Beautiful, Naked & Dead (Moses McGuire)

by Josh Stallings

  Gregor shook his head sadly when I rolled into the bad section of the Mission District and bought $20 worth of crack from a pre-teen working the corner. But he had the good grace not to ask any questions. That was one of his better qualities, he took it as it came and trusted himself to be strong enough to dig out of any hole I dug for him.

  A three-quarter moon hung over the bay as we drove down toward the Cow Palace. It was a huge tin structure used for concerts, county fairs and now deadly trades. We arrived with thirty minutes to spare. I snapped the lock on the parking lot gate with a pair of bolt cutters. Pulling to the far end of the lot I parked under a light. I left Gregor in the Crown Vic and walked out about a hundred yards and stood waiting. My nerves were jangling, I had picked the wrong night to quit drinking. Patting my pocket I felt the reassuring weight of my .45, cocked, locked and ready. Someone was going down tonight. With any luck it wouldn’t be me.

  Two beams moved slowly through the gate shooting shafts into the dust. A black Lincoln appeared behind the headlights, it rolled to a stop, blinding me. I heard a door open and sweater boy moved in front of the lights, in his outline a pistol was clearly held in his hand. “Where’s the bitch?” he said pointing the pistol at me. I raised my left hand, keeping the right close to my pocket. Inside the Crown Vic Gregor flashed a light on the girl.

  “Now turn off the lights before we attract attention, and let’s get down to business.” I said.

  “You don’t give the orders anymore got it?”

  “Got it. You, my friend, are the big swinging dick here. So what do you want to do?” I said with a disarming smile.

  “That’s right, damn it. Larry, kill the fucking lights, you want the cops coming or what?” The driver killed the lights and I could see he was alone in the car. “Ok tough guy, now you bring me the girl.”

  “I will, because you asked me to. But um, first, just to keep things straight, I should see the cash. Not that I don’t trust you. You are in charge here.”

  “See that’s nice, you’re respectful, if you were like that from the start this whole thing would have gone a lot easier.”

  “Trust me I see the error of my ways.”

  “Good. Larry, you lazy fuck, get the bag.” The driver got out and moved to the trunk.

  “Not for nothing, but, did you guys do the girl in LA?” I tossed it off like I was asking if he thought it might rain.

  “That bitch was fine. A real screamer.” The blood in my veins started to boil. My head pounded. Every cell in my body screamed. This smarmy mother fucker had to die. My hand snaked towards my pocket.

  “Whoa! Dumb fucking move ace!” Sweater boy snapped the hammer back on his pistol. From ten feet he couldn’t miss my head. My hand moved into my pocket. “Pull out your hand, slow!” he yelled.

  The beef in a running suit dropped the black gym bag he was holding and reached for his shoulder holster.

  My .45 was almost clear of my pocket when I heard the report of a high-powered rifle. The passenger window of the Crown Vic popped and the sex doll’s head exploded. Dropping to the ground the sniper’s second shot whizzed over me. Sweater Boy swung his barrel down. The .45 rocked in my hand, flame flashed and his ankle shattered into a bloody mess. He went down howling, his pistol slid across the gravel. I rolled to the left as a third rifle bullet puffed the ground beside me.

  The son of a bitch had a night scope.

  Gregor fired up the Crown Vic and had her rolling towards me. He fired wild shots out the window. Skidding to a stop he blocked the snipers view of me. The metal pinged as a slug tore through the car door.

  Sirens wailed and two unmarked cars burst through the gate, their cherry tops spinning red into the night. The beefy goon had his arm under Sweater Boy and was trying to get him into the Lincoln. Kneeling against the Vic’s front fender I took aim. My first hardball ripped a hole in the back of his cardigan and ruined his spine. Beef dropped his pal and leapt for the car. I popped him in the knee and watched him go down. Running towards them I hoped the cops had scared off the sniper.

  I kicked the piece out of Beef’s hand and tossed the crack vials into their car. A gurgled breath came from the crumpled Sweater Boy. He looked up at me, his eyes pleading, his mouth unable to form words. I stomped my boot down on his head. I could feel his skull crack.

  “Boss!” Gregor yelled. The cops were almost on us.

  The second stomp ended the punk’s breathing. It wasn’t enough. Nothing would have been.

  Grabbing the gym bag, I was barely into the Vic when Gregor hit it hard and we spun out the opposite direction from the cops. We were doing seventy-five when we hit the chain link fence. Bouncing over a planter the Vic skidded onto the city streets and didn’t slow down until we saw the glittering city by the bay rising up out of the mist.

  CHAPTER 16

  In a filling station, Gregor held up the flap on his coat. A sniper bullet meant for me had passed through the car, through his coat and punched a hole in the door. “Bastards. Somebody’s buying me a new coat,” Gregor said.

  “You want a new coat? I’ll buy you a new coat.”

  “You didn’t put the hole in it.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Then you don’t have to buy me one, but somebody does.”

  “Yeah, I see your point.” I left him in the car to worry about his wardrobe while I went to the phone booth. First I dialed the number my hacker buddy had gotten for Sabatini. It rang three times before a thick headed bruiser answered, I asked him to put Leo on.

  “Pal, you got the wrong number, no Leo’s here.”

  “Tell him it’s McGuire. Tell him I ain’t dead.” Twenty seconds later I heard Leo pick up.

  “Mr. McGuire, I’m glad to hear your voice.”

  “But not surprised, are you?”

  “No, I was told you had been lucky.”

  “I whacked your skinny friend. Cops have the fat one.”

  “I heard that as well. But you didn’t call me to recount old times, did you?”

  “No, the girl’s dead, I got my cash. I just need to know no one is coming after me for the punk.”

  “No one will be coming after you.”

  “No offense, but that’s not just coming from you is it? You’re with Sabatini?”

  “Yes, he’s here and we both agree you have earned a walkway.”

  “Good.” I hung up and dialed Agent Sanders’ cell.

  “I’m a little busy right now McGuire, some perp blew holes in a couple of mobsters and ran off.” Sanders said when I reached him.

  “What a shame.”

  “You’ve got some real issues with anger, that boy’s head looked like so many pounds of ground chuck.”

  “Fuck him, how’s the fat one?”

  “He’ll probably lose a leg, but he’ll live to see trial. “

  “Then you should be happy. Now you owe me a cup of coffee.”

  “I should put an APB out on you.”

  “But you won’t, not until you know what I’m holding. And trust me you don’t want to find out in a room full of your brother cops.” He tried to play it tough, keep control but I knew he’d meet me. After a bit of arguing we settled on a coffee shop down in the Mission district. He said he could be there in twenty minutes. So we headed over.

  Ten years ago, Mission had been home to heroin, jazz, street kids, pimps and whores. Dot com money had driven most of them out of one end, moved the poor and beat down onto a reservation of two city blocks while they gentrified the rest. Eddie’s Café was a lone hold out, it still had the original grease on the walls. I took a booth that was upholstered more in duct tape than vinyl and told Gregor to sit at the counter. I had the recorder in my pocket ready and waiting. Gregor was well into his second stack of pancakes when Sanders walked in.

  “What is keeping me from arresting you for murder?” he said as a greeting.

  I set the digital recorder on the table and pushed play. Sanders went a lighter shade of pale when he heard his vo
ice agreeing to the setup. “You know I have copies of this, so why don’t you stop hyperventilating and tell me about Torelli.”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  “Yes I am, but let’s leave her out of this. Torelli?”

  “Alfred ‘the Animal’ Stolloti,” he said in a defeated drone. “Two years ago he turned state’s evidence against the Chicago mob. Since then he’s been living in witness protection. Three months ago he fell off the map.”

  “He was Gino?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you think Sabatini had him clipped.”

  “That’s the working theory.”

  “And you figured Kelly saw it go down?”

  “No, Bette, her sister.”

  “Bette?”

  “You know her as Cass.”

  “You got it wrong, Kelly was dating Gino, she’s your witness and she’s dead. If the punk I gave you doesn’t roll over you’re just going to have to make your case another way.”

  “That’s not the way we see it. No, it was Bette and we’ll find her sooner or later. If the mob doesn’t find her first.” His courage was coming back as he saw a way to spin it on me. “What do you think their response might be if it slipped that you set up their men? If I was you, I’d go home, pull the blankets over my head and say my prayers. Bring me the girl, or tomorrow I call them. “

  “I don’t know where she is.”

  “So you said. I’ll see you around McGuire.” As he walked out he stopped at the counter, leaned over and said something to Gregor, then left without looking back.

  “What’d he say to you?” I asked Gregor as we were driving back to the hotel.

  “Said I should leave town before we both wound up in a box.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “Leaving town.”

  “And miss all this fun?” The corners of his mouth almost curled into a smile.

  “Tonight’s going to get ugly, a lot of bad craziness is going to have to go down before it’s over. Are you sure you’re up for the ride? You’ve been paid, there’s no honor lost if you want to walk.” He looked at me and then out the window. We climbed a steep hill lined with gingerbread Victorians, it was hard to believe anything bad could happen in this city.

  “Yeah, I’m in,” he said. “Will you drop me off at that church?” He pointed to the spires of a Catholic Church looming ahead of us.

  “What?”

  “The church. I’ll meet you at the hotel in an hour.” I pulled to the curb without asking any more questions. He slipped his 9 mm under the seat and walked up the stone steps, his great coat flapping behind him like huge black wings.

  Parking the Crown Vic at the Best Western I checked for messages. Nothing. I took the elevator to the parking lot and slipped out the side door. I headed towards my hotel, the flashing neon of the Barbary Coast called to me, beckoning with its cool gin and willing girls. One drink wouldn’t kill me. I was standing at the mouth of an alley next to my hotel, about to cross the street when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around swinging out a left haymaker that would have taken Cass’ head off if she had been six inches taller, instead the blow sailed over her head grazing her hair.

  “I’m glad to see you too, Moses.” She smiled up at me.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I didn’t know if I wanted to hit Cass or lift her into my arms.

  “I was losing my mind waiting, wondering if you were dead. I’m your girl.” She moved in close placing those soft full lips on mine. One kiss and I was lost. Linking her arm in mine we went up to the room.

  “I’m taking down Sabatini tonight,” I told her as we sat on the bed holding hands.

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  “No, you are not. Look, I don’t care about much in this life. I don’t think I could stand to see you die.”

  “Then you know how I feel. Mo, these scum bags killed my only sister, I am going to be there when they go down.” I looked at her set jaw and knew she spoke the truth. Pulling her hand up to my mouth, I nodded and kissed her. Our bargain was struck, there was no turning back now. Pulling her face to mine, I kissed her, her lips parted letting my tongue dart in. There was a hungry look in her eyes, we kissed and ripped at each other’s clothes with no regard for buttons or zippers. She hiked up her skirt and I made love to her standing up with my pants down around my ankles. I could taste blood on my lip from where she bit me but I didn’t care. We were tossed in a passion driven storm. The dresser I pushed her against fell with a crash but we kept our rhythm, moving to the closet door I slammed her against the mirror. Grabbing her ass in my big hand I looked into the mirror. There on her ass cheek was a fairy sprinkling pixie dust. The room spun out of focus for a moment, but my lust was boiling so I pushed away the meaning of her tattoo. She was screaming wild war cries as we collapsed onto the floor.

  In a post-coital lump we lay tangled on the floor. I gently traced the fairy tattooed on her backside. It was the same mark as the girl in the porn video. I never had the pleasure of seeing Kelly’s ass but I now doubted she was tattooed.

  “Did Kell have any tattoos?” I said as casually as I could.

  “Why do you want to talk about Kelly? Do you wish you had just fucked her?”

  “No, I was…”

  “I’m not Kelly, hell, Kelly wasn’t even Kelly. I’m here, I’m alive and I’m the best you’re ever going to get.” To prove it she started kissing my neck and moved slowly down my belly. My desire to question her dissolved when she took me into her mouth.

  We woke to the sound of a knock at the door. I pulled my pants up and righted the dresser. Cass gave me a wink and slid into the bathroom. Gregor came in, looked around the room but asked no questions. Cass came out of the bathroom looking fresh as a new picked flower. “She’ll be riding with us tonight,” I told Gregor.

  “It’s your party boss.”

  “Then let’s roll.”

  CHAPTER 17

  As a kid, my grandmother Therkleson told me about the Valkyrie, beautiful bare-chested winged warriors who dropped down onto the Viking battlefields and picked the bravest of the fallen dead to take to live in the halls of Valhalla, where they could drink and fight and fuck until the end of time. In a hard world a good death was sometimes the best a man could hope for. That, and a big breasted chick with wings to swoop out of the sky.

  Soaring down 280, I watched San Francisco disappear into the rear view like a glittering dream calling me back to bed. The highway was smooth and nicely banked, built for speed, I fought the urge to pin the needle and kept at a safe eighty miles an hour. The CHP might frown on rolling arsenals crowding up their highways.

  I dropped in Give ‘em Enough Rope, by far the Clash’s best album. London Calling was for posers and Johnny come late to the party wanna’ be punk college kids. Melancholic Island influenced punk, with enough melody not to drive my traveling comrades screaming from the car and enough overdriven guitars to keep me from blowing my brains out. Mick Jones, that pussy, was telling me to step lightly and stay free when we hit Palo Alto. Taking the Sand Hill exit we headed up into the mountains. The streetlights disappeared and there were damn few homes as we snaked our way into the country. A warm blanket of black fell around us, pierced by our headlight beams. The stars filled the sky above, silhouetting old oak trees on the rolling hills.

  “When this is over, I was thinking about going down to Mexico,” I said to Cass, she was resting her head on my shoulder. “I was thinking you might want to go with me.”

  “What’s in Mexico?”

  “Warm beaches, good food.”

  “Ok.” We slipped back into silence. Gregor sat in the back with his fedora down over his eyes. Old La Honda Road twisted its way up the dark mountain, redwoods speared up into a forest above the road, cliffs dropped off to the right, so that one wrong turn would take you into the next life in a wailing plunge. A flash of white spread out in the headlights as a barn owl crossed our p
ath. Tommy Cavasos told me that if you saw an owl in flight you should look away because it was a brujo, who could make you sick or cast a dark spell on you. Tommy swore by that border magic. I watched the owl fly up and disappear into the dark forest. What was it going to do to me I hadn’t already done to myself? Luck was for suckers, and magic was what that freak in the top hat did down on Hollywood Boulevard for turista quarters. I was done gambling in games where others set the rules, and all odds went to the house. From here on out I only wanted to play when I chose the deck and dealt the cards.

  Twenty minutes later we hit Skylonda, a small mountain town consisting of a general store, two restaurants and a two pump gas station, they all were dark and silent at this early hour. I pulled in and used a payphone to call Sanders.

  “You want Sabatini, get your ass up to his ranch.”

  “What are you talking about, McGuire?” he mumbled into the phone.

  “I’m dropping Sabatini in a package for you, but me and mine walk. No witness protection, no DA, no bullshit.”

  “Who exactly do you think you are?” he said, waking quickly.

  “The man who’s about to make you a hero,” I said and hung up.

  Pulling out onto Skyline Boulevard, a two lane black top stretched out along the ridge of the mountains all the way to Santa Cruz, I switched The Clash out for Iggy and the Stooges. I nodded along to Search and Destroy, anger driven three chords of pure rage. Cass and Gregor were flicking glances that said the old man has lost his noodle and what was that god awful music? No sense of history, fuck ‘em. I needed the raw power jangle and Iggy knew how to deliver.

  Breaking through the tree line we could see down rolling hills to the ocean on one side and all the way to Palo Alto and the bay beyond on the other. Twenty minutes later I spotted the address I was searching for. A tall iron gate blocked the entry, just inside it was a stone guard house. I checked my watch, I knew it would take Sanders at least an hour to assemble his troops and make the drive. I didn’t have much fear that he would call in the locals and give them a shot at his glory.