Wild Cards XVI: Deuces Down

by Michael Cassutt

  He shot through the colorful flower beds. Flower petals and leaves flew up around him chopped lose by his churning hooves. He cleared the low chain link fence like the front runner in the Grand National. Reaching his van, Finn realized his keys and his wallet were in his shirt pocket back in the apartment. He grabbed the spare set of keys from the magnetized box from beneath the chassis, got the doors unlocked, and staggered the length of the van. He could feel the muscles in his left stifle and hamstring starting to tighten. The physical pain was nothing to the shame he felt.

  “Hey, no harm, no foul” said Harry Gold.

  Finn had tracked down the producer at his offices in a rundown strip mall in Van Nuys. The walls of his office were lined with movie posters commemorating some of Harry’s classics, and huge blow-up photos of his stars. Finn tried to keep his gaze away from the equipment being flaunted by Jetballs and Dr. Tachydong.

  Harry sat behind an acre wide cherry wood desk. It was loaded down with photo stills of actresses and piles of scripts. Finn didn’t know porn movies had scripts.

  “And you can’t blame me for trying,” the little man added.

  Finn rested his fists on the desk and leaned in on Harry until they were almost nose to nose. “I do blame you, Harry. I liked that girl. I thought she liked me. But you spoiled it all.”

  “Hey, it’s not too late. We can set up only this time do it right with a table . . . a table. I didn’t even think of that. . . .”

  Finn cut across the flow of words. “Did you roll film?”

  Harry held up his hands, palms out. “No. You were only warming up. Nothing to get.”

  Finn spun around and let fly with his hind legs. His hooves connected with the front of the desk and wood splintered. The desk collapsed, falling forward to shed scripts and photos like a paper avalanche. Harry gave a yell of alarm, jumped out of his oversized leather chair, and retreated against the back wall. “What? Are you nuts?”

  “No. I’m pissed. And tired of being lied to. Give me the film.”

  The producer’s hands were trembling as he opened a filing cabinet and pulled out a cassette of film. “You are, like, way overreacting. Sure she owed me, but she could have said no, so she had to like you a little.”

  Finn clutched the film and started for the door. Then it penetrated. He looked back. “What do you mean she owned you?”

  “N . . . nothing. I gave her a start. That’s all. She’s one of my kids and I look after my kids even when they move on. . . .”

  “Christ, Harry, I hope you don’t play poker because you are the worst liar I’ve ever met.” Finn leaned over and grabbed the phone off the floor.

  “What are you doing?” Gold asked.

  “Calling the police.”

  “What! Why? Because of this?” Gold pointed at the film under Finn’s arm.

  “No. For aiding and abetting in a kidnapping and possibly a murder.”

  “Kidnapping? Murder?” Harry squeaked. “You are nuts. I just put her in touch with a grip I know at Warner’s. B and E guy. Nothing violent. Gentlest guy you’ll ever meet.”

  Finn glared at Gold. “Is that God’s own truth, Harry?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I swear it!” the producer panted. He pulled out a big blue handkerchief and mopped sweat. This time Finn believed him.

  Benton was taking the opportunity during Kelly’s “indisposition” to shoot crowd scenes. Finn called over to the set and learned that Tanya was there. He thought she might have had the decency to quit. Then he realized that she knew damn good and well that Finn wasn’t going to tell his father what had occurred, and nothing was going to keep Tanya from getting in front of a camera.

  A call to the first A.D. established when the extras were going to be released. There was only one parking area on the Warners lot for extras, day players, and visitors. Finn parked his van down a side street which led to the back lot and waited. Eventually Tanya came walking into the lot. She wove her way through the parked cars to a dilapidated Nova, climbed in, and headed out onto Pass Avenue. Finn was right behind her.

  He figured since he knew squat about tailing a car he’d just hug her bumper. Hopefully she knew squat about being tailed and wouldn’t notice. She led them over the hill and at Sunset Boulevard she turned west. They rolled past the entrance to the Bel Aire Heights where Finn’s family lived. He was surprised. This was high dollar country. Not the usual place to hide a kidnapping victim.

  Then she turned north up the road to the Beverly Hills Hotel. Finn’s brain was starting to feel like it was spinning inside his skull. She went to the hotel, and parked in the free lot. Finn swept around to the entrance and availed himself of the valet service. He knew the dining room gave a pretty good view of most of the paths so he waited there. A few minutes later Tanya arrived. She headed through the lobby and out the back doors. Finn noted the path, and rushed out to find a busboy and a room service cart.

  It required some significant greenbacks, but he was soon outfitted in a white jacket, pushing a cart in front of him. If he hunkered down a bit the long tablecloth hid his centaur body. Finn was worried he would lose her in the maze of paths and bungalows, but he caught a lucky break. He heard her voice over a high wall. “Julie, what the hell are you doing out here?”

  “I was bored. I wanted a swim. Like, take a pill,” he heard Julie answer. “Besides, Susan said she’d watch him.”

  Susan, Susan, Finn thought trying to place the name. Then he realized that was the plump blonde.

  “She’s not on shift now,” came Tanya’s voice, sharp with suspicion.

  “God, you are so anal. What difference does it make who guards him?” Julia replied. “And Anne stuck me with two shifts so I was due for a break.”

  Is every starlet in Hollywood in on this? Finn thought, and he bit back a chuckle. Given the surroundings he was no longer worried about Stan’s physical well being.

  “You are so stupid,” said Tanya. Finn heard the click of her heels retreating across the concrete.

  “Well, fuck you too,” Julie shouted.

  A moment later Tanya swung around a corner. Finn quickly looked away. She went up to the door of a bungalow and let herself in. Finn rumbled closer with his cart.

  As the door was closing he heard Tanya say, “Out! Get your shirt on and get out!” The door shut. Finn started to grin.

  A few moments later the fat blonde came flying out the door. One cheek was bright red, and her eyes were watering. Finn waited until she was out of sight, and then rolled up to the door. He knocked.

  “Who is it?”

  “Room service,” Finn sung out as loudly as he could.

  “We didn’t order anything,” came Tanya’s voice.

  “Actually I ordered some champagne,” Finn heard Stan say.

  “Great, this is already costing us a fortune.” Her voice was getting louder as she approached the door. She threw it open. “We changed our minds. We don’t want. . . .”

  Finn knocked her down with the room service cart.

  Stan was seated in an armchair with a large basket of fruit close at hand. “Hi, Stan,” Finn said. “I’m here to rescue you.”

  “Why thank you, Bradley, but you might want to look out for Miss Tanya,” the elderly make-up artist said mildly.

  Finn turned and found himself looking down the barrel of a small pistol. Tanya held it in a very confident and very business-like manner.

  “I see you’ve noticed Miss Tanya’s assets,” Stan said. Finn’s errant brain suddenly flashed the memory of the warmth and weight of a pair of breasts cupped in his hands. He shook it off. “I found it a very compelling argument for accompanying her,” Stan continued. “Now that I’ve gotten to know her I realize that she wouldn’t shoot me.” The rigidity in Finn’s back started to slump toward his withers. “But she might shoot you.” The steel rod shot back up the centaur’s back. “I don’t think there’s anything that Miss Tanya won’t do in pursuit of a goal.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” Finn said dryly.
Tanya glared at him. Finn then did an elaborate scan of the opulent bungalow. “Hell of a hide-out.”

  Tanya’s lips compressed. “Oh, don’t blame Miss Tanya,” Stan said. “She very sensibly had me stashed in a dingy little apartment over in Irvine. But I convinced Anne that I might be more willing to become her personal make-up artist if I were more comfortably situated. Since then Susan keeps taking her clothes off for me. . . .”

  “Stan, you’re a dirty old man,” Finn said.

  “No, I simply saw no reason to argue. Susan is an unaffected child of nature.”

  It sounded like a quote, but Finn couldn’t place it.

  “Susan is a moron,” Tanya said. “What did Julie offer you?”

  “Just money. Very unimaginative.”

  Finn jerked a thumb at Tanya. “And Annie Oakley here just offers to shoot you?”

  “No, she’s offered me nothing which inclines me to help her over all the others,” Stan said.

  “I don’t want your help. I just want a chance,” Tanya spat out the words.

  “And taking out Grace Kelly is going to help you how?” Finn asked.

  “When the sun’s up you can’t see the stars. Why look for anything new when she’s there?”

  “Tanya, it’s over. You’ve got to let him go,” Finn said.

  “No, sooner or later the press will get a look at her, and then it’ll be over.”

  “What are you going to do with me?” Finn asked.

  “Keep you too. And I think when I tell your dad what went on between us he’ll want to keep me happy and quiet.”

  There was a massive throbbing behind Finn’s eyes. A headache made up of equal parts rage and hurt. He fists clenched, but before he could react Stan tsked. “No, no, my dear. Crude threats are not the way to go. Now it’s time for you to ask for something. Let Bradley call his father, and negotiate a speaking role for you.”

  Finn watched the calculation in her pale eyes. She then tucked the pistol back into her purse and gave a nod. Finn released the pent-up breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

  There was a reason Stan had survived in Hollywood for fifty years, Finn thought.

  Finn didn’t bother to take Stan home. He just drove the make-up man straight to Kelley’s house.

  “Is there a reason you’ve brought me here?”

  “It’s your home, isn’t it?” Finn countered.

  “Home is where the heart is,” Stan said lightly, but there was a shadow in the back of his eyes.

  “Then that would be here. I figured out about Mexico. You married her, didn’t you?”

  The net of wrinkles around Stan’s blue eyes deepened as he smiled. “You’re a danger, young Bradley. Well, let’s go in to her.” Stan climbed out of the van.

  They went around to the back where Stan unlocked the kitchen door. “Grace, my dear,” he called.

  They heard her steps overhead. Stan led them into the foyer. Kelly came running down the grand curved staircase and into Stan’s arms. Finn sidestepped his way through an archway and into the living room. A few minutes passed and then they joined him. They were holding hands. It was really sweet.

  “Would you like something to drink, Bradley?” Stan asked. “Would you get him something, dear, while I get my kit?”

  Stan took a step only to be caught by Kelly. “Stan, wait. I’ve been thinking a lot during the past two days.”

  Stan started shaking his head. “No, Grace. This is a beautiful movie, don’t. . . .”

  She put a hand over his mouth. “I’m tired, Stan. My back hurts. I’m hungry all the time, and I have to exercise twice as long now to stay the same size. I’m not twenty-three. You just let the mirror give me back that picture.” Stan stood silent, just staring at his wife. A wave of insecurity passed across her face. “You can’t love me like this?” She touched a wrinkled cheek.

  Stan grabbed her into a tight embrace. His voice was thick as he murmured against her hair. “No, my love. I just want you to be sure before you give it all up.”

  Kelly wasn’t trying to hide her tears. She kissed him hard. “But I’ll finally have you. For whatever time remains to us.”

  The emotions—love, regret, joy—were like electric currents in the room. It was overwhelming, and Finn had to get out of that room. He placed each hoof with elaborate care. They still rang hollowly on the wood floor of the foyer, but neither Stan nor Grace noticed.

  Amazingly, the movie continued. Kelly offered to split the cost of the reshoot with the studio. Benton recast, and the production moved to England. The tabloids made much of Kelly and Stan’s love story. SHE GAVE UP BEAUTY FOR TRUE LOVE! Stan hired bodyguards. And Finn started back to school.

  One evening the phone rang.

  “Hello,” Finn said around a mouthful of Chef Boyardi ravioli.

  “Hi, Bradley.” It was Tanya.

  Finn swallowed, and felt the inadequately chewed food hit his stomach like a lead ball. “Hi.”

  “I was wondering if I could take up the offer of a native guide to Santa Monica?”

  “Last time we met you aimed a gun at me, and the time before that you tried to trick me into a porno movie.”

  “So? It’s not like it was personal.”

  “And that’s why I think Santa Monica is a bad idea.”

  “Coward.” He could hear the laughter in her voice.

  “Tanya, would you fuck a pony?”

  “No. But a centaur might tempt me.”

  FATHER HENRY’S LITTLE MIRACLE

  By Daniel Abraham

  This being my first time speaking to a genuine Jokertown congregation, I thought I should make something clear. I myself am not a joker. I looked like this before I drew the wild card, my daddy looked more or less like this himself, and his daddy before him. I stand before you now as a testament to the charitable nature of Southern women.

  [Pause for laughter]

  —From the notebook of Father Henry Obst

  TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 1987

  James Spector—Demise—surveyed the carnage. The overhead light fixture had been shot during the attack, a bare bulb left shining from a neck of frosted glass with edges sharp as teeth. A low haze of gun smoke filled the apartment. Three jokers lay on the floor or the cheap kitchen table, red and green and florid purple blood spilling out of them. The Gambione men—both nats—lay among them. One joker moaned in pain, another tried to crawl for the kitchen at the back of the apartment—a dead end, but away from Spector’s slow footsteps. He walked among them, turning the bodies over with the toe of his new leather shoes, staring into the eyes of the dying, adding his own constant pain to theirs, pulling death into them a little faster.

  “Could you not do that?” Phan Lo snapped from the front room.

  “What?”

  “Whistle.”

  “I was whistling?”

  “The song from I Dream of Jeannie. I hated that show.”

  “Sorry,” he said and went back to killing people.

  The apartment belonged to Zebra, a small time Jokertown drug dealer who’d thought the gang war was his chance to make it big by selling raw heroin to the Gambiones. But the Shadow Fist had found out about the deal, and Danny Mao had arranged a complication. Spector leaned over, peering into the eyes of a young Gambione. Nothing. The guy was already gone.

  Zebra lay on the floor by the table, riddled with Phan Lo’s bullets. Demise considered the corpse, the last blood blackening on its breast, and snorted. “Hey Phan. What’s black and white and red all over?”

  “Go back to whistling.”

  “How many you got up there?”

  “Two,” Phan Lo said. “Maybe three. One of them looks like he may be—you know—two. One of those conjoined things.”

  “I’ve got a five back here,” Spector said.

  “Yeah, but you got shot.”

  “A couple times,” Spector allowed. The wounds were already closed, and he’d been careful to wear a suit he didn’t care about much. “They all dead?�
�

  The businesslike crack of a pistol split the air. “Yeah,” Phan Lo said. “Yours?”

  “Dead as fish on Friday.”

  “Great. Let’s get the shit and get out of here.”

  “What’s the rush? It’s not like the cops are going to come to this part of Jokertown.”

  “The rush is I’ve got better things to do with my life,” Phan said, stepping into the room. He was young, maybe nineteen, perfect skin and black hair pulled into one of those little ponytails in the back. Spector wondered how he’d look with his hair like that. Phan put his gun back into its shoulder holster. The Uzi was slung across his back, magazine empty. “Where’s the shit?”

  “Over by the table. Blue duffel has the money. The little suitcase thing has the horse.”

  “Where?”

  “Right over . . . um. Fuck.”

  The patch of floor was empty, just a dead Gambione leg. Phan walked over to the spot, frowning. Spector stood beside him. Two oblong shapes were outlined in blood, but the bags were gone.

  They glanced at each other, Phan remembering at the last minute to focus on Spector’s nose. No eye contact if he wanted to live. Spector suppressed a little smile and shrugged. “It was right there.”

  “You take it?” Phan asked.

  “No.”

  “Well I didn’t take it. Check the bodies. See who’s missing.”

  “How would I know who’s missing?” Spector said. “I didn’t take roll call. I just got in the door and started killing them, same as you.”

  Phan wasn’t listening. He locked his hands behind him and began walking through the corpses, his lips pursed, his eyes shifting, searching like someone working a jigsaw puzzle. Spector scratched his moustache and sighed.

  “The whore,” Phan said.

  Spector thought back. He’d come in the room, interrupting the meeting. The bags had been there, by Zebra’s chair. Yeah, there had been a nat girl—black hair, pale skin—rubbing up against the joker. Then Phan had started spraying the room with Uzi fire and the whore had ducked under the table.