by Haris Orkin
“Well, yeah…Isn’t that what you did?”
“No, my friend, I liberated you. We’ve been infiltrated at the highest level and most of our agents are completely oblivious. They are working for the opposition and they don’t even know it.” Flynn put down the garment bag and the duffel bag and glanced through the broken window into the courtyard below. “It’s to our advantage that Grossfarber thinks you’re still working for him.”
“But I’m not. Not anymore. He fired me.”
“Why?”
“Because I called him an asshole.”
Flynn looked disappointed. “Why would you do something like that?”
“Why?” Sancho was astounded. “Because that’s what he is! Look what he did to my place!”
Flynn nodded. “Well, maybe it’s for the best.”
“For the best?”
“Yes, because now there’s no turning back.”
Sancho tried to keep his cool, but finally he just blew. “Man, what the hell is wrong with you? I can’t afford this shit! I got rent! I got bills to pay! I got fuckin’ responsibilities.”
“Sancho, a man is like a teabag.” Dumbfounded by Flynn’s non-sequitur, he threw up his hands and walked away. Flynn continued anyway, following after him. “You never know how strong he is until you dip him in hot water.”
Sancho turned and stared at Flynn. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to begin, so he didn’t even try.
“Shall we go?”
“Go?” Sancho almost laughed. “Where?”
“To find Dulcie and Q.”
“No, dude, I don’t think so. Sorry, but I’m done. We’re finished. I can’t do this. Not anymore, man.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“I’m sorry too. But I can’t help you anymore. And that includes loaning you my wheels.”
“Well, that’s fine. I don’t need your ‘wheels.’ I have arranged for my own transportation.” He smiled and held up a set of car keys. Sancho looked even more bewildered than before.
Flynn led Sancho down the apartment building’s rear stairwell. He eased open the door and poked his head out to see if the coast was clear. The only person present was a seven-year-old girl playing with an ancient Barbie doll. One arm was missing and so was most of its hair. The few clumps left gave the appearance of hair plugs. As Flynn and Sancho tip-toed past the little girl, she smiled and said, “Hi.”
“Hi, Rachel,” whispered Sancho as they continued on to a chain link fence bordering the back of the building.
Flynn threw both bags over and quickly hopped the fence. Sancho had a bit more trouble getting over the top. Rachel watched wordlessly as he ripped his pants, yet again, and landed hard in some gravel. Flynn was already on the move and Sancho hurried to catch up. Eventually, Flynn led him to a street parallel to Lull.
He heard a low beep-boop and then the sound of a car door being unlocked with a remote. Flynn was twenty feet away, opening the door of a new Aston Martin convertible.
“Jesus Christ,” Sancho blurted. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s an Aston Martin DB 9 Volante.”
“Don’t tell me you stole it?”
“Of course not. I bought it.” Flynn dropped Mike’s duffel bag into the trunk.
“You used the drug money? How much cash is in that bag?”
“Not as much as there used to be.”
“Is that what you used to buy the suit?”
“And the watch.” Flynn held up his arm and slid back his sleeve to reveal a gold Rolex.
“Jesus. They’re gonna be looking for you, dude. And if you don’t have every penny you stole accounted for, they’re gonna fuck you up.”
“They would ‘fuck me up,’ as you so eloquently put it, no matter what. And as far as them finding me, I intend to find them first.”
“What are you saying? You’re going back there?”
“It’s perfectly all right if you don’t want to go.”
“James, come on, man. Don’t do this.”
“If you want to stay out of harm’s way, that’s your prerogative.”
“Man, you don’t understand.”
“Of course I do. You don’t want to die. Neither do I. Personally, however, I fear death far less than I do an inadequate life.” Flynn held out his hand. “It’s been very nice knowing you, amigo.”
Sancho hesitated and then finally shook hands with him. “I’m begging you, man. Don’t go back there.”
“Nefarious forces are at work, my friend. Evil in all its ugliness. Innocent lives are at stake. Innocent lives that I am honor-bound to protect.”
Sancho sighed. He looked at the car. He looked at Flynn. Finally, he came to a decision, “Fuck.”
Flynn smirked and climbed into the Aston Martin.
Sancho wrenched open the passenger door and sat his ass on the buttery brown leather seat.
“You might want to put your belt on,” said Flynn.
Sancho glowered at him as he clicked his seatbelt into place.
Flynn met his glower with a smile. “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Why’d you change your mind?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
Flynn reached over and patted him on the knee. “I like you too, Sancho.”
He started the Aston Martin and the twelve-cylinder engine roared to life. Flynn rested his hand on the glossy walnut gearshift and slid the car into first. His left foot released the clutch as his right foot eased down on the gas pedal. The Aston Martin rumbled like compressed thunder, taking off faster than a rocket, laying down a ten-foot-length of rubber as it sped away.
Chapter Eleven
Dulcie’s hands trembled as she lit a Marlboro Light. She gratefully sucked in the smoke, filling her lungs with the warm, satisfying poison. She knew it was killing her, but she loved it. Loved to smoke. Just like she loved Mike. Even though she knew he was killing her. Her head throbbed. Her jaw ached. The pain was everywhere. Inside and out. Her left eye throbbed where Mike backhanded her. She stood in front of the mirror in the tiny bathroom and tried to conceal the bruising with make-up. Growing up in Monterey Park, she believed her future would be very different. She thought she’d be on TV. Everyone said she was very pretty, even her step-father who would creep into her bedroom late at night to show her how much he “loved” her. Her mother knew about the nocturnal vists and pretended to ignore them, and Dulcie learned to pretend, too. Her real father died in Iraq and her mother married a balding plumber, a devout Catholic who owned his own home.
Alberto molested Dulcinea for the first time when she was thirteen. This continued for four years, until she ran away. She moved in with Nacho, short for Ignacio, a member of the Mongols motorcycle gang. Dulcie became one of his harem of three runaways, and he treated her like he treated the others. Badly. However, he did feed her and shelter her and introduced her to beer and tequila and spliffs and crack. In return all she had to do was service him and all his fellow Mongols.
Two years after moving in with Nacho, Dulcie met Mike in a bar in Laughlin. He rode with Satan’s Slaves and with his long blonde hair and muscular torso covered in tats, Dulcie thought he looked like a buff, blond, slightly beat up Brad Pitt. He’d smiled at Dulcie and she returned the smile. She knew that he was trouble. But she didn’t care. She was nineteen years old and sick and tired of being at the beck and call of a forty-five-year-old asshole like Nacho. Mike strolled over and they started to talk. He offered her a beer. One of the Mongols saw this flirtation and decided to put a stop to it.
When the fighting was finished, Nacho was no more. Dulcie didn’t care. She was on the back of Mike’s Harley, her hands around his impressively muscled torso. As they rumbled away with the rest of Satan’s Slaves, she didn’t look back. Not once.
She looked at the butterfly tattoo on her inner wrist. She remembered the day she and Mike went into that tattoo parlor in Pasadena. Could that be two years ago? They’d had some g
ood times. Unfortunately, most of those good times took place the first month they were together. Mike manufactured and sold meth. He didn’t touch the stuff, but Dulcie did, though she would never admit to being a tweaker. Tweakers were those hopeless, toothless, bone-skinny, brain-addled addicts you saw rooting through the garbage dumpsters behind Safeway. Dulcie only tweaked on weekends. Besides, it helped keep her weight down. Meth made her feel strong and confident and utterly fearless. It was the way she always wanted to feel, but unfortunately those feelings of omnipotence only lasted as long as her high. Six months previously Dulcie was arrested for shoplifting and her public defender made a deal to get her into rehab. That was where she met Flynn. And that was who she was thinking about as she dabbed more make up on her black eye.
A fist banged on the bathroom door. “Three hundred and eight-two thousand dollars!” Mike screamed. “Do you know what Kursky’s gonna fucking do to me!”
She knew he wanted an answer to his question, but she had a question of her own. “How do you know it was him?”
“Because Mr. Kim fucking saw him! A tall white guy in a tuxedo!” Mike kicked open the bathroom, slamming her into the sink. Dulcie cowered as he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the living room. “Conan was right here the whole damn time!” Mike glared at his big Rottweiler, who tried to get as low and flat to the floor as possible. He offered his neck, demonstrating his obedience, as Mike bellowed, “Nobody gets past Conan!”
Embarrassed and cowed, Conan slunk into the kitchen and out the doggie door.
Mike grabbed her other arm and pulled her close. “Who the hell is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how the fuck did he know your name?”
“Mikey, please…”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Dulcie, but I will. I will choke the life outa you!” Mike put his right hand around her throat and squeezed. “I want to know who he is and where he is and I want to know now!”
“He’s right behind you,” Flynn said.
Mike turned to see Flynn and Sancho standing in his open front door.
Mike’s voice boomed, “Conan! Attack!”
A moment later they heard thundering footsteps, snarling and growling as Conan came galloping into the living room. He bared his teeth, his furious eyes filled with hate, but then he saw Flynn and stopped dead in his doggie tracks. The snarling instantly ended and much to Mike’s chagrin, Conan lowered his ears and slunk back out the way he came in.
Mike yelled after him. “Conan! Conan!
“It appears you’re on your own,” Flynn said.
Mike pushed Dulcie down on the couch and grabbed a baseball bat propped up against the wall. “Pal, you just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
“Dulcie, are you all right?”
Mike glared at her and yelled, “Do not fucking talk to him!”
“Is that how you get your jollies?” Flynn stepped closer. “Beating up on women?”
“I’d much rather beat up on you. And that’s exactly what I’m gonna do if you don’t give me my fucking money!”
Sancho backed for the door as Flynn moved closer. “Does that rude, bully-boy routine usually work for you? Because frankly it isn’t working for me.”
Mike roared and came at Flynn surprisingly fast, swinging the bat hard. Flynn sidestepped Mike’s swing. The bat whizzed by his head and crashed through a window.
Flynn glanced at Sancho. “Did you see how I did that?” Mike spun and swung again and Flynn easily ducked the blow. A lamp exploded. “You take advantage of your enemy’s energy.” Flynn moved his head an inch or two to the left, just enough to avoid another attack. “And turn their aggression against them.” Mike’s face was bright red. He was nearly frothing with fury as he swung at Flynn again and again and Flynn effortlessly avoided him.
The bat dented walls, knocked down shelves and shattered anything the least bit breakable. In the struggle to take Flynn down, Mike completely destroyed his living room. The biker’s breathing grew ragged and his face shone with sweat. Furious beyond words and too out of breath to talk, Mike used his last reserves of energy to swing the Louisville Slugger with everything he had. James parried, put out a foot, and tripped him. Mike slammed face first into the wall, cracking the plasterboard. The impact knocked him cold and he lay sprawled on the floor. Motionless. Silent.
Dulcie looked at James with utter disbelief. “Jesus Christ! What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Not a thing. I’m perfectly fine. Your numpty boyfriend missed me completely.” He smiled at her with easy confidence, unruffled in his Armani.
“No, I mean why are you even here!”
“Aside from protecting you?”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Yes.”
“I’m on a mission to find Q and discover who has betrayed us. Of course, if there’s anything else you’d like me to do…”
Dulcie stared at Mike, splayed out awkwardly on the floor. “He’s going to think we’re working together.”
“Who?”
“Mike!”
“Well, aren’t we?”
“No!”
Flynn was surprised by the vociferousness of her response. “I see.”
“Well, good! I’m glad you do! Because I sure the fuck don’t!”
“That’s because you’re under the sway of Q’s mind control technology.”
“Listen to me.” Dulcie stepped closer to him. “That money you took? It’s not Mike’s. It belongs to his boss.”
“Grossfarber?”
“No!” Her anxiety rose with her exasperation. “Kursky! Pete Kursky! He’s not someone you want to fuck with!”
“Well, darling, neither am I.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“I’ll protect you. I told you.”
“Would you just—”
“Shh.” Sancho watched with amazement as Flynn lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Look at me. Believe me. I will never let anyone hurt you again.”
James Flynn was so cocksure and the fantasy was so seductive, Dulcie desperately wanted to believe. A tear rolled down her cheek and Flynn caught it with his thumb. He kissed her gently on the forehead and on her cheek and as he moved for her trembling lips, Sancho cleared his throat.
“Sancho, why don’t you go wait in the car.”
“We gotta get out of here, ese. This motherfucker’s waking up.”
Flynn looked at Mike stirring. He nodded then glanced at Dulcie. “Sancho’s right. We have a job to do. Grab your things.”
Dulcie looked flushed and dumbfounded. “What things?”
“Pack a bag, but make it quick.” He clapped his hands.
She hurried into another room as Mike groaned and lifted his face off the floor. He looked up at Flynn and Flynn smiled down at him. “Are you going to behave yourself?”
“I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
Flynn glanced at Sancho. “I’m guessing that’s a no.” Flynn kicked Mike in the head and he slumped back down, out for the count once again.
Sancho struggled with two huge suitcases as he followed Flynn and Dulcie out the front door and across the overgrown lawn.
“You may have over packed,” Flynn said.
“I didn’t know how long I was going to be gone.”
“Can you guys help me with one of these?” Sancho asked, but Flynn was lost in thought, working out his next move.
“Do you think this Kursky has Q?”
Dulcie was beyond exasperated. “No. Look, I don’t think you’re listening to me.”
“I’m listening, but it’s clear that you don’t know what you’re saying. After all, they’re controlling your thoughts.”
“Who?”
“The ones we’re hunting. The ones we must stop. They want you to think what isn’t true is true, so if you believe they don’t have Q then obviously they do.”
Dulcie looked hopelessly at Sancho, but he was too busy with her luggage to commiserate. He dropped both
bags by the rear of the Aston Martin.
“Whose car is this?” asked Dulcie. Sancho pointed at Flynn. She set her jaw and glared at him. “Did you lease this with the money you took from Mike?”
“Don’t be absurd,” Flynn replied.
“Oh, thank God.”
“I bought it for cash.”
A pistol boomed! All three turned to see Mike stagger out his front door, shakily aiming a .44 magnum. It was the same gun Flynn had filched earlier that day. Mike pulled the trigger and the gun thundered again, the bullet punching a hole in the Aston Martin’s right rear quarter panel.
“Well, that’s a shame.” Flynn bent down to examine the bullet hole.
“Run!” Sancho shouted.
“I’d rather take the car, if you don’t mind.” Flynn climbed behind the wheel as Sancho and Dulcie scrambled inside. The big gun boomed again, this time shattering the right rear passenger window. “He’s not exactly a crack shot, is he?” Flynn said as he started the car and hit the gas, shifting into first, burning rubber.
The car squealed off as Mike pulled the trigger, punching a hole in the Aston Martin’s trunk. He fired again and again until every dog and car alarm in the neighborhood was either barking or shrieking and there wasn’t a bullet left in his revolver.
Chapter Twelve
The Angeles National Forest was a perfect place to dump a body and, over the years, many bodies were indeed dumped in Little Tujunga Canyon. Bikers, drug dealers, gang bangers, and serial killers all took advantage of this rugged, isolated area with its nearly impassible terrain. Hikers often came upon the half-eaten remains of a gullible young model or murdered home-maker. The hills were full of coyotes and bobcats, skunks and rattlesnakes. There was even the occasional mountain lion. As society encroached, the intersection between wilderness and civilization collided. The animals had no place to retreat to and, since humans weren’t about to back down, conflict was inevitable.
The Aston Martin hugged the corners of Little Tujunga Canyon Road as they headed north into the wilds of the Angeles National Forest. It was an uphill climb from the northern edge of Los Angeles County and Sancho watched as the housing developments gave way to horse property and then half-assed habitations and rickety shacks. Soon there was just dry chaparral, fragrant with sagebrush and the remnants of diesel exhaust. Higher still and Sancho saw Douglas fir and pine trees dotting the hillside.