by Kim Oh
I pushed myself a couple inches back from him. “You didn’t think so . . . when we were on the freeway . . .”
That stung him. “That’s because you were able to get away from me.” His black, ugly scowl returned. “And you’re not getting away now.”
Another kick, this one harder and to my shoulder, rolled me onto one side. Stinson already had unsnapped the backpack’s waist strap when he’d been searching me for weapons and not finding any. So now all he had to do was grab one of the backpack straps and yank upward with it. That lifted me from the floor for a moment, then I fell back down when it came free.
He did something with the backpack that did take me by surprise. He didn’t even try to open it and remove whatever was inside – instead, I watched as he took the backpack and clamped it tight to the side of his abdomen, right above his left kidney.
“What the hell . . .” A couple of seconds passed, with him squeezing the backpack even closer to himself. If that was supposed to make something happen – it didn’t. “There was supposed to be . . . like a beep or something . . .” He sounded childishly baffled as he looked down at the backpack. “When the trigger got hit . . .”
I didn’t say anything, but just tried to scoot as far away from him as I could. My back came up against one of the corners of the room’s bed.
Now he took the bag away from his side and looked more closely at it. “Wait a minute –” He grabbed the zipper tag and pulled it a couple of inches, opening up the bag. “This is supposed to be sealed.” Seizing both sides of the gap, he yanked them all the way apart – when he turned the bag upside down, a clean shirt and a couple pairs of my underpants spilled out, along with my deodorant and a travel-size plastic bottle of shampoo, and one leg of a rolled-up pair of fresh jeans. “This isn’t the right bag . . .”
“Well, duh . . .” I couldn’t resist, as I looked up into his thunderstruck expression. “Like . . . I was going to bring that up here –”
He dropped the bag to the floor. If I hadn’t pushed myself into a sitting position against the bed, his fist wouldn’t have connected with my head. But it did, swinging in a downward arc as he tossed the emptied backpack aside. The blow connected, and I went sprawling onto my shoulder, away from the room’s windows and toward the door.
Now I didn’t have to pretend to be dazed. The room tilted around me, as an unfocused wash rolled past my vision. I could hear, somewhere on the other side of it, Stinson shouting into a cell phone.
“Perry –” His voice lowered to a growl. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but you better get your ass up here. Now –”
It was less than a minute before Perry showed up at the room door. He already had been heading up here, when his phone had gone off.
He didn’t bother to knock, but just pushed the door open, leaving the mop and wheeled bucket just outside.
Which was something I’d been counting on. Like he’d told me, he didn’t go anywhere in the hospital without his janitor gear.
“What’re you trying to pull?” Stinson’s anger was boiling so fiercely, it looked as though his blood-reddened face was about to explode. “This bitch doesn’t have it –”
“Hey, man – keep it down.” Perry pointed to the hallway outside the room. “They’re gonna hear –”
“I don’t care! I made a deal with you and your buddy – Mason, or whatever the fuck his name is. And I’m not seeing what I want here.” He leaned down and scooped up the empty pack by one of its straps and threw it into Perry’s chest. “This crap isn’t it!”
They weren’t paying any attention to me. I was able to crawl a couple of feet past Perry’s legs and reach out past the doorway.
“What do you mean, that’s not it?” The backpack lay at the toes of Perry’s scuffed work shoes. “That’s what she had. That’s what she brought with her –”
I grabbed the rim of the wheeled bucket and pulled. It tipped over, the mop handle clattering on the floor. Both of the men looked around at me as the gray water sloshed onto their ankles.
“No –”
I reached into the bucket, lying on its side, and grabbed the heavy, hand-filling item wrapped up in the plastic bag. I didn’t undo the knot, but just ripped the bag open. The next thing these guys knew, they were staring into the muzzle of a .357, its grip clasped in both my damp hands.
“This is what I brought with me.”
It didn’t matter that I could hear somebody running in the hallway – probably one of the hospital security guards – coming toward us. The look on Stinson’s face was worth whatever happened next. I squeezed the gun’s trigger, letting a shot rip straight toward him.
Once his initial surprise was over, his reactions were pretty good. He dived, the shot going above where he’d been standing and shattering one of the blank gauges on the vital signs monitors mounted to the wall.
“Oh.” Perry stared blankly at me. “You knew –”
“That you were setting me up? Pretty much.” That was why I’d used his mop bucket to smuggle the gun up to the room. I’d figured out that he and this Stinson guy were in on this together, and that Stinson would be all prepared and waiting for me to show up. “Now get over there.” I gestured with the gun. “If I don’t see your hands on top of your head, you’re in big trouble –”
“What’s going on here?”
That was the hospital guard, right outside the door. Stinson hadn’t bought so much privacy that this kind of action could be ignored.
“Thanks –” I raised the gun so he could see it. “But nothing that I can’t take care of myself.”
His eyes went wide, and he turned and scurried off, fast as an overweight hospital guard could.
I wanted to wrap this up before he came back with reinforcements, especially in the form of actual police. Problem was, Stinson did as well. Before I could swing the .357 in his direction, he had grabbed the monitor equipment cart. Lowering his head, he lunged forward, driving it straight into the forearms I raised to shield my face. The cart hit me with enough force to throw me sprawling on my back, halfway out the door.
The next shot I let off drilled clanging through the cart’s shelves. It would’ve taken Stinson out as well, if he hadn’t dived to one side. He was up on his feet again before I could get the cart out of my way. I ignored the screaming and shouting from the nurse station down the hallway as I scrambled upright, sprinting back into the private room with the gun held before me.
I’d forgotten about Perry – all my focus had been on Stinson. But as soon as I was back through the doorway, Perry blindsided me, tackling me around the waist and driving both of us against the side rails of the bed. I managed to twist myself around before we hit, so the rail hit me at the small of back. The sudden shock of pain made my fist clench around the gun’s grip –
That shot didn’t miss. It was point-blank into Perry’s chest. A .357 load hits someone that close, it’s enough to lift them off their feet. Especially a skinny weasel like him – he landed nearly a yard away from me, staggering backward with blood welling from between the fragments of his breastbone. His shoulder blades hit the window, shattering the glass into shards and catching the blue glow of the parking lot light poles. For a moment, his body was centered in the jagged-edged frame, then tumbled out, arms spread wide.
There wasn’t time to watch him fall. From the other side of the room, Stinson sprung forward, grabbing my wrist and forcing the gun upward. The only move I had available was to bring my knee up sharp into his crotch – but that worked. His grasp loosened enough for me to yank my arm away. Too hard – the gun’s grip was slippery from the blood that had spattered onto me from the close-range wound in Stinson’s chest. The .357 went flying over the bed and struck the far wall.
More shouting now, but from outside the building. And a blaring car horn – Stinson glanced out the shattered window, down toward the hospital’s front entrance.
Then he was gone, shoving me aside and running headlong out the door an
d into the hallway.
That was the best move for him. Whatever he had been expecting to happen when I’d arrived at the private room – that hadn’t gone down. If he got out of here before the police arrived, he’d have another shot at it. Something to do with the backpack I was supposed to deliver – but I still didn’t know what it was.
And he had the means for making a quick exit from the scene. I stepped across the room and looked out the window, the chill night air streaming into my face. There was action going down there, as well, with a bunch of guys around a gleaming new Dodge Challenger – this one was red as well, just like the first one – with its engine running. Perry’s body was sprawled facedown on the sidewalk a few feet away from the car.
If I’d stayed there much longer, I would’ve seen Stinson come running out of the hospital front doors and dive behind the wheel of the waiting car. But my plans didn’t involve hanging around and talking to the police, either. I still had a delivery to make.
I scooped up my backpack and the stuff that’d spilled from it. Bent over, I spotted the .357 under the bed and quickly grabbed it. Jamming the gun and everything inside the bag, I bolted for the door.
The nurses and the doctors – and the security guard – all were cowering behind the counter as I raced past, my backpack flapping behind me in one hand. I was glad to see that the hospital’s security cameras were all still dead. A second later, I’d punched the code into the stairwell lock, and I was taking the bare concrete steps two at a time, heading for the loading dock below.
† † †
“How’d you know it was a setup? Must’ve been something he said.”
“No . . .” I shook my head. “It was what he didn’t say.”
Mason and I were back where we’d started, behind the restaurant where he worked. We didn’t bother to hide – this time of night, the strip mall was completely empty. I sat leaning against the Ninja, while he kept his arms folded across his chest, spine against the trash dumpster. My backpack was bungeed again to the bike’s seat, and I had the delivery – Dalby’s bag – slung behind my shoulders, just the way it’d been when I’d first left Los Angeles.
I had to give Mason marks for being there at all. That showed a certain amount of class on his part. He was probably already in trouble with the halfway house he lived at for not having checked in after the end of his shift. His parole office would give him a load of grief about that – it was always part of a con’s release conditions that he wasn’t wandering around late at night, getting into trouble. Which was pretty much what he had done – this had been a long, busy night for a guy like him, who was supposed to be keeping his nose nice and clean.
Plus . . . he didn’t know what I was going to do now. To him. After he and his prison buddy Perry had cooked up their little scheme – and put in the fix in on me – he had to figure I’d feel justified in doing just about anything to even the score.
But somehow I’d known he was going to be here, even before I pulled the bike in from the street and circled around behind the restaurant. I guess with so little going for him now – especially with his and Perry’s big idea having fallen through, and me still being alive and all – he didn’t have much left, except to be a stand-up guy. And take whatever was coming, without flinching.
“Okay –” Mason shrugged. “So what was it, then? That he didn’t say?”
“He didn’t say anything about money. That was how I knew.” I looked up at the night sky stars, sorting out my thoughts, then back down to Mason. “Somebody the way that Perry guy was – yeah, he’s like you. In a lot of ways – being a con and all. So yeah, you could be buddies, and cook up schemes, and do all that stuff. I suppose that’s what guys who have been in prison together pretty much do when they’re outside again. But there was one way that he was a whole lot different from you.”
“What’s that?”
“He was younger,” I said. “A lot younger. Young enough to still want things. The things you need money to get. Somebody like you . . .”
“You can say it.” Mason showed a thin smile. “An old guy like me, right?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I could just about buy it, that you were helping me out . . . just to feel alive again. Like you were in the game, making things happen. Something to get the blood flowing.”
“That part, you’re right about. It did feel good.”
I suppose some day that’ll happen for me as well. If I lived that long.
“So that’d be enough for you.” I studied Mason’s profile as he turned his face away from me, looking out toward the empty parking lot. “To feel alive again. But not for your buddy Perry. When you’re still young, no matter how screwed up you are, you pretty much know you’re alive. Because you still want things. So you need money.”
“Yeah . . .” A nod. “Money’s good. Sometimes.”
“All the time,” I said. “Until it isn’t. I haven’t gotten to that point yet – and I figured Perry hadn’t, either. So he should’ve asked me to cut him in on whatever I had going on. He knew there was some significant money involved. Between what I was doing, making the delivery and all, and what the Stinson guy had going on, with a whole team backing him up and a new muscle car being delivered right to the hospital’s front door – you’d have to be an idiot not to smell that much cash in the air.”
“I’d told him as much.”
“Sure – otherwise, there wouldn’t have been anything going on at all. But like I said – Perry didn’t even mention it. Didn’t ask for a cut of whatever I was getting paid, even a taste of it. Didn’t even want his expenses covered, whatever they might’ve been. So if he wasn’t talking to me about money . . . that meant he’d already talked to somebody else about it. And that could’ve only been Stinson.”
“You got that right.” Arms still folded, Mason looked back over at me. “Kind of a strange guy, if you know what I mean –”
“Believe me. The more run-ins I have with him, the stranger it gets.”
“But he’s not so screwed up that you can’t do business with him. Plus . . . he’s got that mental thing going on. You know?” Mason lifted a hand, rubbing his chin as he thought things through. “Some guys have got that. They can read situations and decide what they want to do –” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Which is what you need – whether you’re right or wrong about it. Soon as Perry had gotten into his room, talked to him, and got him on the phone with me – he was on top of it. Just like that.”
“Too bad I was on top of it, too. Too bad for him, I mean.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Mason shrugged. “Perry got the worst of it. I’m gonna miss him – least I had somebody to talk to, when we’d be back at the halfway house. Cooking up schemes and stuff. Even if none of ’em were ever gonna happen. Most of the other guys on my parole officer’s caseload, they’re such burnouts – you might as well be talking to the wall.”
Something else I had to keep in mind – or at least at the back of it. This was all fine now, but I wanted to get out of this business before I wound up like that.
We both fell silent for a minute or so, gazing out at the herringbone lines of the parking lot spaces, the stripes tinted blue by the lights at the top of the poles. A couple cars and trucks went by on the street beyond, and that was about all there was to intrude upon our deeply somber meditations. I hadn’t been thinking that way when I’d gotten here, but after talking with Mason, that was how my thoughts had turned.
“So . . .” He glanced over at me again. “You really should. You gotta get back on the road. If you’re gonna make your delivery.”
“I’d be looking forward to it,” I replied, “if my Plan B had worked out the way I wanted. Now I have to figure that Stinson guy’s out there again, waiting for me. And he’s probably really worked up, after all that mess at the hospital.” A slow shake of my head. “Guys like that – they’re like girls. You know? Or what everybody’s thinks girls are like. Everything’s personal with them.”
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br /> “Yeah?” Mason raised a graying eyebrow. “And you’re trying to tell me that for you, it’s not? If that’s the case, why’d you come back here looking for me?”
He had a point. Logically, I should’ve been on the freeway already, piling up as many miles as possible before Stinson could get fully organized, with whatever his next plan might be.
But sometimes . . . logic just comes in second. Even for me.
“Go on –” He nodded toward me, bringing his head down a little to indicate the hard, cold lump of metal tucked inside my jacket. “My buddy Perry screwed you over – or at least he tried to – and you took care of him. So you might as well finish the job.”
I reached inside my jacket and pulled out the .357, then just looked at it, filling my hand.
“You might as well,” came Mason’s voice. “You’d be doing me a favor.”