CLAN

by Harry Shannon

  "Excuse me?"

  Case grinned at the dark corner. "Never mind. I just meant we were scared."

  "Oh."

  "So we rolled up to this little funky house at the back of a dead end street. It's got the ivy all over the fence, the dying yellow grass with a car up on blocks, the whole damned thing. The tagging—you know, graffiti—it's all over the place. The turf belongs to the North Hollywood Boys, and this place is probably a crack house. So one thing we know right away is that these fine, upstanding citizens didn't call in about a prowler. Somebody is messing with us big time."

  Case heard Kelly's zipper and her pants dropped to the floor. His chest tightened and his pulse raced so fast that for a moment he could not breathe. He forced himself to continue. "My partner calls for back-up and gives the situation. We look at each other, neither one of us willing to be the one to go first."

  "Why did you have to go at all?"

  He was silent for a bit. "That's a question I ask myself almost every damned day. We were young and stupid and we figured it was part of the job."

  Kelly pulled her pants back up. Case watched her shadow bend over and shake its full hips then heard the sound of the zipper as it closed. Her shadow shifted as she slowly buttoned her blouse.

  "What happened then?"

  "My partner was this crazy kid from Mexico, name of Juan Balbuena. We get out of the car, scared out of our minds, and we're standing there with our flashlights and our guns and he leans over and whispers across the car. He tells me he's thinking of a coin and I should pick heads or tails. I tell him heads, and he says no, it was tails. So that meant I had to go first. Something about that cracked me up, kind of broke the tension.

  "I motioned him to the right side of the yard and eventually the front door. I said that I'd go left and around the back. I started walking through these dead leaves that made a crunching sound that seemed loud as sticks snapping, but that was probably just my nerves.

  "Juan was a real good looking kid, always fussing over his hair. He looked like a hero out of a movie walking down the side of the yard. So we both have our guns out, Glock nines, and we're being as sneaky as we know how to be. I ducked down under the window at the side of the house and got into the backyard.

  "It wasn't quite a full moon, not like tonight, but bright enough to see. I just used the flashlight on a couple of areas of the yard to make sure nobody was waiting there to take me down."

  Kelly was standing by the lantern and the bowl brushing her hair. The shadows did a twirling ballet up the wall. Case let the story trail off. He wanted to see her. Touch her. "Can I turn around yet?"

  "Okay."

  He scooted back over to be nearer. She finished brushing her hair and sat cross-legged three feet away. Case couldn't look her in the eye for fear she would see his excitement and what he was thinking and be disgusted. The silence grew uncomfortable, so he resumed speaking.

  "Juan waits for me to check out the backyard. I drift back a few feet so I am standing by an old, wooden tool shed. I put my back to the trunk of a tree and get ready. I hear Juan call out that we're the police and that somebody called and is everything all right, the usual drill. Nobody answers. He knocks on the door. Nobody answers. Now my alarm bells are going off like crazy.

  "I found out later that the first shot hit him square in the chest and blew his ass back out into the front yard. I heard that, of course, and I heard a couple of shots he got off from reflex. They went straight up into the air, though. Juan was wearing Kevlar, so he wasn't hurt that badly. He fired again, twice, right through the window and took the guy down.

  "I was so focused on the sounds and the back door that I never saw the other guy coming out of the tool shed. I don't know what he was on, or what he was trying to prove. Maybe that he was really bad and could kill a cop up close. But he had a hunting knife in one hand and a .357 in the other and he never even bothered using the gun. He caught me by surprise and yanked up on my vest. He…drove the knife into my guts and started moving it around."

  "Oh," Kelly said, softly. "Oh, my God."

  "Yeah. It hurt like a bastard. Hot and sharp. My eyes rolled up and I pretty near lost it right there, but somehow I managed to stick the nine in his guts and drill him a few times. I made a bigger mess of him than he made of me."

  "Joe, I'm so sorry."

  "I was in the hospital for a couple of months. That's where the scars come from. And the truth is that I've been hiding them from you since we met. I hid them from my wife for a long time, too…" His voice trailed off again.

  "I don't know what to say."

  "That's okay." Case finally raised his head again. "Let's do it."

  Kelly blanched. "Excuse me?"

  "Let's open that mystery package, shall we?"

  Clearly worried but also happy to have something distracting to do, Kelly sprang to her feet and brought the briefcase. Case dug into the pocket of his jeans and found his Swiss Army knife. He bent down over the case and fiddled with the lock. "Bobby Lawford was kind of cheap," he said. "So this thing is a piece of crap, which is good news for us."

  "Can you open it?"

  "Can I?" Case stuck the smallest arm of the knife into the lock and began to juggle it. "Is the Pope Catholic?"

  Kelly actually giggled and leaned down over his shoulder. Some of her hair brushed his neck. He leaned into her body and Kelly leaned back. The feeling was electricity squared. The lock wouldn't turn. Case changed to a Phillips screwdriver head and tried again. Finally he tried the tip of the smallest screwdriver and the lock popped open loudly, startling them both.

  They stared, there in the yellowing gloom.

  "Okay, I guess I'd better open it."

  "Yes," she said. "Please just get this over with."

  He lifted the top of the case and whistled. It was packed tightly. Inside were several large, flat packets wrapped in waterproof paper and tied with twine. One of them had already been opened. Case lifted it out and turned it at an angle. The formal looking papers inside were difficult to grab with his sweaty fingers. He finally got a grip and pulled one out.

  "Hot damn."

  "Is that what I think it is?"

  "Yeah," Case said. "It's a bearer bond for one-hundred-thousand dollars. There must be twenty-five or thirty of them in here."

  "What is a bearer bond exactly?"

  "Just what you'd think. That means they can be cashed by whoever has them in his or her possession."

  She leaned closer, one hand on his shoulder. "But don't banks have to record someone cashing something that big?"

  He slipped the paper back into the protective envelope. "Sure, but there are ways to get around that. It happens every day, believe me. And for three million or so, lots of banks would be willing to bend the rules."

  Kelly sat next to him. Her eyes were damp. "This is why they came to kill me. Because they thought I'd stolen it."

  "Yes and also why they murdered your boss. Because he borrowed a lot of cash, owed interest and didn't deliver on time."

  "Poor Bud," she said, softly. "The Russians probably thought he knew where I was, or what I had done with the money."

  He put an arm around her. "Lighten up. None of this is your fault."

  "I feel like it is. Damn it all, one casual decision can turn out to be so crucial, you know? One little detour can end up ruining your whole life."

  "Yeah," Case said. He thought of driving to the car wash instead of rushing home to his family. Of losing them both in a heartbeat. Of how incredibly precious these next few moments might prove to be. "Yeah, tell me about it."

  "What do we do next?"

  "Catch a plane to Zurich and go skiing."

  "What?"

  "I'm joking, Kelly."

  "Well, I'm not in the mood."

  "Once we get out of this weird-ass Halloween party," he said, "I'm going to brainstorm a way to get the money back to the mob. Hopefully they will believe us that it was never stolen and this was all a big mistake."

/>   "And if they don't believe you?"

  "Then I'll have to think of something else."

  "Jesus," Kelly said. Her eyes brimmed over. "I am so scared."

  "It's going to be okay." Joe Case looked down at her and stroked her face. And then before he could stop himself he kissed her. Kelly's body stiffened and her palms came up to push him away but Case held on tight. Then she softened into him. After a few seconds, they moved down sideways and went down onto the dusty floor. With a huge effort of will, Case pulled away.

  "Honey," he said gently, with inches between their lips, "this might not be such a brilliant idea."

  "Maybe not," she whispered back, "but I want to anyway." She ran her hands up under his shirt and lightly, tenderly stroked his scars. That remarkable tender action lit a roaring fire within him. Case devoured her mouth.

  And for a little while, their lovemaking erased the omnipresent sense of dread that filled the night.

  28

  The odd-looking city couple drove a rented black Honda CRX with tinted windows. When they pulled into the convenience store parking lot, one clerk was just signing out and another was taking over. Meanwhile, the overweight tourist family in the white SUV finally got their Slurp drinks distributed and everyone belted in; slammed the door and drove away. The black Honda remained, its ugly driver glaring at the huge, mangy mutt roped to the water faucet outside the front door.

  The clerk leaving his shift for the day gathered up the dog and walked him away from the store. He barely noticed the huge man with the acne-scarred face as he got out of the driver's seat, although his old dog growled. The big man froze in place, his piggy eyes wide with alarm. He glared at the dog and almost snarled back. The clerk that was leaving didn't notice the exchange, although he did catch the nice breasts on the gym-rat broad riding shotgun. She noticed and flipped him off.

  The big guy kept his mean little eyes on that mutt until it was around the corner and out of sight. He obviously didn't appreciate dogs.

  The bug-catcher hanging in the doorway sizzled and crackled when the couple entered the store. Outside, the sun was just setting in the low, western foothills and the sky was the rusty color of dried blood.

  The clerk reluctantly tore his eyes away from the June Penthouse centerfold. When he glanced up, he had to look nearly a foot higher than he'd originally anticipated. The man who stood at the counter was the size of a refrigerator. He had thick, flattened lips and a nose that clearly had taken more than one beating. He wore a yellow and red Hawaiian shirt, shiny blue pants and a pissed-off expression. He looked like he could eat an average-sized dog for lunch.

  "You done jerking off?" His voice was low, the tone raspy, the accent odd and difficult to place. Eastern Europe, maybe. Something from a spy movie. "We could use some service here."

  The clerk tucked the magazine under the mat. "What can I do you for?"

  Beady-eyed glare. "The hell you mean?"

  "A joke," the clerk said. He shivered. "I meant what can I do for you, sir?"

  "Break this, for start." The man gave him a hundred. The clerk started to mark it with a felt pen, to see if it was funny money, but something in the guy's tone and 'tude stayed his hand.

  The big man who was afraid of dogs leaned forward. He needed a shave and a shower. "You don't have to do that, my friend. What, I do not look trustworthy as a boy scout or something?"

  The clerk dropped the bill into the cash register and counted out five twenties. He figured the intelligent move was to blame it all on the guy who worked the previous shift. He made himself smile. Meanwhile he kept one eye on the mirrors hanging in the corners of the store. There were four in all. They bulged like rounded fish-eyes and showed him what was going on up and down the aisles. A Latino woman had come in with the big dude. She was strong-looking, kind of serious; wore a black tank top that showed off arms most men would envy. She had short black hair and those great boobs. Her tight jeans showed powerful, muscled legs when she walked down the aisle. She was at the back of the store, looking at liquor.

  "Hey." The big guy had cocked his head a bit, like a pit bull examining a smaller dog for edibility. "I'm right here, man. You're being rude."

  The clerk pulled his eyes away from the mirror. "Sorry, sir. I'm just trying to do my job, sir."

  "Your job is to wait on me. Pay attention."

  "Yes, sir." The clerk mentally kicked himself for forgetting to turn on the security camera, not that it would do him much good dead.

  The man leaned down over the counter and raised an eyebrow. "How much you take in on normal day?"

  "Lips?" It was the tough broad at the back of the store. "Don't even think about it."

  "Relax," the one called Lips said. He pinned the clerk with his eyes. "We're just having conversation here."

  "I-I-I don't have much of anything," the clerk whined. He nearly wet his pants. "Most of the big bills go right into the safe."

  "Don't freak out, kid," the woman called. "My friend just likes to screw with people. How much for the Coors?"

  "A six pack?" The clerk heard the fear in his own voice and was immediately ashamed. Lips was still staring him down.

  "Yeah."

  "J-J-Just take it, lady."

  "Lips," the woman called, "back off."

  "You having period, Carlita?" Lips, voice dripping sarcasm, elongated the syllables into Car-Lee-tah.

  The clerk swallowed. His stomach was in knots. He knew something bad was happening but didn't have a clue what it was or how to stop it. The woman known as Carlita wandered by the rack of chips and grabbed a bag at random. She brought everything to the counter. As she moved closer the clerk spotted the thick butt of a pistol tucked into the waist of her faded jeans. His bowels loosened. She reached into her pocket for some money.

  Lips reached over the counter and patted the clerk's trembling hand. "Our money it is no good here, right?"

  "Right." The clerk felt a twitch begin, just under his left eye. "You folks have a nice evening."

  Lips smiled. The clerk stepped back involuntarily. There was something vulpine in that grin, and the man's enormous horse teeth were yellowed and stained. Lips blinked rapidly. "There is something wrong, kid?"

  "N-no."

  Carlita rolled her eyes. "Lips, give it a rest."

  "No," Lips said, "I'm asking this punk here a question. I gave him friendly smile and now he acts like he has seen a monster movie or something. What is this about? I'm being very nice, here. No need to be rude."

  "I'm sorry, sir."

  "He's sorry. See, isn't that better, Carlita? He's sorry." Lips dropped one of the store's own twenty dollar bills on the counter. "Here, keep the change."

  The clerk backed up and sat down on his stool. His legs were shaking. He watched the big man mockingly sweep open the front door for the tough-looking woman, to usher her out of the store. Thank you sweet Lord.

  The clerk watched through the window as the couple got into the rented Honda. He briefly considered taking down the license plate. He knew he should report what he felt certain was a fake hundred dollar bill, but there was something in the man's eyes that terrified him. So the clerk went back to Plan A. He'd blame it on the previous shift. He locked up for a few minutes and ran to the toilet to puke.

  Carlita was quiet until they had been out on the highway for nearly an hour. She was always like that when she was annoyed. And Lips enjoyed pissing her off for some reason; maybe because it bought him silence. Or maybe it was because she wouldn't have sex with him. Yeah, probably that.

  "You need to stop."

  "Stop what?" That ought to get her. "You know I do not like the dogs."

  "The clerk, you dumbass. You keep giving people reason to remember us. That ain't smart."

  "Well, hell," he said, slapping the steering wheel, "I am not so sure smart is driving up to Crotch-rot, Nevada on hunch."

  "It's not on a hunch," Carlita said, exasperated. "I told you, Curly tapped the friend's phone, the Mommy's too. We alre
ady know that she used the company card to fly to Reno. When she left that message about some guy name of Case and a place called Salt Lick it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the rest."

  "Yeah, but…"

  "But nothing. Curly called the motel. Guess what? A guy named Case just checked in last night with so-called his wife. It's her, Lips."

  "You better hope so." It didn't seem to rattle Carlita much when he threatened her, but Lips liked to do it anyway. "The bosses sound pissed off already."

  "I promise you, we're not wasting our time here. Look, no offense…but I'm not doing this so I can spend more time in your company."

  "I am hurt. I really am."

  Carlita turned her head away, crossed her powerful arms and closed her eyes. "Oh, shut up and drive."

  He hunted up and down the radio dial but couldn't find anything worth listening to, so Lips entertained himself by humming themes from American television shows. He'd grown up watching old episodes of Green Acres and Dallas; they had helped him to learn English. Carlita was something. He'd had a lot of partners in his day, but nobody quite as tough as this pretty woman. So attractive, yet she did not like the penis. The combination made for an odd conundrum, and the puzzle was a bit too much for a man of his underwhelming intellect to handle.

  Time passed. They drove down into a basin of some kind, with mountains in the distance. The bright moonlight turned to smudged cotton. Night fell like a wool blanket; even the stars dimmed down. Meanwhile, the poorly-tended desert highway pounded the hell out of the tires. Lips started hunching forward; soon his lower back ached, as did his knuckles from gripping the wheel like an old man. It was hard to see, even to stay on the road. Everything blurred together.

  Lips kept humming. He was on his second run-through of the theme to Baywatch Hawaii when the cutoff to the highway north caught his attention.

  "Hey! Now we're on Two Trees fork, this is right?"

  Carlita answered without appearing to open her eyes. "The map said the cutoff to Salt Lick is less than a mile from here, about an hour from Dry Wells."