Suckerpunch: (2011) (33 page)

Kendall melted onto the concrete and tried to wipe the blood and tears out of his eyes with his working arm. “Jesus. Ah, what the fuck did you do to me, you crazy bitch?”

Marcela responded in Portuguese and kicked him in the knee.

“All right, knock it off. Shit.” He managed to get his feet under him and work his shoulder blades up the garage door. He looked around and laughed. “What a cluster fuck, huh?”

I stepped toward him.

Marcela yanked me back. “I gave him enough.”

“He—”

“It’s up to me,” she said. And she was right.

Kendall looked around again. “Hey, where’s Big Jake?”

“I think you shot him,” I said.

“Oh yeah. Bastard tried to get my gun. You believe that?” He peeled himself off the door and wavered, staring down the driveway. The gridlock made him swear. He let his right arm hang and fumbled across his body with his left to get the keys out of his pocket. He shuffled past us and said, “All right, Eddie. Those Yakuza, they ain’t gonna like what I tell them. I’m sending them all your way. You’re on your own now.”

Eddie looked at me. “You’re letting him leave?”

I didn’t answer.

Kendall got in his car and struggled to work the keys in, eventually got it started. It was a quiet car. He had to lean over and shift into Drive with his left hand.

Marcela pulled me toward the garage door out of the way. I brought Eddie with me.

He said, “Don’t be stupid, man. Don’t believe for a second he’s done with you guys.”

Marcela nodded. “He’ll get lost in the desert. We’ll call the police on him.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Maybe?”

Kendall took his foot off the brake and let the car roll toward the ravine. He hit the lip at an angle and skidded sideways out of view. It was a good way to get down the slope at a controlled speed.

I turned Marcela around and got her facing me. Put my hands over her ears. She frowned for a second, saw the look on my face, and brought her little hands up to cover my ears.

“What are you two doing?” Eddie asked.

Whatever Kendall ran over on his way down the slope, it made a fireball big enough to lift his car into view for a moment; then it was gone.

We took our time down the driveway.

Chops was waiting for us at the truck, surveying the lumps of clothes scattered around the gate. None of us looked too closely. He rubbed his hands together. “Busy day tomorrow.”

“Tezo?”

Chops motioned toward the wall. “Tried to come over the berm. I checked the tattoos. The neck ones, anyway. No hard feelings?”

“I’m too tired for those. Can you let my truck out?”

“Sure, yeah. Hey, these two, do they need to be debriefed about all of this?”

“I’ll handle it.”

Close to one in the morning in Vegas, so traffic was as bad as ever. The holes and cracks in the windshield didn’t help. I drove west on roads that would not take me past Tezo’s garage.

I dropped Eddie behind the Golden Pantheon. Before he got out, I asked him, “What are you going to do about the Yakuza?”

“I have no idea.” He looked like someone had cut his puppet strings. He spoke to the dashboard. “So, what? I guess I owe you one now?”

“Everybody owes somebody.”

“Shit.” He got out and I drove away.

I found my phone. Twenty missed calls, all from the gym. I brought up the number, but before I could start the call, Marcela took the phone out of my hand and put it in the glove compartment.

“Hey.”

“Pull over.”

“Where?”

“This place, the restaurant.”

“You’re hungry?”

“Woody, shut up and do it.”

I pulled into the lot.

“In the back under that palm tree.”

No one else was parked nearby. I rolled into a spot and looked at her.

“Shut it all off.”

I turned the key.

She grabbed it out of the ignition and put it in the glove compartment with the phone.

“Jairo—”

“They will all wait.” Marcela pulled her shirt over her head and started on mine.

“Easy,” I said. “I’m sore.”

She laughed. “Just wait.”

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