The Asset

by Saul Herzog

  “Hello fellas,” he said, “fancy seeing you here.”

  He grabbed the ex by the back of the head and slammed his face into the dashboard. The other guy reached for something under his seat and Lance said “uh, uh.”

  The guy paused then went for it anyway. Lance shot him in the thigh with the 9mm.

  The man cried out.

  “Reach for it again,” Lance said.

  The man looked at him, then at his thigh. “You shot me,” he cried.

  Lance pulled the ex up by the hair and said, “So, what brings you fellas to town?”

  The ex shook his head.

  “I ought to warn you,” Lance said, “the sheriff’s department is all the way in Libby. We just don’t have the tax base for a force of our own here.”

  The ex raised his hands. “Mister,” he said.

  “Mister?” Lance said.

  “You don’t know who you’re messing with,” the ex said.

  Lance scoffed. “I don’t know? Me? You come to my town,” he said. “My house. You point a gun in my face. You rough up my woman.”

  “Mister,” the ex said again, and Lance slammed his face against the dash even harder than the first time.

  The friend made to reach under his seat again and Lance pointed the 9mm at him.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  The man raised his hands.

  “Keep them on the wheel,” Lance said.

  Lance pulled the ex’s head up again and said, “Hardly seems fair he’s the one got the bullet. It’s your show after all.”

  “No,” the ex cried as Lance reached into the car and pressed the gun against his leg.

  “Here?” Lance said.

  “Don’t,” the ex cried as Lance pulled the trigger.

  The ex cried out in pain and grabbed his leg.

  “Now fellas,” Lance said. “What say I get in the back seat, tell you to drive somewhere nice and quiet, and then kill the both of you?”

  The one guy shook his head but the ex said, “You’re the one’s going to die.”

  Lance made a tut-tut sound and unceremoniously shot him in the other thigh.

  “Look what you made me do now,” he said.

  The ex screamed in pain.

  Lance shook his head. This was a situation he was all too familiar with. Either he keep things simple and kill these two pricks, or let them go and then have to worry what they chose to do with their good fortune.

  He checked if the back door was open and got in. He reached under the driver’s seat and fished out the gun. It was a Rohm .22 revolver.

  “I guess the simplest thing for us to do is go for that drive,” he said. “Get this sorted once and for all.”

  “Please,” the friend said. “This ain’t my fight.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Lance said. “I can see where you’re coming from, it being his girl and all, but this is twice I’ve seen you now. You’ve got a stake in it, one way or another.”

  The ex spoke. “You don’t have to kill the two of us.”

  “Oh,” Lance said. “Look at this. A man of honor.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “If you have to die, he has to die,” Lance said. “You know that.”

  “Why?” the driver said.

  “You’re a witness, Einstein. Think about it. I’m not going to shoot him then drop you off like it’s the end of a prom date.”

  “I’ll never say a word,” the driver said. “I swear to God I won’t.”

  The ex looked at him.

  “Fair-weather friends,” Lance said to the ex.

  The ex scoffed.

  “Besides,” Lance said to the ex. “Letting him off just doesn’t feel right, does it?”

  The friend was about to mount another protest when Lance tapped him on the arm conspiratorially. “Tell me honestly,” he said. “You ever screw around with the girl?”

  “What?” he said.

  “You heard me.”

  “Fuck this,” the ex said.

  “Hold on,” Lance said. “I want an answer.”

  The friend didn’t know what to say.

  “I knew it,” Lance said. “You sly bastard. You just had to have a taste, didn’t you?”

  Lance glanced at the ex. Weighed his reaction. Nothing.

  “You’re not surprised,” Lance said. “The two of you together? You dirty motherfuckers.”

  “Fuck this,” the ex said again.

  “You dirty motherfuckers,” Lance said again. “She’s barely old enough to drink in a bar, you know that?”

  The ex knew it was over. He was shaking his head.

  “Tell me why I don’t put a bullet in each of your heads right now?” Lance said.

  He asked the question and he meant it. He was looking for a reason not to kill them, and he was having a hard time finding one. Them dead made Sam safer. It made the world safer. And it had the added advantage of being convenient. There were a million places along the border he could throw the bodies. No one would come looking.

  “That girl’s not as innocent as you think,” the ex said. “She asked for everything we gave her.”

  “I never said she was innocent,” Lance said.

  “Then why all this trouble?”

  Lance raised his hands like he had no explanation. Like they were asking why he threw a bad pass in a football game.

  “This is crazy,” the friend said.

  “Look,” Lance said. “I’m going to tell you straight up why I’m here. That girl’s daddy took a bullet that was meant for me. The only thing he ever asked in return was that I look out for his kid.”

  “Well keep her then,” the friend said. “Like we give a shit.”

  “I don’t know,” Lance said. “I don’t want you guys saying something just because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

  “We mean it,” the ex said. “You won’t hear from us again.”

  Lance sighed. “Yeah, but I let you fellas go, and honest as you’re being right now, a bit of time passes and you get to thinking, and you change your minds. And then you come back and we have to go through this all over again.”

  “We won’t come back,” the ex said.

  “Better safe than sorry,” Lance said.

  There was a long silence when no one said anything. Snow had covered the car. They couldn’t see out the windshield. Apart from the broken window they were completely cocooned. The night was deathly silent.

  The friend whimpered. The ex was more stoic. That was probably why Sam chose him. Less of a pussy.

  Lance had made up his mind. He knew men like this. If he wanted to look out for Sam, they had to die. It was harsh, but no one ever said life was easy.

  “That’s enough chit chat,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “No,” the friend begged.

  “Come on, buddy. Take it like a man,” Lance said.

  “I can’t die,” he blabbered.

  And then Sam’s voice. “Lance.”

  He looked up.

  She was looking in through the broken window. Lance had two guns in his hands and the two men were covered in blood.

  “What is this?” she said.

  “They found us,” Lance said. “They know where I live. Now I have no choice. I’ve got to kill them.”

  “Kill them?”

  “This isn’t a game,” Lance said.

  “You don’t have to kill them,” she said.

  “As long as they’re out there, you’re not safe.”

  “I called them,” Sam said, starting to cry. “It’s my fault they’re here.”

  “You let us go, you’ll never hear from us again,” the ex said.

  Lance let out a long sigh. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “You have my word,” the ex said.

  “Your word?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And I can count on that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I can take that to the bank?”

  �
��Yes, sir.”

  Lance sounded skeptical.

  “And your word?” he said to the friend.

  “For the love of god, yes,” the friend said.

  He looked out the window at Sam.

  The bartender and Laurel were there too. They were all staring at him like he was the psychopath.

  “And you’re going to stop calling them?” he said to Sam.

  “Yes,” she said, tears falling over her face.

  “I’m sorry,” Lance said. “But I don’t buy it.”

  “What?” Sam said.

  “They’ve got to die. If they live, they’re going to come for you again.”

  “No,” she cried.

  “Come on, fellas. Let’s go.”

  “No,” Sam cried again. “Lance. You can’t do this.”

  Lance looked at her for a long time. Then he said, “I’m going to regret this.”

  “You’ve got to let them go,” the bartender said.

  All three women were looking at him, their eyes wide, like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

  He sighed and leaned forward. “I ever see either of you two around that girl again,” he said, “and you’re going to wish you were never born.”

  14

  When Laurel got back to the hotel room, Roth wasn’t there. She was too tired to figure out where he’d gone and climbed into the bed, as far from his side as she could get. She was out before her head hit the pillow.

  When she woke he was in the room, dressed, with coffee. Light came in through a gap in the curtains.

  “What time is it?” she said.

  “Eight.”

  “I slept in.”

  “You had a long day,” he said, handing her a cup of coffee.

  “Where were you last night?” she said.

  “I couldn’t sleep so I worked.”

  “All night?”

  “I fell asleep on an easy chair in the lobby.”

  She looked at him a few seconds, a gentleman after all.

  He ruined it by saying, “I’ll have to molest you some other time.”

  She took a sip of her coffee.

  “Anything interesting happen last night?” he said.

  Laurel shook her head. “You were out there, weren’t you?”

  “I’m still a spy.”

  She smiled. “You tell me what you saw then, spy.”

  “I saw the same thing I’ve been seeing from Lance Spector since the day I met him.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “A loose cannon.”

  “He handled the situation,” Laurel said.

  “Handled the situation? He nearly killed two men.”

  “They had it coming.”

  “It was a mess.”

  “No, really. That girl’s the daughter of someone in his old unit.”

  “I know who the girl is.”

  “It shows loyalty,” Laurel said.

  Roth shook his head. “You let him charm you,” he said.

  She looked at him, then looked away.

  Roth finished his coffee. “I’ll let you have some privacy,” he said. “Meet me in the breakfast room when you’re ready. There’s a buffet.”

  After he left, Laurel had a long, hot shower. She used the hair dryer to clear the steam from the mirror and then stood, staring at herself, seeing what Lance saw. It felt as if someone else were looking back at her.

  It had been cold in DC but nothing compared to the mountains. She’d packed the down jacket she usually brought skiing. It was nowhere near as warm as it should have been for what she paid for it.

  When she was dressed she went downstairs and found Roth doing the New York Times crossword. He was doing pretty well for a Thursday.

  They got a table, more coffee, and Laurel had toast with marmalade. Roth made his own waffles with batter scooped from a messy plastic bucket and then drowned them in fake syrup. He had another plate solely for sausage.

  “How’s the diet going?” she said.

  “What are you, a doctor now?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  He forked a sausage and put it, whole, into his mouth.

  “So,” Laurel said. “What’s the plan?”

  Roth ran his tongue over his teeth. “I need to go back to the room and floss before we go.”

  “Go where?”

  “To visit Lance.”

  She waited in the lobby for him and they walked out to the car together. They drove out of town into the mountains and when they got to Lance’s place Laurel’s eyes widened.

  “Not what you expected?” Roth said.

  She shook her head.

  The cabin was stunning, perched on an outcrop of rock high above a steep, forested valley. It was built from hand-hewn logs and she could tell a lot of labor had gone into it.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “Built it himself,” Roth said, and she was surprised to hear a trace of pride in his voice.

  The second level opened onto a balcony and she could only imagine the view from up there.

  “His truck’s here,” she said. “Want me to go knock?”

  “No need,” Roth said, nodding toward the balcony.

  There was a man stepping onto it from inside the house, looking very comfortable in a plush bathrobe and matching white slippers. He had a lit cigar in one hand and a shotgun in the other.

  “Levi Roth,” he called out. “You better get off my property before I shoot you off.”

  Roth looked at Laurel. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ve got this under control.”

  “I can see that,” she said.

  Roth looked up at Lance. “We’re just here to talk.”

  Lance pumped the shotgun and aimed it at Roth. “Nothing would give me more pleasure than filling your ass with lead, Levi.”

  “There’s no need for that, Lance.”

  “I’ll tell you what there’s a need for.”

  “Maybe if you invited us in to talk, rather than standing out here looking like Hugh Hefner.”

  Lance aimed above them and fired into the sky.

  “What the hell,” Roth said.

  Laurel stepped forward. “Maybe you should let me try,” she said.

  “Be my guest.”

  “Lance,” she said, “we’re just here to talk.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass why you’re here.”

  She looked at Roth uncertainly.

  “Fucking guy,” Roth muttered.

  “What happened between you?”

  “Long story,” Roth said.

  She looked up at Lance. “Hey,” she said, “I don’t know what the history is here.”

  “That’s right,” Lance called down. “You don’t.”

  “We just want to talk, Lance. We’ve come a long way.”

  Lance looked at her for a minute.

  “Please, Lance,” she added.

  He sighed and lowered the gun.

  “He’s lucky he brought you.”

  “I know he is,” she said.

  Laurel looked at Roth, then back at Lance.

  “So we can come in?”

  Lance didn’t answer. He went back into the house. Roth shrugged.

  “I’m going in,” she said. “You can wait out here if you like.”

  She climbed the steps to the porch and Roth followed. He swung open the heavy wooden door. It led to a surprisingly spacious room. A vaulted ceiling rose comfortably above them and to one side was a stone fireplace with a log fire burning in it. There was an old, velvet sofa in front of the fire with a pile of blankets that Laurel realized covered the girl from the bar.

  To the other side, a wall completely of glass looked out over a dramatic stretch of mountain, its cliffs falling precipitously to the valley floor.

  “Is that an eagle?” Laurel said, pointing out the window.

  “Yes it is,” Lance said from the staircase.

  Laurel turned to him. She was beginning to regret failing to seal the deal
the night before. She’d had him in the bag. It was a done deal. Then that girl showed up and pissed all over the parade.

  Lance went to the stove and put a pot on for coffee. Laurel and Roth looked at each other, uncertain if he was going to draw another gun on them.

  “Still black?” Lance said to Roth.

  Roth nodded and Lance poured him a cup.

  “And you?”

  “Black with sugar,” Laurel said. “Or sweetener if you have it.”

  He slid sugar and a spoon her way and poured himself a cup.

  Then they sat and everyone stared at each other. Laurel couldn’t help notice the view of his chest through the loosely tied robe.

  “It turned out beautifully,” Roth said, indicating the house.

  Lance looked at him. “I ain’t ready for small talk with you.”

  Laurel wondered what could have happened between them. There was clearly a lot more history there than what she’d been let in on.

  She looked at Roth but his face remained blank.

  “We came to talk business,” Roth said, nodding toward the pile of blankets on the sofa.

  Lance shook his head. “I’m not a businessman anymore, Levi. You know that.”

  “Come on, Lance. You were born to it.”

  “People change.”

  “Not you,” Roth said.

  Both men spoke through gritted teeth. Laurel felt like she could have cut the tension with a knife.

  “Is he still flossing his teeth during meetings?” Lance said.

  She nodded.

  “I hear there was a little kerfuffle last night,” Roth said, changing the subject.

  “Kerfuffle,” Lance said. “I suppose you could call it that.”

  “Three gunshots,” Roth said.

  Lance held out his hands like he’d been caught in the cookie jar. “You got me, Roth. Unpredictable as ever.”

  Laurel watched Roth. He shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t control what Lance said in front of her and it was making him nervous.

  “It appears that way,” Roth said.

  “Which begs the question,” Lance said. “If I haven’t changed, and I can assure you, Levi, I haven’t, then what are you doing here?”

  Laurel looked back and forth between them. Whatever they’d been to each other, one thing was clear. It wasn’t recorded in the file.

  “I don’t think we should continue this conversation until we have more privacy,” Roth said.

  “What conversation? This is just a visit from an old friend, right?”