Moon Shot

by J. Alan Hartman

  I laughed. “You two don’t look like you’ve got enough money between you to pay for a bus ride to the next block.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve got enough cash on me to get us across town and back again if need be. But that’s beside the point. Our employer is handling the expenses, and believe me there’ll be plenty to go around for everybody.”

  “That would be Mrs. Byoyack I presume?” It was an easy conclusion to jump to.

  Letterwinn shook his head. “No names for now. Just think about how rich you’re going to be if you accept my offer.”

  “Why make the offer in the first place?”

  “Wasn’t our idea. Our employer seems to think it’ll be less fuss and bother if you just go along with the program.”

  “And I suppose if I stick with my first employer, I’ll have you two to contend with, is that it?”

  “Not just us, Pomeroy. Bruce did a ten-year turn at the moon’s penal quarry compound. You know you don’t get paroled from that place. You do your time and if you don’t die they just cut you loose. Couple of people came back with him who’ll be glad to help out for less than half of what I’m offering you. Now, I know you’re supposed to be a bad ass and all that, but you can’t handle all of us. I’m not even sure if you can get by Bruce. What’d ya say, Bruce?”

  Bruce grinned, showing uneven yellowed teeth. “Just give me the word.”

  My fingers danced along the top of my desk toward my open drawer.

  “Not just yet,” Letterwinn said, noticing my hand movement. “Let’s give Mr. Pomeroy time to think. Pretty sure he’ll come around to seeing things our way.”

  “You’ve painted a clear enough picture.”

  “So glad you understand,” Letterwinn said, pushing back from the desk. “You’ll be hearing from us.”

  * * *

  Alone again in my office I lit a non-filtered Nitro, pulled the dark rich tobacco smoke into my lungs and expelled it through my nostrils. The charge was like a shot of hundred and fifty proof bourbon. Ever since the perfection of synthetic lung replacement surgery, the practice of smoking had sky rocketed, with the short thick cigars becoming the most popular brand sold.

  I’d figured out a long time ago that life was about the decisions you make, whether to turn left or right, whether to say yes or no, whether to accept the offer or the counteroffer. Either way I was going to have a big chunk of change coming my way. I could be comfortable with Byoyack’s offer. I could stay comfortable longer with Letterwinn’s offer—that is of course if Letterwinn wasn’t lying.

  But it really didn’t come down to whether I could trust Letterwinn or not. It came down to me, my word. I’d signed on to protect Byoyack, and that was what I was going to do. Letterwinn and Bruce may have just made it to my Death Day list.

  I got the mag out of my desk drawer, slipped the shoulder harness on. The rig holds the automatic at an angle at my left arm pit. There are only five slugs in the clip, but usually one is enough. My office is on the forty-seventh floor. If the elevator doesn’t have any stops in-between, getting to the lobby can give you a sense of weightlessness. I only had time for one deep drag on my Nitro before the elevator doors were sliding open.

  I was halfway across the lobby when she came in through the revolving door. I would’ve taken notice even if I didn’t recognize her from her wedding photo, which by the way didn’t do her justice. She was one gorgeous female. Her long blonde hair framed her face, bouncing gently as she walked. Her eyes were wide, bright. Her bump of a nose seemed a little keener than it had in the photo. Her lips were full and splashed with the same rich red as her dress, which clung to her breasts, embraced her small waist and flared out to just above her knees. She was getting a lot of second looks and I got the feeling she was used to it. Byoyack should’ve considered himself lucky she’d stayed with him as long as she had.

  “Mrs. Byoyack,” I said, as we were about to pass each other.

  She stopped, turned. Letterwinn could take lessons from her in smiling. Hers was like a kiss. “You must be Mr. Pomeroy?”

  “That I am.” Up close she was even better looking, I couldn’t see a flaw in her face, not a mole or a pimple, and she smelled good too, fresh, like being outdoors on a spring day.

  She looked about the lobby. People were going back and forth, which didn’t prevent them from glancing our way. Correction, her way.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  I pretty much knew what she wanted and I could’ve told her then and there, but it would’ve ended our conversation and I wasn’t ready for that just yet.

  “There’s a fairly nice bar across the street.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  We grabbed the last empty side booth. She ordered a double bourbon with water back. I couldn’t be outdone so I ordered the same thing.

  “You got another one of those?” she asked, as I flipped ashes into the tray.

  I got my pack out, held the lighter as she pulled deeply. She sat back letting the smoke out slowly, looked at the little cigar in her hand. “You know, they keep trying to make these things stronger. I think it’s a blend from a half-dozen mountain rangers.”

  “I’ve read the label.”

  Another winning smile.

  The waitress brought us our drinks. We lifted our glasses and she drained hers without bothering with the water chaser. Foe or not, she was gaining a lot of my admiration.

  “Oscar doesn’t seem to think you’re going to be on our side.”

  “I haven’t made up my mind,” I lied.

  “What is it, Mr. Pomeroy, would you like more money, or are your ethics getting in the way?”

  “Well, one could always use more money. But actually it was a trust issue I was having with your choice of sleazy hired help.”

  “I apologize for that, but I was in a rush. I assure you, however, that the offer Oscar put forth is real. I need my husband to die on Death Day.”

  The waitress came by just then and she ordered another round.

  “Well, Mr. Pomeroy,” she said, around the short stick of tobacco. “Can I count you on my team?”

  I finished off my first drink while I formulated my answer.

  She looked at me across the table, her eyebrows raising slightly—it did nothing to diminish her beauty. Why is it so easy to tell an ugly woman to go to hell?

  “Well, Tami, are there any other incentives I should be considering?”

  “It’s Mrs. Byoyack,” she snapped. “I’m not part of the bargain, Mr. Pomeroy. You do this, you do it for the money alone.”

  The other round of drinks came and she polished off hers as quickly as she’d downed the first, only she took a sip of water this time.

  “You can’t really blame me for trying to hedge my bet.”

  “Was that what you were doing? I was thinking you were trying to find out just how far I would go to get my way.”

  I shrugged.

  “I married an old man for his money and I made a promise to myself it was going to be the last time I sell my body. He won’t die on his own, so I’m going to give him some help. Are you in or out?”

  I raised my glass. Taking herself out of the picture in a way sort of made her offer more valid. “I guess I’m in.”

  * * *

  She told me I would hear from Letterwinn and left me to pick up the tab.

  I went back to my office building down to the garage and got my car. The whine of the solar engine was somewhat comforting as I pulled out into traffic. I didn’t have any particular destination in mind. Getting off to myself in my two-seater Road Commander has become an ideal place for me to brainstorm.

  I was sticking with Mr. Byoyack, partly because I’d given him my word, and partly because of the challenge. The best way to get me to do something was to tell me not to. I guess it’s always been that way with me.

  I drove around for about an hour, the Road Commander whizzing me through the city traffic and out into the gated suburbs. I made sever
al calls while I was driving, the Commander’s com system patching me into a number of state’s directories.

  The last call I made was to Byoyack himself. I told him about the other visitors I’d seen today.

  “I feared it was true, but to be honest, Mr. Pomeroy, there was a part of me that was hoping I was wrong. So, she does intend to kill me.”

  “I’ll pick you up at noon on Monday,” I said, not giving him time for the reality to set in more than it had. “Pack enough clothes for one night.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Think it’s best you don’t know, less chance of any slip-ups.”

  “I suppose you know best.”

  “That’s why you came to me.”

  I disconnected the call and headed the Commander back to the city. I had nothing to do back at my office so I was looking forward to an uneventful evening at my apartment. I had some beef stew dinner packs in the freezer I could nuke and five cans of beer left from the last six pack I’d gotten. It was silent movie night on the Antique Movie Channel. Watching those damn things I generally can’t help laughing out loud. It’s really something what served as acting back in those days.

  My apartment is on the west side in the Star City complex of high rises. I could only afford a single bedroom on the fourteenth floor, but I have a great view of the lake. I also had a great view of Letterwinn as I got off the elevator. He was alone, leaning against my door with an attaché case in his hand.

  He straightened as I approached, tried his smile again.

  I had the urge to pull my mag and slap him across the face a couple of times. “I don’t remember giving you my address.”

  “As you see you didn’t have to. Mrs. Byoyack likes to keep tabs on her employees. She sent me around with this.” He raised the attaché case, flipped the latches and turned it around so I could view the contents. “She wants to seal the deal, Pomeroy. A hundred thousand, earnest money.”

  I flipped through the stacks of crisp hundred dollar bills. As I’d mentioned before, there’s a distinct smell of new money from the bank.

  “I told her the money could be better spent elsewhere, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  I closed the case and took it from him. “Seems like the lady’s a whole lot smarter than you are.”

  He grunted, and said, “She wants us to sit down and hash out a plan.”

  “No need, it’s all done.”

  He shook his head. “She’ll have to put the okay on it first.”

  “It’s not the way it’s going to work.”

  We had a staring contest for a second or two, then he tapped his right ear. I hadn’t noticed the phone jack. He nodded then looked up. “So, what’s the plan, big man?”

  “I’ve told Byoyack the best thing to do was to get off some place secluded. I’m to pick him up at noon Monday. Made reservations at that gay spa in the Brazilian Flats, under Mr. and Mr. Pierpoint. Asked for a bungalow away from the main drag.”

  “Cute,” he nodded again, was silent for a moment, then, “she likes it. Bruce and me will be waiting for you when you get there. Come Tuesday, just stay out of our way.”

  “When will I get the rest of my money?”

  He listened again. “As soon as the job is done. She’ll bring it down personally.”

  We said our good-byes and I waited until he’d gotten on the elevator and I saw the floor indicator moving before I went inside.

  * * *

  Monday didn’t take long in coming. I’d spoken to Letterwinn twice since he’d showed up at my apartment, laying out the time and place I’d pick Byoyack up and how long it would take us to get to the spa. I hadn’t lied to him about making the reservations at the spa, I’d only lied about taking Byoyack there.

  Actually I’d acquired the use of a cabin in the Oregon Hills. My plan was to get Byoyack there, lock the doors, pull the shades and sit there with my mag in my lap. A simple plan when you got right down to it, but simple plans are generally the best.

  I’d spoken to Byoyack only once since our last call. Leary of any phone taps, it had been another face to face, this time at the city’s main digital library. I’d informed him of what had transpired with Letterwinn, the phony location I’d given him, but again kept the real destination to myself.

  At a quarter to twelve I pulled the Road Commander up to the curve at the county jail. It’s a no-stop zone so I kept the car rolling at a minimum as Byoyack, dressed in a black leather jacket and slacks, threw his overnight bag in the back and jumped in. I had my doubts about him executing the move smoothly, but he proved to be more agile than I’d imagined.

  I dodged in and out of traffic for a half-hour to make sure we weren’t being tailed. Then I drove over to the south side parking garage where I keep my four-door sedan. It’s a bulletproof monster of a vehicle that can eat the road up or anything in its way. From there I went directly to the turbo expressway, locked Oregon Hills in from my dash, and the expressway sensors did the rest. It would turn a six-hour trip to just over two.

  Byoyack wasn’t much for small talk until I got him talking about himself. He didn’t have any children, didn’t want them, never had time for them. The current Mrs. Byoyack was his third wife. The first died on Mars back when he was doing a stint there as payroll chief for MMMC. The second one couldn’t handle his active schedule and drank herself to death. He still puts in a twelve-hour workday, four days a week, and fills the rest of the week with travel, golf and tennis. With Tami he thought he’d found his soul mate, until he learned she was spending their time apart with several younger men.

  By the time we’d gotten around to talking about me the dash announced we were approaching the Oregon Hills exit. I took hold of the steering wheel, switched off the sensor, and braked as the exit came up sharply.

  The cabin was pretty isolated, the dirt road narrow and winding through tall heavily branched pines. It belonged to an ex-client, a doctor who’d used it on occasion to detox a few well-known individuals. He kept the place stocked, plenty of canned goods, coffee, juices and water. I brought my own bottle of booze.

  The last lefthand turn got us to the clearing where the cabin stood, a sturdy one-level structure, three bedrooms, full kitchen, spacious living room. I got the spare key from the base of the green and brown gnome that sat on the porch. I unlocked the door for Byoyack then went around to the shed and got the generator started, which was no more than turning a switch and pushing a button. I’d always known my college engineering classes would come in handy someday.

  When I got back to the cabin I checked all the windows and doors, closing the blinds and making sure everything was locked tight.

  “I plan to be up all day tomorrow,” I told him. “So I’m going to grab some sack time now. I’ll take the small bedroom. You’ve got the run of the place, but don’t go outside, and keep the doors lock.”

  He frowned slightly.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Not really. I guess I’m just not used to being ordered about.”

  “You did hire me to keep you alive,” I said, not waiting for an answer before heading for the bedroom.

  I set the alarm for eleven, stuck my mag under my pillow and laid down fully clothed.

  * * *

  She was naked and warm, her hardened nipples pressing against my bare chest. Her long blonde hair brushed across my face as she nibbled on my ear. She’d just been testing me, she’d said. She’d intended to let me have all of her whenever I wished…once her husband was dead.

  The alarm clock pulled me out of the dream and I almost shot the damn thing. She was still with me as I stepped out of the bedroom, the light scent of her perfume surrounding me. Tami Byoyack had made a deeper impression on me than I’d thought.

  I found Byoyack in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee. I grabbed an empty cup and filled it.

  “That stuff is liable to keep you up tonight,” I told him.

  He’d removed his leather jacket, his thin shoulders shrugged under
a long sleeved knit sweater. “I think I’m too nervous to sleep anyway.”

  We went into the living room and I checked the front window, lifting one of the slates to look out. Past my car, the moonlight wasn’t much help in penetrating the thick stand of pines.

  “Looks pretty quiet out there,” I said, trying to sound assuring. “We might pull this thing off without any problems.”

  His eyes got a little wider. “You’re not expecting any problems, are you?”

  “If you don’t expect it, you can’t be prepared for it.”

  “I see,” he said, sitting his cup down on the lamp stand by the wood-framed sofa. “Maybe I’ll turn in as you suggested.”

  “Good Idea. Grab a slug of that bourbon I brought. Might help you relax.”

  He nodded. “I might just do that.”

  It was twenty minutes to twelve when he closed the bedroom door and the time seemed to stand still from there. I went around turning lights off in the kitchen and living room, checked and rechecked my mag, the extra clips in my pocket. I continued to check outside alternating from window to window. During all this I couldn’t get Tami Byoyack out of my head, her touch, the scent of her perfume.

  It was twelve-o-one when they came.

  Even with the lights out it wasn’t pitch black in the room. I’d picked the darkest corner I could find, my back against the wall, the mag aimed at Byoyack’s bedroom door. Bruce was first with Letterwinn behind him, just to his left.

  I let my mag say what had to be said. The first slug went into Bruce’s chest. The next took the top of his head off. Letterwinn darted to his left but he wasn’t fast enough. The third slug slammed him against the wall.

  I ejected the clip and replaced it with a full one. The smell of gun powder now overpowering Tami’s perfume.

  “Byoyack, you and the misses coming out, or do you want me to come in there?”

  A dream was one thing, but it was the smell of her perfume throughout the cabin that told me she was here. I silently started counting, if I got up to five I was going to start throwing lead into the room.

  “We’re coming out,” Byoyack shouted. “Don’t shoot.”