One of the Wicked: A Mick Callahan Novel (3 page)

"This ain't smart," he said, not unkindly.

I sighed. "I know."

"Then don't throw down."

I pointed to the drunk, who was struggling to sit up. "Give the man his stuff back, and then maybe we can talk."

Cowboy studied me for a long moment. I saw him replaying how quickly I'd dropped his partner. He opened the wallet, took a twenty and held it up. "Figure I should get a few beers out of this. I walk away now, we straight?"

I shrugged. "He'd just blow it anyway."

Cowboy nodded. He went back towards the club, eyes on my face. He took the long way around, to avoid getting close. Picked up his friend from behind, under the arm pits, and half dragged him over to one of the trucks. They got in and drove away.

The businessman that looked like Bud was back on his feet, leaning against the rental car. His suit was speckled with vomit and some blood from a cut just over his right eye. He glared at me.

"Buzz off, man. I didn't ask for your help."

"True enough." I raised my arm, pointed. "There's a Motel Six just down the road. Check in and sleep this off. Otherwise, a squad car is going to nab you, and you'll spend the night in a cell and lose your license."

He wiped his nose and spat, turned to open the car, and then I heard him mumble something obscene.

"What?"

"I said . . . thanks."

I nodded. "Try AA. It works."

"Not for me."

"Give it ninety meetings in ninety days. Keep at it. This is no way to live."

"That so?" He got in, slammed the door and started the engine. Now he felt safe. "Yeah, well fuck you too, Mother Teresa."

I watched as he backed out, clipped a metal trash can, and finally managed a U. He drove out of the lot onto Vanowen, then floored it to well over the speed limit. It was no surprise that he went the wrong way, down toward the next line of strip clubs. I crossed the lot.

Some Rick James tune was thumping, scratching, and growling at the other side of the entrance. That tired old one about a girl being super freaky. I opened the dented metal door and went inside.

Bud Stone was parked alone at the end of the bar, before a half-empty pitcher of warm beer, watching two bored girls pretend to have lesbian sex. He wasn't wearing a suit. The years hadn't been kind. Like the drunk, his hairline was trekking steadily towards Bolivia, and his massive chest drooped a bit. He still had huge guns straining his tee shirt; arms festooned with tattoos and clumps of thick, reddish hair. Bud Stone worked out harder than any man I'd ever known. And he was one of the good guys, even after two combat tours. I owed him. A lot.

Bone saw me coming, and his face split into that familiar, toothy grin. "Well, if it ain't Mick Callahan his own self!"

"Was last time I looked."

We shook hands, palms slapping together, grips hard and short. "You're in good shape," Bone said. "You've been hitting the iron?"

"I go over to Golden Gym, on Laurel Canyon, but only three or four times a week these days. Know the place?"

"Yeah, I know it. I know right where that is."

"You could meet me there some time."

"Sure, let's do that. Well, then." An awkward silence ensued. Finally, he motioned for me to sit down. "Want a Coke or something?"

"Not at five bucks a glass. How are you doing, Bud?"

"I'm a happy camper." Bud didn't lie well.

I slid around him, so my back was to the wall. The two dancers saw they'd lost our attention and slithered off to bother the only other patrons, three drunken Hispanics in work clothes.

"Same old Mick."

"What?"

He grinned. "What did you call it, Hitchcock fixation?"

"Close." My face felt hot. "But it's the cowboy, not the director. Wild Bill got shot in the back playing cards. I just hate to turn my back to a room. Like to see what's going on."

"Okay, bro, I got a riddle for you. Picture this, okay? You are on a horse, galloping at a constant rate. On your right side is a sharp drop, and on your left side is an elephant traveling at the same speed as you. Directly in front of you is a galloping kangaroo and your horse is unable to overtake it. Behind you is a lion running at the same speed as you and the kangaroo. What must you do to safely escape this highly dangerous situation?"

I grinned. "Okay, I'll give."

"Well, son, the very first thing you better do is get your drunk ass off that merry-go-round!"

We laughed loud and warm. The homely waitress sauntered over wriggling her fake breasts. I gave her cash for the cover charge without being asked. "Just bring me some ice water with a slice of lime in it." She started to remind me that I'd be paying for booze. My eyes told her I already knew. Bone watched her haunches as she walked away.

"Killer body, with a face designed to protect it."

I grabbed a swizzle stick from one of his dead soldiers. "Been a long time, Bone."

"A few years. You may not recall, you seemed pretty blitzed, but we said howdy at Burbank Airport one night. I was on my way to Vegas. You were going to tape that show in Denver, that one where you punched some guy on live TV."

I winced. "That was my downfall."

"Every time I saw that clip replayed on the news shows, it cracked me up all over again. The guy was an asshole, Mick. Had it coming to him."

"Let's talk about something else. I'm reformed."

Bone wasn't going to let me off easy. "Then I heard about that stuff up in Nevada, where you busted up some kind of drug ring. I was hoping the good publicity would kick start your career. Damned glad to see you land on your feet here in LA."

"You ever listen to my show?"

Bone grinned hugely. "Not often. You know me. I've tuned in now and again, but I'm way past saving."

The girl brought my ice water and slipped away. Bone and I clicked glasses. "To old times, bro."

"Mostly good times."

We caught up a bit more. Showed off a few scars like boys who'd played high school football together. The Navy had done a hell of a good job fixing his bum leg. Finally, Bone looked around for a moment, as if embarrassed to finally have to come to the point. "Mick, you said one time that if I ever needed help, you'd have my back. Did you mean that?"

"I'm here, Bone, just like you asked." He was calling in the favor of a lifetime, and we both knew it. "Even though it's way past my bedtime."

"I need you to do me a solid."

"What is it you want?"

"For you to watch out for somebody who means a lot to me."

"How serious is the situation?"

"Hey, it's probably nothing, man. I just want you to look in on her the next few weeks, maybe make sure she's okay."

"Most things aren't that simple."

"Well, it's that and if necessary maybe scare some bad guys away. It's become sort of a mess."

"Rats. We were fine until that last part. Who is it?"

"My girlfriend." He reached into his shirt, produced a photo of an attractive young woman. I leaned closer. She had bottle-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a nice figure. In the picture she wore glasses, but I was willing to bet she had contacts in the bathroom cabinet. One of those ubiquitous LA actress/model/dancers.

"I thought you were married."

"I am."

I stared at him for a stiff minute, trying to decide what, if anything, to say. I deal with this sort of soap opera all day long, but Bone wasn't a client. I decided to skip the lecture unless he asked for my thoughts. "What's your wife's name again, Wendy? What the hell happened?"

"What happened? Well, I guess real life doesn't measure up to combat. It gets dull. I made a mistake, bro. I became a statistic. I started to take Wendy for granted. My son is all grown up, moved away to New Orleans to get in on reconstruction stuff after that second hurricane. I started fooling around now and again, nothing serious."

"And your wife found out."

"Not about the light stuff. It was a lot worse than that. I got serious about one of them, and my wife saw a couple of hot E-mails. It got pretty ugly. She left me last year, man, and went to stay with her mom. Maybe I didn't mention that in the card I sent at Christmas, I don't know."

"No, you didn't."

"It took me months to convince Wendy to come back, but she finally did. We're doing okay again, at least lately."

I looked around the bar. "You sure about that?"

He ignored the barb. "That girlfriend I mentioned? She ain't there to tempt me anymore." Bone shrugged, but his eyes glinted. "Got involved with some yoga teacher, even said she wants to have kids with the prick. I was going to lose out to a granola eater. Can you believe that? Cheated on while I was cheating on my wife. Anyway, it finished us, but that's who this is about. The girlfriend."

"I'm listening."

He handed me the picture. "You keep it, okay? Just so you'll know her when you meet her. Her name is Brandi, last name DeLillo, originally from Omaha. You can probably tell she was in the life a ways back, but she got herself into a program, and now she's in school at UCLA. It's over, but I still give a shit."

"Bone, the obvious question is why me? Why not watch out for her yourself?"

"Figure you owe me?"

Back in the day, Bone stood by me in numerous barroom brawls, even took the rap for a DUI hoping to protect my ultimately failed status with the SEALs. There were other incidents, including a couple of things I should have gone to jail over. Still could. Those days had to stay buried. "Yeah," I said, without resentment. "I owe you."

He looked down. "I got myself in a little trouble is why. Nothing I can't straighten out. I'll watch out for Wendy, but I can't be two places at once. So I'm only asking you just in case, if you know what I mean."

"Like as in case you do time? Get blown the fuck up? What?"

"That doesn't really matter, does it? You don't need to know."

I shook my head. "We're old friends, Bone. I keep my promises and pay my debts. But if you want me to get involved in something where there's real risk, I have to know the whole story. It's better that way."

"Can I count on you to keep your mouth shut? Even to the law?"

"Give me some money."

"What?"

I held my hand out. "Give me some money."

Bone shrugged, dug around in his pockets and produced a ten-dollar bill. I tucked it into my jeans. "Okay. Tomorrow, when I go to the office, I'm putting you down as a cash client."

"Huh?"

"Then anything you tell me will be kept confidential, unless you're planning a murder or molesting kids. Sound okay?"

"Okay." He looked down at the bar, moved some moisture around with his fingertips. "I was a cop for a while. I should know better than to be in this fix. I did something really stupid, Mick."

"What, and why?"

"Why? Money, what else? The what of it is that I wanted to help Brandi with her school. I wanted her to think I was cool, look up to me and be grateful. Okay, and maybe give me another chance. Anyway, I gave myself all the same lame excuses we all use when we're young, dumb, and full of come."

"You're not that young anymore, Bone."

"Yeah, but I'm still dumb and horny."

I checked my watch. "Just tell me what happened. I wasn't kidding about this being past my bedtime."

"I was shooting pool with a guy I know, and he said he was sure he could make a big score through a pal of his, some guy named Toole. He just needed some cash to make the first buy. Said it was an easy double-your-money type thing, okay? Piece of cake." The waitress wandered our way again, and Bone fell silent. He resumed when she vanished into the ladies' room. "And you know something funny? I can't believe I went for it, because I hate those fucking drug dealers, I really do."

"Go on."

"I sold a couple of my old cars, borrowed from a few people, and gave him my stake. He went to make the move. I was supposed to get paid the next weekend."

"Let me guess. He disappeared."

Bone picked at his fingernails. "Dumb, huh? Faber never showed up for work after that. Neither did this Toole guy. They just left my sorry ass twisting in the wind. Mick, I got cocky. I figured they'd never risk pulling a fast one on someone like me. Looks like I was wrong."

"How much money are we talking about, Bone?" I was running numbers through my mind, wondering if I could float him a loan instead.

He mumbled something. I stared at him until he managed to say it louder. "It's maybe a hundred and change."

My shoulders slumped. "Oh, man."

"I know, I know. Like I said, dumb."

I slapped his leg. "So face up to it, work hard, pay everybody back."

"I'm trying to do that, but it gets worse."

"Doesn't it always?"

Someone came in the front door. The hair on my neck fluttered. It was the cowboy from the parking lot. He saw us and waved at me. No sign of his friend, who was probably waiting outside to rearrange my facial features. This night had started bad and was going downhill fast.

"Some of the money I borrowed, like maybe fifty grand, it was from the Pesci crew." He expected me to recognize the name. "As in Big Paul Pesci, who I hear is one bent-nose, spaghetti-chomping motherfucker. And he doesn't go to a shrink like that guy used to on TV, okay? I figured the vig was low enough that if I doubled the fifty in a week and paid everybody back I'd still come out thirty large ahead of the game, enough to cover all of Brandi's tuition. I meant well, man. I really did."

Cowboy sat at the other end of the bar. He flashed a shark grin and wriggled his fingers. I waved back this time, with a growing sense of anxiety. All I needed now was my name in the newspapers because of a fight outside some strip bar. My ratings had slipped, my radio job was getting iffy, and that could really flush it all down the toilet.