One More Body

by Josh Stallings

  FROM A TRUCK stop, I called Kenny while filling the ever-hungry tank. He passed me off to Peter. “Mo, fuck. No, really, fuck. These are big-time power brokers you are fucking with.” He sounded almost clean and almost sober. “I went in from every legit channel. Pulitzer Prize fucking reporters won’t touch it. The L-Fucking-A Weekly called it a wild, rambling rumor. This is after seeing the pix. Fuck, right? Fuck. AP, no. BBC, no. Al Jazeera? Maybe, but that may do us more harm than good. Right? Fuck. Blog? Who gives a fuck? Tweet until the cows come home and still fucked.”

  “Got it. Keep digging. It links to missing hookers.” I told Peter all of the Sanchez conversation. Told him about Mara Salvatrucha’s connection to missing girls, maybe.

  “MS-fucking-13? They are cells in cells. Like chasing a thousand-headed snake.”

  “Slow down, Peter, please.”

  “OK, right, it’s you, and you know shit from shit. MS-13 is spreading worldwide, why? A, they are the evilest motherfuckers on the block. B, they have no command structure. Every clique has its own boss. Wipe one out though, and the whole anthill of psychos comes down on your ass. They have strict alliances. You with me? We talking, Moses? Death fucking machines. Yes?”

  “Yes. How do I find them? The one’s got Freedom, killed Rollens?”

  “Easy, yeah . . .” I could hear his smart wheels spinning like crazy. “Ok, not solid, but a plan?” I heard him talking in a rapid mumble to Kenny.

  “Lay it out.”

  “Got it. Here, Kenny, tell him.” I heard Peter fire a joint, take a long inhale and hold it while Kenny spoke.

  “Peter’s idea, we do a city grid of concentration of solicitation arrests. Last 48 hours. Compare and contrast to six months ago. Maybe we find out where the girls are, if they are in the state still. It’s not a bad start point.”

  “Not fucking bad? Fucking brilliant.” Peter coughed as he spoke.

  “We’ll refine as we work,” Kenny said.

  “Then do it.” I hung up before he could ask if I wanted to talk to Sunshine. My speech was just slurred enough for her to guess how far I’d fallen off the wagon. I don’t know why I cared. Wasn’t like I’d said I wouldn’t use anymore. Wasn’t like I was working a program. I just took a vacation to get my head straight. Now I needed it cloudy.

  GREGOR’S FACE DIDN’T change when I dropped Sanchez’s cash on his card table. “Two things. Take your family on a vacation. Hawaii, some place these bastards can’t touch you. Second, if I don’t come back for this cash, forget you knew my name.”

  “That it, Boss?”

  “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  “Then bullshit. I’ll send my family away. My cousin has a cabin off the grid. I roll with you.”

  “Not this time, pal. This is a one-way ride.”

  “Maybe yes, Maybe no.”

  “No, got it? No.”

  “He is going with you,” Anya said. I hadn’t seen her standing in the doorway. She held their baby in her arms. “Maybe you can stop him. I know I can’t.” She turned back into the house.

  I SAT ON the back patio smoking while he packed up his family. Angel leaned against my leg. I stroked her side. Her eye was healing well. Her depth perception sucked, but she was alive. Nika moved up behind me, pressing herself against my back. She leaned over to take my cigarette. She inhaled then put the cig between my lips. Her eyes were coy.

  “Come here.” I had her sit sidesaddle on my lap.

  “Yes, Moses?”

  “Nika, you know I could never love anyone as much as I do you.”

  “But . . .”

  “No but.” I guided her head down so it rested on my shoulder. I could feel her breath warm on my skin. “What happened in Mexico.”

  “Shhh, we don’t have to.”

  “Yes, we do. You and I both know that wasn’t sex. For a long time I thought I had raped you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Quiet. I have to finish. I did what I had to, to save your life. I get that now. I know how I must have looked to you: your battered, bloody, Viking savior. But what I am is a killer. A drunk. Pretty sure I’m clinically insane. And I’m a fraud. The reason I went to rescue you? It was because I thought it would make your sister want to fuck me.” I could feel her tears soft on my neck.

  “I don’t care. I love you,” she said in the quietest of whispers.

  I held her tight. “I love you, Nika.”

  “Just not . . .”

  “No.” There was so much more to say. I just didn’t have the words. So I held her and let her cry. Held her until her tears stopped. Until she punched my chest and sat up.

  “You’re a jerk, Moses.” She was smiling.

  “True.”

  “Took my cherry, least you can do is marry me. Get that panic out of your face, I’m kidding.” She leaned forward and gave me a warm kiss on my cheek. “I get this can’t work, but when I’m thirty and you are a hundred and twenty, then look out.”

  She was kidding, and she wasn’t. It would take her what it took to see me clearly for what I was: her Uncle Moses.

  CHAPTER 28

  I have never seen Gregor cry, even when his arm was blown off. Heard the motherfucker scream in rage and pain, but never cry. His eyes were wet when he loaded his family into the Chrysler. Angel jumped in the back. As Gregor was buckling his boy in, Anya whispered to me, “You are a good man. Bring him back to me.” She kissed my cheek.

  After they left, Gregor opened his gun safe. He’d modified an AK style shotgun with a drum magazine. Held a hundred rounds. Folding stock. Shoulder strap. It hung under his black greatcoat. His CZ 75 had a custom extended magazine that held forty rounds. “Shooting one-handed? Easy. Reloading is the bitch.”

  “If you need to reload, we can stack your kills as a barricade.” The corner of his mouth tilted up, almost to a smile.

  He gave me a 1911 in a shoulder holster. Target trigger job. Throated mag well. The slide moved like oil on glass. Gregor had spent his downtime perfecting his gunsmithing skills. Ruger in my belt, .45 under my arm, and a Mossberg in the trunk. I felt as safe as a walking target could.

  GREGOR DUG THE Tempest. Didn’t say so, but the way he moved his head to the beat of the rumble said it all.

  “Where to, Boss?”

  “The beginning. Pimp whose ear I took off seems good as any. He said he was protected. Could have been bullshit.”

  “Probably.”

  “But could be for real.”

  “One way to find out if he is protected? Bust his shit up and see who comes out of the brush.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  IT WAS BACK to East LA, only this time there wasn’t a single woman selling favors in front of the graveyard. The track was gone. I parked behind a taco truck. I didn’t bother asking Gregor what he wanted, ordered him an al pastor burrito with extra radishes. I had a carnitas, extra hot sauce. From the gas station I bought a six-pack of Pacífico and a pack of Marlboros. Two beers got the cook sitting with us on the hood of the Tempest.

  “Man, I owned this Tempest, I’d paint it. Candy. You wanna sell it?”

  “You wanna sell a lung?”

  “No, I see your point.” He fired a joint and passed it to me. Gregor said he needed a piss, but I knew he was scoping the area. Covering my ass.

  “Your friend, he don’t speak much?”

  “Not much.” I hit the joint hard, passed it back. “I used to pick up chicks here.”

  “And there it is.” His eyes went cold. “Cop? Na, muscle, but whose?”

  “What the fuck?” I started, but quit before I looked stupider. “Truth. I’m looking for a girl. Kidnapped. She was dragged into the life.”

  “Shit is hard all over. You the guy took off Van Nuys Paulie’s ear? You the guy burned a tug joint down? You do all they say?” His hand slipped into his apron.

  “Most of it.”

  “Here.” He passed me the joint. “Might as well be stoned when you meet the devil.” As the joint touched my lips,
he pulled. A nasty black snubnosed almost made it clear before I placed two slugs from my .45 in the center of his chest. Double tap. His apron was spreading red as he hit the sidewalk. He would have to die alone.

  From behind the gas station I heard the rapid popping of a 9mm. I did a full Starsky over the Tempest’s hood and was cranking it before I was even seated. I stomped gas and lit the tires. A 180 burned rubber into the road. I was doing fifty-plus when I hit the gas station. At that speed it was hard to assess anything. A black SUV stood between me and where I assumed Gregor was. Muzzle flashes lit up a dumpster, followed by machine gun fire flashing through the smoked windows of the SUV.

  Fuck it. The Tempest was roaring like the V8 from hell when it hit the gas pump, squashing it against the luxe SUV. Petrol showered over them as I reversed in a cloud of rubber smoke. I was twenty feet away when it went wrong for those assholes. Gregor stood up, let rip with the shotgun on full auto. One of the idiots returned fire. The flare from his barrel mixed with the liquid and gaseous petrol.

  Flame blotted out the night, searing my pupils as they rushed to contract. Heat rolled over the Tempest. And just that fast, the fireball was gone. The SUV was on its side. A cinder man with no legs was dragging himself away from the heat. I put a .45 in the back of his skull. There were four other torched bodies. Each got a .45 in the brainpan. At least one was still alive when I shot him. Fuck them. Fuck them all.

  Gregor’s greatcoat was smoking, but other than missing some hair and his eyebrows he was intact. He watched me execute the burnt men without a blink. War has its own rules. You come for ours, we take yours. We ask no quarter, none is given.

  IN THE GAS station, I found the owner. He was hiding behind a Fritos display speaking rapid Spanish into a cell phone. He had MS-13 prison ink on his neck. One shot to his chest sent blood spraying over the crispy snack treats. I should have felt bad for killing him. Maybe I would later. Maybe not. I found the bloody cell.

  “This is Moses McGuire.”

  “Who the fuck are you, dead pendejo?”

  “You have a girl I want.”

  “Besa mi culo, puto.”

  “I’ll leave her picture.”

  “One more concha, who cares?”

  “Every day I don’t have her, more of your soldiers die.”

  “They are not afraid to die!”

  I tried to come up with a macho line, but I was tired of this bullshit. Many were going to die. Maybe me. Maybe Gregor. Pithy didn’t seem like the way to play this.

  I stomped the phone.

  I stapled Freedom’s picture to the dying man’s forehead, used his blood to write my cell phone number on the floor.

  I used club soda to wash the blood off my face and hands.

  Gregor was in the Tempest, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer.

  “THINK THE MESSAGE was clear enough?” I asked, crunching down two more Vics as I rolled onto Cesar Chavez Avenue.

  “Depends on the message.”

  “Give us the fucking girl.” I used the Tempest’s lighter to fire a Marlboro.

  “Then no,” he said, blowing smoke out the window. “They will not give her to us. You know that, Boss. This will either force them to mail you her head, or keep her safe just in case you are as crazy as the rumors say.”

  “Fuck. I’m playing chicken with a thirteen-year-old girl’s life? That it?”

  “Save this bullshit for women. You and me, we know she is dead. Or worse. We know this is revenge, not rescue.”

  “Yeah? Then why the fuck are you here? Really, why?”

  “Boss, you need to kill these men, yes?”

  “I don’t know.” I told the truth.

  “I do.” He told the deeper truth.

  We drove across East LA. Something was bugging me, kept ticking at the back of my mind. Finally, I dialed Kenny.

  “Any police chatter about a shooting, or fireball, on Cesar Chavez Ave. in the last half hour?”

  “Hi, Moses, all social niceties gone? Fuck me and treat me like Moneypenny?”

  “Sunshine, I thought you—”

  “I know, baby.”

  “Who’s Moneypenny?”

  “Lord, you are lucky you can fuck, because there are rooms full of what you don’t know.” I should have been insulted. Wasn’t.

  TEN MINUTES LATER, Kenny could definitively report nothing was being reported. I told Sunshine the whole bloody BBQ. No way the cops weren’t called.

  “Get your tall ass back here. This shit is going sideways fast. Stay off the freeways. A clear route will hit the GPS on your phone. Kenny will keep it updated. Moses?”

  “Yeah, darlin’?”

  “If the cops catch you, I never get to kiss you again.”

  “Then let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  GREGOR TOOK CONTROL of the cell phone, telling me when to turn. Crossing LA without seeing a cop would be a miracle. And at the moment I was feeling clean out of those tricky little bitches.

  CHAPTER 29

  “Right on South Burger.” I shot him a look, but Gregor’s eyes were glued to the phone. “Damn, left on Indian . . . no, Whittier. Cop’s heading east. Pull into that parking lot.” And so it went, checker-boarding our way west across LA. Me, I love following directions, always have. I certainly never hit my C.O. for sending us down a sniper alley in the Root. Paperwork confirms he hit his head on a low doorway. If they didn’t need grunts ballsy enough to take lead he would have charged me. I was sixteen, pissed off and indestructible. Lost in memories of Beirut, I failed to notice the cop car pull out of an alley and flip on his cherry.

  “What the fuck, Gregor?”

  “Kenny, we have a problem,” he said into the phone.

  “I’m going jackrabbit.”

  “Kenny says he can block the cop’s radio. Ten minutes, max, before the station bounces a distress call.”

  “Buckle up, baby boy.” I was grinning wildly when I gave the V8 full gas. The Quadrajet kicked in with a high whine. I hit a red button on the dash and let the nitrous flow. It was good for over 400 hp. The torque pinned me back into the seat. I was doing 130 when I bounced across Cypress. Give the cop his due, the mother was hanging tough—barely, but still in the rearview. I locked the brakes at La Cienega, spun the wheel left and hit the gas. We fishtailed like mad but made the turn.

  “Time?”

  “Four minutes.”

  “Fuck.” Near the top of La Cienega were the oil leases. Big, rusted grasshoppers dredging away. At 140 mph, the fence gave way like it was made of wet tissue. I locked the wheels, dust and dirt clods spraying around us. The passenger side was facing the oncoming cop. The dust trail slowed him some. When he saw Gregor’s full auto shotgun he locked his wheels, stopped feet from the Tempest.

  I materialized out of the dust, standing by his window. My .45 was aimed center mass. With my left index finger, I motioned down and he lowered the window.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “Ok, twenty-six. Do you want to die tonight?”

  “No, sir, I don’t. Will, but don’t want to.”

  Gregor held up the cell phone. Time was up.

  “Good news: I don’t want to kill you. So let’s play it very cool. Touch that Glock, it gets bloody.” Leaning in, I ripped the mic off the radio. Next I tore out the keyboard.

  “Step out. Slow. Easy.” He did. I took his Glock and cell phone. “You’ll need to step into the back seat.” He complied. I handcuffed him to the D-ring.

  “Twenty-six, you played this straight.” I cleared the Glock and dropped the magazine. I tossed them in with him. “Don’t touch that ’til we’re gone.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell your Chief, what is his name?”

  “Dobbs, Chief Dobbs.”

  “You tell Chief Dobbs that Moses McGuire is coming for his ass. No judge, no jury. If he’s dirty, he pays the freight. That goes for any blue boys who have strayed and are covering up for MS-13. Think they’
re scary?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I torched six of their soldiers tonight.” I leaned in, giving him the full benefit of what prison will do to a man’s eyes. He looked away after a moment. “You just met real fucking scary. Tell your boss, next time I catch a blue boy I will be taking heads.” I slammed the door, knowing there was no handle on the inside. A night in the hills was a hell of a lot better than what he deserved if he was dirty. But he didn’t vibe dirty.

  I CIRCLED THE industrial area until Kenny said we were clean. He had the Tempest in and the roller door closed in about three seconds flat.

  “You do any motherfucking thing quiet?” Kenny asked.

  “Nope. I run, gun and let someone with a higher pay grade sort out the corpses.”

  “Neanderthal.” He meant it as a putdown, but I knew what was coming could only be dealt with by a beast.

  “Kenny, baby boy, get Mr. McGuire’s car to Enrique. Bodywork, spray.”

  “I know what to do, Sunshine. All the hell over it.”

  I tossed him the keys. Sunshine was dressed in a black leather corset, her cleavage spilling out over the top. “This has to be the ever amazing Gregor.” She took his hand and shook it warmly. “You must be tired.” Gregor scanned the room. “It is safe, high-tech. Nothing moves within a mile that we don’t know about.”

  “If you say so.”

  “We have a crow’s nest, no bed up there.”

  “It’ll do.” He climbed the iron ladder, shotgun showing under his greatcoat.

  IN SUNSHINE’S BEDROOM, I lifted her into the bed. She was looking uncomfortable. “Nervous doesn’t suit you, darlin’. I shouldn’t of brought this to your door.”

  “Yeah, big guy, that’s it. You can be thick.”

  “So spell it out. You got another man? You ain’t into white men?”

  “Dense and getting denser every word. Shut up and listen.”

  “That an order?”

  “Yes. You can take it, or roll on.”