Edge of the Pit

by Bill Thesken

  “I think so.” Her voice was soft and halting.

  I pulled the phone out from my back pocket, it was broken in two, and a quick scan of the room convinced me it was a risky waste of time to look for another one. It would have been nice to call for some back-up, the police, fire department, anyone.

  “Now listen,” I told her. “There are some very bad men downstairs, and we have to get away from them and get you to the police. Let’s see if you can stand up and walk.”

  I pulled her to her feet and she was weak and nearly fainted so I gently sat her right back down.

  She was a small woman, and I estimated that she might weigh around ninety five or a hundred pounds on a good day which this wasn’t and they’d probably starved her for a couple of days by the looks of her hollowed out cheeks. I could carry her to the car.

  I hustled over to the window and picked up the two pistols and tucked one into my holster and the other into my back pocket and went over and lifted her up into my arms. “I’ll carry you like a sack of potatoes,” I joked and she tried to smile through the tears. “Put your arms around my neck and hold on tight.”

  Broken ribs and shot leg be damned, I picked her up and carried her across the wooden floor, closed the door behind us and went down the dark stairs one at a time feeling with my toes in my shoes before committing to the next step, slowly making our way down. When we got about halfway down the stairs I could see through some cracks in the boarded up windows at the front of the store, and the club across the street.

  The two security guys had come back out and were talking with the club’s bouncer again. One of them was looking this way. He’d take a puff on a cigarette, look this way then look away again. He motioned with his cigarette to the others and I could imagine him asking them what was taking so long and maybe they should go check on their boss.

  We got to the bottom floor and went to the right towards the alleyway and the side entrance. There was a scuffling sound as the guy I’d knocked out earlier was trying to get up, regaining consciousness. I didn’t have time to give him another dose of L-18 therapy and soccer kicked him once in the side of his chin and he slumped on the floor and was silent again.

  “That’s the guy you were asking about,” I whispered to her. “He won’t be following us.”

  The side door was locked with a dead bolt on the side and a button in the middle of the handle and I was able to reach down and unlock both and wrestle open the door. It must have been shut for a long time, it was stuck on the frame and popped open with some extra effort, the hinges squeaking lightly, and I hissed through my teeth at the sound.

  Out in the alley it was pitch black, the sound of the rap club resonated on the walls around us, and I kept close to the bricks and glanced back to see the security guy with cigarette take a last puff, throw the butt on the ground, grind it under his heel and start across the street towards the front entrance of the tattoo shop.

  I picked up my pace. I figured I had about two minutes before they figured out what had happened and started after us. We passed by C-Dub face down on the street and she turned her head and hid it in the nook of my shoulder. We turned the corner of the block and headed south, behind us in the alley there was a shout from the second floor window. My two minute estimate was way off. I hefted her up and threw her over my shoulder and half stumbled half ran to the southern corner of the block and headed for the car.

  I set her into the passenger side, and whipped her seatbelt on and clicked it secure. There were more shouts from the corner of the block and at the front of the club.

  The bouncer was yelling and pointing at us while one security guy ran down the street with his gun in the air and the other came around the corner of the building behind us and ran towards us while firing a large pistol. Not the best tactic for a good shot. Bullets ricocheted off the building behind us.

  I pulled out my Glock, took careful aim and dropped him with one shot in the center of his neck.

  Then I turned my attention to the other guy running at us from the club who must have realized what had happened to his partner around the corner, and ducked between two parked cars.

  I fired one shot into the window of the car behind him to keep him down and it shattered onto the street, then I jumped into my little car, pushed Gale low into the seat, revved the engine once, and burned rubber out of there, tires squealing, smoke spewing, fighting the steering wheel, U-turning it to the south and away from the club.

  The back window blew apart and a bullet whistled and ricocheted inside the car, skipping around inside before plugging into the dashboard above the radio, and I zigzagged down the street, gas pedal to the floorboard and then the engine popped and started misfiring and pinging, sounding like I was running short a piston, took a left turn down a side street heading east, the next street was Wilshire, the miracle mile and I was hoping for a miracle to get us to the police station.

  Black smoke starting coming out of the exhaust pipe, I could see a cloud in the rear view mirror billowing behind us, and then it started seeping into the car from the engine compartment. Maybe the shooter hit the engine block with a lucky shot, or maybe I bought a lemon off the car lot. Either way this car was dying fast. I opened the windows to get the smoke out and behind us came the sound of screeching tires and honking horns, cars swerving out of the way of a white stretch limo gaining fast on us.

  Another bullet shattered my side mirror. Up ahead was a row of stores, then a small strip mall, and a two story brick building that looked like a library, neat and trim and square with a flagpole out front and the sign at the front in bright blue letters said ‘Police’.

  The limo slammed into the back of my car and I struggled to keep from spinning out of control, and turned the wheel to the right, tires screeching full-speed up the sidewalk and slammed on the brakes, turning the car sideways and crashing into the glass front door of the Police station.

  The engine ground to a halt, sputtered and died with a cough, and there was a strange moment of complete silence. I turned my head to my left through the driver’s side window, and saw the limo slow down, the driver and passenger looked at me grimly and then drove slowly down the road, pulled into traffic and sped away into the night. I reached out to pat Gale’s shoulder and she looked at me with wide terrified eyes and while trembling said simply.

  “I’m okay.”

  Then piles of blue uniformed cops came out of every nook and cranny with guns drawn while circling our smashed car. It was like I’d stirred up a colony of giant blue ants, and they were very, very angry.

  I however, was happy and fairly smiling as I sighed deeply and put my hands flat with palms down on top of the dashboard and waited for them to pull me out of the smashed car, and cuff me and Taser me, and put their boots on my neck if they wanted to. We were safe.

  Someday soon though I’d have to track down the two guys in the limo, before they tracked me down.

  But for now, it was over.

  Epilogue

  You know how it is in the first hour of morning down by the docks. The fog hovers on the water, hanging close and still like a soft baby’s blanket while the sun rising over the mountains, golden red and shining through the high cloud cover to the east. Not a whisper of wind. Sounds, which are few and far between, are magnified and important, setting themselves aside in your senses to be revered and listened to carefully.

  The distant putt-putt of a motorboat leaving the safety of the harbor, the slap of water from its wake on the pilings, the boats lined up neatly in rows, all shapes and sizes, big and little, square and slender, fat and thin, powerboats and sailboats, work boats and play boats all gently squeaking against their rope tethers, metal lines tapping against a towering mast, a crow with it’s strange cry on the brown grass hillsides behind while the seagulls circle call out to each other high in the sky above as they head out to sea.

  The sharp smell of fish and salt and kelp, and a wisp of diesel from one of the work boats.

  If you
look carefully into the calm greenish blue water you can see small fish hiding by the barnacle covered pilings, both colorful and grey, some darting here and there, while others hover in an ethereal liquid dream. Everything seems at once magnificent and new at dawn at the harbor.

  “What are you thinking about?” Amber poked me in my ribs and put her arm around my waist.

  My gaze was to the East and the sunrise. I’d been thinking about the past couple of months, the unraveling of C-Dub’s empire, the investigations and uncovering of the massive fraud, killings, cover-ups and broken lives and careers.

  Mostly I was thinking about the two guys in the limo who’d gotten away, and whether they were going to show up someday, unannounced. But I didn’t tell her any of those thoughts.

  “I was thinking what a great day it’s going to be on the water, out in the channel between here and Catalina.” I smiled and poked her back. “And I was wondering which one we should take out.”

  I waved my hand like the host at beauty pageant towards the two gleaming white hulled boats that we were standing next to, their bows facing us, black letters on their backsides proudly proclaiming their names.

  ‘Sugar’ on the forty foot sleek double masted ketch with the sixty foot high center mast, and ‘Spice’ on the fifty foot power boat with the twin five hundred horsepower diesel engines, its fly bridge and tuna tower rising nearly to the height of the sailboat’s mast.

  “Hmmm.” She tapped her finger on her chin and perused the question. “That’s a tough one, and a nice problem to have.”

  In a twist of fate, Gale’s business manager made sure that she had an insurance policy for kidnapping and ransom for her trip to South America where she met cabana boy and started this whole chain of trouble.

  In the event she was kidnapped and there was a ransom demand, the insurance policy paid for it.

  It would also be paid in the event that someone rescued her. Imagine that.

  The half million dollar reward for the safe return of Nightingale was eventually awarded to me and was spent rather wisely I thought on the two vessels.

  After taxes, the remaining quarter of a million dollars plus what I had saved was enough to purchase both of the boats at auction with enough left over to retro-fit them to almost new condition.

  “I’m fine with either one,” I said. “But I’m sort of feeling partial to filling the mainsail of the Sugar with some steady wind from the south while powering through the chop with a deep and heavy bowline.”

  She pointed at the red sunrise. “But what about the old saying, ‘red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning’?”

  “Old wives tale.” I countered. “Meant to scare lily livered landlubbers into staying on shore and working in the fields. Now if the sky was red in the morning while the wind was blowing forty knots I’d say it was a warning well warranted and true. But not today young Amber, not today. I’ll estimate the wind will get up to around…” I licked my index finger and put it high in the air while squinting hard at the sky. “…ten to fifteen knots in the middle of the channel.” I winked at her. “Plus I read the weather report this morning.”

  “Cheater.” She punched me in the arm.

  “It’s a nice day for a sail, maybe we should take Sugar, and we’ll be at Catalina by mid-afternoon.”

  She smiled at that thought. “I’d love to go for a sail.”

  In the corner of my eye I saw a long white limo crawling ever so slowly along the wide boulevard fronting the entrance to the harbor, going too slow, too careful, the driver searching the hundreds of slips as he went along and turned in and headed down the road that bordered the wharf.

  Was this the day? Were the two fugitives going to show up and exact their revenge on me? I always envisioned that it’d be somewhere in the middle of the night with them jumping out of the bushes at me. I was always ready, and the gun in the holster at my side was always loaded with the safety off.

  “There they are!” she said excitedly and waved with her free hand to the driver of the limo who finally saw her and headed our way. “I’m so proud of you.” She gushed and reached up to kiss me on the cheek. “Your first customer.”

  And it was true, I had my very own protection service just like I’d dreamed. Today was the first official day of business.

  The limo pulled up in front of us and I couldn’t help but smile. Out stepped Gale Nighting and three of her best friends, two were guys and one was a girl. We were heading to Catalina for a party where she was the guest of honor and I was her bodyguard for the boat ride over and for the event. Gale shrieked and ran towards us and threw her arms around me, nearly choking me. Then she hugged Amber and turned to her friends and waved them over.

  “I’d like you meet Rhonda, her boyfriend Garrett, and this is my new best friend…” her cheeks blushed as she pulled him closer to shake my hand. “This is Cody Markender.”

  He was some sort of mix and I couldn’t put my finger on it, Jamaican, German and Filipino came to mind and I made a note to ask him when we were under way.

  “Glad to meet you sir,” he said and shook my hand. He had a firm grip, and I gave it back in kind.

  He called me sir, either out of respect, or maybe I was looking rather old and rumpled and ragged around the edges this morning. He was a young sort after all, smooth skin, and clear eyes, maybe even too young to shave, and he had a little bounce to his stance, I noticed that he kept his knees bent a little, ready for fight or flight. Maybe he was trained in martial arts I thought, or just worried being this close to me. Something about him triggered a memory.

  “You look familiar,” I said. “Where have I seen you before?”

  “Cody’s in the recording industry,” said Gale. “We met at the studio in New York where I’m making my new album, which by the way has a song I wrote about you.” She was beaming.

  “About me?” My eyes narrowed, suspicious.

  “Don’t worry,” she laughed. “I’m not using your name or anything like that, just some of your actions.” She made her hand stiff and karate chopped the air. “Your love knocks me out. Although we don’t know if it will make it past the PC police. It might be too violent.”

  I smiled. “So I made it to the big leagues? That’s an honor, thank you.” I turned back to her new best friend and asked him. “So what type of music to you play?”

  “Cody’s a rap star!” Gale nearly shouted, and when my smile slowly turned to a frown, everyone laughed except for Cody when he saw my eyes.

  Rap stars were trouble, and I squashed trouble with my bare hands if needed. I swore to myself after the C-Dub fiasco that if I ever saw another rap star I’d either head the other way or break their neck before they could start any trouble and smack talking.

  The most worthless piece of garbage non-music waste of time and talent this world has ever seen.

  Rap star. My mind went blank with anger and I clenched my fists.

  He saw the look in my eyes and kept his knees bent for fight or flight and was quick with an explanation.

  “I’m uh, going to branch out into different types of music, it’s just a launching pad, sort of….sir” He swallowed with a dry gulping sound while beads of sweat popped out on his forehead.

  I could see then and there, and without a doubt that he was a good kid, and that Gale was in good hands with him at her side. You can tell a lot of things about people with a first impression and their reaction to sudden adversity. Like having a pissed off guy like me near enough to put a karate chop on your neck.

  It was at that very moment in time that I made a decision to help him see the world from my perspective, my point of view. To help him deal with the kind of mis-fortune and calamity that not many people have the opportunity to face. And to face it from a position of strength and confidence, not weakness and fear. I would train him, starting today. Some things had to be learned by doing.

  “Can you swim?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “Sure, I can swim. Why?”

 
I put my hand on his shoulder and pointed to the sailboat sitting quietly at the edge of the dock.

  “Have you ever trimmed a foresail in a twenty knot wind, your feet slipping on the heaving deck of a ship hard at sea, while white water the size of haystacks are breaking over the bow and trying to knock you off the boat, ten long miles from the nearest dry land?”

  He looked at me with a half-smile and a ‘what are you kidding me’ attitude, but the look in my eyes told him different.

  The half-smile faded away as he realized he was trapped, and he tried to catch his breath while he looked from me to the sailboat, then back to me again, and he shook his head nervously, thinking carefully before replying.

  “No.”

  I nodded at his answer, and walked towards the boat.

  “Well, today’s your lucky day.”

  The End.