Authors: Quincy J. Allen
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary Fiction, #Dystopian
Good Kids
Monkeys woke me for the second morning in a row, and it pleased me.
Maybe I should let Mag keep one of those monkeys around the house,
I thought to myself. Coming to my senses, I rejected the idea, thinking of all the monkey crap, and headed back into the house. I showered and got dressed quickly. With my jackets in hand, I walked through the front door in Costa Rica and stepped back into my loft. A rumbling stomach sent me in search of coffee and fritters, so I naturally ended up at Grady’s by way of my Victory V-twin Hammer.
I peered over my coffee at Kenny and his sister Abby as they walked into Grady’s café. I waved at them, and they waved back, giving me great big smiles. Smiles like that were what I considered icing on my daily cake. If I didn’t get smiles from the people in my life, I probably wouldn’t bother getting out of bed … or off the beach … at all. Smiles are intoxicating to me, and I’m a card-carrying junkie for them. Kenny broke off and headed for the back office to clock in. It was the beginning of his shift. Abby, however, came straight at me. As usual, the place was filled with the drone of people joining in the universal celebration of coffee, breakfast, and pastries to start the day.
“Can I join you?” she asked a bit hesitantly as she stepped up. She and I had never really spoken that much—a few hellos and goodbyes when she picked up or dropped off Kenny.
“Of course. Have a seat.” I moved an empty fritter-plate and the newspaper I had been reading out of her way as she sat down. “Can I get you anything?”
“I don’t have enough time. I’m headed to my other job.”
“Hold that thought,” I said, holding up my hand. “Marsha!” I hollered, waving at her behind the counter. She looked at me between customers and gave me a pleasant what-do-you-need look.
I held up my coffee with one hand, raised my index finger for “one” with my other and then pointed at Abbey and made a walking motion with my fingers. “STAT?” I asked.
Marsha nodded with a smile.
“And a fritter in a bag!” I added.
She nodded again and said something to Kenny I couldn’t hear.
“I got ya covered, Abby,” I said smiling. “Consider it payment for the smile.”
“Hunh?” she said a bit bewildered.
“Nothing,” I said warmly, brushing it aside. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to thank you,” she said a bit nervously.
“For what?” I couldn’t remember having done anything for Abby ever, let alone lately.
“Kenny would be dead or in jail, or dead in jail if it weren’t for you.”
It was my turn to smile. “Well … I had some help. Marsha’s the one who gave him the job. He’d probably get killed working for me. Or worse!” I added, grinning. We both laughed lightly.
“No, really, I mean it. You know my dad left after Kenny was born, right?”
“Yeah. Kenny mentioned it a while back. Sorry to hear it.”
“Not your fault. But when my mom overdosed a few years ago, it was just Kenny and me. Having to work two jobs meant I couldn’t spend much time with him. I blame myself for him getting into all that drug shit.”
“Never blame yourself. Even a kid makes his own choices, and Kenny made some bad ones. All Marsha and I did was give him an opportunity to make some good ones. That’s all.”
“You really have no idea, do you, Mister Case.” It was a statement, not a question, and there was something in her eyes that humbled me. “I wanted to thank you.”
“Call me Justin. All my friends do … well … most of them, anyway.” I gave her a big smile, and she returned it in kind. I wanted to make her do that more often. She was good at it. “And I just do what I do.”
“Thanks just the same. Whether you want to admit it or not, you saved him.” Kenny walked up with a refill for me plus a to-go cup and a paper bag.
“Thanks, Kenny,” I said. I finished off my original coffee and poured a healthy amount of sugar in the new one. It already had cream. Then I pushed the to-go cup and the bag at Abby. “For the road. Working two jobs must kick your ass.”
Abby blushed. “Thank you, Mister … uhhh … Justin,” she said a bit shyly.
“Don’t mention it. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and things will work out. I’m sure of it, okay?”
“Okay.” She stood up, grabbed the coffee and bag. Kenny and I watched her head out the door to their beat up Ford Bronco. Kenny turned halfway.
“Kenny?” I said, stopping him in mid-stride.
“Yeah?”
“Your sister’s alright, you know that?”
“Yeah, I do. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“Don’t ever forget that, kiddo. Now get back to work!” I ordered, laughing.
“Yes sir!” Kenny walked off smiling. It must be a family trait, I thought. They were both good at smiling.
I looked out the window at Abby’s Bronco. She was still trying to start it. It finally turned over, and a thick cloud of smoke blew out the tailpipe. I watched her put her head on the steering wheel for a few seconds. She raised her head, and I thought I saw tears on her face. It occurred to me that I might just have to help them out a little more. I picked up the newspaper, stirred my coffee, took a sip, and went back to reading the movie section of the paper. It’s all about the smiles, I thought to myself.
***
One Mystery Solved
I selected Rachel’s speed dial, typed “Can I stop by at 2?” and hit SEND. I’d spent the whole morning at Grady’s, drinking coffee and reading an assortment of theatrical rags from Marsha’s newsstand. I was wired from the highly sugared coffee and planned on skipping lunch after the three fritters I’d downed throughout the morning. I had to get to a bookstore, because what I needed I hadn’t programmed into my system yet. The process took a few days, and I just hadn’t spent the time.
My phone dinged as a message came in. “I’ll be here.”
I typed in “See you then” and sent the message. Putting the phone back in my pocket, I dropped a couple twenties on the table, scooped up my reading material and headed to the newsstand. I put back the magazines I’d read and headed for the door. The Lieutenant who had come with O’Neil the previous day stepped up to the door as I stepped out.
“Here,” I said cheerily and handed over the newspaper. He reflexively grabbed the newspaper and gave me a mild scowl. I get that from most of the cops that work for O’Neil. They’d all had to cover for me at one time or another at the behest of O’Neil, and I’d gotten the sense that most of them really resented it. I’d have to do something nice for the department to keep them smiling. I walked out into the parking lot, hopped on my bike, and headed for Hawthorne Books on the south side of Griffin Park. Ironically, it was only a few miles from the swimming pool I’d demolished.
Once there, I went straight for the Italian language section. It had occurred to me that a time might come while dealing with DiMarco’s men that a working knowledge of Italian might be handy. I grabbed a copy of
Italian for Dummies
and went over to the reading area. Taking a seat, I opened to page one and dug in.
O O O
My phone dinged with a new message, so I set the half-consumed book down and saw that the message was from Rachel.
“You coming?”
I looked at my watch to discover it was three o’clock. “Oops!” I said out loud. The people on either side of me looked up from their books. “I’m late,” I said apologetically to them, and they returned weak smiles before returning to their reading. I typed in “Sorry … Got distracted. On the way” and hit SEND.
I walked to the counter, paid for the book and headed back to my bike. Slipping the book into one of the leather side-bags, I hopped on and headed for Rachel’s. With traffic it took me another forty-five minutes to pull into her driveway.
I shut off the motor and walked up to her front door, rapping on the screen door. When she didn’t answer, I opened the door and stepped in.
“Rachel?” I yelled into the house.
“I’m on the patio!” she called back.
I walked through her house and out through the open sliding screen door to the patio. She lay face down out on a lounge chair, and wore a bikini. God damn she looked good. And there it was again. That feeling. A stack of printed pages sat on the small table next to her. She rolled over and looked at me through dark sunglasses, and it really put the hook in me. All I needed to do now was figure out how to … well … I guess I needed to figure out
what
I needed to do and then I could figure out how to do it.
“You’re late,” she said, scowling.
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I decided to pick up Italian and lost track of time at the bookstore.” I took off my coat and t-shirt and sat down in the chair across from her.
“That’s funny. I decided to learn Italian, too,” she said, smiling. I raised an eyebrow, once again impressed with her attitude of tackling things head-on. “I figured I’d need it if I’m going to start getting more involved with these guys.”
“Smart,” I said through a wide smile.
“There’s iced-tea in the fridge.”
“I’m okay. I’ve got about a gallon of coffee in me. In fact, could I …” I motioned to the bathroom.
“Go ahead,” she offered.
I stood up, headed back into the house and took care of my bursting bladder.
“I think I found some useful data on that guy you wanted me to dig into,” she hollered from the patio.
In the three years I’d known her, my admiration for Rachel never stopped going up. I finished up and headed back out to the patio. There were two glasses of iced tea on the patio table, one within easy reach of both of us.
As I stepped out into the sun, she reached over to the stack of paper and held up what appeared to be a county mug shot, orange jumpsuit and all. “Is this him?”
“Bingo,” I said, recognizing Jackie, despite the close-cropped hair in the photo. “So, he’s got a record?”
“Meth-maker. Busted the first time at the age of twenty-two. Served four in Federal. Two at Terminal Island and two at Metro, downtown. Guess who his bunkie was in Federal.”
“Who?” I asked, but I had a pretty good idea.
“Tommy Molfetta. He’s one of Bennie DiMarco’s guys, right?”
“Correct.”
“I called Sandy at the parole board and got some pretty good info. The guy’s name is Jack Shao. Born in ’78, raised here in L.A. graduated a year ahead of schedule with a B.S. in chemistry, summa cum laude. Then kicked out of the UCLA grad-program a year later. Couldn’t find out why.”
“Wait. He would have graduated in ’02. And Grad-school in ’03 at UCLA?” An interesting possibility occurred to me.
“Yep.”
“Xen got his PhD in ’03.”
“Think they knew each other?”
“Maybe … it’s a big school, but aren’t the super-stars in programs like that pretty well known in University circles?”
“It was like that when I went to school,” she confirmed.
“I’ll have to ask Xen about that when I see him tonight. Go on.”
“Well, Jackie disappears for a year and then gets busted on a minor possession. The case is thrown out for improper search, and his parole officer gets him a job at VeniCorp in ’06. He’s been there ever since.”
I sat there thinking for a bit. “It’s starting to come together, Rachel. God, I love this job.” I looked at her with open admiration on my face. “Nice work, by the way.”
“Don’t be too impressed. It wasn’t that hard. When do you see Xen?”
“Eleven. Grady’s.”
“Want me to come?”
“Not on this one. He’s on the run, and there’s no telling what might happen. However, a job well done deserves a killer dinner. How about the Sunset Grill?”
“You got thrown out of an airplane the last time we went there.”
“But I like the food.”
“I feel like Italian, and I want to get into character. You’re taking me to the Ago.” She smiled mischievously, knowing the Ago to be one of the nicest and most expensive Italian bistros in the city.
“Am I?”
“You are,” she looked at me greedily. “Like you said, you owe me.”
I sighed, resigning to my fate and a $500 dinner tab. “Deal. You’re worth it. But you can’t go like that,” I pointed out, eyeing her up and down. “I don’t have time to get into any fights defending your honor. The way you look, I’m certain someone would want to besmirch it.”
“Besmirch? Me?” she asked, grinning wickedly.
“You know what I mean.”
“I think I do. I’ll go get dressed. You going like that?”
“Don’t I always?”
“One of these days I’m going to get you dressed up. I’ve never seen you in a tuxedo.”
“And you probably never will.”
“It’s a bet.” She practically leapt out of the lounge chair and rushed inside.
***
Uninvited Guests
I sat at the bar in the back room of Grady’s, thinking fondly about my dinner with Rachel. I sipped a cup of tea with ’40s big band music playing in the background. I’d dropped her off at her place around ten after a really wonderful meal, a couple bottles of really good wine, and positively soothing conversation. Without a doubt, Rachel was my favorite person on Earth, and I’d become increasingly more comfortable being around her, especially in the past few months. However, despite enjoying myself as much as I did, something at the back of my mind kept eating at me.
I had a weird feeling about the meeting with Xen all through dinner. I’d learned to trust my instincts early in my existence, so I’d stopped at my loft on the way to Grady’s, trading out my motorcycle for the Chrysler and bringing Mag along. As Marsha had promised, the place was closed down, and there were no cars in the parking lot. I parked the Chrysler in the alley, and the two of us went in through the back door using the keys Marsha had given me. Once in, I unlocked the front and fixed myself a cup of tea.
I told Mag to hide behind one of the sofas closest to the front door and stay there camouflaged unless there was trouble. She wouldn’t move unless I said so. Xen knew I had a cougar and had even seen her a few times, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary to show him her true form yet. Luck favors the prepared mind, and I didn’t want to get caught with my pants down. Besides, if it came down to it, I did trust Xen at least enough to walk through the routine I’d come up with about Magdelain being a genetic mutation of a cougar and how I’d found her during a case years earlier. The story had worked before with Marsha and a few others.
I went behind the bar and poured myself another cup of tea just as the little hand closed in on the eleven. As I sat back down, I heard the doorknob of the back door turn. I leaned way over sideways so I could see the back door. I saw Xen’s face appear and disappear through the barely open door. He was bald and hadn’t been the last time I saw him. The clock showed eleven o’clock sharp. As usual, Xen was right on time.
“It’s okay Xen. It’s just me,” I called out. “Come on in.” I headed towards the back door as he stepped in and closed it quickly behind him. Xen is a not-thick-not-thin five-foot-seven and had taken to my training like a fish to water. He wore black boots, black jeans and a black long-sleeve pullover. I noted dark circles under his eyes; eyes that held fatigue, fear, and something else I’d never seen before—resolved strength. The past week and a half had clearly changed him. We met halfway and gave each other a huge hug.
“It’s good to see you, man,” I said.
“It’s good to be seen,” he replied, slapping me on the back as we released.
“C’mon. I’ll pour you some tea,” I offered.
“Bourbon,” he said like a veteran drinker.
“You don’t drink.”
“After killing a hit man downtown and living on the run for a week, I started.
Bourbon
,” he repeated firmly.
“Okay.” I stepped behind the bar, got a couple of tumblers and pulled down a bottle of Wild Turkey. I poured two fingers worth into each glass and pushed one over to Xen. He gulped down a finger’s worth, set the glass down and stared at me for a few seconds. I waited for the gasp-cough from the bourbon burning down’s his throat, but he didn’t even flinch.
“What the hell did you get me into?” Xen asked with a taint of anger. He’d obviously pieced together that his troubles began when I’d given him that data.
“I swear, Xen, I didn’t know,” I pleaded. “And I’m only starting to piece things together now.” I gave him an impressed look. “Good work with the faked death, by the way. You scared the hell out of me, you know.”
“Scared the hell out of you? I haven’t slept in a week.”
“I bet.”
“And there’s more. I’d met someone … and she doesn’t know either. I didn’t know if I could trust her.”
“Natalia?”
“Yeah, she’s … how did you?—”
“She’s the one who told me you were dead. Listen, Xen. About Natalia …”
“What?” he asked, suddenly fearful.
The back door opened, and four, thick-built men walked in. Cold murder filled their eyes, and every one of them had eastern-bloc features. Xen and I looked at each other and back at the men without saying a word. A few seconds later, the front door to the parlor opened up, and three more walked in.
“Can you take two?” I whispered to Xen, nodding to the two guys at the front door.
“I’ll bloody well try, but there’s three,” he said with more confidence than I expected.
“You just have to worry about two of them.” He gave me a worried look. “Trust me,” I added. “If they have guns, follow my lead. If not, stay alive and kill them if you can. Get behind the bar,” I added under my breath. I faced the four at the back of the parlor. “Hi!” I said brightly, as if they were old friends I hadn’t seen in years. I stepped around the bar towards them. “The place is closed tonight. You must not have gotten the message.” One of the men stepped up and caught me with a fast right across the chin. No one else moved. I straightened up, running my tongue over my teeth.
“So, it’s going to be that way, hunh?” I concluded, still smiling.
“Bennie DiMarco sends his regards,” the man said with a slight Russian accent. “He paid us extra to take our time in beating you to death.”
The three men at the front door headed for Xen who had stepped back behind the bar. I moved towards the middle of the parlor, and the remaining four carefully moved around me.
“I don’t suppose we could make a deal, could we?” I asked hopefully. “I’m rich.”
The man simply shook his head.
“I was afraid of that.” I sighed tiredly as I positioned myself, putting the one who had clocked me to my right.
“Mag?” I said loudly and clearly. The four men looked at each other, not understanding. “Front door. NOW!” As I heard an ear-splitting snarl, I spun with blinding speed to my right. I drove my elbow as hard as I could into the throat of the man who had spoken. I felt his larynx collapse, crushed completely with the impact, and he flew back through the entrance to the bar. In the same motion I kicked out with my left leg, hammering my boot into another man’s crotch, catching him completely by surprise. He grunted once and staggered back into the hallway towards the back door, bent over and gasping for breath with his hands grasping at his wrecked testicles. Did I mention I don’t fight fair?
The man with the collapsed throat smashed into a tall rack of wineglasses and fell to the floor, holding his throat as he turned blue. A man’s screams filled the room, and there was a horrible snarling sound as Magdelain tore into one of the men who had come in the front door.
The two left on Xen came at him fast, but with Xen behind the bar, only one could really get at him. Xen went into a defensive stance, using the bar as protection. The two left around me kicked at my mid-section. I blocked one kick and grabbed the leg of the second man. I crouched down, spinning as I went. My back leg swept under the legs of the first kicker who tumbled to the ground. Turning, I dragged the captured leg with me, completed a full rotation, and heard a sick popping sound as his knee dislocated. I sent him flying headfirst into one of the large TV monitors beyond the conversation pit. Sparks flew as his head shattered the screen and he slumped to the floor, motionless except for one leg twitching.
I took a quick look behind the bar. Xen was doing okay, mostly blocking the attacks of the first man, but the second had leapt up onto the bar and dropped down behind Xen.
“Xen!” I yelled.
Without looking Xen shot out a back-kick that caught the man in the chest just as he landed on the floor behind the bar. Grunting and staggering back, he tripped over the legs of the still-choking man and fell directly into a rack of wine bottles that shattered as he collapsed on top of my first victim. He was down but not out, and started to get back up, albeit slowly.
The man I had tripped came up cautiously, approaching me with something in his hand. We were both in solid fighting stances, and I had no doubt every one of these guys was a pro. I heard a loud, metallic click as the blade came out of the guy’s cowpuncher, a switchblade of particularly deadly design. I looked at the knife and then at him, a subtle smile on my face.
He held the knife with point outward in line with his thumb. He might be a pro, but I knew immediately that he wasn’t a knife fighter. The good ones hold the blade pointing down, away from their pinky fingers. I shook my head as we closed. I calmly stepped back from the first slash and then the back swing, waiting for my opening. I widened my hands, inviting a stab.
Taking the bait, he came in low and fast, trying to catch me in the belly. My hand moved down in a flash, grabbing his hand in an iron grip. I raised his hand, twisting his arm outward and opening him up. He was already leaning forward, and my knee came up into his belly like a piston, picking him up off the ground and forcing the air out of his lungs. As I looked past the man doubled-over in front of me, I saw the guy I had first kicked in the balls straightening up and pulling out a Makarov from his shoulder holster. He’d finally gotten his wind back and seemed intent on shooting us rather than beating us to death.
I tore the knife away from the man in front of me, spun him around, and using him as a shield, charged full speed at the guy with the pistol. I glanced at Xen and realized he was in trouble behind the bar. One of the killers held him from behind, his arms pinned, while the other worked Xen’s mid-section with fast punches. Then another snarl filled the parlor.
Gunshots rang out as the man fired the Makarov. There were more screams, this time from behind the bar as Mag tore into another one of them. I pressed my living shield into a hail of bullets. At full speed and with every ounce of strength, I smashed the two men together into the back door of the parlor. The eyes of the man with the gun rolled back in his head as he slammed against the steel door. In a fast motion, I slit the throat of my shield, finishing the job the gunman had started, and then buried the switchblade deep into the dazed left eye of the shooter.
Hearing screams and snarls from behind the bar, I spun. I stepped out to see Xen being held firmly by the last man and dragged backwards towards the wall of TV screens. Xen stopped struggling, planted his feet and came up with a heel directly into the crotch of the man holding him. The guy yelped and let go. Xen spun, crouching as he did and caught the guy with a palm-strike in the solar plexus. The man doubled over, helpless. Xen grabbed the guy’s hair in both hands, raised his head up and then brought the guy’s face down hard into an up-coming knee. He grunted as he put everything he had into it. The guy’s face exploded, his nose and cheeks caving in completely. He flew up and back, his feet lifting off the ground, and sailed into the TVs mounted on the wall behind him. He fell to the floor with two monitors following him down, crashing on top of his lifeless body.
The room went silent except for the dripping of wine from a few bottles hanging precariously in the broken rack. Mag came out from behind the bar, her muzzle and claws covered in blood. One of her eyes had swelled shut and she walked with a slight limp. Xen wordlessly walked behind the bar, slammed down his remaining finger of Wild Turkey, and grabbed my half-full glass.
“You okay?” I asked as he stepped away from me. He glared at me over the Wild Turkey as he leaned back against the bar and held his ribs with one hand. I walked up to the bar, exploring Xen’s face. He downed the drink fast, gasping a bit, and shook his head at me.
“I’m pretty goddamn far from okay,” he said, his eyes a bit wild and adrenaline poured through his system.
I looked him over and realized that he’d done more than held his own against two professional killers. “Not bad Xen. Not bad at all,” I said quietly.
I took off my coat and laid it over one of the bar stools. Grabbing the bottle of bourbon, I poured myself a drink and downed it. Then I set the glass down on the bar next to Xen’s.
A shot rang out from the front door, and I heard Mag howl in agony. I spun to see a dark-haired man a bit shorter and thicker than me, wearing a black suit. He held a gun in one hand and a gasoline can in the other. He had a black goatee.
The Russian
, I thought, remembering Yvgenny’s warning.
“Impressive, gentlemen,” he said with a harsh Russian accent. I looked at Mag who had collapsed on the floor, panting heavily. Blood oozed from the bullet hole in her side. Rage filled me, the old rage, the one I try to keep bottled up so no one can see what I used to be … what I was created to be. I didn’t care what Xen saw. I stepped away from the bar and moved towards the Russian.
Two more shots filled the gambling parlor, catching me in the chest. I felt the bullets tear through me and heard them shatter a mirror behind the bar. Pain screamed through my body. I coughed up a mouthful of blood and collapsed mid-stride, lying motionless on the floor with my face turned towards Xen, eyes open. Xen’s glass slid from his hand and shattered behind the bar, his eyes wide with terror.
***