Too Wylde (14 page)

The problem is that the people with whom he
was involved were not willing to let Lance call it done and paid
and walk away.

That, he thought, with a slow sip of cognac,
was the crux of the problem.

"Lance?" the bartender, a new Ukrainian girl
named Anke, Annika, something like that, said.

"Yeah?"

"Phone."

He took the handset. "This is Lance."

The voice of his Cambodian business
associate. "Good morning, my friend. I was doing my crossword
puzzle this morning and I ran across this word. Assistance. You
know, I had to look it up in the American dictionary. I thought it
had an e instead of an a."

"English can be tricky that way."

"Very tricky, you Americans."

"Some of us."

"Yes." A silence, long enough to cause Lance
to shift uncomfortably in his seat. "My friend, I need some
help."

This was it. "What is it I can help you
with?"

"I have a friend. He requires a place to stay
for a short time. A place where he will not come to the attention
of the authorities. I was thinking of the apartments you have
upstairs? There is the one with its own bathroom? And perhaps the
girls could fetch him meals?"

"I don't know..."

"My friend will be no problem, Lance. He has
physical limitations, and no interest in the women. All he requires
is a room with a bathroom nearby, food, and access to your wireless
network. This would be a great favor to me."

"Who's looking for him."

A long pause, then: "No one who will know
where to find him. And I can provide some additional security. I
will do that."

Lance wanted to scream and throw the phone.
This wasn't just a slippery slope; it was a full blown jump off the
roof. But he was stuck, so what else could he say?

"Of course. Least I can do, considering our
business relationship."

"Thank you, Lance. It certainly enhances our
relationship."

"We'll see," Lance said. He didn't really
care at this point whether he offended the other man or not. "When
will he be here?"

"When can you have the room ready?"

"It stays ready."

"Five minutes, then. And my man who brings
him will pick up anything extra necessary."

"What's his name?"

"He'll tell you."

"Okay, I'll...."

The phone went dead. Great.

Lance set the handset down on the bar, and
the bartender, studiously not-noticing the boss's demeanor, put it
back on the cradle.

"Another cognac, Lance?"

"No. Put a fresh pot of coffee on."

He looked up and saw the door swing open, and
a much bigger than usual Hmong guy in his twenties, gang tat
sleeves on his muscled arms and all up around his neck, pushed a
wheelchair through the door. The man in the wheelchair was old,
old, old -- wattled neck and droopy head old, though his eyes were
bright and sharp, and he seemed alert. Hmong as well, probably at
least in his 70s or 80s, though who could tell with Asians?

Lance walked over to them and the young gun
said, "Which way?"

Lance extended his hand to the older man.
"Sir, I'm Lance T. This is my place. I'm glad to welcome you."

The older man lifted his hand, a mottled
claw, gripped Lance's and pulled him close with a completely
surprising strength.

"Hello, Lance T," the old man said in
excellent, nearly unaccented English. "My name is Po. My friends
call me Tony Po."

"Hello, Tony Po. I'll get you to the..."

"Let's not rush," Tony Po said. "How about a
drink together? I may be old, but I still enjoy looking at the
young girls."

Lance gawped as Tony Po laughed 'he he he he
he' in a perfect caricature of a dirty old man.

"I like cognac," Tony Po said. "And
blondes..."

Lance had to grin and shake his head. "And
let me guess..with big tits?"

"Of course!" Tony Po threw up his hands in
delight. "Who does not?"

Lance laughed out loud. "Welcome to the
Trojan Horse, Tony Po. I got a place for you to sit right over
here, right next to me..."

Dee Dee Kozak

"I need you to sit right here, and watch that
computer," Dee Dee said.

Irina wasn't happy about it. "I don't want to
stay here alone."

"You had your chance to be out and about. I
need you watching *this* computer because this is secure. And I
need you to call me when you see the money go through, and then you
can log off. Because we'll have our cash and we'll be able to do
what we need to do. Do you understand?"

"Why can not your employee..."

"Because she's my employee. You're a
principal. You wanted to be a partner, well, now you're a partner.
This is what you have to do. Watch our money. I have to go out and
round up the rest of what we need."

Irina tapped her expensive leather boot clad
foot impatiently.

"How long must I wait?"

"Till it's done. Then you need to shut it
down, lock the computer up, and stay close."

"How long will you be?"

"What are you, my mother? You don't need to
know any of this. You just do what I say and you do it now. Or you
can run this gig all by yourself. Pay and play. After the first
part, you can do the second part. And not a second sooner. Got
it?"

Irina quailed. This was not an argument she
was ready to have. "Fine, fine. Go then. I will stay."

"'I will stay...'" Dee Dee said in a nasal
imitation of Irina's voice. "No whining." She turned and stalked
out the hotel door, down the hall to the elevator, where she
allowed herself a grin. Irina was not adjusting well to being her
bitch. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Sometimes it
wasn't always pretty. Dee Dee was a long time student of human
behavior, and understanding how to dominate and influence and
persuade (short of the gun against the head, which of course works,
but tended to be a one-time, short-term solution) was part and
parcel of her skill set. Which is why she got the big bucks.

She checked out her reflection in the highly
polished brass door of the elevator. She was looking *fine* -- skin
tight leather jeans tucked into knee high leather boots, a black
wool sleeveless jersey to show off her muscled arms, black leather
jacket -- the butch blonde look rocked her bod, her hair and her
attitude tonight.

Downstairs, she enjoyed the swathe she cut
across the lobby, called for her new rental to be pulled up -- a
classic Corvette, cherry red, well worth the premium to impress her
latest and greatest partner, young Ms. Kiki Warren.

She might live long enough to be a real
partner.

Tearing through the streets, the wind barely
ruffling her short hair, Dee Dee grinned.

It's a full time job being Dee Dee Kozak. Not
for the weak.

She pulled up in front of the Hyatt Regency,
and had to stop to laugh and laugh. 'Neo Death God' didn't look
*anything* like her Catholic School ID; Kiki Warren looked like a
younger and shorter and thinner version of Dee Dee Kozak in her
Heartbreak Hotel leathers -- black tights, black boots, leather
jacket and wraparound shades.

She honked the horn, leaned over and opened
the door and yelled, "C'mon, friend girl! Your chariot awaits!"

And the look on that little girl's face, when
the facade of urban cool disappeared into the pure-d unadulterated
delight of a teenage girl whose life had just cracked the Awesome
barrier into OMFG cool --

-- was going to make it all worthwhile.

Mr. Smith, AKA Hank

Cruised down Nottingham Street towards Lake
Avenue, one of the main drags downtown, just motoring to forget the
pain the chemicals kept down to a dull roar, looked out the window
and saw a cherry red Corvette come tearing the other way, two
GORGEOUS blondes in it...and he had to laugh and watch them motor
down away and pull into a parking lot, looked like that
"Gentleman's Club" he'd just passed.

Lawdy. With a new face, new life, new body
he'd...well, it was a nice thought. He popped another pill and made
a few random turns and went on his way.

Nicholas Le Fronte, AKA Nico

Okay, so she had moves. He had to give her
that. The OGA broad handed her a blown up 11x14 digitzed off a hard
drive, and then several angle shots magnified of an undeniably
Hmong face.

"Can you..."

Nina snatched the photos and said, "We're on
it. I'll call you when we got him."

The OGA broad just grinned. "Do that, will
ya? Make sure he's alive, Capushek. I want to ask him some
questions."

Nina drove like she did everything else:
balls to the wall. Completely relaxed, hands in the approved
driving position on the wheel, cutting in and out of traffic with a
complete disregard for the law and the flow of traffic, eyes
cutting back and forth to the side mirror, rear view mirror,
reading the windshield high up -- she was a good driver.

"Where we going?"

"See a guy."

Down Nicollet Street, down into the heart of
what he recognized as Little Viet Nam town. Into the parking lot of
a restaurant called Pho Tau Bay.

"We eating?"

"Not now, Nico."

He followed her. She was always at least two
steps ahead of him. That pissed him off. She went right past the
front desk, where a bird-like older Vietnamese woman looked up in
surprise, returned the wave that Nina threw her. Nina went straight
to the rear where four old Asian men sat at the farthest back
corner booth. Nina stopped a respectful distance from the table,
and nodded to a short and balding man with brown spots all over his
face.

"Hello, sir," Nina said. Nico had never heard
that respectful tone.

The men looked at Nico, who stopped beside
Nina. She inched forward just a bit, and Nico honored the body
language. She was in charge.

"He works for me," Nina said. "It's
okay."

"Hello Sergeant," the older man said. "You
are okay with us. Him, we don't know."

"Should I send him away?" Nina said.

Nico tensed, then relaxed. Her ball, her
call.

The older man grinned. His teeth were brown
and yellow from smoking. "No, Sergeant. You say he's okay, we okay.
Maybe you need some help today?"

"Yes, Mr. Pham. Very much."

"You want to eat?"

"Not today, sir. You know what happened in
St. Paul?"

"Yes. Very bad."

"I'm looking for the people who did it."

The men exchanged looks, chattered briefly in
Vietnamese. Mr. Pham had a look cross his face, briefly, that sent
a chill through Nico; this old fuck was a killer, no doubt about
it.

"We will help you. What can we do?" Mr. Pham
said.

Nina unfolded the blown up photo of the man
outside the Federal Building. "This man. I want him."

Mr. Pham took it from her and spread it on
the table. The four men hunched over the paper like vultures at
work. They chattered back and forth, ignoring Nina and Nico, their
voices rising over each other in a shrill cacophony. One of them,
with a sporty straw fedora stained with sweat pulled down tight on
his head that went strangely well with his faded Hawaiian shirt,
slapped his hand down hard on the paper, his words sharp and
distinct. Mr. Pham shot back at him, hard and fast, an
interrogation of some kind. Fedora Hat nodded once, sharply. Mr.
Pham looked up at Nina.

"We know who he is. Did this man do this
thing?"

"I don't know for sure," Nina said. "I need
to find him. Now. And then I can tell you."

Pham chattered at Fedora Hat. The Hat looked
at Nina and said in perfect, unaccented English, "Do you have an
iPhone?"

Nina wasn't fazed. "No."

"I do," Nico said. "Why?"

The Hat said, "Let me see your phone for a
minute."

Nico handed it over. The Hat took out his own
iPhone, swept through the controls, watched Nico's phone ping,
handed it back.

"I downloaded his name, address, phone
numbers on an iCard to your phone," The Hat said. "He is not one of
us. You understand? But we do business with the man he works
for."

"Who is that?" Nina said.

The Hat looked at Mr. Pham, who nodded. The
Hat touched a few buttons on his phone, and then there was another
ping from Nico's iPhone.

"You have him," Mr. Pham said. "I tell you
this now, Sergeant. We had nothing to do with what happened. We are
Americans. We do not want this. This other man, we do business with
him. If, if you find out this is true, I ask you, in return, that
you tell us. We must do things if this is true."

Nina nodded. "You have my word, Mr. Pham. My
word is good."

"Yes," Mr. Pham said. "It is. Make sure this
one understands." He pointed at Nico, who nodded once, sharply.

"I understand," Nico said. "My word is
good."

"I hope so," Mr. Pham said. "We are serious
about our friends here."

The Hat smiled at Nina, ignored Nico. "If you
need any help..."

"Thank you, sir. Not necessary."

"So we hear," The Hat said. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Nina said.

"When you come and tell us," Mr. Pham said.
"Please stay to eat, then. Maybe you will have an appetite."

"We will," Nina said. "Till then."

She turned and walked away. Nico lingered,
nodded, but the old men ignored him and went back to chattering at
each other. Nico reached for the sheet, but Mr. Pham slapped his
hand down on it.

"We keep," Mr. Pham said.

"Right," Nico said. "Sorry."

He followed Nina out.

Nina stood outside in the lot, stared up at
the sky.

"What?" Nico said.

She looked over at him. "You did good. Keep
it up and I might keep you around."

"What? I didn't do a fucking thing except
stand there."

"That's right," Nina said. "Which is exactly
what you needed to do. These guys live and die by a code that's all
about respect. Keep that in mind. We'll be seeing more of
them."