Beautiful, Naked & Dead (Moses McGuire) (23 page)

CHAPTER 17

A
s a kid, my grandmother Therkleson told me about the Valkyrie, beautiful bare-chested winged warriors who dropped down onto the Viking battlefields and picked the bravest of the fallen dead to take to live in the halls of Valhalla, where they could drink and fight and fuck until the end of time. In a hard world a good death was sometimes the best a man could hope for. That, and a big breasted chick with wings to swoop out of the sky.

Soaring down 280, I watched San Francisco disappear into the rear view like a glittering dream calling me back to bed. The highway was smooth and nicely banked, built for speed, I fought the urge to pin the needle and kept at a safe eighty miles an hour. The CHP might frown on rolling arsenals crowding up their highways.

I dropped in Give ‘em Enough Rope, by far the Clash’s best album. London Calling was for posers and Johnny come late to the party wanna’ be punk college kids. Melancholic Island influenced punk, with enough melody not to drive my traveling comrades screaming from the car and enough overdriven guitars to keep me from blowing my brains out. Mick Jones, that pussy, was telling me to step lightly and stay free when we hit Palo Alto. Taking the Sand Hill exit we headed up into the mountains. The streetlights disappeared and there were damn few homes as we snaked our way into the country. A warm blanket of black fell around us, pierced by our headlight beams. The stars filled the sky above, silhouetting old oak trees on the rolling hills.

“When this is over, I was thinking about going down to Mexico,” I said to Cass, she was resting her head on my shoulder. “I was thinking you might want to go with me.”

“What’s in Mexico?”

“Warm beaches, good food.”

“Ok.” We slipped back into silence. Gregor sat in the back with his fedora down over his eyes. Old La Honda Road twisted its way up the dark mountain, redwoods speared up into a forest above the road, cliffs dropped off to the right, so that one wrong turn would take you into the next life in a wailing plunge. A flash of white spread out in the headlights as a barn owl crossed our path. Tommy Cavasos told me that if you saw an owl in flight you should look away because it was a brujo, who could make you sick or cast a dark spell on you. Tommy swore by that border magic. I watched the owl fly up and disappear into the dark forest. What was it going to do to me I hadn’t already done to myself? Luck was for suckers, and magic was what that freak in the top hat did down on Hollywood Boulevard for turista quarters. I was done gambling in games where others set the rules, and all odds went to the house. From here on out I only wanted to play when I chose the deck and dealt the cards.

Twenty minutes later we hit Skylonda, a small mountain town consisting of a general store, two restaurants and a two pump gas station, they all were dark and silent at this early hour. I pulled in and used a payphone to call Sanders.

“You want Sabatini, get your ass up to his ranch.”

“What are you talking about, McGuire?” he mumbled into the phone.

“I’m dropping Sabatini in a package for you, but me and mine walk. No witness protection, no DA, no bullshit.”

“Who exactly do you think you are?” he said, waking quickly.

“The man who’s about to make you a hero,” I said and hung up.

Pulling out onto Skyline Boulevard, a two lane black top stretched out along the ridge of the mountains all the way to Santa Cruz, I switched The Clash out for Iggy and the Stooges. I nodded along to Search and Destroy, anger driven three chords of pure rage. Cass and Gregor were flicking glances that said the old man has lost his noodle and what was that god awful music? No sense of history, fuck ‘em. I needed the raw power jangle and Iggy knew how to deliver.

Breaking through the tree line we could see down rolling hills to the ocean on one side and all the way to Palo Alto and the bay beyond on the other. Twenty minutes later I spotted the address I was searching for. A tall iron gate blocked the entry, just inside it was a stone guard house. I checked my watch, I knew it would take Sanders at least an hour to assemble his troops and make the drive. I didn’t have much fear that he would call in the locals and give them a shot at his glory.

I parked around a bend in the road from the gate’s entrance. Looking over my two comrades, I thought about how good a drink would feel right about then.

“What’s the plan baby?” Cass had grown nervous as the reality of what we were about to undertake sank in.

“We go in, find Sabatini and try not to get too dead in the process.”

“What’s he look like?” Gregor said.

“Like the chief Greaseball, I figure we’ll know him when we see him. He’ll be the one giving orders.”

“I don’t mean any disrespect Moses, but the plan sucks,” Gregor said, not worried, just stating a fact.

“I know what he looks like,” Cass whispered. I looked at her stunned.

“How the hell do you know him?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She looked away, out the window.

“Only a little.”

“Why?” She looked back at me, innocent.

“Because it does. If I don’t get all the facts, I’m spinning this car around and going home,” I yelled.

“No you’re not.” She called my bluff. “They know your name.” Her voice was calm and her eyes had gone cold. “They won’t stop hunting you until you stop them.”

“She’s right boss,” Gregor spoke from the back seat.

“I know she is damn it. I just don’t know who she is!”

“I’m your girl and you are my man.” She softened, clasping her little hand around my three middle fingers, “I would never do anything to hurt you.” She caressed my hand focusing her attention down so she wouldn’t have to see my eyes if I rebuffed her. Who was I kidding, this wasn’t about her, or me, it was about Kelly and me setting my conscience to rest. I had killed the punk who killed her but the mouth breather who ordered it was still walking free.

“Ok, fuck it, let’s go bowling,” I said and fired up the Crown Vic. Fishtailing onto Skyline I let the V8 roar. Pushing hard, I was going ninety-five when I slammed into the gate. The iron snapped and bent around the hood, ripping from its post. I hit the brakes slamming it in reverse, smoking the tires. On the second hit the gate toppled off its hinges and fell to the side. A tall ape of a man in a tee-shirt jumped out of the guardhouse, aiming a pump shotgun at me. I locked up the brakes, pressing my .45 against the inside of my door, I tapped off three quick shots. They punched through the sheet metal of my door and into his gut. He fell, stumbling back into the guardhouse. I stomped on the gas and we flew down the twisting driveway. Around two bends and past a small pond lay a large two-story wood home. Six cars were parked on the circular drive. Half dressed men ran from the front door as we approached. The rhythmic rattle of automatic fire blasted as bullet holes punched into the Crown Vic’s body. I wrenched the wheel to the left sliding it sideways, blocking the exit. Bullets tore through the cab, ripping shredded holes into upholstery and sparking in the darkness.

Gregor dove out of the back seat, he rolled and came up firing. Emptying his clip he scattered the men coming from the house. On the run, he used the parked cars for cover while he reloaded. Cass and I crawled out my door and down a small embankment that led to the pond. Moving quickly over the wet ground we headed toward the house. I pushed my way up through tall cattails. A pair of legs in wool slacks moved in front of me. I pulled the trigger on the Mossberg, the buck shot cut a wide path through the water grasses and the man went down screaming.

Springing to my feet I ran for the house. A shirtless punk spun from the porch and fired three wild shots before I blew him back through a picture window, glass and man both tumbled into the house. A huge form rose up beside me, I heard Cass’ gun go off, the man tumbled over grabbing his fountaining throat. From the porch I leapt into the ruined window. Cass was in mid-air following me when something hit her, she twisted and blood bloomed from her upper body. She fell sliding across the floor. On a wide staircase I sensed movement and fired without thought. A fat man with a bad rug slid down the stairs leaving a red stain behind him. Dragging Cass behind an obese sofa I checked her wound.

“Goddamn it Mo, they shot me.”

“Sure did baby girl.” Bullets struck the sofa, bursting the upholstery and filling the air with floating tufts of down.

“Kill Sabatini, do that for me,” she said. No organs had been hit, but she was bleeding profusely. “Leave me and go get him. Damn it, Mo.”

“Forget it kiddo, I’m not leaving you.”

Shots thudded into the sofa and floor around us. Popping my head up multiple muzzles flashed from the stairs. We were trapped between the men outside who were firing at Gregor and the men on the stairs. A bullet took out two inches of masonry next to my head.

Gregor spun across the hood of a Mercedes, blood bursting from his hip. He crawled for cover behind the car but bullets were raining down on him from the second story.

The time for choosing was over. Tearing a strip from my shirt so Cass could stanch the bleeding I said, “Don’t go nowhere baby girl.” Jumping up I let out a wild war cry and charged the stairway. Firing on the run I vaulted the steps, a young man with long jet black hair fell gripping his bleeding gut. I leapt over him and kept moving. The second story hall split off in two directions. To the left I could hear the automatic fire that was being dumped down on Gregor. I ran to the door and pumped four loads of double aught through it. Their rifles went silent. Through the grapefruit sized holes I saw a man hanging limply out the window. Racking a fresh shell into the Mossberg I stormed down the hall kicking doors open. Moving into a bedroom that was bigger than my house I found three party girls in Frederick’s best huddled in the corner. Their eyes went wide when they saw me. I tried to give them a calming smile, but in my battle blood mood it must have looked like a deadly grimace, they sank farther back into the wall. A way too skinny redhead with fake tits flicked her eyes involuntarily at the bed. I rolled to my right just as flame exploded from under the bed and bullets ripped up the wall where I had been standing. From the floor I emptied the clip of my .45. I could hear the meaty thud of bullets striking the flesh I couldn’t see. Rich red ran from under the bed, mixing the smell of iron with cordite. Dropping the clip on my .45 I slapped in a fresh one and slipped it into my belt. Leaving the trembling girls, I sprinted back down the hall. In a large bathroom I heard a sound behind the shower curtain, snapping it back I found a man crumpled up in the fetal position sobbing.

“I’m just an accountant… don’t kill me…” I did a quick pat search and came up with his wallet while he blathered on, “I have a wife and kids… I’m not one of them really…” I left him in the tub sobbing. He wasn’t Sabatini, he wasn’t even Italian. Clearing the second floor I moved back down the stairs. Outside the shooting had mostly subsided. Running to the sofa I discovered Cass was no longer there. Dread swept over me. Turning back to the room I found three bloody men aiming pistols up at me. Fuck it at least I wasn’t going out alone. Gripping my pistol in one hand and the shotgun in other I got ready for one last charge. Leo stepped out of a doorway and stood between me and the three killers. His hands were empty, palms up.

“You are one incredible pain in the ass, you know that Mr. McGuire?” Looking natty as ever, he smiled.

“What now Leo, do I start pulling the trigger and see how many die before your boys can drop me?”

“As much fun as that sounds, Mr. Sabatini and your lady friend would love to have a chat with you. So why don’t we delay the whole macho blaze of glory act at least for the moment, ok?”

I moved past the stairs and the goons with their guns aimed at me. They hated not to blow me away, their blood was as high as mine I’m sure.

I set the shotgun down in the oak paneled hallway, but kept the .45 firmly in my hand. Leo watched me without much interest. He opened the door into a large den that would have done Hemingway proud. A lion’s head stared at me from over a fireplace. A myriad collection of other dead beasts lined the walls. Cass was sitting on a leather sofa next to a fit looking dark haired man of maybe forty. He had a sharp Roman nose and intelligent eyes that made me feel like whatever I was thinking he was two steps ahead of me. He was holding a small automatic against Cass’ temple. Leo stepped out of the room, closing the door behind himself.

“Check and mate. I have your queen, now why don’t you put your gun down and we can see if there is any way to salvage your life,” he said in a soft, almost melodic voice.

“I don’t think so, no, I think I’d rather blow a hole in your ugly mug.”

“Then what? There’s a room full of guns out there waiting for you.”

“Yup.”

“Are you suicidal?”

“Yup,” I said with a slight smile, screw him if he didn’t get it.

“But you do care about her? This little skirt. This twist that has caused so much trouble. You care about her.” He pushed the barrel harder into her head.

“Kill him,” she whispered, she was pale from loss of blood and her eyes were starting to glaze with shock.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I understand your attraction, our little minx is one of the best pieces of ass I’ve ever had. But she has a real problem with loyalty.”

“Shoot him Moses!” Cass pleaded.