This Wicked World (36 page)

Robo shakes his head when Boone tells him his cut will be ten thousand dollars. “Damn,
ese!
” he says. “What happened to you? A week ago I could barely get you to come with me to push a couple wetbacks around, and now you’re talking about robbing motherfuckers.”

“Shit changes,” Boone says with a shrug. “You interested?”

Robo sips his beer and scratches his belly. “That’s some straight-up thugging,” he says. “Been a long time since I got into something like that.”

“You asked me to find you jobs that pay,” Boone says, then jerks his head toward the duplex. “I understand if you’re not into it, though, the family and all.”

“Fuck, man,” Robo exclaims. He slouches in his chair and holds his head in both hands.

A panel truck sidles up to the curb, and the driver sounds a horn that plays “La Cucaracha.” He jumps out, hurries to the back, and slides open the door to reveal crates of battered vegetables and a small selection of packaged goods: cooking oil, tortillas, sacks of rice and beans. A few housewives drift over from the complex across the street, the one that looks more like a prison than apartments, and gather around the rolling grocery store.

“Remember how I told you George needs an operation on his eyes?” Robo says.

“At Denny’s the other day, sure,” Boone replies.

“Yeah, well, now they’re saying it has to be done soon, before he gets much bigger.”

“That’s rough,” Boone says.

“I work my ass off, you know. Fuck.”

Boone reaches down and picks up a Matchbox car off the grass to avoid looking Robo in the eye. If he does, he’s going to tell him to forget it, he’ll find someone else.

“My share’s ten grand?” Robo says.

Boone turns the car over in his hands, a Mustang. “That’s what the man’s promising.”

“Tomorrow?”

“We’ll leave this afternoon to make sure we’re set up.”

Robo goes silent and squints off into space like he’s in pain. Boone watches a ratty-looking squirrel scamper down an avocado tree in short, startlingly quick bursts. When it reaches the ground, it paws at the dirt, searching for something it buried earlier.

“Dad!” a little girl calls from the porch.

“What?” Robo responds, without turning around.

“George spilled some water.”

“So clean it up.”

The girl gives a frustrated moan and steps back inside. A second later every kid in the apartment is screaming.

Robo drains his beer, belches, and hurls the can at the squirrel, which races back up the tree.

“Okay, I’m in,” he says, holding out his fist.

Boone pounds it and says, “You sure?”

“No, but don’t worry,” Robo replies.

“We’re gonna need guns,” Boone says.

“What kind?”

“Big as you can borrow. We want to look like the baddest motherfuckers walking. AKs, AR-15s — like that.”

Robo grimaces. “That’s short notice, dog.”

“I know, man, I know,” Boone replies.

“You’re lucky I got the friends I got.”

The girl reappears in the doorway and yells, “Dad!”

Robo stands with a grunt. “I’m gonna go whip some little asses,” he says. “And you better split before my wife gets home. I don’t need to be answering all kinds of questions about what that white boy wanted.”

“Thanks, Robo,” Boone says.

“I should be thanking you, right?” Robo says as he waddles toward the duplex. “You’re the dude who hired me.”

The women shopping at the vegetable truck steal leery glances at Boone as he walks out to his car. Once behind the wheel he shuts his eyes and takes a second to process everything. A little bit of doubt tickles his brain, a little bit of “This is happening too fast,” but he pushes it aside and slips the Olds into drive.

O
LIVIA SWEEPS THROUGH
the front door all amped because her plan is in motion, but Virgil doesn’t acknowledge her, doesn’t even turn away from the TV. This whole thing has him so stressed, he took what he thought was a Xanax from Eton’s stash, and now everything’s kinda off, kinda wavy, and he’s wondering if it might have been something stronger.

“How’s our girl?” Olivia says as she plops down beside him on the couch.

“Fine, I guess,” he says. “I took her some cereal a while ago.”

“You got to keep a good eye on her, like every fifteen minutes.”

Virgil ignores her, stares at the TV.

“I mean it,” she says.

Definitely stronger than Xanax. Judge Judy has green dots all over her face. “How’d it go with what’s-his-nuts?” he asks, hoping to switch Olivia to another subject.

She sits back and puts her feet on the coffee table. “He threatened me and shit when I told him we had his chick, but I let him know we weren’t fucking around,” she says.

“That’s cool.”

“The next thing I’ve got to do is call Bill and get back in good with him.”

“How you gonna do that?” Virgil says.

Olivia leans forward to scratch her knee. “The guy’s crazy about me. Like, really crazy,” she says. “If everything’s cool after I talk to him, I’ll leave in an hour for the ranch, find out what I need to know, then come back here as soon as they take off for the meet. Tomorrow afternoon we’ll swap the bitch for the money, and it’s ‘See ya, motherfuckers.’ ”

“Be careful,” Virgil says.

“What do you mean?”

“He could get you out there just to shoot you.”

Olivia is quiet for a second, staring at the TV. “You don’t suppose I know that?” she finally says.

Virgil closes his eyes and thinks, Where you gonna go?

“What?” Olivia says, and Virgil realizes he must have spoken out loud.

“Where you gonna go?” he repeats, louder.

“What do you mean?” Olivia snaps. “The ranch, you idiot.”

“No, after, with your share.”

“I don’t know. Maybe Costa Rica. A girl I know said it was superchill down there, supernice.”

“Need a passport,” Virgil says. His head is suddenly too heavy for his neck.

Olivia leans forward to look into his face. “What the fuck are you on?” she says.

Virgil shakes himself out of his nod, swallows hard. “I’m just tired.”

“Well, straighten your ass up and come with me to check on Amy.”

This is Olivia’s thing and all, but her bossy tone makes Virgil’s balls ache. He heaves himself off the couch and lurches into the kitchen, where he stands at the sink and scrubs his face with cold water. “Huh,” he grunts. “Huh, huh, huh.” He dries off with a sour-smelling dish towel and does a set of jumping jacks to get his heart going. By the time he heads up the stairs, he’s feeling steadier on his feet.

Olivia is waiting in the hall, her ear pressed to the door of Eton’s grandma’s room. She’s carrying both of the Glocks, hands him one. Amy is looking right at them when they push into the room. She’s tied hand and foot to the bed.

“How are we?” Olivia says.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Amy replies.

“You just went a couple hours ago.”

Amy shrugs, like, What do you want me to do?

“Cut her loose,” Olivia says to Virgil.

Virgil sets the Glock on the dresser and takes out his pocketknife. This is the third time the chick’s had to go today. He steps to the bed and slices through the pantyhose securing her to the frame, then moves down to free her ankles. He notices her tits again. Nice ones. Big ones.

“Everything’s going good,” Olivia says as Virgil helps Amy sit on the edge of the bed. “You’ll be home by tomorrow afternoon.”

Amy doesn’t reply, just reaches her bound hands down to rub the red welts on her ankles. Being ignored like that infuriates Olivia. She walks over and jerks the woman up off the bed, shoves her toward the door.

“Cop an attitude with me, and you’ll be pissing in that bed,” Olivia says.

Amy walks out into the hall with Olivia and the Glock right behind her, and Virgil sits on the bed to await their return. The room spins in slow circles. It’d be great to lie down for a few minutes, but Olivia would shit if she caught him. He pops to his feet and slaps himself in the face a couple times. They’re going to need more pantyhose to replace the ones he cut. He steps to the dresser and grabs another pair. After this he’s going to hit Eton’s stash again, this time for something that will wake his ass up.

W
HEN
B
OONE TELLS
him it’s something serious, Carl has him meet him at the Burger King on Venice instead of at the condo, because Diana is home sick from work today. Boone arrives at the restaurant before Carl does, buys a Coke, and sits in one of the booths. He watches a fly stagger across a poster advertising something called the Bacon Double Homestyle Melt. Two goth teenagers at the next table feed each other french fries. The girl has a zit on her chin that weeps through her thick makeup.

Carl strides in slow and easy, radiating calm. He points to acknowledge Boone before stopping at the counter for coffee. He’s wearing a pink Polo, khakis, and some kind of loafers. Boone almost smiles. The guy has always dressed like a frat boy. Boone used to tease him about it, tell him he was the lamest brother he’d ever met.

Boone stands when Carl approaches the booth, a weirdly formal gesture that he chalks up to nervousness.

“What, you want to change tables?” Carl asks.

“No, we’re cool, we’re cool,” Boone says as he sits again.

Carl slides in across from him.

“What’s on your mind?” he says.

“I need your help,” Boone replies.

“You got it.”

“I wouldn’t sign up so quickly.”

Carl leans back and looks Boone over for the first time since his arrival. “Somebody been beating on you again?” he asks.

“Amy’s been kidnapped,” Boon replies.

“Come on, man.”

“Some fucking psychos I got mixed up with snatched her.”

“Jesus,” Carl exclaims. “What kind of shit have you got yourself in now?”

Boone explains the situation in a rush, going all the way back to his and Robo’s meeting with Oscar’s grandfather. He tells Carl how he tracked Taggert to the ranch, what happened there and afterward, and how that led to this, him being forced to rob Taggert in order to free Amy.

Carl whistles at the conclusion of the tale and shakes his head. “This is deep, Jimmy.”

“I know, man, I know,” Boone says. “That’s why I’m coming to you. I need you to ride out there with me and help me do this. It’ll be me, you, and Robo. They’re promising me twenty grand, which you and Robo can split for your trouble.”

“This Robo cat, he solid?” Carl asks.

“I think so. I hope so. How can you know?”

“And we’re talking about leaving today?”

“Soon as we can.”

“But we don’t know where we’re going or when this thing is going off?”

“Fucking ridiculous,” Boone says.

“There’s no ice,” a guy in a hard hat and an orange vest standing in front of the drink dispenser yells at the people behind the counter. “Hey, no ice!”

Carl lays his hand over the top of his cup so that the steam from his coffee is trapped beneath it, then turns the hand sideways, releasing the steam all at once, in a puff, like he’s sending smoke signals.

“Know what I did last night?” he says.

Boone wonders why the hell he wants to talk about this now. “Took Di to Red Lobster?” he jokes.

“This dude Chemo —’cause he had cancer when he was a kid — hired me and those two you met at my place to round up some poor motherfucker who burned him in a Mickey Mouse dope deal,” Carl says. “We swarmed the guy at a titty bar downtown, bounced him around in the bathroom, and told him that Chemo was waiting for him, and we’d be happy to give him a ride over to straighten things out.

“This brother was afraid of Chemo, but he was even more afraid of the linoleum knife that Armenian kid, Aram, was waving around. We drove him to an old rail yard down by the river, where Chemo was waiting. The deal was, we’d hold the guy but wouldn’t hit him. Any heavy shit was on Chemo.

“Now, Chemo, man, he’s an ugly bastard, looks like he’s still got cancer, like a skeleton. He stepped out of the dark, and homeboy from the strip club was crying even before he hit him the first time. He kept yelling he didn’t have any money, but five minutes and a few busted teeth later, he pulls a roll of bills out of his sock. Didn’t make any sense to me to take a beating like that, but, you know, man, I’ve given up trying to figure people out.

“Chemo skimmed five hundred off the roll and handed it to me, then told us our work was done. We left him stomping on that poor bastard’s head. Didn’t look like he was gonna make it through the night.”

Carl frowns and sips his coffee.

“That’s fucked up,” Boone says.

“What I’m saying,” Carl continues, “is that if you squint, we’re the good guys in this thing of yours, and it’s been a long time since I felt like a good guy.”

“Seems like I’ve been doing a lot of squinting lately,” Boone says.

“There’s no other way to get Amy back?” Carl says.

“Not that I can see,” Boone replies.

Carl extends his hand across the table for Boone to shake. “Well, then, what can we do but what we got to do?” he says.

O
LIVIA PULLS OUT FROM BEHIND A SEMI IN THE SLOW LANE
and presses the accelerator to the floor. The battered Econoline has no guts though. Olivia creeps up beside the big rig, bouncing in her seat as if that’ll make the van go faster, but then the engine starts whining, so she takes her foot off the gas. No sense risking a breakdown in the middle of the desert.

The first thing she did when Taggert answered the phone earlier was apologize for shooting up his truck and running off, but he wasn’t having any of it. He cussed her every which way and said he couldn’t believe she’d pull that kind of stunt with this deal coming up, that she’d humiliated him in front of Spiller and T.K., and that he’d tried his best with her even though he knew damn well that you can’t turn a whore into a housewife.

The whore part made her bite the inside of her cheek, but she waited until his rage had burned itself out, then laid on the sob story she’d worked up: she and Virgil had returned to Eton’s house and grabbed his stash with the intention of selling it, but then, while she slept in their motel room, Virgil had skipped out with the dope and all her money.