Nothing (2 page)

Colombians coming to California scaring the fucking beach boys to death. That's funny.

And you're a tough guy?

I step a little closer.

Tougher than you fucking homo's.

Aztec grabbed it but Sunset placed a hand against his belly stopping him. Sunset looks serious at his friend then laughs.

I laugh. Sunset tells me.

Okay. Let's say you don't need help.

Let's say that.

We'll tell Baba that it's all okay. It's all cool. You know, smooth?

Tell him what the fuck you like.

Sunset pulls Aztec by the arm toward another car in the lot. A Buick shit-can, full of rust and dust. Aztec bawls some Colombian garbage at his compadre. Sunset tells him to shut his mouth. Me and Largo wait for them to squeal away, which they do.

I say. Come on.

I jump into the rental, Largo gets behind the wheel. It's real cold inside the car now. I say.

Follow them shirts.

Largo drops in reverse and we take good care to keep our distance behind the Buick. Soon we are back on Interstate 5 and North bound. For the first time in a long time I'm going back to L.A.

FALLEN EMPIRES ARE RULING

Baba Yama was a mean bastard. That was when I knew him. Rumor has it that he is now much worse. But these are stories are like my legend. Whatever you hear about me, take it with a grain of salt.

We followed the Buick to a nice part of North Hollywood. It had to be Baba Yama's place. Gates closed slowly as the dust blew from the Colombians car along with the exhaust fumes. Largo wrote down the address. I spoke.

This had LA written all over it. What would Yama want with killing an innocent kid?

You done bad shit. Maybe it's Karma.

I look at Largo.

You fucking real?Karma my asshole. You and me, we're going to hell that's for certain. But Karma, give me a break.

I throw my cigarette butt out the window.

Let's go we'll come back when we're certain it's Baba's place, then the time'll be right. Double check the address. Talk to Inches or Mikey if you have to.

He nods.

Fucking Karma. I laugh.

Thing was Largo was right. Maybe it was some divine force, unseen, omnipresent making me pay. The worse way. Killing those you love. I think it hurt my Mom more than me, that in turn hurts me double.

And it fucking hurts.

Fine. I'm a killer, a drug dealer, a felon and I'm going to hell. I deserve it. Take me. Take fucking me. But be prepared Lord, cause if I turn up in front of you on Judgment day, if you think I'll eat this shit and lay down before your feet, you just singled out the wrong guy. Fuck you God. If I see you in this life or the next be fucking prepared to find a rage you never built into a human. I have the devil in me see. I am one of his favorite sons and I will find out who did this and when I do ...

Largo says. What's with the fists?

My knuckles glow white. I loosen my collar, tell him.

Just fucking drive.

THE CALIFORNIA GIRL

Largo drives us to a crummy hotel behind a strip mall. He drops me. Where he is staying is no better. We always stay separate when out of town then if one of us don't wake up in the morning the other can slink back and let the family know it didn't work out. That's not my bloodline family that's: The Family.

I grab my bag from the trunk, make sure I have plenty of shells and head inside.

I have no reservation. No problem. There is just a girl in the otherwise empty lobby sitting by an open fire. Her hair is long blond and straight, parted in the middle. Her small nose is dabbed with freckles highlighted by her light tan. Fucking California.

She lowers her magazine and looks in my direction sighing as if she is waiting or tired of waiting. I offer a slight smile. Hardly a smile. The guy on reception drops my plastic credit-card style key. He says.

607. The room is on the sixth floor. Take the elevator to six, turn left.

I finish signing the form with the fake name, address and credit card number. Take my bag to the elevator. Pass the girl by the fireside, she stands and drops a purse onto her shoulder. She follows me to the elevator.

I press the UP key. Doors open. We get in. I ask.

Floor?

Six. Thank you.

I double press 6. Doors close.

We stare at the numbers gliding lights above the transom.

6. Doors slide apart. I place a palm against the door closer mechanism, holding it open.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

An arrow sign points towards rooms 600-624. I follow. She is in front of me scanning the various door numbers. She has a silk patterned shirt than enfolds loosely around her shoulders and breasts. Tight indigo blue jeans and heels. Her ankles cross as she walks, like a model. She didn't fool me. She stops at 607, turns smiling at me. I don't smile. I slide the plastic key in and out, the small light flickers green. I push the door, she walks in, I follow. I say throwing my bag onto the bed.

Baba had tried the tough-guy method now this was a softer approach?

Something like that.

I open my bag and lift my underwear into a drawer then slide off my shirt. The bathroom is clean, white and functional. I shower. She showers. I lay on top of the bed naked. Turn on the TV. She lays beside me and lights a cigarette. I ask her.

What do you want?

I should ask you. I want you to have a good time.

The lights are out the only thing illuminating our naked bodies is the blue, yellow and red of the blinking TV screen.

I take the cigarette and draw on it. Her face is still beautiful in the silhouettes of light and shade. High cheek bones, petite nose, straight white teeth. She had to be 19 at the most. Her hand drifted to my chest, tracing the tattoos and scars, further onto my abdomen. I stopped her. She asks.

What's wrong?

I didn't reply. Finished the cigarette. She reclined, he nipples erect from the cool conditioned air. I ask.

Where you from?

Encino.

Where's that?

North.

Why don't you go back?

I like what I do.

Really?

Really. What's not to like about this?

I nod. Okay.

I get up and go to the bathroom. I pick up my trousers and check the back pocket for the condom I always keep in my wallet. The 2 business cards that Iverson had given me for the mortuary fell onto the white tile floor. One of the cards had something written on the back in pencil:

Manolito Santana

I pick up the card and stare at the handwriting. Flip the card, it was Iverson's own. A name, a single name written on the back of a detectives business card. I walk back into the room. The Girl is beneath the sheets staring at the TV. She doesn't look at me.

I call Largo.

Meet me at the 99 cent store in 15.

I get dressed.

She doesn't look at me. I tell her I'll be back.

FOR EVERYTHING A REASON

Forgetting the elevator I take the stairs. I emerge at an internal stairwell beside the lobby. I pause and step back until the door opens just a slither. The Old Cop is stood at the check-in desk, he has his badge in his hand, talking to the guy who checked me in. I move beside a pillar then retreat to the emergency EXIT on the far end towards the back car park. Pass the pool. Walk down the asphalt rise and onto the strip mall. Largo is parked in a handicapped bay. I get in. The interior is very cold. I tell him.

Put on some heat, what's wrong with you?

I'm real hot.

I switch off the A/C.

What's the result of that address and the Colombians?

Largo pulls a notepad from the side pocket of the car.

It's registered to some Jappo. Pretty sure it's an alias for Baba, I'm waiting on a call.

I nod. Hold out the card.

Largo speaks the words with precision: Manolito Santana, doesn't sound familiar.

Nor me. But I think Iverson wants some dirty work done for the OC detectives union.

Maybe he's just trying to help.

I stare at Largo. We both burst laugh.

Need anything from the 99 cent store I gotta get some condoms.

You get lucky already?

I think Baba thinks he'll get further with sweet than sour.

Largo nods. He asks.

We finished?

Yeah. Trace this Santana asshole. Find out who and what he is. Okay?

Largo hit's the A/C. I get out and walk into the highly fluorescent life of a 99 cent store clerk. There's the usual crap for sale an the usual signs that tell me I have no need to ask the price everything is less than a dollar. It had no drug store isle. I ask a Latino woman where I could get condoms. She didn't speak English. I didn't want to use sign language to express my need for condoms. I walked back into the night air and along the mall. If I had wanted late food or a new hybrid golf club I was in luck but not much else was on offer.

I was tired whichever way. The day had been long and the way hard. My sisters face came back to me in the fake darkness, I pushed her away. Away into the darkness until I could see her no more. I knew she would come back. But to do what I needed to do here, I could not see her in my head. It served no one. I lit a cigarette and bought cheap coffee from the Del Taco. Took my time getting back to the hotel. Thought about the girl in my bed. Thought about her life. Thought about where it was going.

Waited at the bottom of the asphalt rise leading to the hotel car park. I wanted to make sure that Old Cop had left. Maybe he had taken the Californian girl with him. Maybe he got her spooked and she left herself. I don't want anyone with me. I want to be alone. Alone is good. I like alone. Alone is safe. Alone is not love. I hate love. I don't know love. Never fell never wanted to fall. Just want to be by myself. In my hotel room. Alone.

The ramp is cool and shaded by the height of the hotel. I take my time walking up the ramp. Don't want to bump into the wrong crowd. Old Cop would take advantage of this dark shadow. I touch the hinge of my jaw and smile. Stupid old cunt.

Finish my cigarette. Pull open the EXIT I had jarred open and slid inside down the corridor and onto the fire stairs. I trudge the steps to six and push the door with my fingertips until I can see the corridor and doors to the rooms. I listen. Really listen. Nothing. Push a little harder until I can see all the doors falling in perspective. The bulb near my room was out creating a dark spot. I let the door close. Slide out my 9mm and chamber a round then step out. The corridor was empty. Casual I walk to the room door and slide the key. Light flashes green.

I walk in. Pistol points to the ground but ready. The room is still dark. The TV is still on. Red. Yellow. Blue. Flashes. Sounds. Too loud sound. The shape of the girl in bed. I walk to the bathroom. Snap on the safety and stash the gun beneath the basin. I shout to the room.

Sorry about the no-show babe. Had to pay a visit to a friend. But look. I'm a little tired. Stay. If you want to stay. We'll see how it goes in the morning.

I take off my pants and shirt. She doesn't answer me. I say.

The TV's still a little loud for me. Maybe we can turn it off, it's real late, been a long day.

I walk back into the room. She's beneath the sheets.

I said you can stay.

No reply.

Fuck. Where's the remote?

I see it on the nightstand. I flip the reading light and hit the minus key on the volume until it becomes much quieter.

Pull back the sheets. She's lay there still naked. A clear plastic bag covers her head zip-locked at her throat. I don't move. Her nose is slightly bloody. Beneath the see-through baggy shrunk-sucked to her face. Her mouth gapes. White straight teeth. Suffocation. Fuck. Her arms dotted with bruises, her wrists are covered. I flip off the reading lamp.

FORGET EVERYTHING AND REMEMBER

Think quick. Motherfucker.

In my travel bag, at the bottom secreted is a cell phone. It's untraceable. I only use it in emergencies.

Largo?

Yeah?

He sounds like I woke him. I don't give a shit. I say.

Is Pilgrim still out here?

He hesitates. I think so ... something happened?

Find him. Give him this number.

I give Largo the cell number. He asks.

You okay?

I'll see you in an hour.

Where?

I'll meet you. What room you in?

8

I drop the call. Throw my stuff in the valise. Slide the gun from beneath the basin and sling that into the valise too. I fill the tub with water as cold as I can get it. Drag the girl into the bathroom by the wrists. Rip off the plastic bag and snip off the tie-wrap with my nail scissors. Her throat makes a snoring sound as her body deflates. It's not the first time I've heard death rattle in a throat. Think quick Motherfucker.

Down the corridor I fill a pillow case and ice bucket with ice. Back in the room I pour the ice and the girl into the tub. Her face rictus into a fixed scream. Her tan becoming a slow mottle of purple blooms. I push her down beneath the surface. My hands burn against the cold. The water fills her lung cavity as I pump her ribcage. Filling the lung cavity with water, sinking her body down. I push and squeeze more, the artificial pumping dragging the icy fluid in. Pain in my hands and fingers cramping. Though I can still feel the rigor coming on and more purple. My hand aches scream for me to stop, I rub them. She is submerged. I pull her to a sitting position. Her open eyes are misty white due to oxygen depravation cracking the lens. Stare. I look deep into them. Stare. Look into her death.

My cell rings. I pick up. Panting I answer.

Yeah?

This is Mister Pilgrim speaking.

You know who this is?

I do.

No names. This may not be safe.

I agree.

Do you know where I am?

I do.

Good. I have a cleaning job. Very clean. It needs to be very clean.

That would amount to 3000 US Dollars.

How long?

I can be there in 30 minutes.

I'll be here.

Pilgrim left the line. I clip the phone shut and place it back into it's safe pocket.