When he thought about it, he had no idea why Joe Service was pursuing him. Just because of that stupid business in the house? He wished that he had killed them all. He should never have screwed around, distracted by that stupid girl. It was her fault, the prick teaser! Still, it would have been great: bend the bitch over a chair and fuck her brains out, the bound men looking on, tongues hanging out in lust and envy. Then, just as he came, he’d cut her damn throat and, after, all the others. Goddamn, what a scene that would have been!
Franko, he could understand. Franko was just protecting his goods; but what was in this for Joe Asshole and that girl? It didn’t make any sense. By now, he thought, they would have given up and gone away. Franko would still be hanging around. Where was he going to go? They could make some sort of deal. If not, he’d just top Franko and his fruity little hippie pal, and then he’d find the goods and could go back to Zivko and tell them it was all done, and they’d get on with having a good time.
He entertained himself with these thoughts as he stumbled along, imagining raping the woman in various ways, shooting or stabbing the men … and then he realized he had left the rifle behind, in the niche where he’d fallen asleep. To hell with it, he thought. He still had the Star. He wasn’t going back for that damn rifle, it was too clumsy anyway, and besides, he wasn’t confident that he could find that niche. And with that, he realized that he was still lost.
He shuddered with dismay. It was night outside by now, he thought, and even darker in here. He was as close to hell as a living man could get, he figured. He could pass within ten feet of an exit and never see a patch of natural light, because it would be dark outside. What an awful, awful thought! He wanted to roar, to scream, but he knew it would never be heard. Perhaps he had screamed. He wasn’t sure.
“Help!” he shouted, a little tentatively, then louder and longer. There wasn’t even an echo, just a dull sound muffled up by the mountain. It was swallowing him alive.
For some reason, it seemed to him that it would be better to crawl, that he’d naturally find his way out that way. But when he got on his hands and knees the occasional stone hurt him, and he only did it for a short distance before he came to his senses and realized it was pointless. He stood up and remained in one position for a period of time, his mind numb. He moved on in a hopeless trudge. If he just kept walking, he told himself, eventually he had to walk to an opening. It stood to reason. Just keep walking. He fished out the whiskey bottle and took a sip, not wanting to finish it, not wanting to be caught, finally, without even a drink. He shuffled on.
Paulie shook his head at the sight of Frank’s truck, protruding from the ruined entrance to the Seven Dials. There was no sign of Jammie. He left the dogs in the cab of his own pickup while he organized his gear, a backpack with necessary supplies, including a flashlight, plus one of Joe’s pump shotguns. It would be a hassle handling this gear and the leashes, but he felt he could manage. The dogs were certainly eager. As soon as he opened the door, they leaped out and ran immediately into the entrance. To his dismay, they did not stop when he called. He ran after them, but he was brought up short at the entrance. He stared into the ruined interior, reluctant to enter the tunnel. He hadn’t visualized this. Going into a tunnel … it was exactly like entering a cave. He couldn’t move.
He called to the dogs: “Bruno! Sylvie!” There was no answer, no sound at all. They had run into the dark tunnel.
“Jammie!” he cried. Once again, the cave swallowed the sound. He stepped back out, into the sun. “Jammie?” There was no echo among the tall, aromatic pines, in the warm sun. And no answer. He thought he heard something, but it was only a jay, up the slope. He called again, louder. No answer. A squirrel chattered. The wind soughed in the tops of the pines.
What to do? He thought of sounding a car horn, but he wasn’t sure that was a good idea; it might alert Bazok. Then he realized that was a stupid notion. He took a breath and bravely stepped inside.
Poor Kibosh, his place is a mess, he thought. But then … it was always a mess. We’ll fix it up for him when this is over, he thought. He switched on his flashlight at the gaping opening into the tunnel at the back of the room. He called the dogs again, then, “Jammie!” The sound was absorbed in the mountain.
There was nothing for it; he had to go in. When he reached the first side tunnel, he stopped. This was as far as he would go. Joe had said as much. The dogs were loose, inside, but it would be foolish to go after them.
Where was Jammie? He cast the beam down the side tunnel; he could see about fifty feet before the tunnel angled away—just an empty, abandoned tunnel. He turned the beam to the main drift. Again, he could see some fifty feet before the tunnel floor dropped lower. He should go back, he thought. Look around outside for Jammie. Maybe she had climbed up on the ridge, trying to find high ground to make phone contact.
He never heard the shot. But he knew it was a bullet. It knocked him backward. Paulie felt a great weight in his chest, an enormous lump that he couldn’t swallow … then everything got truly black.
Relations
Joe was surprised to see that Jammie looked fairly fresh. She had even changed clothes, he noticed as she waded across the stream, a Cordura sports bag in one hand, the AK-47 in the other.
“Ah, the SWAT team’s here,” Joe remarked, giving her a hand up the bank.
Jammie sat down on a rock to pull on her boots, which she’d slung around her neck. She laughed. “Sure you don’t mean TWAT team? Oops, bad joke—that’s what the D.I.s yelled at us in school.”
Joe seemed disconcerted. “What school is that?”
“You don’t want to know,” she said, standing up. “Ready for action, Cap’n.” She saluted like a music-hall sailor.
She looked ready for action, Joe thought. The jumpsuit might ostensibly be military in intent, but the tailoring bespoke a different objective. The effect was unsettling. Joe couldn’t help but notice that the zipper of the jumpsuit had a large ring dangling from the clasp. It had been pulled down far enough to reveal the cleavage of her breasts.
Jammie caught his eye on it and said, in a low voice, “One yank and it’s off.”
Joe’s mouth twitched. It was as much smile as he could muster right now. But unthinkingly, he glanced up at the opening to the tunnel.
“She’s at least a hundred feet up there,” Jammie teased. She set her hands on her hips and arched her back, as if stretching. Her breasts pressed against the nylon, flattening only slightly and revealing the outline of the nipples. “You only go around once, Joe … grab the ring.”
Joe chose to take it as a joke, ignoring the undertone of a genuine invitation. “Helen’s too speedy,” he said. “We’d never have a chance. ’Preciate the offer, though.”
“Never turn down a willing woman,” she said. “Or so my daddy used to say.”
“Daddy probably knows best,” Joe said, “but we don’t have time to play right now.”
Jammie looked momentarily chagrined, but she smiled. “Lighten up, Joe. You work too hard. Why? What’s in this for you? You’re not one of the Lucani.”
“No?” Joe said. “I thought I was. That’s what they keep telling me.”
“You’ll never be one of them,” Jammie said. “You’re an outlaw. They just want to play at outlaws. They’re a bunch of scouts. I think you turn them on—you turn me on—but they’ll never let you in. Not really.”
“They?” Joe said. “How about you?”
“Hey, I’ll let you in,” she said with smirk. “I’m an outlaw myself. Outlaw Love—sounds like fun.”
“Not a Lucani?” Joe said.
“They’re more fun than the stuffed shirts,” Jammie said. “But I’ll never be a Lucani, any more than you.” She had hooked a finger into the big ring and was gently tugging the zipper, first a little lower, then back up. She reached out and took his hand and brought it to her left breast, then suddenly zipped the garment open enough so that it was exposed. It was very full and the areola was large
and dark, the nipple standing out. Joe’s hand involuntarily closed on her breast. It seemed to pulse with heat.
Joe snatched his hand away. “I don’t have time for this,” he said.
Jammie zipped up. “No? Well, let’s see … that leaves riches.”
“What are you playing at?” Joe said.
“You’re not concerned what the Lucani think,” Jammie said. “You’re not tempted by a lady’s tender offer. What does interest you? You see, Joe”—she stepped closer, her voice no longer playful— “there’s a lot going on here that you know nothing about. Money, politics, careers, lives even … and you’re the one who seems to be just playing at it. You and Helen. These others”—she tossed her head in the direction of Frank’s house—“they’re just bystanders—innocent or otherwise. So what’s your game?”
“It doesn’t even remotely concern you,” Joe said. “But let’s get back to the present. What’s your thinking? What do you think we should do?”
“I think we should button it up. Time to boogie.”
Joe was surprised. “Just bail? What about … ?” He gestured toward the mountain, his hand sweeping back toward the house.
“What’s the old playground chant?” Jammie said. “Find ’em, feel ’em, fuck ’em, and forget ’em. Eh? You and me and, if you insist, Helen … we just pack up and blow. Bazok … he’ll never get out of there. He’s as good as dead already. Frank and Paulie, they’ll never say shit. Frank’s worried about his dope farm … Paulie vell, ve haf vays to make him not talk.”
“No,” Joe said, “too many loose ends. Besides, I’ve got an interest—which, as I said, is none of your business. I’m not going to leave until I’m sure that Bazok is taken care of. Anyway, you left out Kibosh.”
“Kibosh?” she said, her forehead wrinkling. “The old man? Collateral damage, I’m afraid … Bazok will take care of him, as soon as he’s sure he doesn’t need him. But he was a hermit, wasn’t he? Folks will just assume he got lost in his abandoned mines. I doubt there’ll even be a search.”
It was Joe’s turn to look puzzled. “Didn’t Paulie fill you in?”
“Paulie? What about Paulie?”
“Didn’t you see Paulie?” Joe said. “At the Seven Dials? I sent him over there to relieve you, with the dogs. I thought that was why you came back.”
“I must have passed him on the way back,” Jammie said. “I got bored. The cell phone didn’t work. I think the batteries are dead. Anyway, it looked like it was time to wrap. So … Kibosh escaped?”
Joe explained what had happened.
Jammie nodded. “Well, even better. Bazok is definitely compost now. Kibosh … he won’t be calling CNN, and nobody’d believe him anyway. Party’s over. Let’s sweep the dirt under the carpet and leave the dishes in the sink.”
“What dirt is that?” Joe said.
“Well, for instance, I take it Paulie’s got a camp up the creek a ways,” Jammie said. “That’ll be where he stashed the shit.” She caught Joe’s puzzled look. “You don’t get it, do you? The guy walked out of Kosovo with half a mil in heroin, lists of names, maybe useful evidence. I’ll go check it out, make a clean sweep, and we can catch the stage to Yuma.”
Joe took a deep breath, then puffed it out. “I see. And what do we do about Paulie? The colonel sent me here to get Paulie. He wanted to talk to him. That’s my contract.”
“I talked to the colonel, on my way back,” Jammie said. “Sorry. It seemed wise. Forget Paulie. The colonel’s not interested in Paulie now. Anyway, it looked like you had Bazok cornered. No more Bazok, the job’s done. Zip, zip.” She ran the zipper down, then up.
“The colonel’s not interested in Paulie?” Joe said.
“Franko,” Jammie said. “He doesn’t even know who Paulie is. He’s not interested in Franko anymore. No need for him to know. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Keep Paulie out of it? You can explain it to the colonel, if you like. I don’t know what your deal with Paulie is, but it’s your business, as long as it doesn’t involve the heroin. Me, I’ll go check out Paulie’s camp.”
Joe had listened to her, but now he shook his head. “You do what you like,” he said. “You and the colonel want to forget about Paulie, that’s fine with me. But Bazok … I’m not leaving here until I know he’s—”
“Dead?” Jammie said.
Joe didn’t answer. He started off toward the pines where Kibosh was still snoozing. Jammie stared after him. Then she followed.
“Okay,” she called after him. “I’ll help you take Bazok. Then I’m F.O.B.”
Joe stopped in the shade of a copse of aspens. “Deal,” he said. “Kibosh knows a passage that he thinks communicates with the main drift. I figured he and I would go in, try to get a jump on Bazok.”
“It’s a plan,” Jammie said. “Where do I bat in this lineup?”
“It depends on how it plays out,” Joe said. “Kibosh thinks, and I agree, that it’s a good chance that Bazok will be so demoralized that we’ll be able to simply grab him and lead him out. He may not resist. Even if he does, I should be able to keep him pinned down while Kibosh comes out and gets you. The two of us should be able to handle him. The idea is to take him alive, right? The colonel will want to talk to him, at least.”
“You don’t want to be worrying about what the colonel wants,” Jammie said. “In there? It’s like being tied up in a gunny sack with a badger and tossed down a well.”
“If it gets too rough, I’ll have to take him down,” Joe said simply. “What I’m more worried about, though, is if he gets between us and this exit … you and Helen.”
“We’re just girls,” Jammie said sarcastically. “But if you think we can handle him…. Seriously? How about, Helen hangs at the entry with one of your alley sweepers while I go inside, maybe fifty feet or so, and find myself a good position. If I see him approaching, I’ll backtrack, and we’ll have time to get down the trail. It shouldn’t be a problem. If he’s in his berserk mode, we’ll just stay out of his way. He can’t get far, out here.” She indicated the river, the broad meadow beyond.
Under the circumstances, they really couldn’t make much more of a plan than that, Joe thought. He had a vision of Bazok, pinned on the cliff trail, with Jammie and Helen covering him below and Joe above and behind him. He’d have to throw it in. It would be a neat conclusion, only Joe had no illusions: it was bound to go differently. But at least they had a notion of how to proceed.
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll get Kibosh. You can brief Helen.”
“No good-bye kiss, Joe?” She tugged at the zipper again. “Last chance.”
Joe shook his head at her levity and disappeared through the trees.
“Hey, girl,” Jammie called as she arrived at the mouth of the mine, her breasts heaving slightly from the climb. They were all but entirely exposed, the zipper drawn down almost to her belt.
Helen stepped out to greet her, blinking against the bright sun.
“Dispatches from Napoleon,” Jammie said.
“Napoleon?”
“The Little Corporal,” Jammie explained, gesturing over her shoulder.
“You mean Joe?” Helen said.
“The very same. We have a plan of battle. He goes in down there.” She pointed—they could see Joe and Kibosh making their way up the talus slope toward some caves. “And I go in up here. Classical pincer movement, right out of Clausewitz. Bazok is all but maggot-munchy.”
“What about me?” Helen said.
“You stand guard,” Jammie said. “Just in case Bazok gets by me.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a role,” Helen said.
“I’ll trade ya.” Jammie extended the AK-47 she carried.
Helen ignored the gesture.
Jammie nodded and said, “I don’t blame you. Why risk your ass for these pricks? There’s nothing in it for you, is there?”
Not as much as I’d like, Helen thought to herself, but she wasn’t about to admit it to Jammie. “Joe is in it,” she said.<
br />
Jammie nodded. “Yeah, he is. The question is, Why. What’s in it for him?”
Helen was not about to go into the details of Joe’s rebuilding schemes. It didn’t concern anyone but them, and it seemed unlikely that Jammie would understand. “Joe has a contract,” she said. “He likes to carry out the contract. It’s a point of honor.”
“Oh, how I love honor,” Jammie said with a little laugh. “It’s the old fallback position when an operation has lost its focus. You guys should have bailed on this one days ago. Well, you anyway. Joe has his own reasons, I’m sure.”
“What?” Helen said.
“Gee, you haven’t given it much thought, have you?” She regarded Helen thoughtfully. “Maybe Joe and the colonel left a few things out. There’s a lot of money involved. Didn’t they fill you in?”
Helen looked dumb.
Jammie shook her head. “Your newfound friend Paulie walked with a lot of goods, money too. Joe didn’t say anything about that? I wonder why? Maybe it’s just between him and the colonel … and Dinah Schwind, of course.”
“Schwind!” Helen said.
“Oops … gotta learn to keep my mouth shut,” Jammie said, then sighed. “What the hell, why should I cover for them? You and me are bath buddies, aren’t we? Naiads of the natatorium? You’re out here riding shotgun, you deserve to know. Joe and Dinah … how should I put it? They’re a little tighter than agent and control. Didn’t you dig that?”
“I could see she was interested in Joe …”
“But not the other way ’round?” Jammie shook her head with a slight smile. “Well, I’m sure he’s not really, really into her … except about six inches, anyway. But that’s how men are—as long as they can wet the wick, the banns can wait.”
“What do you know about it?” Helen said. She kept her voice even.
“Just what I heard from Dinah, before I got roped in on this goofy badger game. I know her from old school days. That’s where we first met the colonel. Dinah was very good on the oral exams—that’s how she got into the Lucani.”
Badger Games Page 30