . and his comedic timing is right on the money.”

“I got it.” I feel the ropes go slack on my arm. I bring my hand up to the cigarette. I take it from my lips and ash on the shag carpeting beneath my feet. “Thanks. The only thing missing now is a stiff drink.”

“Get Mr. Maurice a rum and Coke,” the Asian says to the ogre, snapping his fingers. Maestro disappears from the room. I raise my eyebrows. He knows me pretty well.

“Very hospitable.”

“We do our best.”

“Nice place you three got here,” I say, looking around the room again. I'm trying to keep the small talk going. They have me here for a reason. If they didn't want to talk, I'd be dead by now. The more talking, the more time I have to come up with an escape plan. And the less chance I'm going to get killed. “Shag carpeting, shitty furniture, stains on the walls. Who's your decorator? I'm gonna have to get his number.”

The Asian is completely uninterested in what I have to say. He leans toward me and rests his arms on his knees. “Do you know who I am, Mr. Maurice?”

“Nope, but apparently you know me.”

“I do,” the Asian states, matter-of-factly. “I know you very well. I've been trailing you for quite some time now.” I look the Asian over carefully, deciding to let my smartass comments stay by the wayside for a moment. I wonder just how much this guy knows. Maestro returns with a glass and he sets it on the floor in front of me. I look at it and then at the ogre. He shrugs.

“We're all out of Coke.”

“What about ice? Did you lose the recipe?” I ask. He doesn't look amused. “That's fine, big guy, it just gets in the way.” I look at the Asian and motion toward the ogre with my cigarette.

“How about getting this guy to untie my other arm? It's hard to drink and smoke with one hand.” The Asian nods at Maestro. The ogre manhandles the ropes from my clinched arm. I flex my wrist and pick up the drink. “Thanks, Lurch.” I hold the glass up to the light.

“I can see your cleaning woman is on vacation.” I tilt the filthy glass. No fizz. No discoloration. They're not trying to poison me. That's a plus.

“If you're quite through, Mr. Maurice.” The Asian sighs.

I take a drink. “I'm done.”

“Good,” the Asian says. “In which case, we can commence to the matter at hand.”

The rum burns, just like it should. I can't wait to get to the point as quickly as possible. “How about telling me why I'm here.”

“All in due time, Mr. Maurice, all in due time.” the Asian takes a deep drag of his cigarette. I get the feeling that “due time” is going to be a while. The Asian exhales slowly. “But, considering that you're in my possession at the present time, why don't you let me ask the questions?”

I can't really do anything but shrug. It's probably better for me to play along. “Fair enough.”

He takes another deep drag. “A few years back, my colleagues and I were called upon to look out for a young man.”

“You guys are bodyguards?”

“In a sense, yes. We were hired to make sure that this young man was not fatally harmed in any way. This young man, whose name was Vincent, was fully engaged in a very profitable drug ring. However, many of his dealings were highly questionable.”

I snuff the cigarette out on the arm of the chair. “This story is truly riveting in its novelty. Seriously. But if you could just cut to the chase, mainly the part that concerns me, that'd be wonderful.”

“We'll get there, Mr. Maurice. Please be patient,” the Asian replies coolly. “The main problem with Vincent's business was that a great many of his clientele didn't seem to think that they were getting what they deserved. They felt that they were being cheated. Money was not exchanging hands the way it was supposed to, the product was not what Vincent claimed it was, the quality was far less than was promised. All in all, Vincent was not a very honorable businessman.” The Asian pauses for a moment as if to collect his thoughts.

“One evening, our client picked up a girl from a bar, a high-end call girl, and he took her home with him. They did what people do behind closed doors, which is none of my concern, and Vincent fell asleep. While he was sleeping, this girl managed to get into his stash. Not his private stash, mind you, but his earning stash, the kilos that paid the bills. Now, Vincent claimed that he had no idea how she knew where the stash was. I have my doubts about this, as Vincent was the type of man who liked to parade his occupation around. We, myself and my crew, had seen him show off his goods to many a female friend, so I can't believe wholeheartedly that this situation was any different, other than the fact that this girl had moxie enough to act. Regardless, in the end, this girl walked away with enough merchandise to fund her for a long while. She also managed to walk away with all of the correct goods to get our client in a great deal of trouble. Now, these stolen goods were supposed to be sold to a very reputable source, who already had several buyers lined up. Vincent tried to act fast and he substituted the stolen product with a product of far lesser value. In any normal situation, this would've been the end of the story. Swept under the rug, if you will. However, the buyers weren't your average street junkies who didn't know good product. Things bubbled to the surface, and when the buyer heard about this dilemma, he had no remorse. Obviously, this all reflected poorly on him, so, in order to clean a bit of the egg off of his face, he enlisted the aid of a hit man to take care of Vincent. Vincent already had us on assignment and he became hell-bent on finding this girl, knowing that she was to blame for this scenario, and someone involved with this girl wanted to protect her so they put up a blockade to stop that from happening. That, Mr. Maurice, is where you come into the story.”

The Asian had my full attention now, better than if he had grabbed me by the balls and squeezed. I nodded. “I'm listening.”

“You were the one who was enlisted by the party interested in the girl's well-being.” The Asian paused and dropped his cigarette in the ashtray seated beside him on the couch. He lit a fresh one and he proceeded to tell me a story that I already knew.

Interlude

Four Years Before, This One I Remember

I woke up to the sound of pounding on my door. Three pounds, a pause, then another two. Jacks was up before noon. That's never a good sign. I rolled out of bed.

“I'm coming,” I muttered, loud enough to make it through the door. I heard Jacks grunt in response and I pulled on a pair of jeans that were wadded up on the ground beside the futon and opened the door. I turned away as Jacks walked into my apartment. I put a cigarette between my lips and rummaged around on the table until I found my lighter.

“I need your help,” Jacks said.

I lit up the cigarette. The first one is always the best one of the day. I breathed in the smoke and held it for a few seconds before letting it out. After I exhaled I looked at Jacks. “Good morning to you, too, asshole.”

“Cut the shit,” Jacks snapped. I could tell that this wasn't the time for pleasant banter. Jacks wanted to cut to the chase. So we cut to the chase.

“What's the case?”

“It's not a case,” Jacks informed me. “It's a personal thing.”

I raised my eyebrow. “A personal thing?”

“Yeah, a friend of mine's in some deep shit and I need you to watch out for her until we get shit straightened out.” Jacks was on the defensive. More so than usual, and worse than that, he was wound tight. That meant that this was some serious shit I was getting into.

“Jacks, you know I ain't a fucking babysitter,” I told him. I hated doing guard jobs. The people I wound up watching were always irritating. By the end of the job, I usually wanted them dead more than the people they were worried about. Jacks knew this.

“Levi, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important to me,” he told me, calming down a bit. “You're the best man for the job and I know I can trust you.” I paused with the cigarette halfway to my lips. Jacks doesn't normally get that deep. This was serious. Jesus. I stood from the futon and made my way to the kitchen. I got the feeling that I was going to need a drink. I held up the bottle of rum to Jacks and he nodded. I poured two glasses and handed one to him.

“All right,” I said when I was finished gulping down the booze. “What are the details?”

“A friend of mine has a contract out on her,” he told me. “A guy wants her dead for nabbing something that belonged to him. I just need you to keep her out of sight and out of mind until this whole thing blows over.”

“Blows over?”

“Yeah.” Jacks polished off his glass. “Until we get enough on him to put him away or until one of the contracts that are out on him come to the forefront.”

That was one thing that I always admired about Jacks. He didn't care who took the scumbags out. At the end of the day, as long as they were wearing a toe tag, it was just the same to him. I liked the way he thought things through, but I was still not entirely persuaded to babysit for him.

“I don't think I'm up for it,” I told him. I snuffed out my cigarette in the ashtray.

“Levi, I was asking only as a courtesy,” Jacks stated. “I need you to help me out. You owe me.”

I leaned back into my futon, bringing my palms up to my eyes. The month before, Jacks had put his badge on the line by letting me go talk to one of his arrests. To make a long story short, the arrest was eventually made, but the guy showed up on the cell block a lot worse for wear. Jacks was questioned at length about abusing the prisoner. Needless to say, nothing terrible happened. I brought my hands back down to my sides.

“What do I need to do?” I asked.

“Get ready to jet,” he said, and handed me a torn piece of paper and a key. “She's at this address. No one but me and you know that she's there.”

“What's her name?” I asked, taking the paper and the key and lighting another cigarette.

“Maise.”

“So, I just got to go over and sit with her?”

“You gotta make sure that she stays out of harm's way.”

“What time does she get her bottle?” Jacks shook his head and walked out the door. I called after him, “What about her nap?”

“Fuck off,” Jacks called as he walked down the hallway. I looked down at the paper in my hand. Great. Not only did I have to babysit, but it was in a shitty neighborhood to boot. I set the paper down on the table and got up to start my day.

After showering, I headed out to my Lincoln and drove to the apartment complex where Maise was holed up. I pulled into the first open spot and cut the engine. I took inventory of the lowlives hanging around the apartment complex. Most of them were Latino, with a few blacks and wiggas sprinkled in to give it some spice. I opened the car door and was greeted by the wafting smell of pot and the throbbing bass line to some bullshit slow jam. I looked at the address on the building in front of me and walked toward the door where three gangbanging thugs were standing around smoking a joint and being useless.

“Yo,
vato,
that's a nice ride,” one of them said as I passed them. I turned around and looked at the Lincoln, mentally saying good-bye to my hubcaps.

“Thanks,
esse.
” I nodded. “You seen any interesting people around here lately?”

“There's always interesting people around here, man,” he told me. “Shit, I'm talking to one right now.” His boys laughed like he was Don Rickles.

I pulled a fifty out of my wallet. “You let me know if you see anybody who doesn't belong,
comprende
?” The thug nodded. I turned to enter the apartment complex but the thug tapped my shoulder. I turned to look at him.

“You want to buy a rock, man?” he asked. He saw that I had money and his Spidey sense had told him I wasn't a cop. He was like a scavenger.

“No, thanks,” I said, opening the door. “I kicked the habit.”

When the door closed shut behind me, I kind of wished I had stayed outside a little longer. The hallway smelled like a mixture of piss and feet. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the single light that was barely living halfway down the hallway. Jacks had better hurry up and take care of this case. If I stayed here too long I might never be able to eat again.

I stepped over the drunken Mexican sleeping on the stairway and heard my foot crush a cockroach. This place was beyond disgusting. I felt like no amount of soap and water would ever wash the filth off of me. I hurried up the stairs and down the hallway. At least this hallway was a touch brighter. There was a light just outside the door of 213. I took my jacket off and twisted the light out of its socket. I crushed it and scattered the shards on the ground. That was taken care of. I put the key into the lock, hoping that Maise was a clean freak.

I pushed open the door and was met by a thin girl holding a rifle at my chest. I raised my hands and stepped cautiously into the room, closing the door behind me. She kept the rifle trained on me.

“Name's Levi,” I told her. “Jacks sent me up here. You must be Maise.”

“Let me see some ID,” she whispered. I kept one hand raised and slowly pulled out my wallet from my back pocket. She jerked her head. “Toss it over to me.” I nodded and lobbed it underhand so it hit the ground at her feet. She bent to pick it up and studied my license.

“How about putting the barrel of that thing down?” I asked. She looked from the license to me and back again before she hesitantly lowered her weapon. What a fucking greeting. I don't hit women, but it took all my self-control to keep my hand at bay so I didn't knock her block off. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cigarettes instead.

“Okay, let's get some things straight between us,” I said after I lit the smoke. “You're going to listen to what I say and you're going to do what you're told.” Maise looked at me with her big blue eyes and nodded her head. She looked like she was about to cry. I felt a slight twinge of guilt for wanting to punch her out a few moments earlier. She was far too naïve to be living this life. I pushed the feeling of pity aside. Better not to get too involved. Jacks was already involved enough for the both of us. I'd let him deal with that end of things. I took a drag of the cigarette and surveyed the apartment. It was tiny and lacked any sort of furniture aside from a shitty television set.

“For the time being, all we have to do is lay low,” I explained, trying to be a little nicer, “so that's exactly what we're going to do. Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Well, you might want to think about starting because we're going to go through a lot of time staring at the wall,” I informed her. I don't know if she believed me, because she kind of half smiled like I was kidding. A few days later, that smile had been clean wiped away and she was pacing the apartment in frustration.

“We've spent the last three days sitting around,” she ranted. “I've watched as much television as I can. I'm sick of playing cards and reading magazines and watching you smoke cigarettes. I need to go outside.”

“Sorry, lady,” I said to her, lighting another cigarette to add to the countless I had chain-smoked over the past seventy-two hours. “Not happening.”

“I'll just go stand in the courtyard. I won't leave the premises,” she pleaded. “I need to get some fresh air.”

“Open the window,” I told her, “but you ain't going outside.” Maise groaned in irritation and stormed off to the bedroom, which I was thankful for because at least that meant she was going to shut up and let me sit around in peace for a little while. God, I never want to have kids solely on the off chance that they would survive long enough to be teenagers. Granted, if I did have kids, there's no way in hell that they would become hookers, so at least I have that going for me. Maise slammed the door to the bedroom. Silence. Thank God for that.

I sat in the living room on the floor, leaned up against the wall, and smoked my cigarette, basking in the quiet. It was too bad that it didn't last long. Footsteps in the hallway. Jacks would've called if he was coming over. No one else knew we were here. It could be a neighbor, but I got the feeling that was doubtful. I froze and listened. The footsteps were coming up the hall. There was more than one person out there. I heard them treading on the wooden floor, trying to be quiet. Then I heard them walking on broken glass and the footsteps stopped. Good thing there was no cleaning crew. Whoever it was that was walking up the hall was now on the other side of the door. I pulled my piece out, cocked it, and jumped across the living area just as the door burst open.

I was right, there was more than one guy. There was at least a dozen coming through the door and those fuckers were all armed to the teeth. I started firing immediately but they just kept on coming. I took down three of them with my gun. I caught another one in the shoulder. One of them rushed me and I fired a wild shot before bringing the gun up to his temple and blowing his mind. Then my piece clicked. Fuck. I didn't have time to reload so I pulled my knife out and leapt in like a barbarian. These guys weren't expecting me to be there but they were trained well. They didn't let the surprise counterattack slow them down. Before I knew it, they were all in the apartment with me. I caught a couple of bullets, but they were only flesh wounds. Didn't matter, though, they still hurt like a bitch and there was only so much I could do with a knife. I had only taken out two more of them and I pissed off the rest of them. Great.

One of the guys brought his gun up and I grabbed his wrist and broke his arm against the kitchen doorframe. I slammed my palm into his nose. The bone broke and lodged into his brain. One more down. I went for the gun but one of the other guys grabbed a handful of my hair and slammed my face into the wall. I felt my nose shatter. I grabbed his hand and flipped him over me. He landed on the floor, and as I stepped on his throat, someone else tackled me from the side. I fell sideways, bashing my arm into the kitchen, and the dirty son of a bitch that tackled me sucker-punched me in the kidney. I winced for a split second and then all of the bastards were on top of me and I was pulled to the floor. With the beating going on, it took me a second to realize that I still had my knife in my hand. It was only a matter of a few seconds before I felt the warmth of fresh blood pooling around me. Then I was like a shark. The spilled blood gave me a new incentive. I stuck my knife in one of the guys, I couldn't tell where, but the popping sound it made when it broke the flesh sounded promising. I brought my hand back to stick him a second time but when I felt the back of my hand press up against the butt of a gun, I changed my tack. I dropped the knife and wrapped my fingers around the butt of the gun. The first shot I took, I didn't aim at anyone in particular. It caught one of the guys in the neck and caught the rest of them by surprise. That was my chance. My adrenaline was running high and I was able to knock the fuckers off of me and scramble to a knee. There were three of them left. They were all lifting their guns. Looked like the odds were against me, but I fired off another shot anyway. I hit one of the guys in the chest. He went over backward and I stumbled toward the living room. I had to keep them away from the bedroom. I turned on my heels and tried to fire off another shot. The fucking gun clicked again. Goddammit. It just wasn't my day. That's when the last two guys unleashed on me.

The bullets caught me mostly in the upper body, but one of them pulled high and caught me in the jaw. I felt my jaw shatter and I pitched backward. My back slammed against the bullet-riddled window and I heard it explode around me as I went through it. I tried to gain my balance, but it didn't help. I could feel myself falling. I saw blue sky for a split second before I hit the ground. Just before I fell into the darkness of a coma, I heard more gunfire. Looked like I fucked up.

When I woke up, days later, I didn't know where the fuck I was. Then I saw Jacks sitting in a chair next to me. I tried to ask him, but I couldn't move my lips. Or my arms. Or anything else, for that matter. Thankfully, Jacks saw that I was conscious.