Thorns on Roses

by Randy Rawls

  He hesitated, wondering if he should follow Raul’s habit or stick with his plan. He decided on the latter, knowing Charlie had the rear covered. He didn’t want to give Raul and Laury an unguarded escape route. He took a last look around, then raised his fist to knock on the door.

  “Raul said you’d show up. Now, put that nasty-looking gun down and stand still.”

  Shit, Tom thought. Caught like a Private First Class in a clip joint. He eased the Mossberg to the floor as he turned and leaned toward the voice. He saw Laury coming toward him holding a snub-nosed .38. “Take it easy now. I’m doing just what you said.” He waited, wondering if Laury would close the distance enough.

  He did.

  Tom pushed off his back foot, lunging at Laury, simultaneously grabbing the barrel and forcing it down while slamming into Laury’s chest with his shoulder. With a twist of his wrist, he ended up holding the pistol as Laury landed on his butt. He flipped the weapon around and pointed it at Laury. “Not nice to point a gun at someone—unless you know what you’re doing. Now get your ass up. And remember, next time you’ll eat a .38 caliber sandwich.”

  Laury looked uncertain. “Wha… You wuz supposed to put your hands up.”

  “Seen too many movies, haven’t you? Where’s Raul? I came here to see him, not some junior punk like you.” He laughed, a sardonic sound. “You can wait until later. Sit there until I call for you.” Tom turned back to the door and saw it opening. A pistol appeared, aimed at him, held in a fist under a bearded head. He recognized Raul, but kept his expression bland.

  “Step away from the shotgun,” Raul said, “and give him his revolver. Then you can come inside. Your gang will be sorry they tangled with the Thorns on Roses.”

  Tom cursed himself for grandstanding instead of expecting Raul to have Laury’s back. He stared at Raul, noting the intelligent glint in his eyes. He didn’t appear to be as stupid as his gang members. Time to shift plans, especially since all advantage was now with Raul. He glanced at Laury who still sat on the porch, his eyes wide in wonderment. No challenge there.

  Acknowledging his situation, Tom said, “At your convenience, sir. I’ve been anxious to meet you.” He spun the gun and handed the pistol to Raul, butt first. “I’ll feel better with this in your hands. Don’t want your flunky to shoot himself. He might miss and hit me.”

  Raul glared, then flicked his eyes at Laury. He accepted the pistol as he said to Laury, “Get that shotgun—and don’t drop it.” He waved Tom into the house.

  Tom stepped across the threshold and heard a scrape behind him. He assumed it was Laury following directions. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw he was right. Good. I want the Mossberg where I can see it—and get to it.

  They entered a living room that would never make it into anyone’s top ten. The light from two lamps on mismatched end tables was low. Probably because the shades were gray with dirt more than the wattage of the bulbs. The furniture—a couch, an easy chair, and a recliner—looked early flea market. A scarred coffee table set in front of the couch, which faced the front door. A new TV held the key position against the front wall.

  “Sit there.” Raul pointed toward the easy chair.

  Tom sat, discovering that the chair was misnamed. A broken spring more than overcame the easy in the name. Raul and Laury took the couch across from him. While Raul gave him a mean look, Tom examined the room, emphasizing his nonchalance.

  Pictures of Fidel Castro and his Cuban henchmen dominated the walls. Tom recognized Fidel, Raul Castro, and Che Guevara. A couple of others looked familiar, but he couldn’t put names on them. Probably some he’d seen by Castro’s side in news clips as Castro made his hours-long speeches.

  The largest picture was Fidel’s triumphant entry into Havana in 1959. He was surrounded by people with flowers, fruit, and other gifts. Their hands waved, their faces were wreathed in smiles, and their eyes glowed like they were in the presence of a messiah. Little did they know they had exchanged one maniacal dictator for a worse version.

  A picture of Che Guevara set on a small, round table draped in black crepe paper. It showed Che with his trademark beret, scruffy beard, and wild hair. Candles surrounded it, their flames flickering in a funereal setting.

  “Your heroes are either dead or about to die,” Tom said. “I understand Che’s end was as brutal as his life.”

  Raul bristled. “Barbarians killed him. He was a great man, a revolutionary who would have changed the world. He served Fidel with true loyalty—just as I do.”

  “Yeah? Sounds like a waste of talent to me.”

  “Do not cause me to rush my schedule, Mr. Druggins. You’ll die, but there are formalities to be followed, information to be shared.” He scratched his cheek through his beard. “Who hired you, and where are you from?”

  Tom puzzled the question. Obviously, someone had spoken with the woman in Laury’s house. She was the only one he’d used the Druggins name with. He wondered if she was part of the deal. Had Raul told her someone would come looking for Laury? Had he instructed her to respond the way she did? If so, she was one hell of an actress. She had convinced him, and he went for the bait, springing the trap shut. Now he was caught, armed only with only his wits. Laury was no competition. His head probably rattled when he shook it. But he’d have to be on his toes with Raul. He appeared to possess an animal intelligence that bore watching. The most important thing was to string both of them along until he could gain an advantage—or Charlie showed up.

  After a moment of reflection, Tom asked, “What makes you think I’m not local?”

  “I know all the hit men in the area. No one with a name like Druggins. Plus, none of them are stupid enough to come after me. They know I’d feed them to the sharks. So,” he paused, waving his hand, “you’re not from here. Not New York either. Accent’s all wrong. I have friends in New York. Good friends, if you get my drift. Before we finish tonight, you’ll tell me where you’re from and who you’re working for. Let’s start with where you’re from.”

  Tom glanced around the room. Through an opening behind Raul and Laury, he could see a portion of the kitchen—stove and refrigerator along one wall and the edge of a doorway. Probably the back door. And out that back door and across the lot behind Raul’s house was Charlie. He wondered how long Charlie would wait before his curiosity brought him looking. He had no doubt Charlie would come, no matter how many times he told him to stay out of it. Charlie was a soldier, and soldiers always backed one another up.

  Time. Tom needed to buy time. “You’re right. I’m not from South Florida. I’m from Dallas. I came looking for you.”

  “I’m sure you did. Did you kill Izzy? Are you responsible for the disappearance of Johnny and Geda?”

  “Not I. Don’t know the names. Should I?” Tom hesitated, letting his denial sink in. “But it sounds like you need me more than ever.”

  “What do you mean, need you? I don’t need anyone. Especially a hit man from Texas.”

  “Hit man?” Tom laughed. “I’m getting the impression you think I came here to take you out.”

  Now Raul looked puzzled. “Didn’t you? Weren’t you hired to eliminate the Thorns on Roses? I know the word’s on the street that we’re getting too big, too bold.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I heard the same thing so figured I’d join up with you. You need a new bodyguard—a good one. Me.” He glanced at Laury. “From where I sit, your man looks dangerous—to you. I’d rather take my chances alone than have him at my back.”

  “Bullshit,” Laury said. “You ain’t buyin’ that crap, are you? He’s just a smooth talkin’ asshole.”

  “Shut up, Laury,” Raul said. He turned to Tom. “Why should I believe you?”

  Tom smiled. “You should believe me because you don’t want to die. The bigger you get, the more folks will be looking to bring you down. If you put your faith in the likes of your sidekick there, you’ll soon be the guest of honor at a closed casket funeral. Look what happened on your front porch. If I
was here to kill you, you’d be dead now, and junior would still be sitting with splinters up his ass wondering what happened. Do you dare disagree with me?”

  Raul’s eyes flicked between Tom and Laury. At each glance, it appeared Laury lost stature, and Tom gained. After a moment of silence, Raul said, “Talk’s cheap. And I can see you’re full of it. What else do you have to say?”

  It was time to step it up a notch. He stared at Raul’s forearm. “Nice tattoo. You must be the leader. That’d make you Raul Santiago.”

  “My name’s important only if you’re around long enough to use it. Right now, that’s not likely.”

  “And,” Tom said as if Raul hadn’t spoken, “this specimen must be Laurelle Garcia. Too bad you haven’t surrounded yourself with real soldiers. If you depend on this pipsqueak for security, you’d better bring me aboard fast. Hell, the worst of my recruits could cut his balls off and stuff them up his nose before he knew they were gone—if he has any. Laury seems like the perfect name for him. Only other people I’ve known with that name were women.”

  Laury started to rise, then with a glance at Raul, settled back onto the couch. Raul shook his head, a disappointed look on his face.

  Okay, I’m driving a wedge, Tom thought. Let’s see what happens next. “Yeah, I know the problem. Hard to find good men today, especially in this area. I hear most of them aren’t worth the effort. But, you’re lucky. I’m one of the best, and I’m sitting here waiting to be cut in on your take.”

  “Hey,” Laury said. “I ain’t that bad. I—”

  “Oh, shut up,” Raul said. “You’re an idiot.” He turned back to Tom. “Quit ducking. Where are you really from?”

  Tom shrugged. “Dallas. Just check any of your contacts in Texas. They’ll know me. I’ve bodyguarded some of the best. You do know people there, don’t you?”

  Raul shifted his attention to Laury. “You ever heard of a Druggins from Dallas?”

  Tom took the opportunity to glance into the kitchen. Nothing had changed.

  “Who, me?” Laury said. “Naw. I don’t know nobody there. I ain’t never even been there.”

  “Shoulda known,” Raul said, rolling his eyes. He came back to Tom. “So you’re from Texas? What are you doing here?”

  “Damn. Don’t you listen? Makes me wonder if I’m wasting my time. I came to join you. I hear you have big plans. I want a piece. That’s it. You ready to talk?”

  “Just hold on. Why should I believe you?”

  “Why should I lie?”

  “Maybe to save your ass.” Raul picked up the Mossberg and caressed it. “If all you wanted was to talk, why’re you carrying this thing?”

  Tom smiled. “A present. I figure you’ve never seen one like it, so I was going to give it to you. Not many of them around.” Not exactly a lie since he had intended to give Raul the loads in it. “Nice, isn’t it?”

  Raul stroked the short barrels. “Yeah. It is. But I’m still not buying your story. I think you’re here to kill me.”

  Tom’s chuckled, hoping to disarm Raul. “Well, that means you think I’m the dumbest executioner to come down the turnpike. Doesn’t make me feel particularly good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s take it from the top. Here I am, a fearsome, professional hit man from Dallas. I’m hired to take you out and step on that pimple beside you. So what do I do? I come straight in from the street and knock on your front door. Make sense to you?”

  “Uh…what’s wrong with it?”

  Tom threw his head back and guffawed, shaking his head. “You’re making me think I chose the wrong group. Here’s what’s wrong with that scenario.” He paused for effect. “Everything. Everything is wrong. Let’s improvise a moment. Say I’m here to kill you. Here’s how I’d do it. I’d scout this place and know every weed, every blade of grass. I’d know which neighbor snores and in what key. I’d know who comes in late and who leaves early. Then, after satisfying myself I knew everything about you and this neighborhood, I’d be in your bedroom waiting for you. You’d step in to put on your jammies and boom, you’re wallpaper paste. You’d never have a clue I was in your house or how I got in. But I will tell you, it wouldn’t have been across that fall-down porch out front. And the cops wouldn’t find a clue I was within miles of this place.” He smiled. “Of course, after running a check on you, they probably wouldn’t look too hard.”

  Raul studied Tom, then looked toward Fidel’s picture. After a moment, he said, “I can’t disagree. You make sense. But that still doesn’t mean I trust you. Fidel didn’t stay in power all those years by believing everything he heard.” He turned toward Laury. “Make a patrol around the house. Make sure Mr. Druggins doesn’t have any friends out there.”

  He couldn’t let Laury out the door. By now, Charlie might be making a move. While he had no doubts Charlie would take Laury like an eagle on a garden snake, he didn’t need Laury disappearing or any backyard fireworks—not with Raul holding the Mossberg.

  “Yeah, junior,” Tom said. “Get out of here so the men can talk. No way you can understand the ideas I got for your boss. Nothing you need to know.”

  Laury stood, looking first at Tom, then at Raul. “That right, El General? You want me out of here so you can make a deal with this guy?”

  “God, you are stupid,” Raul said. “Just do what you’re told.”

  “Ain’t goin’.”

  “What? You’ll go, or I’ll—”

  “Shit,” Tom said, suppressing a smile. This was going too good. “A good commander knows how to handle his troops. Way I see it, you have two choices. You can either shoot the bastard or let him stay. If you make him go outside, he’ll think we’re dealing him out of something. Then he’ll be squeaking around the corner like the rat he is. But whichever, make it fast. I don’t have all night.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Tom leaned back in his chair, edging his butt away from the broken spring. He crossed his ankles, feeling his mini-revolver nestling against his leg, inside his boot. He suppressed a smile thinking of the hollow point .22 magnums he loaded, and the notches they carried. At close range, they would cause total destruction.

  The other ankle held his knife—as sharp and lethal as ever. Getting to it was more of a problem. It was on his left, and it was his left arm that Izzy had slashed. He’d just have to force the arm to work. If the stitches ripped, he would have them replaced. Once he made his move, there was no turning back. All he needed was a half-second for the pistol. He figured he’d get that when Charlie burst into the room. In the meantime, he had to stay alive. That meant keeping Raul off balance. Laury was no threat without Raul’s guidance.

  “So, we gonna talk or not?” Tom asked, a harsh tone in his voice. “If not, I got better things to do.” He put his good hand on the arm of the chair and pushed up.

  “No,” Raul said. “You sit and keep your mouth shut. You’re not going any place until I get to the bottom of your story. I’ve already lost three of my soldiers.” He raked his fingers through his beard. “I need to think.” He handed Laury one of the .38s. “Keep an eye on him. I’m going to the john. I can’t think from shit with him jabbering.” He rose. “And if I have to rescue you again, I’m going to kick your ass all over Florida.” He paused. “If he doesn’t kill you first.” He walked out of the room toward the back of the house carrying the Mossberg.

  Tom watched Raul disappear down the hallway, wondering if it was truly the call of nature, or if he was up to some trick. Maybe he’d wait in the hall, eavesdropping on what he and Laurie had to say. Whatever, there wasn’t much he could do about it—not while Laury held him captive. He shifted his attention. Time to engage Laury in a battle of wits—a battle Tom should win easily. From what he could see, Laury was all but unarmed.

  “So, Laury,” Tom said, “how long you been the flunky in this so-called gang? Is it your job to clean up all the messes, or just the ones you make?”

  Laury’s eyes burned into Tom. He held the gun with a
determined grip, his knuckles whitening. “You think you pretty smart, don’t you? Well, if you so damn smart, how come I got the gun and you setting there? My prisoner.” He laughed. “With that broke spring jabbing you in the ass.”

  Tom shrugged. “When I was in school—something you probably don’t have much experience with—it didn’t matter how smart you acted before the test. The score after the test was what counted. When this is over, you’ll be dead, and I’ll be walking out of here. Then we’ll know who’s smarter.”

  “You ain’t nothing but bullshit. I could blow you away right now. Tell El General you made a move on me. Wha’cha think of that?”

  With the patience of a father talking to a three-year old, Tom said, “One thing I learned a long time ago. Those who talk about it, don’t do it. Those who do it, don’t talk about it.” He turned square to Laury and leaned forward. “Here, let me give you a better target. Get it over with. Show what a big man you are. Pull the trigger.”

  They were about ten feet apart. Laury’s finger tightened on the trigger. The snub-nose in the hands of an amateur was an ineffective weapon. Laury would have to be lucky to do real damage if he fired—if he hit Tom at all. Cops dumped the police special because of its lack of accuracy and stopping power. Laury’s was probably one that made it to the street-market after authorities turned them in. Now, if it were a nine millimeter, like the Beretta M9, Tom would be worried. Or even more so, a Model 1911 US Army issue Colt .45 like the one he lent Charlie.

  “So? You got the guts? Raul will be back soon.”

  “You a real smartass, ain’t you?” Laury’s trigger finger relaxed, its color returning to normal.

  Tom gave him a knowing look. “Smartass enough to outwit you.” He flicked his eyes over Laury’s shoulder and grinned. “You might be interested in what’s behind you. There’s a man standing there, and his gun is a lot bigger than yours.”

  “Bullshit,” Laury said. “You just—”

  “Suit yourself, but don’t blame me when you die. Wanna talk to him, Charlie?”