Where Fools Dare to Tread

by David William Pearce

  “What do I do now?” The minute I said it I found it a patently absurd thing to say.

  “Go home.”

  They packed up their cargo and left.

  I sat a while before getting up to close the loading dock’s rolling door. I have no idea why I did that. My legs were shaking and I felt incredibly tired. I picked up the 45 and put it in my pocket. As I went slowly up the stairs, it occurred to me that the man in the mask hadn’t said whether the two upstairs were still alive. That’s all I needed. I looked around, listening. The doors were open. Jones was at the desk. Delashay was still on the floor. He was in a terrible state, prostrate and weeping uncontrollably. Jones didn’t seem to notice. We’d have to get him to the hospital. I looked again at Jones. He didn’t look like he was all there either. We looked at each other.

  “Are they gone?” he asked.

  “Long gone,” I said. “Anything interesting?” Jones was going through the drawers.

  “I’m looking for my stuff: wallet, keys, phone… here they are. The other guy’s things are here too.”

  “We need to get him out of here.”

  “Yeah…” Jones was playing with his phone. “Damn battery is dead.”

  “Come on, we need to go.”

  I took out my phone. The first call was to Coretta. Yes, he was ok. Yes, he’s here. I gave him the phone and listened as she first cried and then yelled at him. He said all the right things and handed back the phone. He grimaced through most of it. We carefully moved Martin down the stairs. I was certain his ribs were broken as were his hands. They fucked him up pretty good. We gingerly put him in the back seat, after which I inexplicably went back and locked up the warehouse. Jones didn’t get it either. I returned the 45 to its bag in the trunk.

  “What do we tell the people at the hospital?” he asked. Did we need a story?

  “We just say we found him and brought him in. Other than that, I’m keeping my mouth shut.” Jones shook his head. I worried about the welt on his head. He said they hit him with something, a pipe maybe. He owned up that his head really hurt.

  “How’d they even get you? I thought you were too hip to it to get taken down?”

  He didn’t like the question. “I was leaving the club, I had other things on my mind…”

  “Just asking. We should get you looked at as well.” Again he shook his head.

  Once we arrived at the ER, I called Judith.

  “Are you ok?” she asked. I was kind of surprised by that.

  “Yeah, I’m ok, it’s all over, but Martin’s in bad shape. We have him here at the hospital. Do you want to come see him?”

  “Martin? No!” I could hear her breathe. “I don’t like this feeling, Monk.”

  “What feeling?”

  “I don’t know.” I didn’t believe that, it just wasn’t the time to dig deeper.

  “You’re just tired, I know I am. Get some sleep, you’ll feel better.” I told her which hospital in case she changed her mind.

  “Don’t be a stranger.”

  “I won’t.” That wasn’t going to be the problem.

  They took Martin right away, asking a lot of questions we had no good answers for. I’d save that for Mallory when he finally came by. We waited for them to take a look at Jones. In the meantime I called Joanie and Dahlia to say it was over. Joanie spent the night with a bandmate. She said it was weird. I mentioned I’d be at the bungalow later if she wanted to talk.

  “You’re something else, Monk!” I liked that better than fuckhead.

  Dahlia didn’t say much. She was still freaked out. I know I was.

  “You’d have thought she’d learned from her first go around with people like that.” I was referring to how Desiree ended up in porn.

  “None of that was true. It was something she made up, a good story she said.” Dahlia was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, I really am.” That was it.

  For whatever reason, I saved Agnes for last. She acted like she’d won the lottery, thanking God I was still alive. I worried she was pinning too many hopes on me. I assured her I was ok, told her we were at the hospital, but for Jones, not me. I promised I would see her soon and asked where she spent the night. Turns out she stayed at the bar. Johnny D had a safe room behind his office. She slept there.

  “Did Johnny say anything about this to you?”

  “He said something strange about blood money, but then told me not to worry, which only made me worry more. Come home, Monk.”

  “I will.”

  Jones finally went in. They were fairly certain he had a concussion and wanted to do an MRI. When they took him back to the machine, I called Coretta and she said she’d be right there. After he returned, I waited with him.

  The phone rang. Fucking phone!

  Taylor Lagenfelder. Now they had time to talk!

  “Mr. Durant would like to see you, today, if possible.”

  I promised to come over as soon as Coretta got to the hospital.

  It was noon and I was exhausted. I fell asleep in the chair. Coretta woke me and thanked me with another big hug. I told her she was welcome. She said there would be a dinner for me just as soon as possible, and I was to bring my woman, this from Jones, who until then had said nothing. I said I looked forward to it. I told them I had to see Durant and then I had to get some sleep.

  “We better get paid, Buttman, and no lousy couple of grand,” Jones grunted.

  “I’ll let ’em know. In the meantime, take it easy.” It was time to move on. Mallory was waiting outside. I started laughing, what else was there to do?

  “Good times, Buttman?” Even he was smiling. Moses was right; they’re all fucking bastards.

  “Like you don’t know.”

  “Believe it or not, they don’t tell me everything.” It was his turn to laugh.

  “Really, then what did they tell you?” I wasn’t laughing anymore.

  “That it wasn’t our concern, straight from Goncalves.” I tried to be angry, but I knew it wasn’t Mallory’s fault any more than it was mine. I just wanted to go home, but even that wasn’t an option. “You don’t look so good, Mr. Buttman. Maybe you should try another profession…”

  “Excellent advice.”

  “Just trying to help. Get some sleep, we can talk later if you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  I said goodbye, leaving Mallory to his thoughts. I had to make it downtown. It took twenty minutes. I don’t remember any of it. I also realized how hungry I was as I approached the building. Nearby was a sandwich shop. I went in for a bite to eat. Imagine my surprise, Taylor Lagenfelder was there. I shook my head; it was that kind of morning! She bought me lunch. We sat down at a small table in the back of the shop.

  “Thanks for lunch,” I said. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let me in on how much you really knew about this little escapade, which I might add I barely survived!”

  “What do you mean?” Right.

  “I mean isn’t it curious that the bad guys knew that the documents they wanted were not in the pile of papers I returned after their guy, Boyer, was already dead. They knew to key in on me, and Judith Delashay; knew about our rendezvous, knew where I lived. Kind of interesting, don’t you think?”

  For the first time since I met the woman her demeanor seemed unsure. “Perhaps. Are you suggesting I had something to do with it?”

  “Wouldn’t you?” I took a bite of my sandwich.

  “I don’t know how to answer that, Mr. Buttman, but I can assure you anything I may have been a party to was done with your best interests in mind.” A sly smile came to th
e lawyer.

  “Of that, I have little doubt.”

  The rest of our lunch was without comment. The food gave me the energy I needed to get through the afternoon. There wasn’t any small talk to occupy us. What was there to say? After we finished, she escorted me to the grand office of Marsyas Durant, who, like Ms. Lagenfelder, thought highly of my best interests. I was offered a seat and gladly took it. As I sat there I reflected on the anger I felt the night before. There was the temptation to let loose on the man across from me, but time and tide had taught me there was no benefit to be gained from such a scene. I might need the man’s help someday.

  “I imagine you have some questions, Monk?”

  I smiled at that.

  “A few. I could ask why me, but the answer to that is simple, I became more important when the documents fell in my lap. Keeping them was a stupid thing to do, to be sure, but I felt they were important enough to give me a decent hand in the game, because you never know. A nobody has to protect himself. My only real questions are how long has this set up been in place? I mean the supposed missing fortune everyone wanted to get their hands on, and whether I should ask who the two men were, who were so surgically removed this morning?”

  “The answer to the first question is many, many years. I assume you have a general understanding of the events that lead to the initial transfer of funds from Columbia. It was, contrary to popular lore, perfectly legal.”

  “It wasn’t drug money?”

  Durant smiled. “It may have, at one time, been that, but when currency is moved through institutions and countries it loses its original skin very quickly and becomes nothing more than a commodity like any other to be invested or traded. After the great man was murdered, there was a lot of talk about his money, his wealth, a lot of inaccurate talk. It was well known that the people who had him assassinated wanted that money, but were wary of being too overt in acquiring it. Memories are long, Monk. In order to draw out these individuals we used their greed and their willingness to believe in fictions to trap them. The account was set up long ago. Mr. Tophanovich learned of it through Sphere, where he also heard the story of its supposed origins. He conspired with Mr. Boyer to gain access to it, but Mr. Boyer was already engaged in that enterprise with Mr. Delashay and Ms. Marshan. When word of their actions reached me, I let it be known to certain parties.”

  “Seven people died because of it.”

  “Yes, but I have little sympathy in that regard. It wasn’t theirs to take, and I did warn Mr. Boyer that the account was not to be tampered with, but they thought they knew better. Evidently, they didn’t understand or appreciate the type of individuals they would be dealing with.” He smiled at that.

  “And the name of the great man and his assassins?” The cat was curious.

  Durant sat back for a moment and then leaned towards me. “I think the less you know about that, the better. I can say that the bounty on the assassins was quite substantial and for your part you will be very well compensated, but beyond that I think it best to let the day pass.”

  “I see, and the compensation?”

  “A half a million dollars. Johnny D will take care of Mr. Jones’ compensation.”

  A half a million dollars! Who the fuck were we dealing with? “A half a million dollars? Good lord, what was the total bounty?”

  “A fair amount. Are there any other concerns I can help you with?”

  A half a million dollars?

  “Don’t you think you were taking a chance using us as bait, given that we were completely unqualified for the job, and why did you tell me to talk to Moses? It had nothing to do with this?”

  Durant got up and gestured that I should too. “I didn’t consider you bait, Monk. Yes, you weren’t whom I would typically choose for this kind of job, but I had a feeling you’d be able to handle it. True professionals would have scared them off. As for Moses, word came to me that you needed to see your father, so I thought I’d give you a push. Anything else?”

  “Only this.” I handed him the documents. The ones I remembered reading on that bloody afternoon, the ones that somehow ended up in my car.

  Marsyas Durant smiled. “Good. I imagine you must be exhausted from this ordeal, get some sleep, and take a break. Maybe take a vacation. I hear Virginia is nice.”

  “Thanks.” Virginia, who told him about that?

  Sleep did sound nice, though. Time for one more stop.

  I found the door to my bungalow was open, again. I was too tired to care.

  “Are you going to kill me now?”

  Miguel laughed. “Why on Earth do you believe such a thing?”

  “I don’t know, something to say.” He acted like this was normal behavior. Doesn’t everyone just break in when they want to visit? “Do you have a key or something?”

  “Something. I stopped by to make sure you were still in one piece.”

  “Other than being totally freaked out, and running on fumes; I couldn’t be better.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He was smiling. Everyone was smiling.

  “Well, I’m glad that you’re glad to hear it.” He laughed.

  “You’re sense of humor appears to have returned.”

  “You’d think, but who knows.” I sat down. “So now that it’s over, assuming it’s over, what’s next?”

  Joanie walked in, interrupting Miguel and I.

  “Monk Buttman, I…” We were looking at her. Miguel was smiling. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know you were with someone.”

  “It’s quite alright, I have to get going,” he said. “Monk, keep in touch. We have a lot to talk about.”

  “Yeah, I guess we do.”

  He said goodbye to Joanie and left. Once he was out of sight, Joanie smacked me in the head, “You had me really worried, Buttman! What the hell is going on?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “And?” And I gave her the condensed version. She stood there with her mouth open.

  “Wow! Maybe you should go back to farming?” Her arms were crossed again.

  “Maybe.” It was safer, but didn’t pay as well.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re not dead.” She gave me a hug and a kiss. “Monk?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t ever do that again!”

  “Yeah.”

  She smiled. I watched her walk back to her place.

  I found my chair and placed it on the patio. The neighbors raised a hand and said hello as I returned the favor; finally, a familiar moment. I stretched out and let the sun warm me. My eyes closed and I once again listened to the sounds of an ordinary life. The last few days seemed dreamlike. Had it really happened and to someone like me? It was all so implausible, but then all of my life had felt that way. I’d spent so much of in conflict. Yet even here in this sea of humanity, where I was just a small fry among millions, the wash had taken me in unexpected directions to unexpected places, one of which was now home. Home? I was too tired to think about it. I let the breeze take me away.

  The phone was ringing.

  Agnes.

  Read on for a look at the next exciting installment

  in the Monk Buttman series,

  A Twinkle in the Eyes of God

  I was supposed to be at the beach.

  Instead, I was in a small-dilapidated church in the middle of nowhere keeping Lucian, or what was left of him, company while Agnes and Rebekah went for the authorities.

  Lucian was dead.

  In the decaying gray house of the lord, the two of us sat. Well, I did. Lucian was leaned up against the front of the pulpit, his legs splay
ed out, his hands by his side. There under the cross of Calvary he’d been stabbed to death. Among the twelve rows of pews, the twelve windows, and the eyes of God, we waited. I didn’t know how long he’d been dead, but it couldn’t have been long. The process of decomposition had not yet distorted his features, though his corpse’s odor was on the cusp of ripe.

  Here, where the heat of the plains would find us, the late Lucian DeBerry, the man who would bring order and sanity, as well as a needed righteousness back upon the firmament God had so joyously given, would less resemble himself than a figure from a faded Mathew Brady daguerreotype; bloated, black, and a feast for maggots.

  My stomach was barking.

  A week ago the two of us had been arguing over the nature of God, of belief. He was, as these types were, charming, talkative, and thoroughly engaged in turning me to his way of thinking. I found the personal touches, the use of my name, the deep interest in my physical and spiritual well being, somewhat touching. I wasn’t buying, but I enjoyed the spiel. I could see how those lost or looking would find comfort in his words, which naturally were the words of God Almighty.

  He was, he told me, God’s messenger.

  Lucian looked smaller now that the light was gone from his eyes. The dark suit, caked with blood, clutched at his thin frame. I noticed his shoes were untied. Images of James and Boyer filled my head complimenting, if that’s the right word, this vision of the dead preacher. All dead. All killed with knives. My stomach continued roiling with whatever bile it contained. I’d have to think of something else.

  The beach, I should be at the beach.

  I left the dead man.

  On the decaying porch of the decaying church I found a box to sit on. Lucian was on his own. I didn’t need any more flashbacks of bloody murder.

  When would the girls be back?

  I had to think of something else!

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