Fixed in Blood (17 page)

Mine…kill…fuck…obey…never…

She tried to focus on something other than the pain, but there was too much of it. He grabbed under her chin, thumb below one ear, finger below the other, and squeezed, forcing her jaw open long enough to shove his cock into her mouth. With one hand still twisted in her hair he started slamming her head back and forth.

Suck…cunt…kill…listen…never…

In less than a minute her mouth was flooded with warm saltiness. He released his hold and she fell back against the sofa, struggling…first to breathe, then to keep from choking.

Tokarev took a step back. He tucked himself away, zipped his trousers, and rebuckled his belt. He ran a hand through his thick dark hair. His pinkie ring caught the light and threw disco-beams of colored light across her slack body.

“Seven o’clock.” Tokarev turned his back and walked away. “Dress to impress.”

Mort drove his Subaru south, following the directions Lydia read off her cell. To someone who didn’t know her, she might seem relaxed. She was the master of compartmentalization. When Lydia had a job in front of her—a patient to save, a problem to solve, or, it sickened him to imagine, an assassination to complete—she was steady, self-assured, and poised. But when her mind was left to float, it slid to a dark and bleak territory. Ragged with memories no one should hold. A lonely, desolate terrain riddle with scars and bottomless chasms of self-hatred.

He wished her a lifetime of overburdened schedules.

“How was that for you?” he asked.

“How was what? You’re going to turn left in half a mile.”

“Sitting with Micki and Jimmy? Meeting Schuster. Weathering the small talk.”

Lydia looked out the window as they rolled past a series of fast-food joints, secondhand junk stores, and low-income apartments. A pawnshop’s neon sign teased a flicker of festivity out of the damp gray morning. Clusters of people, mostly women with umbrellas and teenagers in hoodies, huddled around bus stops. A few stood with heads bare, resigned to whatever happened next.

“Are you asking what it’s like for me to be out amid humans? I see ten patients a day, remember.” She spoke to the window. “What do you imagine of my life, Mort?”

He clicked on his signal, made the left as she directed, and pondered her constant state of defense. “I imagine you’re lonely. I’ve been to your house. It’s like something out of…I don’t know…a magazine…an art gallery…maybe even a movie. You’ve feathered a knockout nest, Liddy. And except for me, who else has been there in the past five years?”

“I have lots of visitors. Your daughter for one. Then came those three Russian gentlemen to kill both her and me. Before that there was Private Number’s hired gun. He dropped by unannounced. Left me roses.”

“You know what I mean. Paul Bauer has never been to your place, has he?” Mort checked his rearview mirror. “What’s my next turn?”

She glanced down at her cell. “Take a right on Pickett. About six blocks.”

“Got it. So, Paul Bauer. You’ve never cooked him a pot of spaghetti, have you? Same goes for that Oliver guy. The one from the coffee shop. I’d lay odds he’s never brushed his teeth in your sink.”

Lydia didn’t respond. Mort glanced over to see her focused on the road ahead.

“Pickett’s coming up,” she said.

He made the turn. “What’s the address?”

She leaned forward, checking the street of rundown houses with pressboard siding and duplexes with sagging roofs. “Number 26145. It’ll be on your side.”

He slowed and pulled over when he saw the number. Years ago the house Jennifer Lightfoot shared with her father Tom might have been beige. Now pea-green shadows of moss tinted the bottom third of the one-story structure. Weathered gray planking poked through flaking paint. A large window dominated the front façade, flanked on one side by a battered shutter that was probably once a deep shade of red. The house sat behind a chain-link fence protecting a quilt of mud and weeds masquerading as a front yard.

Mort turned off the ignition and checked the dashboard clock. Eleven fifteen. “Think she’s in there?”

“She’s not been to school in months. Her friend Shaina’s in class, so it’s unlikely Jennifer would be at her house. The only way to know is to go knock on the door. We’ll need a story. Follow my lead.”

Mort reached in the back for his Seattle Seahawk’s cap as Lydia raised the hood on her raincoat. He waited for a break in traffic, then opened the door. The two of them went across the street, through the chain-link gate, and up the cracked walkway to the front door. Mort’s knock was harder than it needed to be, but he wasn’t sure how long the rusty awning covering the entry stoop would keep them dry.

“Who is it?” a male voice from inside called out. “You’re selling something you’re wasting your time.”

“We’d like to speak to you, Mr. Lightfoot,” Lydia yelled through the windowless plywood door. “We’re not selling anything. We’ve come with an offer.”

A few moments later the male voice spoke again. This time directly from behind the front door. “What kind of offer?”

Mort looked down at Lydia. She’d lowered her hood and had a pleasant smile. He realized she was posing for whoever might be watching, pulled off his ball cap, and put on a similar “We’re here to help” look.

“I’m Tammy Roos. I’m from the Department of Education. I’m here to talk to Jennifer about the opportunity to earn her high school diploma at home. Are you Tom Lightfoot? It would be an honor to meet you, sir. It’s your service to our country that qualifies Jennifer for this benefit.”

The lie tripped off her tongue. Mort didn’t want to know how many times she’d talked her way past guards or security forces to reach The Fixer’s targets.

It took a while for the man inside to answer. “You got some identification?”

“Of course, sir.” Lydia reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. She opened it to expose her driver’s license and turned to Mort. “Pull out your badge,” she whispered.

Mort was confused. “My
police
badge?” He kept his voice as low as hers. “What happened to needing a story?”

“Tom Lightfoot’s blind, remember? Explosion in Kuwait. Just hold it up.”

Mort reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his identification. They turned in unison toward the picture window.

Their ruse was rewarded by the sound of a lock sliding. Tom Lightfoot was tall, at least six-three. Sleek black hair. Square jaw. He wore a patch where his right eye should have been and the right sleeve of his blue flannel shirt hung slack and empty. He was broad across the chest, but his right shoulder was slouched and rounded.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Lightfoot.” Lydia extended her hand. Tom Lightfoot looked down in wary appraisal, as though it had been a long time since anyone had reached out to him. Then he shook her hand and stepped aside, keeping an unfocused eye on Mort as the two of them entered.

“You from the VA?” Lightfoot asked as he fumbled with the remote to turn off the oversized television set leaning against one wall of the cluttered living room. “I don’t remember applying for any benefits for Jennifer.”

“Is she here?” Lydia asked. “We’d love to explain the program to both of you.”

Lightfoot turned his upper body to look at Mort. “Who’s he?”

Mort didn’t know the plan. Lydia stepped in before he needed to reply.

“Forgive me, Mr. Lightfoot. Would you prefer I call you Lance Corporal? I’d love it if you called me Tammy.” Lydia’s voice was filled with genuine respect.

Tom Lightfoot swallowed hard. It took him a moment to respond. “That was a long, costly time ago, Tammy. Tom will do.”

“Of course,” Lydia said. “Tom, this is my assistant, Dick Winters. He’s learning the details of this program. Like I said, we’re from the Washington State Department of Education. The program I have to offer your daughter is relatively new, and I thought, with your Jennifer such a perfect candidate, this would be an easy case for him to learn the ins and outs. Can you ask Jennifer to join us?”

Mort was uncomfortable lying to a man who’d sacrificed so much on a desert so far away. He stood with his hand extended in greeting as Lightfoot sized him up. Finally, the wounded soldier shook Mort’s right hand with his left.

“So you’re Dick, huh? I guess all we need is a Harry and we got ourselves a trio.”

Mort nodded. “I guess we do, sir. Nice to meet you. And thank you for your service.”

Lightfoot let go of Mort’s hand. “If you’re new to this, Dick, let me give you a little pointer. Save the whole ‘Thank you for your service’ bullshit for the desk jockeys who wear their camos on airplanes so they can get upgraded to more legroom. Any soldier who saw fire doesn’t want to hear it. You see a real soldier? Look ’em straight in the eye and offer ’em a drink. That’ll do it.”

Mort nodded and focused on Lightfoot’s remaining, damaged eye. “It’s a little early, and I’m not carrying. But if you hop in my car, sir, I’ll take you to your favorite joint and buy until you say when.”

The tall Marine stood steady, returning Mort’s gaze. Finally he gave one loud snort. “You can eighty-six the ‘sir.’ I’m a jarhead grunt who didn’t have the sense to watch where he was walking. Like I said, Tom will do.”

Mort nodded. “The offer stands, Tom.”

“What’s this about my girl?”

“We know Jennifer petitioned to drop out of school some time ago,” Lydia said. “Of course she was too young.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” Lightfoot said. “She needs to stay in school. I told her as much. But she got it in her head she needed to work. I suppose you know her ma’s dead.”

“We do.” Lydia softened her voice. “And we’re sorry for your loss. Did Jennifer have a particular job in mind?”

Lightfoot shook his head. “It was a crazy time. Mary…that’s my wife…was so sick so fast. The bills were flying in here faster than bees looking for beer. I get disability from the service. But it was Mary’s pay kept us floating. She was a bookkeeper. Good at it, too. But she got so sick with the cancer and all. She quit working. My money went as far as it could. Credit bought us a little time. Then Mary died. Jennifer’s not stupid. She knew I was coming up short each month. And some bills you can forget about ducking. She wanted to help. But I never wanted her to drop out of school.”

“Did she get a job?” Lydia asked.

“She picks up a buck now and then. Kid stuff, you know. Babysitting, dog walking. Sometimes people pay her to run errands. She’s always wanting to give me what she earns. I tell her to go to the mall with her friends. Buy a record or something.” He looked to Mort. “Hell, do they even sell records anymore?”

“Jennifer stopped going to school.” Lydia pressed on. “We’d like to help. She can work around her own schedule. Still keep those little jobs. By the way, where does she babysit? Does she get her referrals out of a service?”

Good,
Mort thought.
Find out who sent her in that limo to Crystal’s house.

Lighthouse shook his head. “Local folks, mostly. There’s a lot of kids in this neighborhood. Lots of working mothers needing help.”

“Of course,” Lydia said. “I wish I had someone like Jennifer. My poor dog is stuck at home all day.”

Nice move. Don’t press him too hard. Keep him talking.

“Is she on a job now?” Lydia asked.

Lightfoot hesitated. “Leave a brochure or a pamphlet or whatever it is you got. I’ll see she gets it.”

Lydia patted her purse. “It’s all high tech, Tom. Just like there are no records to buy at the mall, there’s no paperwork for us to leave. I have all the forms right here on my smartphone. I can sit with Jennifer and we can fill them out together. One push of the Send button and all red tape is sidestepped. When will she be home?”

Back off, Liddy. You’re going to spook him.

Lightfoot turned his head to focus his good eye first on Lydia, then on Mort. “How about you leave a card and I’ll have her call when she gets home.”

“We have a few more stops in the area,” Lydia said. “It would be no trouble to swing back by.”

Mort put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s have Jennifer call us, Tammy. We’re running short of time. If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late for our next appointment.”

Lightfoot held his stare steady on the two of them.

“You’re right, Dick,” Lydia said. “It was lovely to meet you, Tom. I look forward to talking with Jennifer soon.”

Mort and Lydia turned toward the door.

“What about that card?” Any previous attempt at cordiality had disappeared from Lightfoot’s voice.

Mort made a show of patting his pockets. “I’m afraid I left them in my other jacket.”

“We’ll swing back by another time.” Lydia reached for the doorknob.

Mort was impressed with Lightfoot’s speed as he slammed his left hand against the front door, barring their exit.

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want with my daughter?”

Lydia held firm. “We need to speak to Jennifer, Tom.”

Lightfoot stepped closer and stood nose to nose with Mort, showing him the steel that made him a Marine.

“Get out of my house.” Lightfoot’s breath was hot on Mort’s face. “Now.” He opened the front door and stood guard as Mort and Lydia left. They were halfway down the broken concrete path when he called behind them through the rain.

“And tell Boss Man if he has trouble with my daughter, he doesn’t have to send you. Tell him to come straight to me.”

Boss Man hated that phone hanging from Staz’s neck. It was like talking into one of those damned fast-food ordering stations. Only there wasn’t any bag of steaming-hot fries waiting at the next window.

“I don’t think you appreciate my situation.” Boss Man decided to keep it professional. She liked that.
Like maybe they could all pretend they weren’t pimps and whores if they used Harvard Business School lingo.
The bitch was nuts. And the silent tree trunk standing in front of him looking like he’d enjoy nothing better than for her to give the word to start wailing on his ass was a little loco, too. So if the skirt on the other end of the phone wanted to play corporate America, he’d go along.

“I understand your situation perfectly well.” Her voice was smooth. Like maybe she got her start working the sex lines. Helping beer-bellied losers too lazy to head down to the corner tavern to pick up a real girl get their rocks off while sitting at the kitchen table in their tighty-whities. He’d met a few of those phone sex whores. They all had voices made you think of Beyoncé or Angelina but looked more like your fat aunt Gertie with the hairy mole on her chin.

This one wouldn’t look like that. She was Vadim Tokarev’s number one bitch. Guy like that didn’t settle for anything less than prime. Had the money to keep her looking that way, too. Maybe when he made his move, he’d get a look at her. Maybe even more than a look. Women like her had a nose for sniffing out the man in charge and using what they got to get next to him. What the hell. Once he took back control of the action here in Seattle, he might give her a tumble.

But for now he’d play along.

“You take your direction from me. That’s been the arrangement since I bought your operation. Do I need to remind you it was my cash infusion that kept Vadim from collecting?”

“No, ma’am.” He’d been desperate. He had a sweet thing going, running the girls in three counties. His legit business was good, especially for laundering the money the whores brought in, but it didn’t offer the jazz of walking on the wild side. The city knew him as a success, but Kiwanis meetings and quarterly reports didn’t light his candle the way his side business did. He loved everything about it. From kissing the kids goodbye in the morning, posing like he was off for another dull day like any other, to keeping the girls in line and soaking the johns for every dime he could. It made every breath a buzz. After expenses his racket was netting a cool forty grand a month that nobody knew about. Not even his wife. Life was sweet. But he’d gotten greedy and made the stupid decision to expand into the drug business. Nothing hard core. Just a little cocaine. Provide his customers one-stop shopping for all their party needs. Things had hummed along for a couple of months. His profits shot up to almost sixty grand a month but even that wasn’t enough for him. He went to his supplier, talked an especially impressive line of bullshit, and drove home with a quarter million dollars of powder bought on credit stashed in his trunk. He’d turn it into a cool million in thirty days. He got a hard-on just thinking about having a pile of cash that high. But six guys in ski masks were waiting for him when he pulled into his garage. His source had set him up. Stole the whole stash. That’s when he learned his supplier controlled the West Coast drug operations for one Vadim Tokarev, the baddest badass south of the moon. Nothing left to do but tell his wife where the cemetery plot was and pick out the hymns for his funeral.

Then Staz had walked into his office, blocking out the sun with his mile-wide shoulders and water tower head. He’d pointed to Boss Man and opened the speaker on the phone hanging from his neck. Never said a word. All these months and he’d still not heard the big man speak. But he loved the sound of the chick talking from the phone. Especially when she’d offered up the money to pay his supplier.

All she wanted was the whore operation. Just like that, he was out of the drug business and forced to call the woman who sucked the dick of the criminal who would scare Al Capone “ma’am.”

But someday he’d call her something else.

“You violated so many aspects of your job description I hardly know where to begin,” she said. “First and foremost you failed to remember the cornerstone of my business model: treat my employees with respect. Then, you stepped around me and approached my associate with a business opportunity you knew I would never approve, and two women are dead.”

Boss Man looked up at Staz, the silent mountain. She’d called the man topping every Most Wanted list in the world “my associate.” As though she was on a par with Tokarev. Staz hadn’t cracked so much as a grin at that knee-slapper.

“What was I to do, ma’am?” Boss Man hoped he sounded sincere. “The guy was offering so much cash. If we didn’t cast his production, he’d go to the competition. You want to grow the business by fifteen percent this year. I can’t do that by sending customers elsewhere. And like you said, a snuff film didn’t fit your business model. I thought if I offered it to Tok—” He caught himself. No one spoke his name aloud. “To your associate, the two of you would discuss the matter and give me guidance on how to proceed. I assumed when he gave me the go-ahead, he spoke for the both of you. And when your associate told me to cast another production, well, I figured you’d okayed that one, too.”

The speaker was silent for several moments. Boss Man was proud of his performance. No way she could expect him to cross Tokarev. If he played his cards right, she might even see him as the victim of bungled management communication…maybe offer him a bonus to offset the stress of being caught in the middle.

“We cannot have an effective working relationship without honesty.” Her voice stayed calm, but he sensed her mood had shifted. “If you truly felt my associate spoke for us both, you wouldn’t have explained Crystal’s death as an accident. And you wouldn’t have pretended not to know Francie was dead.”

Boss Man dropped his gaze to Staz’s hands. There would be no bonus. There would be punishment. He was relieved to see Staz as relaxed as a human sequoia could be. There were no fists. No gun or blackjack. He dialed his voice to contrition.

“I was wrong. I wanted to impress you. You and your associate. I’m guilty of ambition. Is it so bad? Me wanting to grow your profits?”

“You didn’t report the income.” Her voice was as calm as if she was telling him the time. “When discovered, you exaggerated the expenses. Those are not the actions of someone wanting to impress me with profit growth.”

He was cornered. Tokarev had assured him he’d handle his whore. Boss Man huffed out a short chuckle.

“You find this amusing?” she asked.

“Maybe a little. I mean no disrespect. I’m laughing at myself for trusting your associate. I should have known better.”

“Whom should you have trusted?”

Boss Man looked up at Staz before lowering his focus to the phone. “You. I see that now. You’ve never lied to me. You’ve always been fair.”
The hell she had.
But now was not the time. “I won’t make the same mistake again.”

He was in no position to tell her another film was about to go into production. Tokarev had made arrangements for the deposit of the money. Distribution channels had been promised a fresh product. But Staz and the jackhammers he called hands were standing right in front of him. He’d get himself out of this situation, contact the Russian, and make sure he took care of the silky-voiced woman weighing judgment on him. “Give me a chance to demonstrate my loyalty. Let me earn your trust back.”

There was another long silence. Boss Man offered a hopeful smile and collegial nod of the head to Staz. Finally she spoke.

“I am a woman who believes in second chances.”

Boss Man exhaled.

“But you’ve already had yours. And a third as I recall. I’d hoped the penalties of cash would have corrected your behavior. They didn’t. Nor did the penalty of physical pain.”

Boss Man felt his bowels rumble. This was going to be bad.

“On the other hand you do know the area. The customers. And you have demonstrated an ability to recruit employees through your lending business. It would be unproductive to begin with someone new.”

Boss Man allowed himself a small hopeful breath.

“I promise,” he said. “No more behind the back. No more side deals. From now on you call the shots. I’m done with your associate. I’m just your eyes and ears here. Your arms and legs. How can I prove you can depend on me?”

“You can’t.” Her answer came too quickly. “You’ve proven yourself completely untrustworthy. The responsibility of enforcing your loyalty falls to me. Staz?”

Boss Man stiffened in his chair, ready for the first blow. He was surprised when the big man pulled an electronic tablet from his jacket pocket. As silent as ever, Staz manipulated his large fingers over the screen, then turned it around for him to view.

His chest seized. A gasp escaped his suddenly dry mouth.

“This is Nicky, I believe.” Her voice accompanied the displayed photo of Boss Man’s six-year-old son. He recognized the T-shirt the boy wore to breakfast that morning.

Staz swiped his finger across the screen and another photo appeared. “And here we see David and Teddy.” A picture of his grinning ten-year-old twins brought the spinach and feta omelet he’d had for breakfast back into his mouth.

“Leave them alone.” His voice held little volume. “I beg you. Hurt me. Take from me. Leave my children out of this.”

“I have taken from you.” Her calm terrified him. “First I took money and you failed to learn. Then I took your comfort and again you betrayed me. I’ll need to take something else.”

Staz moved his hand again across the screen.

“And this is your Maria. Every daddy deserves a beautiful girl. You certainly got yours.”

Boss Man broke into short, choking sobs as the screen showed a photo of his fourteen-year-old daughter. He’d tied that blue ribbon around her shiny dark ponytail this morning while his wife warned they were all going to be late if they didn’t hurry. Her eyes, so like her mother’s, had glistened with the joy of a well-loved child as she thanked him for making the bow just right. He’d pinched her freckled cheek and promised her they’d watch that television show she loved so much when he got home. He hated it, but it was magic to watch his daughter as she rooted for her favorite contestants to receive a rose.

“Please,” he begged. “Please.”

Staz again popped his fingers across the tablet before turning the screen toward him. He saw a video. His beloved Maria slung over the shoulders of the giant who stood in front of him. His daughter looked to be laughing as she kicked her feet and impishly patted her hands against his back. Staz was walking alongside a large indoor swimming pool, pausing every few steps and making a move as if he would toss Maria in, clothes and all. While there was no audio, Boss Man could see each tease brought a fresh wave of glee to his daughter’s face.

She looked so happy.

Boss Man watched as Staz entered the pool. The startled look on Maria’s face was replaced in an instant with the silent vision of more laughter.

Maria was always up for an adventure.

He watched her squirm as Staz took measured steps toward the deeper end of the pool. Staz stopped in the center and repositioned Maria in front of him. Held her high over his head. Just like Boss Man had done thousands of time when Maria was a toddler.

Boss Man had no voice now. Not even a murmur to plead for his child’s life. He couldn’t turn his eyes away. He watched Staz lower his daughter into the water. He saw the joyful look on Maria’s face turn first to confusion and then to fear as Staz held her under the water time and time again. Each time longer. He watched her gasp for air whenever Staz lifted her from her torment only to plunge her beneath the surface again.

He knew what was coming. He wanted to close his eyes. To save himself from seeing an image he knew would haunt his sleep as it drove him deep into the pit of insanity. But he couldn’t. He had been there when his daughter, fresh from her mother’s womb, had taken her first breath. It was his duty as her father to watch her take her last.

He was almost grateful when Staz ended her torture. Staz clamped his large hands on her tiny shoulders and held her down. Her head turned this way and that. Frantic at first, but weaker with each moment. Finally she stopped. Staz held her there a minute longer, but Maria didn’t move.

Only her ponytail, still wrapped in the blue ribbon her daddy tied, floated on the surface.

The video ended. Boss Man willed his own breathing to halt. His heart to stop. His mind to give him the blessed gift of madness.

“And so
we
have made a film for
you
.” He’d almost forgotten she was there. “And just like you, we are prepared to make others.”

His mind flashed to the boys. His baby and the twins. How would they adjust to an emptiness where there used to be a big sister? How long would his wife scream in hopeless grief for the daughter she’d lost?

“Will we have to?” Tokarev’s whore asked.

His lips stuck to his teeth. His tongue lay huge and heavy, swollen in his mouth. Boss Man ached with effort to stutter out one word.

“No.”

Staz closed the tablet and slipped it back into his pocket.

“Your wife will call when Maria fails to come home. You will reassure her all is well. Just like you reassured me there wouldn’t be another death. At some point the two of you will call the authorities to report your daughter missing. I have shown your wife a kindness. Her daughter’s body will be easily found. That’s more than you showed the families of Crystal or Francie. Should you betray me again, even in the slightest way, I promise you there will be no mercy extended. Your family will grow smaller with each misstep.”

Boss Man nodded.

“Staz will leave you now. I look forward to a new beginning for our working relationship.”

Boss Man nodded again. There wasn’t any room in his mind for revenge. There was only grief and obedience.