One of the Wicked: A Mick Callahan Novel

by Harry Shannon

  And yet now one protracted conversation had thrown an entirely new world into my face and left me stupid with possibility.

  When the kid came back from parking my car, I was still standing in the doorway with my hands in the pockets of my jeans. I'd gone into a fugue state of sorts, and was just staring at the planter. Something about my expression brought out the latent Homo sapiens in him. "You okay, dude?"

  Adrenaline filled my system. I came to and almost took his head off, but snapped out of it just in time. "Yeah, thanks. I've just got a lot on my mind."

  "Hey, go have a drink. Some pussy will do the trick."

  The arrogant wisdom of youth.

  I opened the door and went inside. The music was fainter than expected because the girls were working the floor instead of strutting on stage. A thin redhead was shaking it for a pair of guys in uniform. A tiny blonde was headed for the ladies' room. They both looked fifteen and were painted up like dolls from a horror film. I suddenly wondered if my sister had ever been reduced to stripping. For some reason that thought made me angry. A faint voice in the back of my head warned me to calm down and try to stay out of trouble. No confrontations. I was running on anxiety with a hair trigger and starting to see a red-tinged haze coloring my little corner of the universe.

  The cover charge was the defense budget of some small African countries. I crossed the room quickly and found a stool. The bartender was a peroxide blonde with capped teeth, a plastic LA nose, and the kind of fake breasts that would be standing at attention after a nuclear war. When she asked me what I wanted, I froze and licked my lips. It's been years, my addiction said. You could probably handle a drink or two now. Just have a couple to relax and go on home, no big deal.

  No doubt about it, I needed to get back to the meetings.

  "Honey, it's a two-drink minimum."

  I blinked, stepped back, and ordered a five-dollar cola. I took my drink as far away from the action as possible, found a dark corner and sat down to hide. The grief had taken me totally by surprise. I felt excited, both melancholy and bittersweet.

  I'm not accustomed to feeling truly connected to others, by blood or in any other manner. I have friends like Hal and Jerry, but usually tend to move through life the tiniest bit schizoid, detached in a nonmalignant way, generally just doing my best to be the kind of man I'd respect. If you don't count on other folks you're seldom disappointed. Danny Bell taught me violence and alcoholism, but some self-reliance as well. It had taken me a long time and a lot of false starts to get close to Hal, then Jerry, and eventually Darlene. I'd first had to experience and discard the false gods of machismo, alcohol and drugs, sex, money and power. Other than that, I was generally a pretty good guy.

  Now meeting Mary Kate had changed everything. Here was a relationship automatic, born in blood. It felt inevitable. I nursed the cola and considered why. Certainly the resemblance was a factor; looking into eyes almost identical to my own. I'd never known that feeling, at least not as an adult. It was something I'd been missing without even being aware of an absence.

  Now I could see that I'd only been a fragment of something larger, thus always incomplete. The moment Mary Kate had revealed her identity in my office, those pieces had come together with a force that weakened my knees. The feeling of attraction that wasn't sexual; the way I'd noticed her briefly by the radio station, watching me from her car, and found her so striking; the way she had a feminine version of my hands, a bit small for her body but strong, and the same kind of long, powerful legs. Her voice and other mannerisms made a powerful argument for genetics.

  My gut told me Mary Kate could also drink most men under the table. And throw a punch. No surprise there, either.

  So, now what?

  Mary really had needed and wanted to drink, and when I continued to refuse, she left to get one on her own. We'd traded cell numbers and promised to meet again. Frankly, I don't think either one of us knew what to say, or even do, beyond that one simple act. We just ran out of words and ideas. Hell, it never even crossed my mind to ask for an E-mail address. We both needed time to regroup.

  Physician, heal thyself. . . .

  Now I chewed on some ice and looked around the dump called Gents, wondering what the hell to do next. I had the printed head shots of Joey Faber and Frank Toole and some cash in my pocket. Walking back to the bar and offering a bribe for information seemed like something out of a bad TV series, but at the moment it seemed like my only option. I took out the matchbook and played with it. Held it up to the light of the candle. The doodles were actually straight lines drawn through the G, N, and S of the name of the bar, leaving only the initials ET.

  "Another?"

  I looked up, startled. The waitress was a cute redhead. I had to get past her perfect breasts to see the blue eyes and freckles. "No rush, it's just cola."

  "Smart."

  "Why's that?"

  She grinned. "Because the booze is watered down anyway, and the drunker you get the more money you'll spend."

  "Wow," I said mildly. "I have found an honest woman, and in the most unlikely of places. Alert Diogenes."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Never mind. How much do I have to pay for you to sit down for a while?"

  "First, I can't until I go on break in a few minutes and second, that depends on what you're after."

  "I just want to talk, maybe ask a few questions."

  "Twenty nets me fifteen. Fifty makes me look like a hero."

  "Fifty it is."

  "Then the second cola is on me."

  "Deal. What's your name?"

  "The one I use here? Tiffany. See you in a few."

  I watched halfheartedly as she walked away, knowing management would expect me to act lascivious. I looked at the matchbook again, couldn't find anything else worth noting. I tore it into small pieces as if to pass the time, made one trip to the bathroom and dumped the scraps in the trash can under some wet towels. Threw some water on my face and stared at myself in the mirror above the sink.

  Damn, Mary Kate really did look like a pretty version of me. Well, except for that perfect Irish nose. Hers wasn't broken.

  A Hispanic man came into the men's room. He was shorter than me, but with a thicker chest and buff arms. He had a large scar on the left cheek and a shaved, bowling ball of a head. The guy looked right through me, went into a stall and fired up a joint. White dragons filled the air as he gasped and coughed. I waved the smoke away and went back into the bar.

  Three inebriated businessmen came out of the VIP room grinning like sideways zippers. The dancers remained behind, and as the door eased shut I saw them toweling off with weary faces. Another wave of sadness came over me, an odd mix of disgust and pity. I'd been one of these customers only a few years before, a brash kid in search of the next high, on an eternal quest for distraction. I'd been so terrified, so alone. Avoiding one's life, and the reality of death, can rapidly become a soul sickness. In AA they say, "One's too many and a thousand's not enough."

  This was no longer my element. The men, the girls, the loud music, the drugs and alcohol were collaborating to shake me up.

  I pondered the initials ET and the meaning of life. Cleaned my fingernails, rubbed my neck. The waitress called Tiffany came back topless, perhaps fifteen minutes later, carrying my second soft drink. I made a show of handing her fifty dollars. She tucked the bills in her scant bikini bottom and sat down.

  "You married, gay, or looking for your sweetheart?"

  I smiled. "Guess I'm not fitting in as well as I'd hoped."

  "You look bored. That stands out here."

  "Thanks for the warning. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble."

  "We'll be fine, long as you remember to stare at my boobs while you're talking. Well, at least some of the time, anyway."

  I stared. "Wow. They're nice."

  "Thank you."

  "Okay, here we go. I have a couple of photographs to show you, Tiffany. I'm looking for two men."

  She kept a smile
frozen in place but shook her head. "Don't. Do anything like that and we'll both be in trouble. You a cop?"

  "Nope. Look, I have two pieces of paper. How about I slip them to you and you take a peek when it's safe?"

  She considered. Remembered the fifty bucks. "Slip them under the table, man."

  "Mick."

  "Don't get me fired, Mick. Do it nice and easy."

  I kept talking, shifted my chair, all the while moving the folded papers from my back pocket to her hand. My body now screened her from the rest of the club. Tiffany took a quick peek at each page and slipped the papers back to me.

  "Do you know either of these men?"

  "Try to touch my tits."

  It took me a second to catch on. I reached partway across the table as if to caress her. Tiffany backed her chair away and wagged a finger as if I were a naughty child. The charade must have satisfied whoever was watching, because Tiffany moved closer again. She kept a silly grin frozen on her face the whole time, although her tone was serious. I kept thinking of that old movie about an exorcist. The effect was pretty disconcerting.

  "I've seen them around, but not in the last week or so. The first one calls himself Joey, can't remember much about the other one except that he's an asshole. Gropes the girls, tries to get out of paying for private dances, that kind of crap."

  "Take your time. Anything will help."

  "Out of curiosity, do I want to know why you're here, Mr. Mick?"

  "No, you probably don't."

  "I get that." She shrugged, still grinning. "That's why I'm not asking. And I never saw those pictures, you never asked me shit except for my home phone number, are we going to be square on that?"

  "I promise."

  "In a couple of minutes we'll have the part where I'm supposed to get up and walk away to try and get some more money out of you. You don't want to go for that, just looked pissed."

  "This is what we get for fifty bucks? It should be easy to look pissed. But I have one more question to ask you, Tiffany."

  She eased her chair back, held up her breasts with both hands. I felt like a physician looking for cysts. "Shoot."

  "Somebody scratched out three letters of the club's name and left just ET. Would those initials mean anything to you?"

  People try to hide things from each other all the time. Most aren't very good at it, once you know what to look for. The initials decked her. Her pupils contracted and all the color left her face. "Not really, no."

  "That's the first time you've lied to me tonight, Tiffany."

  "So sue me."

  "Who is it? What is it? Hell, just tell me if this ET thing means a place or a somebody."

  She licked her lips, dropped her breasts. The lack of bounce told me they were as fake as her smile. "Look, it's a somebody, and he's trouble."

  The smile vanished. Tiffany got to her feet. "And you didn't hear that from me. Now I got to go, and don't follow."

  "Christ!" I looked pissed and raised my voice. "That's all I get for fifty bucks? What a rip off."

  Tiffany walked away, swinging her hips, and slowly flipped me the bird. I made a show of downing the rest of the watery cola and got to my feet. I scowled like a man about to make a scene and took two steps forward. The huge Hispanic stoner arrived at my right elbow at exactly the same time.

  "What up? You have a good time here tonight, right, ese?"

  Close in, I was looking down at him, but the bouncer was so damned wide my height wasn't much of an advantage. Besides, I had to stay out of trouble. "Fifty bucks for some skin and a bad drink?"

  He smiled. One tooth was gold. "It's only twenty-five a titty, bro. That's fair enough, you think about it. The girl's got to make a living."

  My elbow felt like it was in a steel vise. I looked down at where he gripped me. It hurt. My blood rose. My nerves were blown. I resented being handled and wanted to blow off steam. The anger felt good. My vision turned black and then tinged with red. The guy came into incredible focus.

  The bouncer sensed something and shifted his weight. Seeing that, another large guy detached from the crowd at the bar and headed our way. I reminded myself that if I made a scene and lost the fight, someone might get their hands on the photos in my back pocket. I was beyond caring about myself, but knew that Tiffany could end up in serious trouble. I let myself go loose again.

  "Peace," I said. "I'm out of here, okay?"

  That gold tooth. "That's right, you are out of here. And next time don't get so jacked up before you come in. Take it easy. It's only money."

  "Yeah, my money."

  "You got to learn to kick it. This ain't the real world, bro. It's playtime."

  About then, the second bouncer arrived. He was a real gym rat, juiced and oiled up, and probably a hundred percent bluff. I let him believe that he'd intimidated me, walked up the steps and left the club without a fuss. I even tipped the kid when he brought my car. ET was a man. And at least now I had some idea of what to do next.

  Eighteen

  "That's not much to go on." Jerry was being a bit melodramatic, probably to impress Dave Lopez. We all knew he'd come through with something about ET. He rubbed his burn scar with two fingers. The baseball cap had reappeared and was sitting sideways on his buzz-cut head.

  "Jerry, we have the utmost confidence in you," Hal said, without a hint of condescension. He leaned closer to the camera. "Mick, speaking for myself, I am eager to hear more about this Mary Kate person. Will you promise to call me in the morning with more information?"

  "There's not much more to tell, Hal," I said. "At least not yet. I'm hoping we can become friends."

  I'd mentioned my sister to Hal, but hadn't said a word to anyone else. I don't know why exactly. Guess I was reluctant to talk about it until I'd processed it further. Anyway, Jerry and Lopez were both still in the dark. They exchanged puzzled glances. Hal picked up the slack, returned to business.

  "Mr. Lopez, can we go back to the disappearance of Ms. DeLillo for just a moment?"

  Dave Lopez shifted his weight in the chair, yawned and rubbed reddening eyes. "Sure, I guess."

  "When did you notify the police?"

  "I called SMPD maybe ten minutes after it happened, almost as soon as I was out of the area."

  "And what exactly did you say?"

  "I changed my voice a bit and made an anonymous report about a young woman being abducted from the parking garage by two or more men. I gave them what I could remember of the make and model of the car and the license number and got off the line. The whole thing took maybe twenty seconds."

  "Smart move," I said. "That allows us to play it both ways. The cops are working on it, too, but without knowing we're involved."

  "I'm running a program designed to locate a car by a partial license number," Jerry said, "but I don't think we got enough to make an exact match. The cops probably won't be able to do that, either. We'll narrow it down as far as possible and then make the rounds, I guess."

  Hal said, "Detective Lopez, have you ever been hypnotized?"

  "Tried once," Lopez replied. "They said I was too neurotic, or something. I wouldn't go under properly."

  "Pity. We might have gotten you to remember something you missed."

  "I doubt that," Lopez said. He seemed uncomfortable, off balance. "There wasn't much to miss."

  "That's what's bothering me," I said. "Everything sounds so well organized, so smooth. Not that I'm an expert on this stuff, but from what I've heard you wouldn't figure mob guys for that kind of snatch in broad daylight."

  "I'll bite," Jerry said. "Who would you figure, then?"

  I shook my head. "Beats the hell out of me."

  The doorbell rang. We all knew who it would be, but that didn't stop my heart from fluttering. I resisted an urge to scurry around the living room to straighten things up. Again. Jerry beat me to the door, opened it, and there she was. Darlene wore torn shorts and a tee shirt and still managed to look wonderful.

  "Sorry I'm late," she said. "Did I miss any
thing?"

  "I was just asking Mick who he figured took the girl, if it wasn't the mob."

  Darlene kissed my cheek. "And?"

  I didn't answer, took her hands. "Thank you for coming."

  "In for a penny, in for a pound. I can't let you clowns go off by yourselves. You'd go down in flames without me."

  "Good evening, Miss Hernandez," Hal said. "It's nice to see you again. Well, in a manner of speaking."

  I moved away from the computer so everyone could see Hal's face, and the camera could catch us all. Lopez, Jerry, and Darlene sat and leaned forward.

  "Let's get started." I parked on the edge of the desk and crossed my arms. "First, I want to go over everything we know, start from the very top, and I do mean everything."

  "Good," Jerry said. "This one is getting pretty confusing."

  "Okay, first Bud Stone contacts me about looking after his old mistress. He's borrowed money from Pesci to finance a drug deal for two guys named Faber and Toole. As of now, it looks like they probably scammed him, because they've vanished with both the money and the drugs. Jerry?"

  "Not a sign of them, Mick. Well, except for that one Range Rover rental from Enterprise. No other credit card runs, parking tickets, personal sightings, E-mails, large cash purchases; nothing. Either they're damned smart or they're out of the country entirely and using different names. Otherwise I'd have turned up something new for us to go on."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Well, Mr. Solomon," Jerry continued, "they have a lot of cash, of course, but you'd be surprised how tough it is to move around without leaving a trail of any kind. Now, that black Range Rover was returned in Vegas, then rented for a second time and brought back here to LA. It's got to be somewhere. That's the angle I've got my computer working on, anyway."

  "Good. Stay on it." I paced a bit. "All right, so next, I get bonked on the head by two men. These are guys Bone and I had a run-in with. They turn out to be working for Pesci and some thug named Nikolaou Argetoianu, also known as Little Nicky. He's from Eastern Europe and appears connected to the sleazy side of international banking."