Too Wylde (22 page)

"It's cool," Jimmy said.

He eased out of the chair, whispered in his
throat mike, "Moving to back Lance" and heard two clucks from Deon,
three from Guz, and a "Yes," from Kai, who was already behind the
four big Hmong shooters with two of his biggest bouncers. They knew
to stay out of the way if something went down. They'd been there
before.

The boss of the Hmong crew knew who Jimmy
was; he shifted back, made sure his hands were in sight.

Jimmy nodded. Keep it friendly. "Everything
okay, Lance?"

"We're cool, Jimmy. Just some club business,
doesn't involve you or Lizzy, okay?" Lance said.

"Everything okay, bro?" Jimmy said to the
lead Hmong man.

"Yeah," he said. "We're cool. No problems
with you, man."

"Let me know you need anything, Lance," Jimmy
said, easing back, nodding, the picture of friendliness, the
significance of his untucked shirt not lost any of the four Hmong
shooters. "Clear," he whispered, his throat mike picking it up.

Two clucks, then three.

Back on station, nodding thanks to the
waitress, who hurried off, stress on her face.

She wasn't the only one.

Guz

"How long have you worked here?" Guz asked
Amelia, the latest in the long line of dancers trying to cajole him
into a private.

"Almost a year. How come you don't want a
dance?" she said.

"I'm engaged. Do you make really good
money?"

"Engaged? What she doesn't know won't hurt
her."

"I don't think that way. So. How much do you
make?"

She was disappointed. "Not much from guys who
want to talk and not pay me."

"Guys pay you to talk to them?"

" Most guys pay me to dance for them."

"Wow. Well, thanks anyway."

She flounced off, and he touched his plain
glasses.
Clark Kent strikes again
.

Scanned again, his ear bud in place, Deon
over-watching, the Hmong hitters already up stairs, Jimmy back in
place, and his disconcertingly beautiful girlfriend was into a
really nasty one, Nine Inch Nails at their dark best:

....you like me desecrate you...you like me
complicate you...

Dang. This whole strip club thing was a trip.
Serious money making going on. Bad guys being players, sad guys
buying fantasy, glad guys buying drinks, and the mad guys...well,
being ambulatory targets.

Guz laughed.
Sure is fun being a
freelancer. Beats the hell out of swimming to work.

Though sometimes he missed those days.

He kept up his scan and didn't let himself be
distracted by Lizzy going through a routine that was part Olympic
pole-dance, part ballet, part ancient homage to some kind of
Goddess that reduced men to throbbing incoherence, red hair like a
wing swinging back and forth, her blue eyes piercing the men
closest to the stage, the ones who held up money as an offering to
her and what she represented, an untouchable fantasy, the only one
in this club, surrounded by dangerous men with guns to watch over
her, and he wondered if she knew just how far Jimmy would go to
protect her.

That's a good friend to have. And the worst
possible enemy.

Jimmy, that is. He had a long memory and a
deep little black book, and the skill set to make things
happen.

...
help me...help me get away from
myself...I want to fuck you like an animal...

Jeez. Where did these guys get these lyrics?
Sure was driving the crowd wild.

Looks like she was going to take a break
pretty soon --

Tony Po

Didn't want to go, but the big boy in charge
wasn't having it.

"We got our orders," he said. "You're going.
Nice quiet house in the suburbs. No more free pussy and brandy for
you."

"Not funny," Tony said. "You watch your
mouth."

The cocky Hmong In Charge drew it back a
little, shrugged. "We're going."

Tony's bodyguard took the handles of the
chair and started down the hallway to the small elevator. "Only two
of you in here. No more room."

"We'll take the stairs," the relief leader
said. "Meet you at the bottom."

"Ah, let's get the fuck out of here," Tony
said. "Go!"

They squeezed into the elevator, Tony in his
chair, his bodyguard, the smallest of the armed escorts. Tony's
bodyguard pushed the button and the elevator began it's short
descent.

"Some day you'll be old," Tony grumbled.
"You'll know what it's like."

"At least you're alive," the new guy
said.

"Yeah," Tony said. "For now."

The elevator door opened. There was a white
guy, older, pudgy, late 40s or 50s with a ratty pony-tail standing
there, horn rimmed glasses, ragged goatee.

"Whoa! Sorry, dude, I thought this was the
restroom? Do you know where the restroom is?" the white guy
said.

"Get the fuck out of the way," Tony's
bodyguard said.

"Whoa, yeah..." the white guy turned away as
the three of them came out. Then he turned, "Dude....?"

"Go..."

Tony's bodyguard's mouth was shut by a
silenced bullet from the pistol that appeared in the white man's
hand as though by magic from beneath his flannel shirt.

Pfffffttt was all Tony heard.

He barely raised his hands before the man
tracked in on the new bodyguard, who took a round neatly between
the eyes and dropped where he was. The white guy stepped in close
and said softly, "Mr. Po, if you want to live, I'd strongly suggest
you just shut the fuck up and play along while I wheel you out of
here. If you give me any reason whatsoever, I will end you just
like I ended these two. Got it? Now...where is the drive?"

Tony just gawped up at him. He heard the big
new guy's voice from around the corner, "Where's the fucking
elevator?"

The white guy held his finger to his lips,
pointed the pistol at Tony, then held it behind his leg and limped
down towards the corner. The three bodyguards came around. Never
saw it coming. At almost point blank range, one, two, three shots
into their heads, instant drop; the white guy held the pistol in
both hands and went around where he could see down the hall,
reached down and tugged one of the bodies out of the way, then
hurried back and stepped behind Tony's wheelchair.

"We're out of here, Mr. Po. Remember what I
said."

The white guy pushed hard and fast through
the narrow passage around the bodies, down the hall and then a
sharp turn to the right, then through swinging doors onto the loud
main floor of the club, the strobes disconcerting, then the white
guy slowed down, don't cause a scene --

"Who has the drive, Mr. Po? Where is it?"

"I don't have it. It's hidden."

"Here in the club?"

He kept pushing through the crowd, moving
easily, trying hard not to make more of a scene. "Where in the
club, Mr. Po?"

Tony knew then. End of the line for him. They
had no intention of keeping him around, and when they found out it
was already launched, he'd be lucky if they had this guy put a
bullet in his head.

"It's here," Tony said.

"Where?"

They were almost to the front of the club,
and they would have to go by the security. Lance T was standing
there, talking to the big one, Kai, and turning to see him.

"The dancer," Tony said.

"What?"

"That dancer. That one. Redhead. I give it to
her."

"Don't bullshit me, Mr. Po. Do you have it on
you or did you leave it upstairs or did you hand it off to one of
your people?"

"I give it to that girl."

"I....

Tony rocked himself sideways hard, then the
other way as the man bent to compensate for the sudden change. The
wheelchair tipped over, spilling the old man onto the floor.

"Help me!" Tony shouted. "Somebody help
me!"

"Whoa, dude, here, let me help you out," the
white guy said, bending closely and whispering, "I'll kill you, you
old fuck, shut up...."

Lance started over and the big bouncer with
him. The white guy held up his hand and said, "I've got him, no
worries, bro..."

"Who are you?" Lance said. "Where
are...."

The white guy was fast as hell. He brought
the pistol up, but didn't shoot Lance, he shot Kai, aimed for the
face, tagged the broad trapezius because Kai was already moving,
knocking Lance off line...

"Help! Help!" Tony shouted as the music
changed --

Deon Oosthuizen

...Robert's got a cool hand...six gun
trigger...

Deon bobbed his head. Foster The People. He
knew this one, liked it, though he wondered how many of the people
watching Lizzy go through her routine actually heard the
lyrics...

...all the other kids in their pumped up
kicks, better run, better run, run from my gun...

He saw the chair tilt over, and then he saw
the old hippy pushing the wheelchair move fast as hell bringing up
a long barrelled pistol
suppressed, looks like a Glock 17 with a
Gemtech can
and pop, he could see the ejected casing hanging in
the air
always funny how time slows down in a gunfight for some
people
and Deon was one of those
experience i reckon gives
me all the time in the world
shouting "Gun! Gun!
drop his
hand and crack the case, pull up the HK, safety off time to
dominate the world
Get down! Get down! And then the old hippy
quick scanned and saw it all that fast, turned the pistol down and
shot the old man once in the head, then reached down and grabbed
one arm and started dragging the body past Lance and Kai, the crowd
blocking Deon's shot --

Guz

Like Deon, in the zone, had already sized it
up, and went for his pistol instead of the long gun; closer,
faster, and he needed one hand to knock the waitress out of the way
to clear his line, and he saw the shooter lean down and put one in
the old man's head and then grab the dead man's limp arm and start
running, dragging the small body behind him
now why the fuck is
he doing that, clear the line people, I don't shoot civvies
and
Guz barreled through the crowd, knocking patrons, dancers and
waitresses out of the way, hurdled Lance with the bleeding Kai over
him protecting him, and the trail of blood ran right through the
entry way, past the coat-check girl and still no line he hit the
front door and paused
just long enough to see, and there it was
two rounds right where he would have been if he'd gone through it,
this guy's a pro, no shit...
break the rhythm of a pro, just
enough to miss, because this guy wasn't going to hang around, and
the slam of a car door and Guz came out fast and hard and low and
there's the van, the door slamming shut, and one shooter with
something bigger than a pistol and shorter than a long and Guz was
rolling and rolling, cars slowing down and he scurried behind one,
two girls dressed up for the night their eyes huge as they saw him
come around, and then a burst of rounds, across the hood of the
car, the girls screaming and then the van was off and running, Guz
locked down, turned and saw everyone looking at him, a few cell
phones coming up, and he lowered his head, tucked the pistol away
and jogged back into the club....

Jimmy John Wylde

Vaulted onto the stage, grabbed Lizzy and ran
her back down the runway straight through to the back --

...better run, better run, run from my
gun...all the other kids with their pumped up kicks better run,
better run, run from my gun...

-- Pistol out and running, Lizzy going
exactly where I moved her, like she always did, the other girls
shrieking and I shouted "Get down, get down, get down!"

Move her to the back, pause, shout into the
mike, "Deon, Guz, go, go, go!"

Deon hustling down the hall, rifle up, go-bag
slung over his shoulder, kicking the side door open, and clearing
out, then a shout from him: "Clear, Jimmy! Come to me!"

Shoving Lizzy quickly, covering her with my
body as we got out the side door, Deon with the weapon shouldered
scanning, crabbing across the lot to the car, I brought Deon's keys
up, hit the unlock, shoved Lizzy in the back and jumped in next to
her, Deon jumping into the driver's seat and handing back the HK to
me, pulling the car forward and holding, scanning both ways, cars
stopped in the front, backing up in a hurry to the chained off
gate, Deon jumping out and lifting the unlocked padlock, courtesy
of Kai, off the chain link that blocked the alternative exit, on
the radio I called Guz

"Guz, you clear?"

Crisp voice back. "Yep, across and running,
traffic's bad, I'm gonna jump the curb and ride some sidewalk, meet
you around the corner, wait one..."

I looked back and saw his Wrangler roll out
of the parking lot and turn onto the sidewalk, horn blaring, lights
flashing, people jumping out of the way, and he just kept rolling
till he hit the corner and bumped down into the street, drove off
the wrong way --

"See you on the other side, bro," Guz
said.

"SITREP."

"Whoever the old hippy was did a job on that
Asian. Busted a cap in his head, dragged the body out and put it
into a van, got clear, at least two other shooters in the van, no
body hurt out in front that I saw."

"Roger that. Other side."

Deon didn't say, just processed it and went,
wheeled around and saw the Wrangler come to a stop, nice and slow
and legal, then pull into the lead position and smoothly accelerate
away.

"I'm thinking your place might not be the
best, oke," Deon said. "Plan B."

"Yeah," I said.

"Plan B it is," Guz said. "On it."

"Jimmy?" Lizzy said.

"Yes."

"What about everyone else?"

"I'll check when we get you safe."

"They weren't there for me. They came for Mr.
Po. The old man in the wheelchair."