How Do You Like Your Blue-Eyed Boy? (9 page)

If he was fazed at all, he wasn’t showing it. “What do you want?”

“I’m accusing you of murder, you piece of shit.”

“I heard you. So what?”

“So do you deny it?”

“I’m not denying anything. I don’t have to answer to any fucking trash who walks in off the street. Now you’d better tell me what you want, or go and insult somebody else. I’ve got work to do.”

“Fuck you. You killed Tim Wolvern.”

He didn’t answer. Just sat there.

“You did it, didn’t you?”

Still no answer. Then he tapped his wristwatch. “I think you’d better be going.”

“Suck my asshole. I’ll go when I’m finished talking to you.”

“You’re talking
at
me.”

He must have pressed some kind of alarm button, because the door opened behind me and a voice said, “What’s up?”

The guy had the kind of build you see on security guards at big rock concerts. He was so heavy he looked fat, though he wasn’t. He was a huge ball of muscle with arms and legs and a head sticking out incongruously.

I looked back at Fallowell. “Tony, Tony. Your boyfriend doesn’t have to be upset. I don’t see you that way.”

“I’ve been listening to this kind of crap since this guy got here,” Fallowell told his flunky. “Escort him outside, and if he gives you any mouth, you can teach him some manners.”

The guy pointed to the door. “Let’s go,” he told me.

“I’m going,” I said. “But why don’t you teach me some manners first?”

He looked at Fallowell, who nodded and said, “If that’s what he wants...”

The guy came at me without even bothering to protect himself. I slipped the punch he swung at me, and smashed the heel of my right hand into his face, screaming,
“Kihap!”
. His expression didn’t change, but he took a step back and raised his fists in a boxing stance. Blood ran down his chin from his mangled lips. He came after me again, but wary now. I threw a crescent kick at his ribs, and it landed full force. But I think it hurt my leg more than his ribs. He gasped, but he didn’t fold. I staggered a little, thrown off balance by the force of impact, and he grabbed me and took me down. As we fell, he got in a punch to my face that would probably have broken my jaw if the direction of the fall hadn’t been taking me away from it. As it was, I nearly blacked out.

He had me on my back, his hands around my throat. I reached up and got my hands around his throat, squeezed as hard as I could. But he squeezed harder, and what little breath I could draw came in whistling shrieks. The guy was saying something, but it was drowned out by the pounding of the blood in my head. Then I saw Fallowell tap him on the shoulder, and the hands were taken from my throat.

“You were liable to kill him,” I heard Fallowell say as the air rushed into my lungs. “Be careful.”

“Sure,” the guy said, standing up. Then he kicked me in the side, nailing one of my kidneys with the toe of his shoe. I screamed, but, as I did, I rolled over and went into a spin, swinging a leg into the backs of the guy’s knees, kicking his legs from under him. As he fell, I got up and stumbled toward the door. Fallowell was standing near it, and from the look on his face I could tell that his man was right behind me. I half turned, saw him, and snapped a side kick at his knee. It doesn’t matter how big you are—everybody’s kneecaps are the same. And my kick shattered his. As he fell, I cut off his scream with a knife-hand strike to the side of his neck. As he flopped on his back, I brought an ax-kick down on his stomach. Vomit shot out of his mouth in a geyser that reached two or three feet high. When it stopped, I went down on top of him, grabbed his hair, and pounded his head into the floor a few times. I wanted to keep on going until his brains leaked out of his ears. But the sound of him choking on his puke got through to me, and I forced myself to stop. I rolled him onto his side, and the puke spilled out of his mouth and onto the floor, steam rising from it in the air-conditioned chill.

I stood up.

I walked toward Fallowell. “Want some too?” I asked.

“You’re a fucking psycho. I don’t know what you’ve got against me. I don’t know anything about what you said.”

“Whatever.” I spat a mouthful of blood in his face. “If you call the cops, you’d better hope they figure out who I am and find me before I come back here and tear your fucking throat out.” He didn’t say anything. “Tell your boyfriend thanks for the lesson in manners.”

As I walked through the reception area, I gave his receptionist a bloody smile and a wink. Then I got in the elevator. When it reached the ground floor and the doors opened, I fell into a hapkido stance, thinking he might have somebody waiting for me. But nobody even looked at me as I walked hurriedly out of the building, then ran to my car in the heat.

I started the car, hauled ass out of the lot, and drove a few blocks up Central Avenue. Then I pulled into another lot and parked. I checked out my face in the rearview. My lower lip was split, and could have used some stitches. My upper lip was swollen so big I looked clownish. My throat was red and black. There was no other visible damage, but I was worried about the ache in my kidneys.

I drove home. When I walked into the apartment, Janine was sitting on the couch, readying
Vanity Fair
or something. She started to say hi, then looked at me. “What the fuck, Andy—”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” I said. “I’m okay. But I want to take a bath and relax, okay?”

She just stared at me, shaking her head.

I went into the bathroom and shut the door. As the bath filled with water, I sat down on the toilet and pissed. When I’d finished, I stood up and looked at the toilet bowl. There was some blood, which was what I’d been afraid of. I gently touched my abdomen with my fingers, then pressed harder. It didn’t feel too bad.

I flushed the toilet, then got in the bath. I lay there and breathed slowly, imagining that I was breathing out all the pain and garbage in a black cloud that floated away on the steam from the water. While I was doing that, the door opened and Janine came in.

“What happened?”

“Just let me have this bath, then I’ll tell you.”

“You got in a fight?”

“Yeah.”

“You went after Fallowell, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“You asshole. What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything to him. One of his heavies messed with me.”

“He did that to you?”

“Yeah.”

“Christ. And what happened?”

“I messed with him.”

“You are such a fucking idiot.”

“Janine, I’m hurting. Okay? Beat up on me later.”

“Where did it get you? Have you found anything out? Has Tim come back to life?”

“No, but I feel better.” Seeing her about to explode, I added, “And I think I might find something out. I definitely put a scare into Fallowell. He’s a small-time thug. He’s not used to being stood up to. You should have seen his face when his boy couldn’t kick my ass. If I lean on him enough, I’ve got a feeling he might cave in.”

She was quiet for a moment, just reached out and touched my face. Then she said, “You think he did it?”

“Honestly, I know he did. I can’t prove it. But I could smell it on him. And he’s so stupid and arrogant, I know I’ll find a way to prove it. He’s not smart enough to cover his ass properly.”

Janine opened the medicine cabinet and got out some ibuprofen. “I’ll go get you some seltzer,” she said. She left and then came back with a glass of it. I washed the pills down with it. “You want anything else?” she asked me. I shook my head. “Okay,” she said. “I need some down time after this crap. So I’m going to go hike up Camelback Mountain, okay?”

“Okay.”

I stayed in the bath until the water was lukewarm. I got out, dried off, and put on a robe. I was in the kitchen, preparing to bake a rainbow trout, when the phone rang. It was Janine.

“How’re you feeling?” she said.

“A lot better. Where are you?”

“At the dollar theater. I feel like seeing a movie.”

“What movie?”

“
Sleepless in Seattle.
”

“Yuk.”

“So you don’t want to come with?”

“What do you think?”

“I know. But I thought I’d give you the chance.” She laughed. “So I’ll be home later. Want me to stop at the store and get you anything?”

“Not that I can think of. Have fun.”

“I will.”

When I hung up the phone, I put the fish in the oven. Then I went into the bedroom and sat on the cushion in front of my altar. I lit a candle and some incense, and sat quietly for about twenty minutes. By that time, the fish was ready. I sat in the living room and ate it with garlic butter and vegetables as I read a magazine.

I put the dishes in the sink, thought about washing them, and decided to leave them until the morning. I brushed my teeth and pissed. There was no blood this time. I went to bed. I lay in the dark, waiting to fall asleep, feeling the aches in my body. My teeth felt loose, though I knew they weren’t. I could feel how fragile my body was. It really wasn’t anything at all, just a few organs and calcium and mush. It wouldn’t be long until my teeth and bones dissolved, until I dissolved.

Janine came home late and got in bed with me. She tried to cuddle me, but I was too sore. So she just held my hand as I went back to sleep.

FIVE

The next morning, I was supposed to be doing some maintenance work on a house in Moon Valley. But when I woke up, my body was so useless that I felt like I was about seventy. I limped to the living room, called the homeowner and said I’d have to postpone it. Then I went back to bed.

I didn’t sleep any more. I just stayed in bed and took it easy. Janine brought me the paper and a pot of coffee. While I read, she fried some bacon and scrambled some eggs for me. “How do you feel?” she asked as I ate.

“Okay,” I said. “Sore as hell, but I could feel a lot worse. I think I’ll be back on my feet tomorrow, if I get plenty of rest today.” I stretched, and winced. “I’m too old for this kind of thing.”

“Yeah. You are.”

At around noon, she went out to the store. When she came back, she watched TV in the living room while I stayed in bed. From the bedroom, I could hear the voices on the TV, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Janine came into the bedroom. “Okay,” she said. “Your problem’s solved.”

“What?”

“You’re not going to believe this...”

“Tell me and let’s see.”

“You know the karma you believe in? Well, it must be for real. It was just on the news. Tony Fallowell has been killed.”

“You’re kidding. Like, an accident?”

“No. Like murder. Someone shot him at his house.”

“Jesus. When?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t catch that part. But it doesn’t matter. It’s over now. You can let it drop.”

She couldn’t tell me the details, but Spike could. He called me in the middle of the afternoon. Janine answered the phone and told him I was too sore to get out of bed. He told her I’d better get out of bed anyway. I did, though it hurt.

“Hey, Spike. What’s up?”

“Fallowell’s dead.”

“Yeah, we saw it on the news. It’s cool.”

“It’s not cool at all. You’ll be the prime suspect.”

“How come?”

“Because you went to his office yesterday and beat up one of his employees.”

“It was self-defense. Besides, how do you know it was me?”

“Please don’t insult my intelligence, Andy. Who else would show up there, accuse him of murder, and have the skill to do that to his goon?”

“Do the cops know it was me?”

“I don’t think so. Fortunately for you, his receptionist forgot your name. But I think they’ll find their way to you eventually, if they look hard enough. And the girl’s memory might improve.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Did you do it?” Spike asked me.

“Do what? You mean, did I kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Of course not. Why would you even ask that?”

“I’m not the only one who’s going to ask it. The man you assaulted is still in the hospital. You have experience of killing. And you seem to have gone off at the deep end over this.”

“Do you think I did it?”

“No. I just had to ask.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“I believe you,” he said. “Honestly, I wouldn’t put such stupidity past you. But Fallowell was killed in the same way that Tim was. And I know you didn’t kill Tim.”

“The same way, how?”

“Okay, the cops told me this off the record, so keep quiet about it. This apparently was another contract killing. The killer somehow got into Fallowell’s house last night—there was no sign of any forced entry—and shot him with a .44. Precisely the same as what happened to Tim.”

“Are you saying it was the same person?”

“Not necessarily. But it’s not impossible either. Perhaps Fallowell hired the hit man to kill Tim, and then someone else hired the same hit man to kill Fallowell. Or perhaps Fallowell cheated the hit man out of payment or something. Or perhaps it’s just coincidence. Professional killers probably have pretty similar working methods.”

It was too much to get my head around. “Do you think I should go to the cops and tell them I was at Fallowell’s office?”

“Certainly not, unless you can prove you didn’t kill him. Do you have proof of your whereabouts for last night?”

“No. I was at home by myself. Janine was out. But she called me and I was here.”

“She’s your girlfriend. Her word won’t count for anything. No, leave the cops to find you. They might not dig deep enough to get that far. I doubt that they’re mourning Fallowell. If they think it’s an organized hit, they’re probably not going to expend much energy beyond the routine stuff they have to do. What’s it to them if criminals want to off one another?”

“Yeah, good point.”

“If they do find you, call me and I’ll call a lawyer for you. Meantime, I might have some more to tell you about this soon. I’m looking into it.”

“What’s to look into?”

“Probably not a lot. But I’ve got a couple of leads. I’ll call you if anything pans out.”

The soreness in my body disappeared within a couple of days. The cops didn’t pay me a visit, and I reckoned I was in the clear.