Making a Killing

by John L. Hart

  Gregg tried to glower at Izzy, but it was hard to summon more than a defeated frown, especially when Izzy was only saying what he already knew deep down but had worked very hard to ignore. Nobody liked to work that hard at believing in something only to finally admit to themselves they had spent way too much time and energy invested in a self-lie.

  “Your observations are duly noted,” Gregg forced himself to say. “Anything else?”

  “Only that I’m telling you this because I’d like to see you happy. Like you were when I first met you, before so much shit messed with us both. You know as well as I do that no matter how crummy life can be, or how powerless we might feel, we do have the power to choose how we respond. I can understand why you’ve held on so long when it comes to Kate, why you’ve fought so hard when it comes to her and JD. She still represents everything you lost along the way—innocence, goodness, pure sweetness of memory—everything this place and this dirty, sick, crazy, cruel stinking war, is not. Maybe you’ll think about that. And maybe you might let yourself consider that Kate isn’t the only, or best, girl for you. In fact, I can think of a certain someone at the mission who is probably thinking about you right now and wondering if not hearing from you since our visit means her own feelings—that were quite obvious to this outside observer—are not returned.”

  Izzy stood, stretched. He pushed up his horn-rims in the gesture that always gave Gregg a sense that life could be put right too, as long as he had Izzy around. He hadn’t told him about his latest crazy idea that the two of them should consider setting up a practice together, once neither of them was owned by the army that had gotten one thing right by assigning them to the same psych unit. As for where that future practice would be—Manhattan, San Diego, or somewhere in the middle—yeah, North Dakota was sounding pretty good right now—didn’t matter. It was just nice to dream and to have at least one person in your life who would tell you the truth even when you didn’t want to hear it.

  “Hey!” Izzy suddenly yelled. “Look! There she is!”

  Before Gregg could leap to his feet, JD was already there, pushing Izzy back to the floor with a sharply whispered, “Quiet!” followed by his command, “Stay low. Don’t say anything and let me handle this. Once Kate’s on the boat, I have backup arranged to get her back to Nha Trang, and you guys go back with her. Here, take this.” JD passed an envelope to Izzy with some type of calligraphy and a flower that looked like a poppy on the front. “If things go off track, give this to Kate and tell her it’s for my brother.”

  29

  “Okay, we got this down?” Mouse asked his “hostage,” with the ropes tied for show around the wrists he had personally seen her scratch up without so much as a wince. It was only when she put on a silver bracelet that she made a face like it hurt. The lady, Kate, was a real looker, but she had some guts going on underneath the pampered fluff. He wasn’t sure what dog she had in this fight but he had a lot riding on it himself. If she screwed this up, or he screwed this up, or somebody else screwed this gig up for them, then he had big trouble.

  Kate nodded and seemed calm as far as Mouse could tell. She wasn’t shaking or nothing and some of that probably had to do with her having the big guy named Phillip watching out for her. But Mouse, he had his family and now Missy to worry about protecting, so that made things a lot more complicated for him. Killing Vo was cake compared to figuring out how to take out The Man who kept himself surrounded by body guards and the kind of threats that had Mouse, for now, towing the line.

  Just like The Man had said, the tricked out Alpha boat moving closer to shore didn’t have any muscle on it, only the pilot doing his job for The Man and one other guy that Mouse figured must be Mikel. But that didn’t mean nothing since eyes could lie—just like Mikel wouldn’t be able to see twenty fuckin’ snakeheads hiding in the brush offshore so they could swarm the deck as soon as Mouse gave the signal.

  It was his job to somehow bring in the cool cat with the aviator shades and a certain “don’t fuck with me” look, despite both his hands raised in the air. He moved like he was getting ready to jump off the boat and grab the girl now that he had her in his sights. At least, Mouse knew that was exactly what he’d do if this was Missy.

  “Stay there!” Mouse yelled. “We’re coming to you!”

  Mouse made a show of giving Kate a little push just like they had practiced, and noticed she was starting to breathe faster.

  “You okay?” he muttered, pushing her forward some more.

  “Fine, fine,” she muttered back, then gave a little gasp when her foot touched water. “It’s cold.”

  The way she was suddenly shivering from just a few painted toenails in the river made Mouse wonder if she was reacting to more than that. Even if she was, at least it was a convincing act of the damsel in distress.

  “Okay, sorry, you know I got to put this gun to your head now, right? And that’s your cue to say—”

  “JD! Please, just do exactly what he says!”

  “That’s right, don’t do nothin’ stupid,” Mouse shouted. “Or you might as well be pulling this trigger yourself.”

  The ladders came down as instructed. They got on board and—

  “Gregg? Izzy?”

  Mouse clamped a warning hand on Kate’s shoulder and pressed the barrel closer to her temple when the two guys with a deck of cards between them started to jump to their feet.

  “Stay put,” he ordered, figuring them for the egghead doctors The Man said he wanted kept in one piece until Miss Kate was out of the picture. As for keeping them from any dumbass moves that might get them killed, he got that covered with another order barked at Mikel. “Tie ’em up and tie ’em up good. Now!” And just to be sure she understood, he whispered, “I’ll let ’em go later. Just keep your cool and do what you gotta do once I’m done.”

  She gave a little nod, and after the two docs were tied up at ankles and wrists, Mouse pitched Mikel another pair of handcuffs, just for him. “Put ’em on and I’ll let the lady go.”

  And voila, the handcuffs went on. Mouse had to wonder if the sap was that much of a sucker for the woman doing a number on him, or if he had a hidden key up his sleeve.

  It had all gone like clockwork, tick-tock-tick, and Mouse knew an entire production team couldn’t have staged this better if they tried. This was going way too easy. And that’s exactly what bothered him while he made a show of tucking the gun in the holster he had strapped on his chest, and then undoing the ropes on Kate.

  While she ran to the sap and threw her arms around him with a convincing cry of “Oh my God, JD! JD! I never thought I would see you again—” Mouse gave the signal to the snakeheads, who raced from their jungle cover and swarmed over the boat. They all kind of looked alike to him, but it seemed like The Man kept a revolving door with new snakeheads always cropping up to increase his muscle, or replace some dead snakeheads. Easy come, easy go. They didn’t know nothin’ about loyalty around here, not like they did in Jersey, but he supposed there were some similarities when it came to climbing the ladder. Like the new Big Snake who got himself promoted after jabbing out the eyes and slitting the throat of the one that thought stick people families were cool. Good riddance to that fucker.

  When this latest bunch of goons couldn’t turn up anybody else to mess with, they all looked bummed out. Maybe that’s why the latest Big Snake was staring at their new hostage in handcuffs and grinning, like he was planning on having some fun with him.

  “Don’t even think about it, dickhead,” Mouse muttered, and signaled the pilot to get the boat going again. “I got my orders and you got yours to back me up.”

  As the boat moved further from shore, Big Snake gave Mouse a look that didn’t have him reaching for his gun, but he palmed the Zippo in his pocket and wished Missy was around to make sure Janis and the KRZY station stayed off in his head. At least until he could get Dracula alone and put more than a stake in the h
eart he must not have even been born with.

  *

  Kate was shaking all over and she could only hope JD mistook it for terror. Phillip said he had told JD to send Gregg and Izzy back to Nha Trang, and yet here they were. Dammit.

  She raised her hands, making sure JD saw the abrasions on her wrists and arms and the silver bracelet matching the one he still wore, and cupped his lying face. With his sunglasses on she couldn’t see his lying eyes, but she could feel his gaze on her, all over her, sweeping up and down. Her fury over his dragging Gregg and Izzy into this and complicating everything in the process mingled with the electric sensation she had once thrilled to. Now it just made her disgusted with herself for being so stupid and weak. Their matching bracelets only punctuated the lie she had once believed in. He probably had ten of the damn things in reserve. Make that eight if his other two dead girlfriends had died with theirs on.

  “Listen to me,” she whispered urgently. “They will kill us both if you don’t do exactly what they sent me here to tell you. We have to see Zhang. You have to give the directions, get the two of us there, so we can talk to him. Apparently your brother is some kind of drug lord and it’s your job to make him realize if he wants to keep a healthy portion of what he has and not lose it all, he has to broker a deal. It’s a good deal. It’s imperative that he takes it. Otherwise, the people who are counting on you to make this happen can’t stop those who want to do things another way. A bad way that will make a lot of people pay. Zhang, you, me, all the innocent farmers and their families just trying to make a living off the poppies in their fields. If you don’t agree to intercede, everyone but the greedy bastards who can, and will, take over by force will win. You can stop them. You can save Zhang and the people who work for him. You can save us—or, not. If you don’t do this, JD, we are already dead.”

  She glanced at Gallini, at the small army of tattooed faces she could hardly stand to look at, and then back at JD whose eyes were still shielded by his aviator sunglasses. She beseeched him with her own eyes that did not have the same advantage. Delivering the mostly true message was easy; lying with her body, with her hands and eyes so she could royally screw him over, that was harder.

  But she did it. She sealed her own half-veiled lies and truths with her mouth, imploring his—until she felt something dangerous move in the region of her chest because it was soft and warm and made her want to believe in his lies—sealed so convincingly with a kiss—still.

  Kate forced herself to remember the files, Gregg’s warnings, and Phillip’s pointing out that JD had left her alone and vulnerable. She could have been the next dead girlfriend before JD moved on to the next.

  She slightly lifted her hand, the signal her work for the moment was over.

  “Okay, that’s enough, break it up.”

  Whenever Mike Gallini touched her she always felt a pang of sympathy for Missy, who had to endure something much worse than some staged moves. Kate let him pull her away, only to yank herself free and throw her arms around JD’s neck and plead, “Please, do it,” for extra measure.

  “Better listen to the lady,” echoed Gallini, gripping her arm again and, with a practiced shove, landing her on the deck, near a pair of dark, bare feet. They belonged to the leader of the snake-tattooed pack. While he stared down at her and grinned—and that did give Kate the honest-to-god shivers, her co-star warned JD, “You don’t do that and I can’t be held responsible for how these hired hands might decide to handle your dame.”

  The menacing way JD stepped forward, you’d never think he was the one wearing handcuffs. Then again, Kate didn’t doubt he could get out of them somehow if he had even a twig for a pick.

  “And if anyone touches her,” JD said calmly, “I can’t be held responsible for any missing hands.”

  He then spoke directly to the leader of the facially tattooed mercenaries in a dialect that became an unintelligible, heated exchange. One that abruptly ended when JD leaped through the air—

  And with a blurring swipe from his opponent, JD was violently slammed, head first, into the thick, brown waters of the Mekong.

  30

  “Holy Mother of God,” shrieked Mouse. “What the fuck did you do!?”

  Big Snake shrugged. Mouse was tempted to shoot the fucker. If the prize hostage was dead, he may as well be too. The Man, who wanted “no misadventures, Mr. Mouse,” would see to it.

  “Stop the boat!” Racing to the edge where Mikel had disappeared, Mouse nearly jumped in after him, so frantic he almost forgot he couldn’t swim. “Who can swim, who can swim?” he yelled, not daring to take his eyes off the water where air bubbles floated up to the surface, drifted away on the current where the boat rocked, motor now silent.

  The blond doctor, the one who looked like Dr. Kildare on TV, yelled back, “Get me up. Get the damn ropes off. Hurry!”

  Knowing he couldn’t trust these snakeheads further than he could spit, Mouse raced over to help him up. Kate was already there. She was taking too long with her clumsy tugs at the rough rope. Mouse flicked open a switchblade and cut him loose while she went to work on the other doc, the one that looked like a Jew; more like Ben Casey.

  Kildare knifed into the water. He was down for a long time before he came up, gasping for air, then dove down again while Mouse could hardly breathe himself as he watched. Watched alongside his pretend hostage and the other doc who was saying, “Oh God, if only I could swim. I’m so sorry Kate . . .”

  “I’m going in. Maybe I can help—”

  “Don’t even think about it.” Mouse cut her off at the pass with a hand clamped on her shoulder. If he lost the spook, he was probably dead before he could kill The Man. If he lost the girl, he was for sure deader than dead before he could even think about killing The Man.

  When Doc Kildare bobbed up for the third time, waving something silver in his hand, Mouse took hope it was the handcuffs, a sign the spook had somehow survived the slam dunk that should have knocked him unconscious on impact, if it hadn’t outright killed him, and they could troll for him downstream, hopefully washed up on shore and still breathing.

  That hope was dashed as soon as Kildare was coughing up brown water onto the deck and groaning, “He’s . . . dead. He’s dead.”

  “You sure?” Mouse demanded, feeling his stomach sink like it had just been force fed a gallon of concrete. It could happen. “How do you know?”

  “I saw him.” Another few coughs and a wheeze. “He’s way down there and must have swallowed too much water to be floating up anytime soon. I tried to lift him but his leg was trapped by something, and I was running out of air, so I took his bracelet for Kate. I knew JD would want her to have it.”

  Kildare raised his hand and gave the piece of silver to the woman, who had the wrist jewelry to match.

  Mouse thought she was a pretty tough cookie—at least, he had until she started kissing the bracelet between little, quiet sobs of, “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I’m sorry, JD, so sorry . . .”

  Holy. Shit. Now what? The snakeheads were the only ones he could send down to get the corpse, but seeing that it was Big Snake who deep sixed the spook, he couldn’t count on them neither. They were all looking pretty happy, in fact, like the party was just getting started. Not good. There was supposed to be a special telephone on board, but he wasn’t about to call for instructions to get out of this jam, thanks to his “misadventure” news.

  That left Mouse with a bunch of snakeheads holding machetes and A-K 47s, a knock-out “hostage” that was worth more than all their dicks and balls combined to the top dogs calling the shots, and two shrinks who were supposed to stay safe for the moment. One was still lying on the deck, looking like he’d nearly drowned. The other one, the Ben Casey Jew doc, his lips were trembling, eyes watering, looking like he was gonna cry.

  Casey reached into his pocket—Mouse figured for a hankie—only to pull out a pretty envelope
with some gook writing on the front and what looked like a poppy painted in blue.

  “Kate? I’m not sure if I’m timing this right. I just know JD said to give this to you if anything bad happened, and clearly something even worse has. He said this was for you to give to his brother.”

  Big Snake snatched the envelope for himself, just like the other Big Snake tried to confiscate Mouse’s pack in the stick people village.

  “Hey, that’s not yours,” Mouse told him. “Give it back.”

  Big Snake opened the envelope anyway, gave the paper inside a once over, then handed it back to Miss Kate. “You need to see Poppy King?”

  “Yes . . .” She looked from the envelope to him, back and forth like she couldn’t figure out if she should stab the guy or kiss him. It reminded Mouse of how she looked at Mikel just before Big Snake saved her the trouble of deciding. “Yes,” she repeated. “Yes. It’s very important that I see him. Can you take us there?”

  Big Snake looked her over like he wanted to work some kind of deal in the sack, said some kind of gibberish to his machete-for-hire bad boys, who said some gibberish back, then gave a curt nod.