The Big Bad

by Phil Beloin Jr.

  "What if Irv cleaned out the safe?"

  "Don’t think like that."

  She got a good parking spot by the doors.

  I looked behind me. "Sit tight, Van Gogh," I said.

  "Yeah, little guy, we’ll be right back," Pam said.

  He gave us a squeaky meow as we got out of the convertible.

  "You never told me the combo," Pam said, while we headed for the doors.

  "Nope, but it’s easy."

  I staggered a bit and Pam put an arm around my waist. "You sure he hasn’t changed it since he got out of prison?" she said.

  "I saw him do the first number when he blackmailed me into finding you," I said. "It was the same as before."

  Walking inside the dirty hall, the strength of the cleaning solutions invaded my nose. I had an instant headache to go with my aching shoulder.

  "Even you know the combo," I said.

  "No, I don’t," she said. "He never told me."

  "You just don’t know that you know it."

  "What—is it like his birthday or something?"

  "He musta’ told you how many seasons he played in the pros."

  "From…uh…seven plus years, I think.”

  "Yeah."

  "Till he busted his knee."

  "Right. So eight years in the pros."

  "That’s the first number?” she said. “Eight?”

  I pushed the up arrow on the elevator. The doors opened a second later like they were waiting for us. No one was inside.

  Once the car got going, Pam said, "What’s the second one?"

  "How many goals did he score in eight years?"

  "Not many. He said he was more of a defensive player."

  "Uh-huh."

  "But he was real proud of the number."

  "He was," I said. "Do you remember?"

  "Like in the fifties, I think."

  "It’s fifty-four."

  "That’s the second number?"

  "Uh-huh."

  The doors parted and we headed down the hallway. "What’s the last one, how many assists he got?" Pam said.

  "Don’t know that one," I said. "Besides, the safe only goes up to sixty."

  We turned right at the end of the corridor.

  "Is it hockey related?"

  "Age that he retired."

  "That’s easy. Thirty-three."

  "Eight, fifty-four, thirty three."

  "Oh, Jesus, that is pretty pathetic," she said. "I never thought Irv would be so sentimental."

  "Fucker was proud of his career."

  We were at the door to the outer office.

  "And how are we going to enter Marquette Consultants?" she said.

  "I still have my key," I said. "It wasn’t the kind of job they asked for it back."

  "I suppose not."

  She reached into her purse, and pulled out her .22.

  I fished out my key ring. "What are you doing that for?" I said.

  "Being cautious," she said. "I have a right to be after today."

  "They’re all dead or in jail, Pam."

  "I believe you, but still a girl can‘t be too careful nowadays. Now open it up, Nick."

  I did what she asked.

  I hit the switch from the corridor, lighting up the outer room. No one was lurking behind the plaid chairs or the folding table.

  "Shut the door, baby," I said.

  It creaked closed, and we walked through to Irv’s office. I went around the desk to the framed picture and swung it away from the wall. I got a hand on the dial, looking back at Pam. She was still by the door.

  "Find something to put the money in," I said.

  She looked around. "How about this?"

  A leather bound briefcase was on its spine by one of the Gargoyle torment chairs. She picked the case up and placed it on the glass protecting the desk.

  "Perfect" I said. "Open it up."

  She flipped the latches as I held the dial on the number eight.

  "Oh, Nick, look at this."

  She turned the briefcase towards me. The inside was loaded with color slides. She was holding one up to the light.

  "It’s me doing the wild thing to myself," she said. "Irv must have taken them from Eddie’s office."

  "Keep’em," I said. "We’ll find a buyer."

  "This is getting better and better."

  I spun the knob to fifty-four, waited a beat, then rotated back the other way, twice, stopping on thirty-three. The metal door eased open.

  "What’s inside?" Pam said from the desk.

  There were too many stacks to count. The videotape was buried between the bills, right where Irv had left it.

  "Looks like a lot," I said. "Slide the case over."

  I began loading in the bills. When I uncovered the video, I handed it out to Pam.

  "Wreck that, will ya?" I said.

  "What for?"

  "If I watch it again, I might get turned on."

  "Oh, Nickie," she said, shaking her head. "You are a freak."

  She went across the room to the wastebasket in the corner and while still holding her .22, she pulled out the tape, crinkling and tearing it and dropping the pieces into the trash.

  The money stacks were in varying sizes, and as I tossed them into Irv’s briefcase, I had trouble estimating how much green we had. Count it later, Nick. I was about finished when Pam spoke up.

  "Nickie?" she said. "Look what I got.”

  I turned around, shocked by what I saw.

  4 4

  He thought they were part of his dream, hearing their voices again; sounding like they had while he was lying in the hay. Opening his eyes, the room was dark, he couldn’t even see his reflection in the mirrored ceiling. He heard scuffling in the office, but no voices now.

  Irv sat up, the ache in chest reduced to a tolerable dullness by a slug of scotch and a handful of acetaminophen he had found in the back of the limo. He hadn’t had a heart attack, his body had passed out from the shock of getting up too quickly.

  His legs were a little unsteady walking from the barn and into the cabin, totaled by Michelle’s target practice. He saw her down the hall, near the can, lying in a puddle of reddish water. Had he really believed that aloof, molested nut job could beat Nick?

  Yeah, he had. He wouldn’t underestimate Constantine anymore.

  Get back to the office, rest up, and go after him and Pam again.

  Driving the limo hadn’t been too difficult. The front bumper was crumpled, but the engine was unscratched. He backed up from the rock, hit a bump, figured it was Kareem’s body, and turned the massive vehicle around in the back yard. Then he headed down the driveway. If a cop saw the three bullet holes in the windshield, he knew there would be trouble, but he had to risk it. He didn’t see a single cruiser in Stitchfield, or down the highway to the interstate and into the capital. Pure luck. He didn’t use the parking garage—he was feeling whipped—and parked the limo on a corner lot. The elevator brought him up to the office where he realized he was still wearing the bulletproof vest. He undid the straps and took the vest off, dropping it on the floor.

  Then he hit the fuck pad and fell asleep.

  He dreamed of Pam. She was dressed, but on top of him, her blonde and strawberry hair in ringlets, gyrating her hips into his, her tits moving in sync. He saw his hands fondling her nipples and he cried out, Slow down, I’m coming, but she only moved faster, all of him building to a finish.

  Their voices came, woke him, and he expected a damn puddle in his pants, but no. A dry-humping dry dream. Who had ever heard of such a thing?

  But that dream meant he still wanted her—despite everything.

  Then the voices again: Pam’s and Nick’s. Could they be on the other side of the wall? What the fuck …

  Irv put his ear to the door, his gun ready. The safe! Nick was opening it. Irv wasn’t surprised that his old bodyguard knew the combination. See? He was getting smarter when it came to Nick Constantine.

  Too bad, right when he was getting Nick down,
he was going to kill him.

  45

  Pam held up a dark colored vest and was pointing near the top at two puncture marks, one of which had a metal slug in it.

  I wasn’t feeling good to begin with and that little ditty near finished me off. "That’s a bulletproof vest," I said.

  The door to the fuck pad opened and Irv jumped out, his big barreled gun centered on Pam’s chest.

  "Yeah, honey, that’s mine," he said. "Get your hands high, Nick, or I will blow your new girlfriend away."

  I raised them up, my hit shoulder bitching loud, my hand still gripping the last stack of bills.

  Irv said, "Pam, honey, I want you to listen to me."

  Her eyes found mine. There was fear in that look, and I suppose in mine, too.

  "Pam, focus on me!" Irv said.

  She looked back at Irv. "I’m listening," she said.

  "If you were to raise that gun of yours," Irv said, "and shoot Nick dead, I will forgive all of your past transgressions."

  "What?" she said.

  "You heard me clear."

  She didn’t say anything.

  "What’s it going to be, Pam?" Irv said.

  "I can’t," she said, her words mumbling out.

  "It’s either that," Irv said, "or, I’ll have to kill you, too."

  Pam turned back to me.

  "Don’t, baby," I said. "It’s a setup..."

  "SHUT UP, NICK!" Irv said, pointing his free hand at me. "You keep talking and ain’t nothing gonna stopping me from doing you myself." He went back to Pam, concentrating on her. "This, honey, will be a test of your loyalty. I realized something after I sent that hit team up to the cabin. I had acted out of anger and jealousy. I didn’t want you dead, but I couldn’t stop them neither. When I saw that you were alive this afternoon, I knew I was still in love with you. I’m not upset at those pictures—only disappointed that you lied to me about them and about yourself."

  "I thought," Pam said, "that you wouldn’t love me if you knew."

  "I love you more today than I did yesterday," Irv said. "Your absence has caused me a lot of pain and forced me to do a lot of soul searching."

  "I…I’m sorry, Irv," she said.

  "But you have to promise me," Irv said, "that you won’t take any more of those photos. That you won’t lie to me ever again."

  "I promise."

  "Good. I wish you knew how much I loved you, honey."

  "I’ve always loved you, Irv," she said.

  It was almost as if Irv had cast a spell on her, the way Pam fell into it so easily.

  "Now kill that piece of shit," Irv said, his voice calm.

  The .22 rose from her side. There were tears in her eyes. I wasn’t about to let myself get plugged with my hands over my head. My .45 was tucked in my pants behind me.

  "Bye, Nickie," she said.

  Irv’s weapon was still on her. I would go for him first. I couldn’t shoot Pam—not even to save my own skin.

  I went for my .45 as the office door burst open. Teddy jumped through, pulling the trigger of a gun. Irv’s left thigh took the first blow. Pam wheeled on Irv, too, hitting him once in the chest. Teddy didn’t let up firing, but as Irv crumbled back, the door to the fuck pad took the rest of Teddy’s bullets. After her first shot, Pam didn’t do any better either, shredding the glass case holding Irv’s hockey souvenirs. Neither one stopped their wild gunning until their chambers clicked empty.

  My ears rung from all the gunfire. My nose burned with cordite.

  "Holy crap," Teddy said. "Is he dead?"

  "He better be this time," Pam said.

  I walked over and took a look. Blood leaked from the small hole in Irv’s chest near his heart. I didn’t bother to look at the wound in his leg.

  "Yeah," I said. "I’d say he’s at the gates of hell right about now."

  "Damn it, Teddy. Where have you been?" Pam said. "I was worried."

  "Yeah, kid, what gives?" I said.

  "After that shootout yesterday," Teddy said, "I ran all the way to Stitchfield and stayed with this guy I used to know. I felt like such a wimp, leaving you two, but after I saw what that big woman did to the dog, I was too scared to stay at the cabin, or to go back to look for you guys. Then I got this mad idea that I was gonna come here and kill Irv. My friend drove me in tonight, and I bought this gun on the street. So I came over here, heard everyone talking, and finally got the courage to help. By the way Nick, thanks for saving my life the other day."

  "Shit, kid, you just saved mine right now," I said.

  "You did perfect, Teddy," Pam said, throwing her arms around him.

  I let them finish their embrace—they were dizzy shapes to me—before I said anything.

  "Pam, baby?"

  "What, Nickie?"

  "Were you really gonna shoot me?"

  She took my hand in hers. "The whole time I was trying to figure on how I could turn on him, you know? Teddy coming through the door made it all right."

  "Yeah," I said. "It sure did."

  "Grab that briefcase, Nickie," she said.

  I picked it up. It seemed too heavy for me to hold for long. "What was all that shit about you loving him? You sounded damn convincing."

  "I was pretending I was talking to you."

  "Damn," I said. "That’s sweet, baby."

  "Ain’t it?" she said.

  "Come on," I said, "Let’s get out of here and go find that doctor.”

 

  Phil Beloin Jr. was born and raised in Connecticut. He has lived all over the state, from its largest city, to its only city without a major highway running through it.

  He currently lives in the Naugatuck River Valley with his wife and children. He attended the University of Bridgeport, majoring in cinema. Phil’s love for storytelling blossomed in film school. After graduating, he produced three low budget films, directing one, and co-writing two others. The films did not fare well and Phil began writing fiction while working the seemingly endless list of odd jobs writers tend to have: sales clerk, fence installer, wedding videographer, day laborer, and tennis court maintenance.

  He sold his first short story, Sweet Wife, in 2005. It still resides on the Internet. Since then, he has placed a dozen or so stories online or in small press magazines. Most are crime or suspense tales. All the while, Phil worked on the novel The Big Bad, a darkly comic yet violent look at criminals, drugs, and pornography.

  The idea started out as a screenplay, but Phil knew it was too large a project for his small company to produce, maybe too controversial, as well. The Big Bad introduces Nick Constantine, a former mob enforcer, working as an honest barkeeper now. Nick is trying hard to stay out of trouble, but then a couple of young blondes strut into his bar. Enjoy The Big Bad. A sequel is coming. There’s no way Nick ain’t screwing up again.