THE MAN WHO HUNTED HIMSELF

by Lex Lander

  ‘Please say you’re joking.’

  ‘Either that or I let him run me out of the country all over again.’ My words rang harsh. I was over-sensitive to criticism where she was concerned.

  She touched my face with her finger tips.

  ‘Don’t get upset, darling, I wasn’t being judgemental or anything. You did it for me, I know that. For me, and for Belinda and I love you so much more for it.’

  I smiled my appreciation.

  ‘I love you for other things too,’ she added.

  I hugged her, and this led to another kissing break. Funny how the habit of kissing had all but died out in my affaires with women. The act was invariably by-passed in the business of getting down to the other act. Now here I was, couldn’t kiss Maura enough.

  An executive jet was taking off, the blast of its twin jets penetrating the interior of the car. We watched it peel off to the right, then, when peace was resumed, I told her about the plan I had loosely conceived. I minimised the perils, and boosted the prospects of a happy outcome. I had no fears about taking on the bodyguards. Low grade muscle, that’s all they were. Shoot and ask no questions. Outsmarting them was for me usually a matter of routine.

  ‘I’m afraid our accommodation won’t be what you’re used to,’ I said, starting up and reversing out of the parking bay. ‘Gratrix will probably have set the police on to me. Even if he hasn’t, he’ll be looking for me himself. So I’ve booked a room in this dump of a motel.’ I snorted. ‘TV works though.’

  ‘Are we sharing a room then?’

  Funny, but I hadn’t considered that.

  ‘You can book yourself in. Hopefully get a room next door.’

  ‘I don’t want a room next door.’

  I felt her gaze on me as I swung the Audi out into the line of traffic on Highway 1. My throat was dry. I lubricated it and thought about my choice of words. Then I said, ‘I don’t want you in a room next door either.’

  She let go with the little girl giggle that I was coming to love as an essential part of her personality.

  ‘Fantastico. We’re getting there.’ More giggles, behind her hand. ‘I suppose you’ll want to sleep on the floor.’

  ‘Wait and see,’ I said darkly.

  We drove on into downtown San Luis Obispo, filtering into the lunchtime crush on Higuera Street, which seemed to be the centre of all things culinary. The trees planted at thirty foot intervals along the sidewalk still had their greenery.

  ‘Most of them are ficus trees,’ Maura informed me when I pointed them out. ‘They’re usually evergreen.’

  We found street parking on a meter, fed it with enough coinage to cover our lunch stay. We were in front of a place with the name Rocket Fizz over the entrance, and across the road from the Vieni Vai Trattoria with its Authentic Italian Cuisine sub-title and red and white striped awning

  ‘Italian okay with you?’ I asked.

  ‘Only if it’s authentic.’

  Lunch would have to wait while I did some shopping. We came upon a hardware store, and I bought three rolls of duct tape, a hunting knife, a pair of pliers, a hammer, and a jimmy. From a pharmacy next door, I chose the biggest first aid kit they could offer. Maura’s mouth turned down when she saw it and instantly grasped the significance.

  After transporting the two bags to the car, we jaywalked over to the Vieni Vai Trattoria, her arm through mine. It felt so natural already. The furniture inside the restaurant was black ironwork with white linen and red accessories, and paintings of Napoli, Venetia, and other Italian cities on the walls. An adjacent terrace offered al fresco dining, but with the temperatures in the mid-fifties nobody was taking advantage of it.

  Over cannelloni, we debated Richard’s involvement.

  ‘You still don’t really trust him, I can tell,’ Maura said.

  I shrugged. ‘The Heiders are the enemy. He’s a Heider.’

  ‘Blood’s thicker than water, you mean? It’s not that simple, and you know it isn’t. You trust me, don’t you?’

  ‘Implicitly.’

  ‘Wow, that’s even more trust than I expected.’ An impish grin. ‘Anyhow, I trust him, and you can be sure I won’t take any chances where Belinda is concerned.’

  ‘Can you get him here by tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Sure. He’s on standby.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him where I am.’

  ‘Nope. You were pretty specific on that point. I even led him to believe that the Solana Beach place was where Lindy is being held.’

  ‘Good. Now here’s the problem: if Richard takes off, and you’re already out of town, Carl and Nick are going to start wondering.’

  ‘We can cover up Richard’s tracks. Send him to LA, for instance, and I’ll collect him from there.’

  ‘Uh-uh. Remember, Carl knows that Belinda’s here, and through Gratrix he probably knows I’m here. So if he also suspects that Richard is in on it, he’ll be able to predict his destination. For us, it’s safer if Richard stays put.’

  ‘We need him though.’ She frowned. ‘Don’t we?’

  I toyed with my coffee cup, while she stared at me, her usually smooth forehead corrugated with quizzical lines.

  ‘As an extra pair of hands he’s only useful if he’s willing to shoot someone – if necessary to kill. Otherwise, he may be a liability. Just another body for me to worry about besides you.’

  ‘I can shoot,’ she said.

  ‘You already proved that. But that was instinctive self-defence. It’s not quite the same as going there, armed, and ready to dish it out.’

  She stuck out her chin. ‘For Lindy, I could contemplate almost any act, however heinous.’

  ‘You won’t need to. This is my baby, start to finish.’

  She did the puckering thing with her lips across the table. I puckered back, and didn’t even feel silly.

  ‘No problems getting the gun?’ I asked.

  ‘The ... what’s it called? Ithaca Stakeout?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Not really. I had to try three gun stores though. The first didn’t have the brand at all, the second had something similar but with a full length ... what’s it called? The butt?’

  ‘Stock sounds less schlocky.’

  ‘I see what you mean. Anyway, at the third place, the guy behind the counter was kind of blown away. How did it go ...? “Jesus, lady, you aiming to rob a bank?” Especially when I told him what kind of cartridges I wanted.’

  I could imagine. ‘What story did you give him?’

  ‘I said of course I’m not a bank robber, I’m starting small. Drugstores first, banks later. He creased up laughing.’

  We talked on, never short of things to say to each other, seamlessly switching from business to personal and back. We were still in the getting-to-know-you phase.

  Eventually, she sat back and locked eyes with me.

  ‘The hotel may be a dump, but I’d like to go there and get to know you better.’

  Before pleasure came business. I laid the Ithaca out on the bed, with the two boxes each of fifty cartridges. It was a mean looking weapon. All black, no stock to relieve the starkness. Just a barrel with a tubular magazine below, a breech block, and a pistol grip. Less than thirty inches in length, therefore easy to manoeuvre in a confined space. My equaliser.

  ‘Is it exactly as ordered, sir?’ Maura quipped, though I could tell the humour was forced.

  ‘You did well. You deserve a reward.’

  I kissed her cheek, but she cunningly converted it to mouth to mouth. Afterwards, my pulse rate a few points higher, I returned my attention to the gun.

  The Ithaca Stakeout Model 37, much employed by police forces, villains, and Clint Eastwood, is probably the best pump action, 12-gauge shotgun in the world. With the right cartridge you can take on a small army and still come out on top.

  The cartridges I had had Maura buy for me were 00 Grade and Solid. The 00 cartridge contains nine balls with an average calibre of .03 inches. The spread is totally lethal at up to fifty yards, though not rea
lly accurate beyond thirty. The Solid is as the name suggests – a solid piece of lead, rounded at the tip, half an inch diameter. It’s capable of removing a limb or the top of a head, according to preference. Or penetrating a wall. Enough said.

  I didn’t tell Maura any of this. She had confessed that the gun on its own was freaking her out, bringing home to her the brutal nature of the enterprise on which we were about to embark. The possibility of firing such a weapon with Belinda in the same building was too frightening for her to contemplate.

  I broke open the cartridge packs, loaded two of each type alternately into the tube magazine. Operated the pump slide to eject them, reloaded. Pumped a round into the chamber, set the safety, and loaded a final cartridge. This gave me five shots – a 00 grade up the spout, two of each in reserve.

  Maura watched, her eyebrows almost meeting so severe was her frown.

  ‘Please try not to kill anyone,’ she said. ‘Not for their sakes, for yours. I couldn’t bear for you to have more blood on your hands.’

  I patted the Ithaca. ‘This is a deterrent. It’s designed to put the shits up the bad guys.’

  ‘I’m not a bad guy, but it sure puts the shits up me.’

  From her purse, her cell phone summoned her with the opening bars of Dixie. She scooped it out and looked at the display.

  ‘It’s Carl.’

  Checking up on her, I guessed.

  ‘Hello, Carl,’ she said, her tone neutral. No warmth, no froideur either.

  She listened.

  ‘Why would I be in San Luis Obispo?’ She handled the mystified cadence well.

  More listening.

  ‘If you must know, I’m in Mexico City. And if you must know more, I’m meeting someone.’

  Mexico City. Quick thinking on her part.

  ‘Check with Vegas North, if it’ll make you happier.’

  To judge by the agitated squawking coming from the cell, it didn’t seem to have made him happier.

  ‘You want me to come back? Do you mind if I don’t right away. Day after tomorrow, maybe. What’s the urgency? You begrudge me a short vacation after fifty-one weeks out of fifty-two running the casino?’

  The squawking modulated. She listened again for a spell.

  ‘You worry too much. I’m going now, goodbye Carl.’

  She killed the call, grimaced at me.

  ‘Will he check with the airport?’ I asked her.

  ‘He might.’

  ‘What do you think they’ll tell him?’

  ‘There’s a guy who handles air traffic queries from the general public, name of Barney. He’s been trying to date me ever since ... a while back. I asked him, if anybody calls wanting to know where I flew to, he was to say Mexico City. Trouble is, he’s only there eight till five.’ She looked at her watch. ‘If Carl calls him anytime in the next forty minutes, we’re good. If not, well, we’re no worse off than we would’ve been.’

  Because it was the first time I had seen Maura anything other than fully clothed the image that greeted me when I came out of the bathroom, newly showered and sparkling, remains with me to this day. Vivid, precise in every detail, rich in colour.

  She was leaning against the counter that occupied the space between the door and a side wall. One leg was slightly bent forward, the opposite hip canted upward. Her hands were resting on the counter top, palm down, fingers curled around the edge. It was a stance at once demure and seductive.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. Her smile was uncertain. She wasn’t cut out to be brazen.

  ‘Hello yourself.’

  She was dressed only in a low cut bra that revealed the tops of her breasts, and hipster briefs of some satiny material, all dark blue and plain, without lace trimmings; oh, and stiletto heels with ankle straps. The rest was all flesh, untanned, but smooth and taut, just a shadow of ribcage. Her breasts were modest, straining a little at their flimsy support; her waist was slim, flaring to narrow hips above legs that a swimwear model would have been proud to display.

  Her chestnut hair was loose and slightly dishevelled. Sexy, like the rest of her. I just stood there and drank her all in, slaking my raging thirst. After a minute or so of my scrutiny she became restless.

  ‘Nothing to say?’

  ‘You just said it all without speaking, honey. Words wouldn’t do you justice, even poetry.’

  ‘There you go again. I’m a woman, not a work of art.’

  I moved in on her. ‘You are so wrong. You’re both woman and work of art.’

  That giggle again.

  ‘Stop it. You’re making me blush.’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah, all over too.’

  Our bodies bumped, her breasts to my ribs. She put her arms around my neck. Mine went around her waist. We were a comfortable fit.

  ‘You’re still dressed,’ she pointed out.

  It was true. I was wearing a towel.

  ‘So are you.’

  She bit her lip. ‘To tell the truth, darling, I’m a bit ... sort of nervous, I guess. It’s been ages since I went with a man, and I never was into displaying myself. You don’t know what it’s costing me, posing for you in my underwear.’

  ‘It was voluntary.’

  ‘That’s the saving grace.’

  ‘Let me tell you this, Maura, just the way you are, you’re one helluva sexy broad.’

  She did an eyelash flutter, acting coy.

  ‘Flatterer.’

  She tugged at my towel, and it unravelled to the floor. My prick prodded at her like the bowsprit of a galleon, proof of her effect on this particular red blooded male.

  ‘Ooh,’ she said, pretending to avert her gaze. ‘Just look at you.’

  She made no attempt to touch me there. She was the kind who would need encouragement.

  Raising my arms from behind her waist to behind her chest, I unclipped her bra. She tensed, but that was all. The bra joined my towel on the floor. Her breasts were a paradox – quite small yet pendulous, with protuberant dark nipples. I fondled them and she shuddered in response. Shy maybe, sensual definitely.

  This foreplay was superimposed with the longest kiss in my living memory. Like all good things though, it had to come to an end. I let my hands glide downwards from her waist. With not very much finesse, I encouraged her briefs down over her hips, past her thighs, knees and the rest, following them down until I was crouching before her. She stepped out of them. Now, at last, she was naked. Mine to inspect, mine to possess. Her eyes were shut tight, her breathing was ragged, and she was trembling from neck to toe.

  She didn’t shave down there. The bush of her pudendum was silky rather than crinkly, a perfect colour match for the hair on her head. Still crouching, I kissed the gash of her womanhood and the scent of her arousal assaulted my nostrils.

  She moaned and pushed my head into her groin. I flicked my tongue at her. A minute or so of this treatment and she was panting like a steam engine on a gradient.

  ‘Now, darling ... do it now!’

  I entered her as we stood against the counter, my prick slithering in, oiled by her wetness. A hand cupped my balls, and such was my state of readiness, it was almost all over before it began.

  We made love in a madcap, frenzied conjugation, our bodies becoming as one, our breaths melding, her whoops overlapping my rutting grunts. Gentle, sublime lovemaking it was not. It bespoke a long abstinence in her case, too much self-imposed restraint in mine.

  We climaxed, as near as I could judge, simultaneously. Her legs came off the floor and scissored my waist as she pumped me dry with her loins. Her breathy screams rose to soprano pitch, and I was bellowing into her ear, punctuating every thrust of my hips.

  Then it was over and done and finished. She sagged against me in a state of exhaustion, a dead weight. My own legs were buckling, my lungs striving for air.

  We managed to stagger across to the double bed and crash down onto it, our bodies still entwined, our skin slick with sweat.

  As we lay there recovering, satiated, exultant, I said what I
now knew to be true, what I could no longer deny. Looking down at her damp face inches from mine, smeared with strands of hair, those magical lapis-lazuli eyes pleading. Then I said it.

  ‘I love you.’

  My shoulder was being shaken. I came awake gradually. The room was dark but for Maura’s travel alarm, whose digital screen read 03:13.

  ‘Drew?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Do you like pubic hair on women?’

  She had woken me to ask me that?

  ‘On you, I love it.’

  Now let me go back to sleep.

  ‘Jeff used to make me shave down there. Every day.’

  ‘There’s no accounting for screw-ups like Jeff.’

  She made a contented sound and snuggled up to me.

  ‘Can we do it again?’

  The request was accompanied by fingers encircling my flaccid member, which in seconds was flaccid no more.

  Now I was properly awake. I didn’t answer her, I let her work on me for a while and draw her own conclusions.

  ‘How’s your asthma?’

  ‘Good. It’s not affected by exertion.’

  Her thighs parted to receive me. She was still moist from our previous foray, and I encountered no resistance when I slipped into her.

  We were less desperate and more loving this time around. Slow and easy, our rhythm perfectly attuned as if we had been doing it together for a lifetime. Calmer, too. Pants not screams, and the finale merely satisfying instead of cataclysmic. While I recovered, she, energy seemingly unsapped, switched on the light and set about exploring my body, starting with the shoulder.

  ‘Are those scars from bullet wounds?’ she asked, scrutinising the damaged area, mouth set in disapproval.

  ‘Yes.’ I didn’t elaborate.

  ‘Two wounds, same shoulder. One was a flesh wound by the look of it.’

  ‘Occupational hazards.’

  My offhandedness made her frown.

  ‘You’re like an old tomcat,’ she said, tracing a raised cicatrice along my ribcage, a memento collected in a fracas with a French gang boss and his gang. ‘Victor of a thousand street fights. At least nobody’s taken a nip out of your ear, which I’m thankful for.’