by Sean Black
As he walked back to his car, he passed Neck Fat and Monocle. They ignored him as an LAPD patrol car cruised past. When it turned at the end of the block, Monocle called after him.
“Keep walking.”
Lock did. Now wasn’t the time to get sidetracked. There would be plenty of time for recriminations once he’d located the girl.
15
As he reached his car, he noticed it sitting low on one side. He walked around, having to squeeze down the side of a pickup truck that had been parked too close to his Audi.
The rear passenger side tire had been slashed open. Lock smiled to himself at the lack of joined up thinking of these bozos.
They wanted him to leave. They’d asked him to leave. Yet they were doing their best to make sure that he couldn’t leave. Not immediately, anyway.
To make it funnier, they hadn’t seemed to realize that these were run flats. Even with a hefty slash the tire was still good, for a few miles anyway.
He could change it here, but the pickup truck would make it awkward. Plus, he didn’t want to give the local wildlife the satisfaction of watching him sweat.
Lock decided to drive to the nearest gas station and change it there. Hunkering down, he made a final inspection of the damage.
Suddenly, he tensed. There was movement from behind him. He started to stand back up, catching sight in the passenger side mirror of someone appearing, directly behind him, from behind the tailgate of the truck.
That it had parked so close was no coincidence.
He saw only fragments of the person behind him. White, skinny, male, with cornrows.
There was a sparkling flash of rings as their right arm arced up high and then came down hard, catching him flush at the base of his skull as he was in the process of shifting to face the attack.
A sudden flash of light filled Lock’s vision as he went down, losing his balance, and tumbling forward, barely able to get his hands out in time to break his fall.
Landing prone, he started to roll onto his back so that he could up kick and buy the second he needed to clear his weapon. His stomach lurched from the impact and he struggled to hold on to consciousness.
The sudden, unexpected nature of the blow had almost put him out cold. As it was, everything around him was blurry and out of focus. Maybe two seconds had passed, but it felt like ten times that.
The scuffle of shoe leather from behind. The white guy with the cornrows was looking down at him, his face a mask of violent intent, eyes dead, lips peeled over teeth.
A boot swept through the air behind Lock’s head. The kick missed his head, but caught his shoulder.
Steel toe caps crunched against his left clavicle. As the guy in front drew back a ringed fist, Lock brought his leg down, catching the guy hard in the chest.
If he was going to take a beating, he planned on doing some damage of his own.
Lying flat on his back, one attacker in front, and one behind, his options were limited. Getting back to his feet was low percentage. He’d take any number of blows on the way back up, likely ending right back where he’d started, on his back, taking a kicking.
He reached down, feeling for his SIG. The guy behind him must have noticed because next thing Lock knew, his hand was trapped under the sole of the guy’s boot. He ground it around, like he was stubbing out a cigarette.
Meanwhile, the guy in front managed to grab Lock’s ankle. Pushing Lock’s leg out of the way, he moved past Lock’s legs and began to rain down blows.
His hand still pinned, all he could do now was bring up his left arm to shield his head from the worst of it. The guy was breathing hard. He was windmilling, most of his punches missing.
There was a shout from behind, as sweet a sound as Lock could remember.
“Hey! What’s going on back there?”
The blows kept coming. The rings made their mark, opening up Lock’s face. Blood began to pour into his eyes from a gash across his forehead.
The guy behind him removed his boot from Lock’s hand, but only long enough to bring it crashing back down, full force onto Lock’s head.
He scrambled again for his SIG. His hand on the butt, he started to draw. He didn’t think to aim. All he needed was his finger on the trigger and enough strength on the trigger to discharge as soon as he cleared it.
Another fist flew, catching him painfully flush just above his right eye. Lock’s fingers closed around the butt of his gun.
The boot came flying back down, catching the back of his head as he lifted it up to get a better view of where he was about to aim the SIG. This time the stomp came accompanied by commentary, the fuck high-pitched and recognizable as Monocle from back in the alleyway.
“Merry Christmas, asshole.”
Next came darkness, complete and profound.
16
Lock woke to the coppery tang of blood at the back of his throat and no idea where he was, or how he had gotten here. Next came the pain, shuttling in from all points of his body, first dull then intense.
He looked up at the blue sky through his left eye. His right eye was swollen shut. No amount of his own effort would open it.
He tried to move his head to the side. It wouldn’t move. He tried the other side. Nope.
A woman’s face came into view, upside down.
“Okay, you just take it easy,” said the EMT staring down at him. “You’ve had quite the morning.”
Before he could speak, he was lifted up into the air. There was a metal click as the gurney legs dropped and he was wheeled backwards. Reaching down with his hand, his gun was gone.
Slowly, he began to process his situation. He was alive. Generally, that had to be regarded as a plus.
He was injured, but he wasn’t sure where and how badly. He took a gradual, almost philosophical inventory of his body as he was experiencing it.
Fingers moving? With pain, but yes.
Toes moving? Yes, and not as much pain.
Breathing. Painful.
Everything else varied from aching to sharp jabs of agony. It was pretty much what he’d have expected from spending multiple minutes on the ground being used as a punchbag.
He started to piece together the beating. He guessed he must have blacked out after the last head stomp and his two attackers had either decided they’d made their point, or been scared off by whoever was shouting at him. Likely it had been a combination of both.
Lock cursed himself for falling for such an obvious come on. A come on being close protection lingo for an obvious distraction, in this case the slashed tire that he’d bent down to inspect.
It was bodyguarding 101 stuff. Rudimentary stuff.
In some ways falling for it hurt worse than any of his physical injuries. His mind flashed to Carmen.
Oh brother, he said to himself, she is going to be pissed.
17
“Come on, get you stank ass up, and help me clean this place up before Daddy gets here.”
Soothe yanked the blanket from Kristin. “Come on, bitch. Hurry.”
Wiping away the sleep rocks from her eyes, Kristin got out of bed and followed Soothe through into the kitchen where Soothe was manically throwing empty bottles into the trash and emptying the ashtrays.
She hauled open a cupboard under the sink and produced a cloth and some kitchen surface cleaner. She handed them off to Kristin with the instruction to wipe down the counters.
As Soothe scraped plates and loaded the dishwasher, Kristin helped her clean. She was sore from the night before and she desperately needed some coffee, but she didn’t dare ask. She’d never seen Soothe like this.
By Daddy she guessed that she had meant Hanger, Soothe’s pimp. Kristin hadn’t met him properly yet only caught glimpses of him when he came by to collect money from Soothe.
He hadn’t seemed like Kristin had imagined a pimp would look like. Sure, he wore a lot of jewelry and he had a lot of tattoos and cornrows, but so did a lot of people.
One thing was for sure though, Soot
he seemed to be besotted with him. The same way that Kristin had been with Andre. She was also scared.
“Daddy hates the place being a mess. You’re going to have to clean yourself up too, girl.”
Kristin looked at her. “Why?”
“Why’d you think?”
Kristin didn’t know.
“You’re some kind of dummy, girl. He’s coming over to see you and then we’re going out.”
Soothe put a hand to her temple. “I need an aspirin.”
A knock at the door sent her into a fresh panic. “Go on, clean up and put on some make up,” Soothe said, shooing her out of the kitchen.
Kristin emerged from the bedroom to find Hanger sitting in the middle of the couch sipping a drink. Even though the shades were closed, he was wearing sunglasses. Soothe sat quietly next to him.
As Kristin walked in, he raised his sunglasses, looked at her appraisingly, and then dropped them back down. He didn’t say anything. Neither did Soothe.
Kristin flattened down the dress Soothe had given her to wear for his visit.
“You like it?” she said to Soothe.
Hanger took his sunglasses off. “Why are you asking her?”
His voice was soft with menace. He had ice-blue eyes that never left her.
She shuffled her feet and said, “I don’t know.”
“Come sit down,” he said, pointing her to the armchair across from the couch.
She did as she was told.
The vibe was strange, like being called in to the Principal’s office. She felt like she’d done something wrong somehow, but she couldn’t think what it could have been. She’d done what Soothe had asked her to. She’d made money, and she’d handed it over every last dime.
Seconds passed. Then a minute. Hanger just stared at her. She wasn’t sure where to look.
Finally, he smiled. “So, you turned on to the life now?”
It took a moment for Kristin to comprehend what he was saying. Soothe had said the same thing after Kristin’s first night out on the track.
“Yeah,” said Kristin, shyly. “I guess so.”
“So, who was it?” said Hanger.
This time she didn’t follow. Who was what?
“I know it wasn’t Andre,” said Hanger.
Now she knew what he meant. She looked at Soothe. Had Soothe told him. Had Soothe shared her secret? Her cheeks burned hot, flushed with blood and shame.
“It don’t matter,” said Hanger. “You here now. You like this place? You like being with Soothe?”
Happy that the conversation had moved on, Kristin smiled. “Yeah, she’s like a big sister.”
Hanger let out a rasping laugh. “Yeah. I can see that.”
The laugh faded. His eyes locked on to her again.
“So, girl, you ready to choose up?”
Choose. Soothe had told her what it meant. Did she want Hanger to be her pimp? To be the one who ‘took care of her.’
It was a strange word. It implied two options. One was to stay here, and the other was to go home. But she didn’t know how going home would even work now. She had been here less than a few days, but it felt like weeks, months even.
Like the kids in the story who had stepped into Narnia, she wasn’t sure how she could find her way back. It was like she had been in one world and now she was in another. Like she’d died, only she’d felt dead before. This was a different kind of dead, that was all.
“I think so,” she said, hesitant.
Hanger laughed again, but this laugh seemed a little more dangerous. His head turned, and he looked at Soothe, who was chewing at the edge of a nail.
Suddenly Hanger reached over and slapped Soothe’s hand, bringing his ringed knuckles down so hard that he drew blood.
“Bitch, what have I told you about doing that?” he shouted.
Soothe shrank back into the couch, eyes down, her body folding in on itself. Her reaction scared Kristin. Soothe had always seemed so confident, almost superhuman in her lack of fear. Not now. Not in front of Hanger.
“Sorry,” said Soothe.
Hanger rattled the ice cubes in his empty glass. He handed it to Soothe.
“Freshen that up for me,” he said.
Head down, she got up and disappeared into the kitchen to make Hanger another drink. Kristin wondered if she could excuse herself to go to the bathroom, but she didn’t want to do anything that might incur his wrath.
He patted the couch where Soothe had been sitting. “Sit here.”
She did as she’d been told.
He waved his hand in the air. “Relax, that wasn’t anything. You don’t have to be scared of me. I have to be like this so I can keep all y’all safe. You understand?”
She didn’t, but she nodded anyway.
Soothe hustled back in with his drink. She took the chair where Kristin had been sitting.
Hanger took a sip and made a sound of quiet satisfaction. He looked at Kristin, then over to Soothe and back again.
“So, what is it?” said Soothe. “You staying with us?”
Soothe had already explained to her that without someone like Hanger, she wouldn’t last any length of time out on the streets on her own. It was too dangerous. And, she’d gone on this way, she didn’t have to worry about anything. No school, no bills, they could party as much as they wanted as long as they worked. And, once Hanger deemed her ready, she could move off the track. She could move inside, and ultimately there would be the casinos in Vegas and Atlantic City.
She’d also told Kristin that while there were other men like Hanger, they could be far worse. More violent. More demanding.
It had all seemed to make sense to Kristin.
“Yes,” said Kristin. “I’ll choose up.”
“Alright then,” said Hanger, raising his glass in a mock toast. “You’re in the pocket now. For real.”
He got up, beckoning Kristin towards him with his finger. She got up and walked over to him. He turned, and she followed him out of the room and into the bedroom.
Soothe trailed behind.
“Get up on the bed,” said Hanger. “We’re going to need us some pictures, and we’re going to need to get you a name.”
18
Lock’s prediction about Carmen being less than happy about his having being beaten up proved unerringly accurate. Standing at his bedside, he was treated to a good five minutes of English and Spanish that tested the limits of his vocabulary in both languages.
At one point he thought that she might need some oxygen to keep going. Finally, her emotions seemed to subside, and she sunk her face into the pillow next to him.
“Oh my God, Ryan. I’m sorry. I just saw you and–––. You could have been killed.”
“You should see the other guys,” he quipped, every word that passed his lips hurting his chest. “Not a mark on them.”
“That’s not funny,” Carmen shot back.
It kind of was, he thought, but he didn’t exactly blame her for not seeing it.
“You speak to anyone? What’s the verdict? Anything broken?” he asked.
“Mercifully, no,” she said. “Although you were concussed, so they’re going to want to do some more scans.”
He was going to make a joke about brain damage and not having much of one left to damage, but decided against it. He doubted she’d be in the mood for laughter in the dark for a while yet.
He’d slipped. No question about that. He’d made a rookie mistake and paid a price that could have been higher, but a price none the less.
At the same time, he hadn’t regretted going down there. Not even a bit. His body would heal.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to ruin Christmas for you.”
She reached out and took his hand in hers.
The curtain was swept back, and a hospital orderly stepped into the bay.
“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I have to take Mr. Lock here for his scan.”
Carmen stood up, not letting go of his h
and. She bent down to kiss him on the cheek. Even that hurt.
They’d got him good, he’d give them that much.
“I’ll see you later, okay?” said Carmen, tearing up slightly.
The sight of her upset stung him worse than anything he’d felt so far. Maybe this had been a bad idea? But he was in it now. Going down there and seeing what he had, there was no way he could give up. To do so would be a betrayal, not just of this young girl and her family, but of who he was and what he stood for.
19
A blast of freezing air whipped through the diner as the door opened and the six foot four inch African American Marine veteran walked in from the icy darkness. Ty Johnson stopped for a moment, his gaze sweeping the room. Finally, his stare, colder than the December air outside, settled on the corner booth.
Ty walked over to it, looming over the dandily dressed man pressed into the corner, surrounded by three of his stable of girls.
“Ladies,” said Ty, politely. “If you wouldn’t mind leaving us for a moment.”
One of them made the mistake of looking at Ty.
“Bitch, keep your eyes down,” Monocle chided as she scooted out of the booth. “What the fuck you want?” he said to Ty.
Ty didn’t answer. He reached down a huge hand, and closed it tight around the man’s neck, lifting him directly up, and pushing his head against the wall.
“I want you,” said Ty.
No one in the diner was going to call the cops. Not unless he beat the shit out of this guy right here where people were sipping their coffee. Even then, he doubted it. Not that he had any intention of beating the guy up here.
More than Lock, Ty knew the etiquette of places like this. He’d grown up around them, if not directly in them.
Monocle’s hand reached down, feeling for a weapon. Ty grabbed his wrist with the hand that wasn’t around the man’s throat and snapped his wrist back until he heard a pop.