One of the Wicked: A Mick Callahan Novel (16 page)

A few minutes later he called me on my cell phone but didn't get a reply. That's because I was working out for the first time in a week. Seeing Darlene had stirred up one hell of a lot of already unruly emotions and I wanted to blow off some adrenaline. I generally circuit train, working my way up from the legs, and try to get in about an hour of cardio at the same time. It's not the most efficient way to do things, but I don't need to bulk up, just stay toned.

After weight training, I ran two miles then jogged at an angle before slowing down to a walk. I had a thing for Darlene that wouldn't quit, and I knew it. She was the most amazing mix of smart and tough I'd ever run across. I was more of a problem to her than any normal boyfriend. I resolved to get out of this mess as soon as possible and make it my last. Yeah, I know. I didn't believe me, either.

Bone's first call must have come in when I was doing the bench press, because I'd been at Golden Gym for maybe an hour. After that I did flies, side lats, the overhead shoulder press, upright rows; the whole gamut. Finally, I finished up with another light jog on the treadmill and went to my locker. This time I heard the phone and noticed it was the second call.

"Where are you?"

"Never mind where I am. What the hell is going on?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"We need to talk, but not over the phone. Not anymore. It may not be safe."

"You're here in town."

"I'll come to you right now."

"We talked about exercise in the bar, remember? You said you knew the place. Well, there is a juice bar in that strip mall."

"Twenty minutes."

I took a quick shower, got dressed, tossed my stuff in the trunk of my car, and walked over to the health food store. They have a small patio with screens around it that's reasonably private. I ordered a couple of protein shakes and took them outside. The day was growing heavy as the bad air thickened. LA heat in the summer can feel like a wet quilt.

Bone drove up a few minutes late, made a slow circle of the parking lot like a man suffering from justifiable paranoia. He finally parked a short distance from the store. Every time I saw him he had a new piece of crap ride. Bone arrived and sat down. He looked a bit different. It took me a minute to realize why. He had darker hair and a new, rather feeble moustache.

"Any luck?"

He shook his head. "You?"

"Faber and Toole were last known to be in Vegas, at least according to their credit card records. My guys lost the trail there."

"I assume you've heard the news?"

"Which news?"

"It seems a drug dealer and porn maker named Gordo, a real badass from all accounts, was found dead yesterday. Somebody really sliced and diced him."

"Yes, I heard." And I gave Bud a short version of my experience with Big Paul in Vegas and did a very spooky impression of the man called Nicky, who I described as a meat locker with eyebrows. I caught the accent pretty well. Bud listened carefully. He shook his head back and forth like a robot with a short circuit. I told him what Nicky had said about Gordo and the missing courier. The briefcase and the hand. Telling it made my skin crawl.

"Now, I'm not saying I know anything about this shit, you understand."

I leaned back in the chair and downed some of the protein drink. It tasted like strawberry chalk. "Of course not, but if you did?"

"Well, if I did, I'd tell you the sorry bastard was alive and well. That he wimped out after a couple of small cuts on his arm and would have surrendered his grandmother to Bin Laden. I'd tell you that somebody else must have gone in there and finished the job in a really messy way."

"Because it wasn't you." I wanted to believe my friend, I really did, but I also sensed how deep the ditch would be if I was wrong.

"Mick, I didn't kill him." Bone leaned forward. "For some reason I'm being framed. I made him piss his pants, but I didn't take him out."

"As far as I know, no one is after you for this yet." I decided not to let him know I'd told Darlene the whole truth. That seemed like a great way to screw up two of my friends at the same time. "Maybe we can keep this quiet."

He shook his head. "Want to bet? My name is going to come out soon. There's only one possible explanation, Callahan. These guys want me running scared, with nowhere to hide, so I'll get them what they want. And they're going to keep turning up the pressure until I do."

"So give it to them."

Bud barked a short laugh. "Jesus, don't you think I'd love to?"

For some reason I didn't know if I believed him. Again. That troubled me. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't have any computer disc, Mick. All I have is a bunch of cash and a lot of blow in plastic bags."

He seemed sincere. "Bone, that is not what I wanted to hear."

"Tell me about it."

We stared at each other for a long moment. Started to talk again, but broke it off when a pair of girls in sweats went into the juice bar to order. Some pigeons found a bit of trail mix scattered by the curb and went to war over it. Bone spent the next couple of minutes finishing the shake. I spent them thinking hard. The girls finally left.

"Okay, so what do we do now?"

"You forget you talked to me, stall for time."

"Bone, these guys aren't screwing around. They threatened to hurt my friends. That is just not going to happen."

Bone chewed his lower lip. "The disc has to be somewhere, Callahan."

"Yeah."

"Someone was there before or after me, right? So, maybe Faber and Toole took off with it. It was their goal all along. They set me up to take the rap all the way around, not just over the missing money."

"How would they know you'd hit Gordo?"

He laughed bitterly. "Shit, now that I look at it the right way, Faber damned near drew me a map to the gang's big Friday night party. He told me all about Gordo; how he was raking in the bucks, even what a prick he was and how someone ought to take him down. It looks like they really played me for a fool from day one, Mick."

"We have to do more than stall."

"Look, I'll work on it my way, you go yours." Bone got to his feet. "I'll dump the drugs, screw selling them, it would only make me easier to find. I have a lot of cash to spread around. I'm going hunting. The less you know the better."

I got up, too. "What about 'Gents,' Bone?"

His jaw dropped, and then he smiled. "I left stuff behind, didn't I? Getting old. You always were a smart son of a bitch. The matchbook?"

I held it up. He shook his head. "Oops."

"I assume you've been there?"

"This may be hard to believe, but I've never darkened their door. Actually, Joey Faber left that behind the last time I met him. I found it in the pocket of my jeans, used up the matches and remembered where they came from. I had planned on stopping by tonight."

Again, I had no choice but to believe him. "I'll do it, you may be about to get too hot. Have any other ideas?"

"One or two, but I'll keep them to myself for now." He cracked his knuckles. "Okay, that bar is yours. I'll be in touch."

"Watch yourself."

"You, too. And Mick? I'm sorry about all this."

We hugged clumsily, two men uncomfortable with physical affection. I watched my friend cross the lot, start his engine, and leave in a hurry. I went back to my own car, where I sat for a while, worrying about my friends and missing Darlene. I was wondering how I was going to make enough of a living this year, and what it was in me that could not seem to stay out of trouble. Finally, I checked my watch, started the car, and drove to my office for an appointment.

I got to my office with time to spare, so entered through the parking garage, picked up my mail, and went upstairs via the elevator. I let myself in to the small waiting room, put some soft jazz on the stereo and turned on the light near the magazine rack. Took my mail into the main office and closed the door. I had two checks sent in partial payment, one magazine, and a reminder from my landlord that those of us working into the evenings had to lock up more carefully. Some vagrant had been sleeping in the lobby and using the men's room to freshen up.

The magazine had an interesting article on the lead up to the disastrous war in Iraq, so I sat down to read until the new client came in. There was a small switch on the waiting room wall that turned on a red light above the door, so I'd know when she arrived.

All I knew about this woman was that her name was Mary. Her message said she'd overheard a young couple discussing me at lunch and the conversation prompted her to listen to my show. Eventually she'd decided to call and make an appointment for an individual session. The presenting issue had something to do with her childhood. No surprise there.

A little after the hour I head footsteps coming down the hall. I peeked out through the curtains and caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired young woman wearing blue jeans and a long-sleeved brown blouse. I closed the magazine and took a quick look around the office, fluffed the pillows, and sipped a bit of water. I gave her a couple of minutes to settle in and then I opened the door.

"Hi, I'm Mick Callahan."

I find most people sitting on the couch, but Mary was still standing. She was a big woman, maybe five-foot-ten, obviously very athletic. Her hair was shoulder length, but currently tied back into a ponytail. She met my gaze with even brown eyes and shook my hand with a firm grip.

"Mr. Callahan, I'm pleased to meet you. Do we go in there?"

"Yes, go right on in and have a seat on the couch. And no, you don't have to lie down."

The joke sailed over her head. Mary walked briskly into my office and gave herself a quick tour of the bookshelves and my collection of knickknacks. "Pretty spiritual office," she said. "A lot of this is from Eastern thought, right?"

"Just a hobby of mine, Mary. I don't follow any particular belief system. Have you studied comparative religion?"

She ran her fingers along a glass shelf, flicked away a bit of dust. "No, but I'm a recovering Catholic."

We shared a smile. I motioned toward the couch. "As I said, have a seat and tell me why you called. Perhaps I can help."

"I'm not sure you can," Mary said. Her voice cracked a bit on the last word and she immediately knew she'd left me an emotional opening. The realization clearly made her uncomfortable. I just looked at her and left some dead air. Mary cleared her throat and looked down.

"I've never done this before," she said. "You'll have to guide me along."

"I'll do my best."

Mary busied herself, removed the band that kept her hair in a ponytail. She shook out her brown hair and combed through it with her fingers before looking up again. She had fascinating eyes. There was something familiar about her. I found my mind wandering a bit too much. She was still standing and we shared an awkward moment. Finally, I went around the table and parked in my easy chair, forcing her to sit in response.

"Okay, so where the fuck do we start?" The profanity came easily but seemed forced and a bit out of place. Mary sat back and crossed her long legs. For the first time I noticed a couple of small tattoos, a green shamrock on the inside of her right wrist and a red heart low on her exposed right ankle. Her skin looked weathered and her eyes said she'd lived some.

"Start by calling me Mick. There are no rules, okay? Except for confidentiality, and the fact that once this relationship becomes formal, we should have little or no contact outside of this room."

"Ever?"

"There have been some situations, but for the most part, they're very rare occurrences, like weddings and funerals."

"Oh, I didn't know that."

Did that statement disturb her?
I watched Mary carefully, but it was as if she'd slipped a new mask into place. Same features, different soul. "It's in your best interest," I said. "It's so you'll have a zone of privacy, a safe place to open up without consequences that spill over into your personal life."

"Can I ask you some questions before we begin?"

"Of course. It's your fifty minutes."

"Only fifty?"

I shrugged. "That's an expression, at least as far as I'm concerned. The ten minutes of down time are to give a counselor a brief break between sessions. I have a bad habit of running over, especially since people often wait to the end to reveal what's really on their mind. I'd suggest you avoid that trap."

"I'll try."

Mary searched her purse, found a scrap of paper and looked at some questions she'd scribbled down. I studied her body language and tried to absorb her essence. Mary had the kind of voice that sounded familiar, a celebrity's voice, and an odd, quite potent charisma. She was a very attractive female, yet wasn't particularly sexual and definitely not girlie. She displayed the kind of confidence and power generally radiated by a successful businesswoman or perhaps a professional athlete. I liked her. She also carried a sadness that sat on her shoulders like a black shawl.

Mary went on to ask me several standard questions, like where I'd gone to college, how long I'd been in practice, what modality I tended to favor, if I'd ever been sued by a client and so on. They were all good, logical questions. Most people don't bother to do that, just assume the recommendation of a friend is guarantee enough. Sometimes they're right, sometimes they get burned.

Satisfied, she put the notes away. "I read your bio on the station Web site before they took it down."

I winced.
They took it down already? Damn, that's cold
. "I'm moving on to greener pastures."

"It said you grew up in Nevada."

"Yes, I did. My stepfather had a small ranch a few miles south of a little town called Dry Wells."