BLACK to Reality (25 page)

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bobby said, his voice tight from the pain.

“Don’t waste my time. We know your partner’s going to be back any minute, so game’s over. Last time – where is she?”

Bobby refused to answer. Stan nodded, and Black called out.

“Roxie?”

From the rear stateroom a small voice answered.

“Boss?”

Black nodded and moved to the door, down the stairs on the far side of the salon. He kicked the wooden wedge that had been jammed under the door to keep it from opening and twisted the knob. Roxie burst from the stateroom and hugged him so tight it took his breath away. Black held her close, her hair smelling like ambrosia against his face, and whispered to her, “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Stan, sensing that this would be the moment where Bobby would be likeliest to make his move, stepped back and gripped his pistol with both hands, assuming a modified Weaver stance to signal he was serious about punching the kidnapper’s ticket. Bobby appreciated the professionalism, and his shoulders sagged as his interest in committing suicide appeared to wane.

Black released Roxie and studied her face. “Did they hurt you?”

She shook her head, tears of relief welling in her eyes. “Not yet. But that one was taking dibs on raping me after they called you.”

Stan’s face could have been carved out of granite as he moved to Bobby and pistol-whipped him unconscious. He wiped the blood off his gun butt with the man’s hoodie and stepped back. Black caught his cold glare.

“What now?”

“Now we wait for the other one.”

Chapter 34

Tony was whistling as he made his way back down the gangplank, a brown paper bag containing ham and cheese sandwiches in one hand, a cardboard tray with two cups of coffee in the other. He was getting ready to set the bag down and fiddle with the lock when one of the boat cleaners jogged toward him and opened the door. Tony nodded a curt thanks as the man held out his hand, obviously wanting a tip.

“
Gracias
,” Tony said and brushed past him, having no intention of giving the man any money. He pretended not to understand the muttered curse and continued down the concrete dock to where
Downtime
was bobbing gently. He took careful steps up the stairs, mindful of the hot coffee in his hand, and dropped onto the deck, his balance perfect even after the long night.

The surprise on his face was genuine when he swung the cabin door wide and found himself confronting two armed men who looked like they knew how to use their weapons. He froze as the older of the pair moved toward him.

“Put the goodies on the deck by your side. Do it,” Stan said.

“What is this?”

“A birthday party. Now shut up and put down the crap, and don’t try to reach for your ankle holster. That’s right. I can see it from here.”

Black tilted his head to get a better look at Tony. “He means it. He gets grumpy when he’s tired.”

Tony slowly knelt, set the tray and bag on the teak planks, and then stood. “Now what?”

“Lie face down on the deck while my friend relieves you of temptation,” Stan said.

Tony grudgingly lay down, the wood decking warm against his face, and Black took his gun. Stan approached the doorway and cleared his throat. “Now come into the boat. We’re going to have a nice little chat, and if I’m feeling generous, you’ll walk away from this alive.”

Black stood by the transom, well away from Tony, training the kidnapper’s weapon on him, having slipped his own gun back into his belt. Tony rose and stepped into the salon, an ugly expression on his handsome face. Stan motioned to the couch.

“Sit.”

Black returned with the bag and coffee and set them on the counter. “Coffee smells great, and we’re both starved. Thanks a million. Roxie? Come on up. Food’s on.” Black glowered at Tony as the aft stateroom door opened and Roxie joined them. “I’m guessing you didn’t feed her or give her anything to drink. Call that a hunch.”

Roxie shook her head. “Not a thing. Pricks.”

Tony’s face registered surprise. “Wait. You know her. You’re…you’re Black.”

“Every day, Einstein. Now you can start by telling me why you kidnapped my friend.”

“Screw you.”

Stan moved into the kitchen and opened drawers, all the time watching Tony. In the bottom he found something promising – a short, aluminum baseball bat used to stun large fish.

“Not very accommodating, are you. Maybe after I break a kneecap, you’ll reconsider,” Stan said.

“Who are you?” Tony snarled.

Stan looked pensive. “I’m Roxie’s friend, and I’m really annoyed you put me to this much trouble. Let’s make this easy. I’m not going to warn you again. If you don’t answer my questions, your left kneecap goes. After you come to, I’ll go to work on the right. Eventually you’ll talk. Roxie, sweetheart, you want to get some sun?”

“I heard them talking about beer,” she said as she swung the refrigerator open. “Ah. Here we go. I’ll close the door after me so nobody can hear the screams. That work for you?” she asked, grabbing her purse from the counter.

“Perfect.”

The door slamming behind her sounded like a rifle shot. Stan held the bat up and considered it. “Keep your gun on him,” he said to Black.

“You got it, boss.”

“Your pal’s going to need hospitalization for his head. It would be a pity if you couldn’t walk by the time this is over. Who’s going to help him? So here’s question number one. Why kidnap Roxie?”

An internal struggle played across Tony’s face. “To keep him from playing tonight,” he said.

“Why?”

“Why do you think?”

Stan shook his head. “See, we were making progress, and now we’re back to you bullshitting me. If I ask you a question, I want an answer, not another question. Get it? Why do you want him not to play?”

“So the other band wins.”

Stan exchanged a glance with Black. “Why is that important to you? I can tell you’re pro. Mobbed up, am I right? I can smell it on you.”

Tony didn’t say anything.

“Why does the mob want to stop my buddy from playing?”

“I don’t know.”

Without warning, Stan swung the bat and shattered the glass front of the microwave. “Remember what I said about not answering my questions?”

“Look, you can beat me senseless, but I still won’t know.”

“Who are you working for?”

“Santa.”

“Very funny. You want the left or the right one gone first?”

“I mean it. They don’t tell me that shit. They said snatch the bitch, keep her on ice, call numbnuts there and get him to Mexico. That’s it.”

Black shook his head. “I don’t believe him. Who is it? Alex? Rooster? Come on. Talk.”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know. All I know is what they tell me.”

Black glanced at his watch and then at Stan. “I need to get out of here. It’s going to take a while to get back to L.A. Take out a kneecap and let’s see if he sticks to his story.”

Stan tossed Black a bundle of nylon rope. “Tie him up like his friend.”

Black obliged, and within five minutes the mobster was trussed, immobile. Stan considered Black’s handiwork and paused in front of Tony. “I’m going to leave you two to your fate. Notice that I’m not going to beat you to a pulp for exercise, even though I’m tempted. That’s because I’m a kind-hearted soul. But if I ever see either of you again, I’ll put a bullet in you.”

Black nodded. “He’s not kidding.”

“You’re dead. You know that, right?” Tony spat.

“See? That shows you’re unclear on the principle. And here I was thinking I wouldn’t open the sea cocks and sink this tub with you on board. That’s the thanks I get.” Stan moved to the hatch.

“No,” Black said. “Come on. Let’s go. The stink of this guy is making me sick.”

“Grab his cell phone,” Stan said and went into the aft stateroom for a moment before reappearing. “That wasn’t hard. Hope you guys can swim. It’ll take a good hour to sink. What’s that you goombahs say? Sleeping with the fishes?”

Tony glared at him in silence.

As they walked up the dock, Roxie in the lead as the sun shimmered on the surface of the water, Black turned to Stan. “That wasn’t a bad idea about sinking it, you know. But you didn’t do it, did you?”

“I’d vote for sinking,” Roxie interjected.

“That’s not a surprise,” Black affirmed.

Stan grinned. “I had a better idea. I stashed their guns under the pillows in the bedroom. We’ll call the cops, they’ll find them with their guns, and their problems will have just begun. I’ve heard you never want to see the inside of a Mexican jail. Want to bet that’s no exaggeration?”

“You’re an evil man, my friend,” Black said.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Chapter 35

Rooster locked his condo door and took the stairs down to the underground garage, a spring in his step. The day was shaping up to be a good one. He hadn’t gotten any more angry calls once he’d delivered the bad news about Black’s escape after the night club attack – Rooster had tried the best he could, but it hadn’t worked out, so the problem would have to be solved by someone else. That wasn’t his line of work, anyway, and it had been stupid to involve him overtly.

His BMW started with a purr, and he eyed the glowing dash dials with satisfaction before putting it in reverse and backing out of the stall. His only luxury other than his guitar collection, the sedan was all he really had to show for a forty-plus-year career and millions of records sold. The studio was a mountain of debt, with no prospects now that technology had rendered it obsolete. Most acts these days could record an album’s worth of material for a fraction of what it used to cost, and big facilities like his had been one of the first casualties.

Traffic to the studio was light. He took his time – he had all afternoon before he had to be at the show for the finals. Maybe a long lunch to celebrate the end of the season. He could expense it to the program and nobody would blink, he knew. One of the perks.

He parked in the alley behind the studio and locked the car with a press of the key fob. Nobody would mess with his car. He was considered royalty in the neighborhood, above being screwed with by the predators. It didn’t hurt that he had strong ties to the gang that ran these blocks, having helped several of the members cut rap tracks at a reduced rate. One hand washed the other. It was the way it had always been.

Two Caucasian men stepped from behind the dumpster near the mouth of the alley. Rooster immediately knew he was in trouble. They didn’t say anything, just closed in on him fast. He tried to turn and run, but age and slick pavement conspired against him, and they reached him before he could make it far. The sharp spikes of pain from long blades plunging into him again and again were like white-hot needles, and when one of the men stabbed into the base of his neck and severed his spinal cord, it was almost a relief.

Rooster lay still, blood pooling around him, and the shorter of the two attackers removed his wallet and watch before turning and joining his partner at the alley mouth. By the time Rooster was discovered and identified it would be night, and the show would have gone on without him, the world continuing to revolve
sans
the bluesman, his musical legacy the only reminder of a life that had ended brutally on a strip of dank asphalt, an apparent victim of a mugging gone horribly wrong.

Chapter 36

Stan sighed in frustration as he sat in an endless line of cars snaking a solid mile from the border crossing. They’d only advanced a hundred yards in the last forty-five minutes. Legions of enterprising locals hawked Tweety Birds and bottles of questionable water to the captive audience in the chain of vehicles.

Black nervously checked the time. “At this rate I’m never going to make it. It’s already two. The show starts at six. No way do we get through this in an hour.”

“Sorry, buddy. Wish I had a helicopter. You’re probably right, though. This seems more like a two-hour wait, minimum. Too bad we didn’t take the turnoff to the Otay Mesa crossing. That might have been lighter.”

“How far do you think we are from the border?” Roxie asked.

“The last sign said a mile. That was maybe a quarter mile ago,” Stan said.

Black glared at the procession of vehicles in front of him. “I’m going to walk. I’ll get a car on the other side.”

“Probably want to leave your gun here, then. Just saying,” Stan reminded him. Black took the belt holster off and handed it to Stan, who slipped it into his glove compartment. “The good news is I’m a cop, and the only ones checking anything at the border are Americans. I can talk my way through that if they decide to strip search me or something.”

“I’m going with you,” Roxie said.

Black shrugged. “You sure you can walk in those heels?”

“Watch me.”

They set out, moving past a man displaying a multicolored blanket made in China, into a sea of controlled pandemonium of beggars holding babies, popsicle vendors burned brown by the sun, and children barely old enough to walk selling Chiclets. An old woman held up a small ceramic pipe crafted in an obscene depiction of female anatomy, and Roxie waved her off.

“You sure this is a good idea?” she asked.

“Do you have any better ones?”

“The limo thing didn’t end well, so I suppose not.”

“Tell me about that.”

“The driver picked me up at my place and took me to a restaurant to meet Alex. He wasn’t there. That Tony slimeball approached me after a few minutes and said he’d been delayed. Once they got me outside, they pulled guns. You know the rest.”

Black marched along in silence. “Doesn’t look so good for Alex, does it?”

“I don’t know what to think right now.”

“Roxie, I know you like him…”

“I can unlike him if he set me up to be raped and killed.”

“Usually you don’t get to the murder thing until after you’re married,” Black agreed.

“Which I totally understand.”

Black wiped a bead of sweat off his face. “I’m sorry, Roxie.”

“Don’t be. You saved my life.”