It took all he had to focus enough to gasp out his words. “Back room. Victory. Back room.”
ROLLENS DROVE. I looked down, saw blood was splashed on my boot. I tried to care. Couldn’t. The massage parlor was a small single building. Must have once been a dentist or doctor’s office, acupuncture diagrams taped to the front window. All trying to make it look legit. The Feel Better Joy Massage Parlor, a cheap plastic sign read. Only $35. In joints like this across America men were getting off on or in little girls. Killing them a little more with every load they shot. Was three minutes of pleasure worth a baby’s life? Fuck it was. Mutilated, broken kittens. Fat fucking men slamming money on counters. Unending chain of pain. Fuck them. Fuck.
The back door caved with a kick. I swung in, swept the room with my .45. Far behind me Rollens moved, Glock ready. In the room, an old TV sat on a desk. A cot. A pile of outdated magazines. A bookcase filled with oils, lotion, and an industrial-size box of condoms. Aerosol lubricant. Medicated douches.
Fuck.
I moved out, down a tight hall. Quiet. Listening. No noise. Opened the first door. Empty, save a dingy massage table. Next room the same. Same. Same. Fuck. Front room had a Sparkletts bottle, chair. No one. I grabbed the chair and threw it at the reception desk. Plaster broke, phone burst. Silence.
Rollens started to speak.
“Don’t,” I snapped. My blood was up, anger overriding the pain pills and mescal.
In the back room, I found a squeeze bottle filled with alcohol and a Bic lighter on a cigarette burned counter. I sprayed the old magazines and the wall. The magazines lit, burned orange, then blue flames rolled up the wall. The room was starting to fill with smoke when I walked out.
“WHY THE HELL did you do that?”
I looked at her. No words came.
“Just going to make it that much harder to find him.”
“Fuck it. Fuck ’em all.” Pressed the accelerator down and the car jumped forward.
“Is this the plan, McGuire? Piss everyone off and wait until the ones holding Freedom come after you, then kill them first?”
“Works for me.”
“What if he kills you? Or Freedom?”
“Won’t happen. I’m death. He’s dead.”
CHAPTER 12
From up the street, we watched the building burn. Titan never showed. All it brought on was fire trucks, and an older Chinese man, screaming for them to put out the fire. The cops rolled up and we cut out. Slow and easy. Two more Vics. I was fighting to find equilibrium. Maybe in hindsight I shouldn’t have demanded to drive, maybe I shouldn’t have done a lot of things that morning.
“You gonna make it, McGuire?”
“I’ll get her back.”
“I know you will.” She looked at me sadly, then out the window.
We were on the 101 headed back to Hollywood when the deal went sideways.
I heard the rumble of the SUV as it sped toward me.
A black Escalade started to pass. Why was the driver wearing a bandana over his face?
Fuck. Oh, fuck.
The rear passenger window slid down.
A barrel with a suppressor aimed out.
Flame burst from the machine gun.
Glass shattered all around me. Bullets ripped through sheet metal zinging around the interior. I locked the brakes, spun the wheel. A bullet embedded in the dash sparked and smoked. We skidded sideways across three lanes. I released the brakes and jammed the gas. Hitting the curb, we left the ground and sailed out over the steep embankment. The front end dug into the ivy. The dash was on fire. We bounced up and kept going. One hundred feet ahead was a chain link fence and the street beyond. We were close to home free. Over the rattle and roar I heard the signature whump of a rocket being launched. You never forget that sound.
Flame and dirt and torn metal slammed the ass end of the Mercedes into the air. The explosion left me deaf except for a screaming, high-pitched sound. Time stopped. We went vertical. Angel flew past me, colliding with the windshield. She let out a pain-filled yelp. Her head was red and wet. We continued to somersault, coming down on our roof. Blood was running down my face, stinging my eyes. Breath came hard. My seatbelt held me hanging upside down. The world blurred in and out of focus. A hand pressed something against my neck, pushed my hand up, showing me to keep pressure. The blood across my face staunched.
Below me Angel tried to stand, let out a yelp, fell.
Black.
Lights flashing white and blue and red came closer and closer.
Black.
I reached down to touch Angel. My fingertips brushed torn metal. I couldn’t see her through the blood in my eyes.
Black.
I fought to scream. A gurgled gasp is the best I could manage. The pain from my ribs exploded into white heat.
All went bright.
A paramedic’s voice was distant and unimportant.
If this is the end, the long white tunnel, so fucking be it. I had a few choice words for the man upstairs.
White.
No more pain.
CHAPTER 13
Lil’ Diamond was all anyone called the girl anymore.
“Freedom. Freedom. I am Freedom. Mamma was Mary. Father, John. Freedom. I am Freedom,” she whispered over chapped lips when no one was listening.
Slowly, Zero scaled back her narcotics. Told her if he wanted a junkie ho he would go downtown and grab one. As clarity returned, she felt the pain of what they had done to her. The rapes had stopped, but she still flinched every time she was touched. That got her slapped. So she learned to take the fear inside, shut herself down. While Freedom was safe, robot Lil’ Diamond did just as told.
They gave her hits of chronic. Gin and tonic. Hamburgers. But for every gift she had to give up a little something. A hand job. Letting SK bite her nipple and smile when he laughed at her wince. New rules: leave her pussy to heal, no marks on her face.
LEJOHN WAS SITTING on the bed talking real quiet. The others were in the living room blasting GTA. They had fed her Chinese. She had slipped a chopstick under the blanket.
“Lil’ Diamond, I ain’t like them others.”
“How’s that? You younger, but you the same.”
“No, Lil’ Diamond, I really care for you. For real.” He looked so sincere. What was he, fourteen, fifteen? Maybe even thirteen, like Freedom. If the chopstick was sharper, she could bury it in his pulsing carotid artery.
“Don’t let Zero hear you talk that way.” She stroked his cheek gently. “I can see you a good man, but if they think you soft, they will rip you up.” Truth was, if they thought he was soft they would have him rip her up. She kissed a scar on his knuckle and thought about a scalpel and what he would look like with his tendons cut. How his hand would dangle uselessly.
THE VIDEO GAME went silent. Someone had pulled the TV’s plug. A woman’s voice was muffled, but sounded stern. The door opened and Amethyst scanned the room. Freedom had heard the men speak about Amethyst, the bottom girl. They talked tough about taking her down a notch, but their fear showed under the surface. Freedom had imagined her an older brute of a woman, instead Amethyst was young and beautiful, dark-skinned, fine-boned and blonde, with purple eyes.
“LeJohn?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“You paying for my girl’s time?”
“I was—”
“You were, bullshit. Now you and the rest of these useless Negroes get the fuck out of here before I start taking scalps home to Frankie. Clear?” Freedom watched Amethyst move Zero and his boys out. Didn’t ask. Told. And they listened, too.
“Stand up and drop that robe, Lil’ Diamond.” She commanded and Freedom obeyed. All shyness was gone. Naked, she stood, eyes down. If she looked Zero or his boys in the eyes she took a beating.
“Turn around.” Freedom followed the command. “Boney ass, no tits.” Amethyst lifted Freedom’s face so their eyes met. “Lucky for you, some men like a skinny bitch. Mostly they like tight, warm, wet pussy. They gon
na love you. You like it when I say that? When I say they gonna love you?”
“Yes,” Freedom mumbled.
“What, honey?”
“Yes. I said yes.”
“Good.” Amethyst passed her a Victoria’s Secret box. “These are for you. Put them on, it’s time to earn your keep.”
“What?”
“Don’t act stupid, you are not stupid. Put these on.” Freedom held up the sheer crotchless panties. “On, now.” Freedom did as told. The padded bra almost made it look like she had tits. “On your knees up on the bed, stick out your ass. Come on, bitch, give me your ‘I wanna fuck’ look.” Freedom went deep into herself, ordered the robot Lil’ Diamond to act sexy like in a Nicki Minaj video. Nicki took over. Freedom hid in her steel room. Lil’ Diamond robot went onto all fours and writhed, licking her lips, eyes at half-mast.
Lightning flashed as Amethyst snapped pix with her cell. Ten minutes and they were uploaded to sexteens dot com and three other escort sites that catered to men who liked them young. Said she was barely eighteen. Barely legal and ready to learn. From her steel room, Freedom watched. Learned. Waited.
“Did that Zero teach you how to put on a condom? No? Son of a bitch rode bareback? You get knocked up Frankie will skin him. No, for real he will.”
“Frankie?”
“Frankie. He is the man of all men. Once we get you earning you’ll get to meet him. A king. The man is a king and we are all his princesses.”
Amethyst taught Freedom how to put a condom on a man with her mouth. If done right, he might even come while she was putting it on him. Job done. She gave Freedom a can of aerosol lube, showed how to spray it on with her back to the john. “If he’s sober, he wants to think you’re wet for him. But don’t worry, most of these first johns won’t give a damn long as they can stick their junk in your hole.”
The older girl gave the baby a couple of white pills and a big gulp of cherry schnapps. She left Lil’ Diamond sitting on the bed and waiting. But not for long.
That day Lil’ Diamond fucked twelve men. Most in their forties. Most white. Zero and the boys would bring them to the hotel. Amethyst would deal with the cash, tell the men Lil’ Diamond was new, fresh and ready to ride.
AT FOUR A.M. the men stopped coming. Freedom ate a burger then threw it up. She lay in a bath. Amethyst sat on the edge of the tub sharing a joint. “First is rough. Gets easier, trust me, Lil’ Diamond. After that it’s . . . different. It pays, baby, gives us everything we ever wanted. We have the pussy, they pay for the pussy. Just the way God wanted it, otherwise he’d have give Adam a dick and a pussy so he could fuck himself.”
Freedom slipped under the water, watching the bubbles trickle toward the surface.
CHAPTER 14
“Do you know where you are?” He had a short gray beard, wore a lab coat.
“Hell?” I tried to move my arms but they were strapped to the bed rails. The room was white, with rust stains on the ceiling. Sweat dripped across my vision, stinging.
“How long have you been here?” He’s writing on a clipboard.
“Forever?” My voice sounds gravely and hollow. Head hurts. Mouth dry.
“Twenty-three hours. Does that surprise you?”
“Can I get some water?”
“In a moment.” Fucker had me trapped, and knew it.
“Where am I?” Not sure I want to know the answer.
“Valley Memorial, psych ward. Do you know why?”
“I’m guessing that you think I’m nuts?”
“You punched a paramedic who was trying to pull you from your wrecked car. You sent two police officers to the hospital before they could Taser you. Twice. Any of this triggering your memory?”
Splashes of color. The burning dash. Tracer bullets. The Benz tumbling through the air. Angel hitting the windshield. Angel. “My dog.”
“Dog?” The guy in the lab coat looked around my room. “Where? Where do you see a dog?”
“Car wreck. You a fucking idiot?” He stepped back, afraid. I fought for calm, or at least the approximation of it. “There was a dog. Big dog.”
“I don’t know.” Kept his eyes on his clipboard. “I’ll check for you.”
“Thank you.” I tried to give him my ‘I won’t eat you’ smile. May have failed, he still looked nervous. “Think I can scratch my nose?” I rattled my restraints.
“When I return. Let’s see how you do.” He was gone.
GET MOVING, PETOOKH.
Mikayla was sitting on the end of the bed in her blood-stiffened black coat. I tugged hard at my restraints.
Yes, yes I see, zalupa. You seriously fucked this up.
She was toying with a straight razor.
“You my fucked up version of a Valkyrie? You here to carry me home?”
No. You need a hero’s death for that. Getting blown up in a luxury car? Pussy move.
“Did you always give me this much shit?”
Who cares? That little girl has you and no one else.
“I never forget that.”
Really? What is your plan?
A SLIGHT MEXICAN nurse came in. He looked around. “Talk to yourself, gets you an extra 48.”
“I was just—”
“Shhhh, Frankenstein, don’t give a fuck. Just want to tell you how this place works.”
He washed the greasy sweat off my face, underarms and chest. “Want me to wash your junk?”
“No.”
“Cool.” He had LA tattooed in gothic letters on his neck. After giving me a hot towel shave, he showed me my face in a mirror. It was battered and bruised, a line of stitches ran across my forehead.
“Frankenstein, huh?”
“Seen worse. Once . . . maybe.”
“Comedian.”
“Laugh or cry, brother.” He held a paper cup of pills to my lips.
“What is it?”
“What do you care? I saw your tox screen.”
“Patient confidentiality?”
“You rather I think you’re just one more violent asshole?”
“What are the pills?”
“Clonidine, for kicking your apparent steady diet of Vicodin. This reduces anxiety, agitation, muscle aches, sweating, runny nose and cramping. Least that’s what it says it does. The other is Clozapine. A chill pill, low dose.”
“Thanks.” I opened my mouth, swallowed them down like a good soldier. “Any chance I could get you to loosen my restraints?”
“Not and keep my gig. And I need my gig.” He tipped the plastic cup and I drank it in a gulp. Asked for another and drank that one down, too.
“A question,” glanced at his name tag, “Rodriguez?”
“Bobby. Shoot, Slick.”
“Has anyone come by looking for me?”
“You on the run? Guy your size, I bet you never won at hide-and-go-seek.”
“No, not much. So?”
Bobby looked both ways, then spoke quietly. “Two detectives been by, wanted to question you. Dr. Miller sent them packing.”
“Feds?”
“LAPD.”
“One of them a woman, kinda short, black, walks like a cop?”
“No, but they asked us staff if she’d been around.”
“Has she?”
“Nope. One of the security guys told me they searched the tapes. Didn’t find her there either. She the one you been talking to?”
“No, one’s a ghost and the other is just disappeared.”
“Man, Frankenstein, you got a head full of some weird shit.”
“I know. Bobby?”
“Moses?”
“I know the woman I’m talking to isn’t really there. I’m not crazy.”
“You say so, Chief.”
“How many days am I down for?”
“Two, ’less you keep arguing with non-ghosts. Do that, then it could be longer.”
“Bobby?” My words were starting to slur.
“No more questions, Chief. Get some sleep. You been on a hard run. Think of this
as a vacation.”
I know there was something I wanted to say, some tough bullshit about Vikings and vacations, but I was under before it made it from my mind to my mouth.
I’M LISTENING TO The Pogues, the “Sick Bed Of Cuchuliann.” What album? The drugs Rodriguez gave me scattered my thinking. Rum, Sodomy & The Lash, that was the album. Shane’s drunken vocals stroked my eardrum. He sang about an angel at the head of a bed and two devils with bottles in their hands. You need one more drop of poison and you’ll dream of foreign lands . . .
The Root, Beirut, dust, sand, flames. Classified papers swirl around me. Every time I think I can read one it goes up in flames. I know this is the embassy bombing. I know it means something. A marine stumbles past. His face is gone. He has no mouth to scream with.
Me and two other sharpshooters are on the roof. We leave our M40s and take full autos. Tight alleys. Narrow streets. We aren’t out for precision. We are out for revenge. Pure. Simple. The building across the street harbors insurgents.
Muslim fighters run out into the street. We rise up. Our M16s shred them. There is movement. I snap a fast burst. Blood sprays. Then . . . then I notice it was a young mother, chasing her panicked child out of the building. She falls, her arm outstretched, reaching for her son.
“Revenge, pure and simple. Run out in a free-fire zone, it’s you,” Gunny says. Pours me a tall beer then drops in a shot of Jack. I drink it down in one long gulp. Looking out at the world through the bottom of the glass, I see the mother falling again and again. Jittery, like an old film loop. Would have been funny if it was Chaplin.
It is not funny.
NEXT TIME I came to, the restraints had been removed. I was in a new room. The door had a window. My legs felt unsteady when I stood up. Head swam. I pushed on the door and it swung open. The hall was wide. A nurses’ station behind glass surveyed the entire area. A man, sixty plus in a torn, red silk smoking jacket walked past me, inches away. I smelled his stale sweat; he didn’t know I was there. At the end of the hall was a dayroom with tables, couches. High on the wall a mounted TV beamed a game show. Loonies moaned and wailed. These folks were really fucked up. There was a small outdoor court for smoking. A young man leaned against the one tree, puffing away. I joined him, not because I smoke, but I needed a break from the noise. He told me his mother raped him last night. Told me she used a wooden spoon. Told me she had been dead twenty years and she still won’t leave him alone. I wished I could help him. Seems like a good enough guy. I was out of words. I went back and lay on my bed.
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