by Jeff Johnson
Becky’s house had an okay porch to drink beer on. Not as good as mine, but passable. A freeloader like Hank couldn’t bitch too much. There were five mismatched wooden chairs and a moldering green recliner. I sat to the side of the living room window and listened. I couldn’t make out words. The rain was too loud, the hiss of passing cars. But the laughter rang through, clean and clear. Halfway through beer number three, Hank put a record on. Twangy country.
It was go time.
Hank was holding a beer, standing by the record player, when I walked in without knocking. Becky was at the kitchen sink wearing an apron. The place was cheap but tidy, retro garage sale mixed with movie posters. I focused on Hank and ignored the startled woman.
“What up, Dildo.”
Hank dropped his beer. I gestured at him with mine.
“I have a proposition for you,” I went on. “Have a seat.”
“How the, how the fuck, what the—” he stammered. I dropped my beer, too. Then I flexed my hands. They popped.
“Sit.”
“I’m callin’ the cops!” Becky yelled without moving.
“No you aren’t,” I shot back. “Be cool, Becky. No one is here to cause trouble for you. I’m here for Hank.” I pointed at the couch. “And he needs a new beer.”
Hank sat down. He was shaking, which made me feel a little better. He could fight, for a wiry little bastard, but it didn’t look like he was going to. Not yet. Becky brought him a beer while I watched. She scowled at me, but not like she meant it. She knew they were busted for something, and even though she didn’t know what it was, she knew it was real.
“I need you to leave town, Hank,” I said. “Tonight.”
“Not gonna happen, man.” His eyes were wide. He sat up a little, tensing, expecting the beating to begin right then. I sighed instead.
“Why? You’re busted, kid. I know about all this.” I gestured at the house in general. “I tell Delia and you’re shit out of luck, dumbass. So go. Get outta Dodge and don’t look back.”
“We’re broke,” Becky said.
“Yeah, about that. I was gonna give you a little cash, but it’s all tied up at the moment. I got maybe a grand. And I got you a car. Get where you’re going, I’ll send a little more. But for right now, I need to see people packing bags.”
“Or what?” Hank barked out a fake laugh. “Or what, Darby? What the hell do you think is happening here? You think you can just show up and tell me to leave town? Are you fuckin’ crazy?”
“Yep.”
“Fuck you!” he screamed. He stood up. “I run this show, you piece of shit! Me! If you think for one second—”
My first punch knocked him out. It had only happened three or four times and it always surprised me. I looked up from his twitching body at Becky, who looked up at me at the same time. We stared at each other.
“Okay, now you sit,” I said, pointing to where Hank had been. “I hope you’re a little more reasonable.”
She sat.
“What’s this about? Hank rip you off?” Her big eyes were sad and tired. “We don’t have shit, man.” Then she focused on me. “You’re the guy came into the diner the other night.”
“Sorry.”
“Jesus. I lead you here? You follow me that night?”
“Nah.” I sat down next to her. “Listen to me. Hank got mixed up in some serious bad news. He stays here in Portland, well. He’s dead. But you know how he gets. Hardheaded. Guy thinks he knows the score. But not this time.”
“What’d he do?”
“Set up a friend of mine. It won’t work. The jig is up.”
“I wasn’t lying when I told you we were moving,” Becky said. Her eyes welled up with tears. “We gotta get the fuck outta this place.”
“He never told you where the money was coming from, did he?”
“Music,” she whispered. “He said he made it in the music world. But I knew it was bullshit.”
“It is. He ever mention me? I’m Darby Holland.”
“No way.” Her teary eyes widened. “Y-y-y-you’re the guy, you, you fuckin’ broke up the band!”
“What?”
“Empire of Shit, man! You got them mixed up in some kind of robbery at a Mexican food restaurant! They’ve been fighting ever since!” Becky folded her arms. I couldn’t help it, but the sudden pout was endearing.
“Well. I don’t know what they would fight about. I mean, I paid them. I even bankrolled the record.”
“And did you think about what that was gonna do to them? Having dirt on each other?” She sniffed and narrowed her eyes. “Did you?”
“No.”
“Every time they get in a fight about the dumb shit a band gets in a fight about, that night comes up. ‘You did this’ and ‘you did that.’ You wouldn’t even believe how bad it gets.”
Hank moaned and stirred. We both looked.
“I’d believe it.”
“Shit.” She shook her head.
“Why don’t you take the car and the money?” It came to me suddenly. “Just go. I’ll tie up the dumbass and gag him. You pack. Call my cell when you run out of dough and I’ll send you more. You gone, Hank has no reason to try to run his burn.”
“Nothin’ is ever that easy.” She said it like she wished it was. “We’re in love.”
“Maybe. Sure. But love comes and goes. You love him enough to let him die for trying to get together enough money for a new life? Or do you love him enough to split so he can live? Only two choices.”
Becky stared at me for a long time.
“You motherfucker,” she whispered.
I shrugged.
Twenty minutes later, Becky was gone, with the understanding that if she ever showed up in the Pacific Northwest again, I’d kill Hank personally. She was to call from a bank in California tomorrow. I’d call the bank back to verify where she was and then I’d wire more dough if I had any. I took her phone, too, so that Hank wouldn’t be able to coax her back in the near future.
Hank snored while she packed. I left him like that, with her goodbye letter taped to his forehead.
I left the with confusing feeling that I was on a winning streak. The shit had hit the fan in a massive way. Delia was going to—I had no idea what she was going to do. Before I left Hank’s, I found his phone and broke it into ten tiny pieces. Becky took all their dope and the two hundred bucks they had in a sock. So one part of the huge mess I was in was officially on fire.
Things were moving.
There were no cabs on Alberta, so I took the bus downtown. Midday it was mostly empty. I sat in the back and looked at my phone. On impulse, I called Santos.
“Hola,” he answered suspiciously.
“Hey, dude. It’s Darby.”
“What up, white man.” He didn’t ask about the feds. Too cool.
“I wanted to talk to you about the car you stole.”
“Oh.” Sudden darkness. “What about it? I sold it.”
“I know. I was wondering if you found anything in it before you did. We searched it, but we didn’t use a microscope. Guy who bought it? I bet he did.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “I can ask, but the answer might cost money. And I don’t mean my money.”
“Knew you’d say that.”
“Well, now I did.”
“Okay. One more little thing. My friend Delia.”
“The lady with the mouth?”
“That’s her. I was wondering if you can find a way to waste some of her time today.”
“No fuckin’ way, man.” Now he was irritated.
“It’s important. Maybe take her to the car guy and they can talk. Anything.”
“Dude.” I could almost hear the wheels spinning in his head. “Dude. Gimme the whole juice. You send me off on a babysitting gig with half the facts and I will fuck shit up.”
I thought. The bus made it to Interstate and took a left. We were down to me and the driver.
“Okay. Santos, I gotta trust you here. Delia’s fiancé is
a wad named Hank. He’s going to exit the scene. Most likely. But it’s like this. He shows up? The shit will hit every green light rolling through Crazytown. She’s busy, there’s a chance he’ll cool off and consider his options. But a twenty-four-hour window of Delia running down a dead-end road would help me out in a big way.”
“What did you do? Out with it.”
I sighed. “Fiancé is having an affair. I convinced the woman to leave town. Gave her money and a car. Plus, I kinda kicked the guy’s ass. I only hit him once, but . . . ah shit. You had to be there.”
“Ah!” Now he was delighted. “You want me to act a chaperone! I’m flattered, man. Really.” He yawned. “Like, really.”
“Good. I’ll text you her number. Call her now and set it up fast. She’s doing shit at the moment, but the minute she’s done, Operation Goose Chase, charming Santos at the wheel. I owe you one.”
I hung up and sent him Delia’s number. It was an emergency solution, but there was a slim chance Delia would find out something. If Riley was going for her instead of the Lucky, he’d have mean little Santos to deal with too. I had a window of maybe five hours before roads began to converge. The Hank and Delia collision was imminent, and Santos as referee/bodyguard was maybe not the best play. Dessel and Pressman and the loose cannon Agent Lopez had something cooking, and the crosshairs on my back were palpable. My next best play was to pay a visit to my banker and business partner.
The bus let me out in the transit chute on Sixth. I tried to stay dry under the awnings and made my way to Alcott Frond. The sidewalks were thick with the early edge of commuter foot traffic. When I got to the restaurant, I looked for the Prius but it was nowhere to be seen. Pressman and Dessel had abandoned their post.
Santiago was in his office. I nodded to the bartender and followed his eyes to the door. The restaurant was in perfect shape for dinner. Tables set, three waiters and two waitresses going over something with the kitchen staff, and a few early drinkers already at the bar. I knocked on the office door and Santiago let me in, a troubled expression on his face.
“Sit,” he directed. I did. He went around his desk and sat as well, tapped at his computer.
“Gimme the weird news.”
“Most of your accounts are frozen. That’s the good news. The feds froze two of them and then I froze the rest when I heard about the U-Store-It. The bad news is that your cards are dead. All of them.”
“And I just gave all of my money to a junkie.”
He looked up and raised an eyebrow.
“Long story. How do I get my hands on some cash?”
“You’re still rich, but right now? You can’t.”
“Loan me some money?”
“Course. How much you need?” He took his wallet out.
“Couple hundred. In case I meet a wino or something.”
He gave me four, everything he had. “For now we’ll have to do it like this. You have money coming in from the shop, but don’t deposit it anymore. Keep records, but for now, until I can figure out how to open these channels again, that’s your personal operating capital. You need more, come ask me. Cool?”
“I guess.”
“Hungry? I am.” He got up. “Something you have to try.” He went out and closed the door behind him. I took my phone out and steeled myself, dialed Delia. Straight to voicemail. Relieved, I called Dessel.
“Darby,” he answered. “I hope this doesn’t mean our psychic connection is becoming stronger. I was just about to call you.”
“My accounts are frozen, there’s no eyes on the Lucky, and I just knocked out Delia’s fiancé.”
“Sweet Jesus.”
“Yep.”
“The wedding is, Darby, it’s in less than three weeks, right?” In the background I heard Pressman say “Aw shit, he did what?”
“No wedding now.”
“Ah. Well.” Dessel’s prude kicked in. “Hmm. Your accounts. That was Lopez. Standard procedure in a flight risk situation, did it before we could stop her. It’s a formality, but for the next forty-eight, the microscope is on. I can try to get her to back down, but we’re thinking that she’s not going to give too much more. You’re a scumbag, in the best possible way, don’t get me wrong, and me and Bob are dicks. She isn’t keen on any of us.”
“S’okay for the moment, but this is Riley’s dream. I’m almost broke. One of his key ingredients.”
“It’s temporary, but I sympathize. If it’s any consolation, we think this is almost over. In the, ah, the videos, dealing the subject a crippling financial blow always came right before the end.” He paused. “That didn’t come out right. Sorry.” And he was sorry. I could hear it in his voice. “You’ve been broke before. And his shit is backfiring in an unexpected way on another level. No way he could have predicted we’d be on the same side.”
“Hmm. Where’d you guys go?”
“Lopez came up with a list. The cell at the U-Store-It was calling back and forth to the industrial shit zone out by the steel mill. The signal scattered into the entire peninsula, but there were eleven new rentals out there in the past five months. We’re pitching in. Off the books means low manpower. As in the three of us.”
“Happy hunting.”
“It’s so lovely out here, Darby. All this tin shining in the rain, the dark fields of mud, the smokestacks. Where are you, as in why aren’t you out here helping us?”
Santiago entered and kicked the door closed behind him. He was carrying two plates. Oregon chanterelles with shaved truffle piled over what looked like one large ravioli in the center of each dish.
“Lamb,” Santiago mouthed.
“Dessel, I’m neck deep in the shit, amigo. Grueling action on my front too. You find anything, call me right away.”
“Roger that.”
I put my phone away. Santiago was already eating.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
I told him about Hank. He listened while I ate and talked. When I was done, he pushed his empty plate back and put his giant arms behind his head.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked again.
“This whole thing is set to blow on every side,” I confessed. “I’m going to try to survive.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
“Wine?”
“Sure.”
He went and got a bottle of something red and expensive and we drank from expensive glasses. After he poured, he saluted me.
“Darby, I’ve gotten the feeling that it was the last time I was ever going to see you more often than with everyone else I’ve ever known combined.”
“Hear, hear.” I saluted him back. “Be on the lookout, man.” I drained the glass. “Terrible time for this place to be blown up or for you to catch a bullet. I might need more money.”
From Frond I went to the shop. Flaco stuck his head out and stopped me as I passed the taco alcove.
“You get the car?” He looked both ways. “What happened to it?”
“Gone.”
“Figures. You hungry?”
“Nah.” Then I thought about Dessel and Pressman, out there chasing down my phantom. Another long night in the Prius for them, and all to check the “no” box on a list of addresses. “Know what? Can I get ten juniors in a go bag? And two lime sodas.”
“Bring it over?”
“I’ll pick ’em up in five.”
He nodded and ducked back in. I skipped from his awning into the shop. Chase was talking on his cell, and one of the new guys was tattooing a stoned hipster kid. I smiled pleasantly at both of them and gestured for Chase to join me in the back. I went and sat down at the chair behind my desk and tried Delia again. Straight to voicemail. Santos had her doing something interesting. So interesting that she’d turned her phone off.
Or Hank had found her, and she wasn’t taking any calls.
“Boss,” Chase said. He closed the door behind him and sat down on the red couch.
“Delia come in tonight?”
“Yep. Sh
e was all dressed up, too. Like, for court. She watched the feds for a while, bitched about one thing or another. Got something out of her station, bag of weed I think. I dunno. Why?”
“No reason. What about Hank?”
“Nope.”
“Right on. For the time being, I need everyone to start making daily deposits, top drawer of my desk.” I patted my desk. “I’ll pick them up in the mornings. Fuckin’ feds have my accounts locked up for the next little bit.”
“Happens.” He shrugged. “How goes the war? You find your shithead?”
“Not yet. He’s gonna make his move and I’ll nab him in the confusion. New guys still freaking out?”
“Aw yeah.” He made a dismissive gesture. “I told them that shit was crazy right now because of the wedding, this and that, bullshitted them back down to zero. They’re okay for the moment.”
“Thanks.”
He shrugged again.
“Your feelers turn up anything?”
“I was just talking to a guy, actually. Used to tattoo with him in New York. He’s game to come and slay ass if people jump ship. Marko Sloan.”
Another tattoo guy with a phony name. “One less thing to worry about.”
We chatted for another minute, then I called Dessel again.
“Darby. Tell me you’re bringing us coffee.”
“Tacos,” I said. “Where you at?”
He gave me an address. “Lopez thinks this is the most likely place, though even she isn’t hopeful. Empty warehouse but the power is on. She’s watching it to see if anyone shows and we’re watching her.”
“You guys are sitting in different cars?”
“Bad blood at this point.”
“Should I bring her tacos, too?”
“I don’t think that’d be a good idea. In fact, as good as those tacos sound, maybe you should hang back for now. Bob agrees. I’ll call if we sight Santa or the Tooth Fairy.” He hung up.
“Taco night!” I called out.
Chase made a yipping call back. The new guy didn’t.
“You gave the car to a woman you barely know.” Flaco shook his head. “Darby, following this line of reasoning, I must ask you. May I have some money? As much as you feel comfortable with. Not a loan. I mean a gift. Like the gift you gave to the heroin waitress with the pretty eyes.”