Beautiful, Naked & Dead (Moses McGuire) (21 page)

“How about I say fuck you and get out of the car,” I said looking Sanders square in the eyes.

“Tell him what he gets, Bob,” Sanders said, enjoying his power.

“You do not collect two hundred dollars, you go directly to jail,” Bob said, flashing me a gold tooth. I could feel my blood starting to boil, I wanted to smash their faces in. They had me dangling and they knew it.

“You want to know what I know? I know that every time I turn around somebody is trying to jack me up. I’m just trying to make it home in one piece and it keeps getting harder every step I take. And now you want to take a shot at me? Well come on, let’s dance. I’ve done jail time, it don’t scare me. Now the next time I open my mouth it will be to my lawyer. We all clear on that?”

“Pull over,” Sanders barked at the driver.

“What are you doing?” Bald Bob asked.

“I’m cutting him loose.”

“No, he talks or he goes to jail.”

“I’m the agent in charge of this case. I say he walks, then he walks, now pull over.” As soon as we stopped he turned on me. “Get out.”

He led me into the fog away from the car, out of earshot of the other cops. He leaned against an abandoned storefront plastered with torn posters. “Alright McGuire, look I’ve read your jacket. You did some dumb things when you were younger, but that was a long time ago. You were in the Root, right?”

“So?”

“I was there, army intel.”

“Is that supposed to make us friends? You intel fucks killed more of my buddies than the enemy.”

“You don’t have to like me, I don’t really care if you hate me. But believe this, I am your only hope.”

“Then I’m fucked without a kiss.”

“If you decide you want to live through this, give me a call.” He faded away into the fog. I could hear the car door open and close and then move off down the street. It was a long slow walk back, stopping at street corners to search the mist for street names. At the Best Western I checked for messages from a way too cheerful young clerk. I took the elevator down to the parking lot, slipped out the side door and walked up the block to my little dive of a hotel. It was past midnight and the clerk was snoring away deep in some junkie dream.

From my room I called a number in Glendale, a groggy high-pitched voice answered. “Put Gregor on,” I demanded.

“Who the fuck is this?” he squeaked.

“Gregor, now.” After a few long moments Gregor picked up.

“Moses?”

“Want to make five large?”

“I’m there.”

“May get ugly.”

“So?”

CHAPTER 15

I
woke at nine, rolled over and started to search for my white wake up pills, only to realize I had left them in the Crown Vic. Maybe it was a sign. My head hurt and my body felt like it had been run through a meat grinder. Between the feds and the mob I was dancing blindfolded in a minefield. Whatever brain cells I had left would need to be in fine tune if I had any hope of seeing my way clear to the DMZ.

I called the Best Western but there were no messages. Slipping my .38 into my pocket I had no desire to put it against my head. There were too many bastards out there who needed the bullet more than I did.

At a convenience store I bought a six-pack of Red Bull and a fistful of ready-pac vitamins. In Golden Gate Park I switched my boots for high-tops, wrapped an ace bandage tight around the gauze to keep my stitches from popping and started to run. After only a mile, I doubled over and threw up in the bushes. I never will understand why tossing your cookies makes you feel so much better. After another three miles I started to sweat and feel like I might survive the run back to the car.

Showered and dressed I drank another Red Bull and joined the world moving by on the street, firm in the belief that I was on the path to a healthier life. No more speed, no more booze, all I had left to worry about was dying of lead poisoning.

Billy Joe’s Pleasure Hole was a supermarket of porno just off O’Farrell street. In the back room men sat in private booths watching small screens and doing who knows what. You’d think the advent of the VCR would have done them in, but they were doing landmark business. The walls were lined with every kind of device imaginable, whatever your kink Billy Joe had you covered. A happy yuppie couple was looking at a huge studded black dildo with glee. Along the back wall I found what I was looking for, a life size love doll. She had realistic features made from latex; her glass eyes stared out at the room vacantly. The price tag touted three entries and fully articulated limbs all for only $1,500.00. Not a bad price considering what my last wife had cost me. I paid the sweaty old man behind the counter and carried my new friend out into the street. She was 5’2” with long curly dark hair and dressed in a baby doll nightgown. We got more than one glare from passers by until I got her into the Crown Vic’s trunk.

At a small wig shop on Market I bypassed the rainbow afro and chose a short platinum blonde job. I also picked up a pair of lightly tinted pink glasses and a floral print sun dress.

Gregor was standing outside the airport in a black wool trench coat, a black fedora and sunglasses looking very much the Eastern European thug that he was. He slid in and we rolled off. He didn’t ask me what the job was, he didn’t ask for his cash, he just watched the road go by. I passed him an envelope, he didn’t open it. It disappeared into his coat. “I put two bills in to cover the plane.”

“Cool,” he said.

“Let’s go shopping.” I slid along in the now constant Bay-shore freeway traffic. There was a time when the run to the south bay would have taken twenty minutes. But that was long before the microchip mavens turned this whole end of the state into their own personal Mecca. Now Beemers and Saabs lined up to crawl up and down the bay.

Benny King worked out of a pawn shop on Broadway, just down the street from The California Hotel in the heart of Oakland. Stepping around the hookers trolling the sidewalk we moved under the three giant brass balls. The shop was crammed to the rafters with everything from tubas to baby strollers. A cage in the back held the real valuables. Guns and gold, the universal coin of the realm. A half foot of glass kept the clerk protected from his customers.

“Benny around?” I asked the middle-aged egg shaped man in a Grateful Dead tee shirt.

“That depends, dude,” the clerk said, picking a loose piece of tobacco from his lip. His fingers were stained yellow from the nicotine.

“Tell him Moses McGuire is here.” I dropped seven hundred dollar bills into the cash troth below the bulletproof glass.

“Sweet, I’ll check it out.” The clerk scooped up the greenbacks and disappeared past a steel door.

“You have some interesting friends,” Gregor said, looking around at the odd collection of junk piled high around us.

“Live long enough, and you accumulate all sorts of connections. Benny’s alright, as long as you don’t take his word on anything.”

After about ten minutes the clerk came and led us through the three locked doors into the back of the shop. The clutter was out front, all for show. The back room was clean and orderly with rifle racks lining the walls and glass cases filled with every imaginable handgun laid out on black velvet.

“Moses mother fucking McGuire, man, I thought you were dead.” Benny was a half Black, half Hawaiian, all huge man. The only sign of his aging was the white starting to show in his tight afro and scraggly beard. He had a FFL that allowed him to legally sell firearms. He also did business in straw purchases out of Texas, and took in hot guns off the street. He was connected to Chinese smugglers, Russian mobsters and crack dealers. He never took sides, and always made a profit. “Who’s the mug?” He nodded his head towards Gregor.

“Terror of the Eastern Block. Gregor, shake hands with a living legend.”

“Too young to be a partner,” Benny said, taking Gregor’s hand, searching his face. “You taking in trainees Moses?”

“No, he carries his own weight.”

“Bet he does.” Benny finally let go of Gregor’s hand and turned back to me. “Now what can I do you for, got a new shipment from Norinco, clean AK’s.”

“CZ75,” Gregor said.

“Washed if you got it,” I said.

“Sure, no problemo, got one out of Alabama just burned the numbers off. But CZ ain’t cheap. Sure you don’t want a Desert Eagle. Same gun, but knocked off in Israel.”

“CZ,” Gregor grunted.

“$450, ok with you Moses?”

“It catalogs for what? $370 and change, new.”

“How about I toss in four fifteen round pre-ban mags, round it up to five bills and call it a day.” Benny was grinning. He truly loved the haggle. Gregor had turned away and was inspecting a cut-down double-barreled 12 gauge. The wood stock had been filed into a pistol grip and the barrels were several inches shorter than the legal eighteen.

“Now that baby’s a real classic.” Benny pointed at the shotgun with pride. “Takes a man to keep that bitch from roaring out of your hands, but it will clean a street.”

“It’ll do the job.” Gregor looked from the gun up to me.

“The $700 I dropped on your boy. Both guns and you toss in two boxes of factory for both and two for my .45.”

“If you wanted to rob me why didn’t you wear a mask?”

“Rob you? Shit if I wanted to rob you you’d be on the floor face down and begging for your momma.”

“$750, and I toss in a shoulder strap for the sweeper.” I dropped a fifty on the counter before he could sweeten the deal and cost me another hundred. “Fine, as always, doing business with you Moses.” He dropped our purchases into a cheap canvas bag. “Come back any time.” He reached out shaking Gregor’s hand again.

“Better count your fingers.” I told Gregor. Grabbing the guns and ammo we hit the street. At a corner market I bought four Red Bulls and a potato. Gregor’s eye brow shot up, but as was his way he said nothing.

“Potato, vegetable with a million uses. Eat ‘em, make vodka and drink ‘em, shoved on the barrel of a .38 they make a passable silencer.” I told him, tossing the potato into my pocket.

From the window of my room in the dive we took turns watching the Coast and the Best Western through my field glasses. Around six thirty I brought in some Chinese and black coffee. What I wanted was a tall scotch, a fist full of whites and the love of a lying woman but my old ways were likely to get me killed right now. Evolve or die, those are the choices we are given, evolve or die.

Helen sounded worried when I called her. “Cass said she was just going for a walk, get some air, that was four hours ago. She still isn’t back Moses.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, she’s a tough girl.”

“Bingo!” Gregor said.

“Look Helen, I have to go. Call me when she comes back.” I gave her the number at the Best Western and hung up. Out the window I could see a Cadillac double parked in front of the Barbary Coast.

“They went inside,” Gregor said. Fifteen minutes later the sweater boy, now in a tweed suit and the beef in sweats came out of the club. They got in the Cadillac, pulled a U-turn and parked in front of the Best Western. I could see the sweater boy go into the hotel and after a few minutes come out. They sat in the car, waiting.

“Let’s roll,” I said to Gregor. The nasty little cut-down shotgun hung on a leather strap under his trench coat. He dropped the CZ75 into his huge outside pocket. If this thing went sideways they were going to pay hard.

The fog was a light mist as I crossed the street moving up to the back of the Cadillac. Taking the potato, I crammed it into their tail pipe, pushing until it sealed it closed. I crept along below the window line then popped up into the driver’s window. The sweater boy’s eyes went wild, he started to reach into his jacket. Gregor tapped on the passenger window with the two barrels of his shotgun. The men in the car didn’t know who to look at. I burned holes into the sweater boy’s eyes, as his hand hovered in his jacket.

“Do you really want to do this here? Really? I’m here to make a deal. I’m tired of running and I just want to get the hell out of this thing. So if you and monkey boy over there want to calm down, take your hands off your piece and listen. I think we can all go home happy campers. But you want to play who’s got the bigger balls, well then someone’s going down. Odds are it ain’t me.”

“Do what the gentleman says,” a voice from the back said.

“You ain’t my boss Leo. I ain’t backing down ‘til his goon lowers that cannon.”

“I think you should kill him.” Leo sat in the back, his suit was perfect, he was dead calm.

“So do I, but I doubt it will solve my problem with your boss. Ok boys keep your hands wherever you want them, grab your dicks if it makes you feel better. I have a one-time offer. No negotiations, you want the girl, I want out. You be at the Cow Palace parking lot at midnight tonight with forty grand and a guarantee from your boss that I walk away. You do that and she’s all yours. You fuck me and I drop her off at the feds.”

“Fuck you dead man, you don’t give us terms, we tell you how it goes, who the fuck do you think you are?” sweater boy spat at me.

“One more thing, just you two show up for the drop. I see Leo or anyone else there, I roll.” Over the roof of the car I nodded at Gregor and he took off down the sidewalk. I spun running into the slow moving traffic. Behind me I heard the Cadillac fighting to turn over, the starter motor grinding, but with no place for the exhaust to escape it was futile. As I rounded the corner I heard the loud blast of the seals blowing on the exhaust pipes, the Cadillac rambled down the street but I was safely down an alley.

From the room, I checked the messages over at Best Western, Helen hadn’t called. If the mob boys had Cass, then I was about to walk into a death trap. I called Sanders. “I’m ready to deal.”

“Alright, bring in the girl and we’ll see if we can keep you alive,” he said.

“Couldn’t do it if I wanted to, dropped her at the airport and told her to get lost.”

“What?”

“You heard me, she’s in the wind.”

“Then why am I talking to you?”

“Same reason you let me walk last night. Do you know how they hunt wolves? They stake out a lamb, then hide in the brush and wait. Baaa. See I don’t mind being your lamb, but we’re going to play it my way. Who is Gino Torelli?”

“That’s classified.”

“So that’s how we’re going to play it, fine. Have a nice life, officer.” I started to hang up.

“Wait, McGuire, did you have an offer in mind or did you just call for a pissing contest?”

“You’re going after Sabatini, right? He’s the brass ring you suits are all fighting to catch. I can deliver two of his soldiers. Solid busts and you take the credit.”

“And in return you want what?”

“The truth, everything you know about Torelli, Cass, the whole enchilada.” There was a long pause while he mulled over his options. “Look, Sanders, I have you by the short hairs and I’m tugging. This deal goes down at midnight. You in or out?”

“Ok,” he finally said.

“Be at the Cow Palace parking lot at midnight. They’ll be packing and if you search their car I’ll make sure you find enough to hold them.”

“We’ll need just cause to search them, I can’t get a warrant on some ex-con’s word.”

“If you and your crew happened to be rolling by and heard gunfire, you would have to respond, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then that will be your signal.”

“Be careful.” He said without meaning it.

“What the hell, if they kill me, you’ll really have something to take them down for.” I said and clicked off. What I didn’t tell him was I had taped our conversation with the small digital recorder that I had picked up that morning. Trust no one and you can’t get burned. Out of the closet I took a dress I bought for my latex girlfriend. Gregor gave me an odd look.