Lovecraft Ezine Mega-Issue 3 Rev3

by Pulver, Joseph S.

  “I don’t know what he had planned, but I knew I didn’t want any part of it. So I figured I’d teach him a lesson. I just wanted to let this guy know that I was done fucking around. He went to grab me and I gave him a jolt from a taser.”

  “Taser?” I repeated.

  “Yeah, one of those electric stun guns.”

  “I know what a taser is. Where did you get it?”

  “Tcho.”

  “Of course. And then what?”

  “I don’t know. These things are just supposed to knock someone out, right? But he started shaking and he threw up. Next thing I know, he’s shitting himself and dying, maybe in the opposite order. I dragged him back inside and Tcho was still here counting the night’s take and-”

  I cut her off. “I know the rest. Do you know who you killed?”

  “Paul, something. Pauly-something?” she offered.

  “No, not something. Frezzetti. As in, son of mob boss Caesar Frezzetti.”

  “Dagon, I didn’t know. Honest. Is this going to be a problem?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t already.” I muttered.

  “What? How could they know?”

  “Pauly was an only son. Caesar survives by being paranoid and not letting any details slip away. Of course he knew where his son was at all times. A few inquiries into the events of the night would lead right to you, the singer that his son was infatuated with and had an altercation with the night he vanished.”

  “Mother!” she spat out a curse. “Fine. How long do we have?”

  “Not very. There’s a man waiting out there for you.”

  “What does he want?”

  I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t we go ask him?”

  There was a flash of surprise at my words, but she didn’t say anything. Karen trusted me. She trusted in my ability to make things right. Have you ever had someone’s complete trust? There is a burden that comes with it, one that erodes confidence even as it bolsters it. Trust is often a matter of faith, instead of reality. It was Karen’s trust that ushered a twinge of doubt into my mind as I led her out of the safety of Tcho’s office and into the club. Could I fix this?

  The gangster had found his way closer to the office door. His lips curled into a dark sneer as he saw Karen. It was only a moment before he noticed that I was following behind her, he looked away quickly, but it was a clumsy motion. I was relieved that we didn’t have to cross the floor. The rest of Karen’s band was basking in the adoration of their fans. Beautiful girls, all, and such talented recruiters. I could see the off-white card stock invitations that they were handing out to the more promising attendees. Caesar’s man was staring brazenly at us now as we approached, his hand dipping into his shiny leather jacket, the pocket bulged a bit more prominently as he pointed the concealed gun in our direction.

  “Easy.” I said as we stopped walking. “My name is Dagon Moss, I want to speak to your boss.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about, buddy.”

  “Stupid might not be a role that’s hard for you to play, but I suggest you drop the act if you ever want to find out what happened to Pauly.”

  That made him think.

  “He just wants her,” his gold chain bounced towards Karen with a jerk of his head.

  “She’s not going anywhere with you, not alone.”

  The man took a long slow breath that barreled out his chest. He released it through gritted, tobacco-yellowed teeth, before offering me a look of resignation. “Look, I gotta make a few calls. Don’t go nowhere.” He warned.

  “Go ahead. We’ll be here.” I said.

  “Because if you skip out on us,” his voice dropped to an ominous growl, “you can’t even imagine what we’d-”

  “He said make your fucking calls, we’re not going anywhere, dipshit.” Karen hissed at him from her position at my side, raising her voice just enough to draw a few wandering eyes. I raised my hand, fingers splayed in a gesture I’d hoped would help everyone calm down.

  “We’ll be here.” I repeated. The man’s eyes had darkened with the concealed rage of a man who knew violence, as an answer, and a survival mechanism. He left without another word, storming through the crowd and pushing his way out of the club. When I was sure he was gone I turned to Karen. “Did you really have to antagonize him like that?”

  “He threatened you. Why are we even going along with this?” she asked. And there we had it, the limit of trust at the edge of fear. Being in her position would have made anyone nervous. Murder normally brought with it all manner of societal sanctions. Murdering the don’s son, brought other problems.

  “Because, I still believe that this can be solved civilly. The bigger the mess, the harder these things become. Whether Pauly deserved it or not is immaterial. You took from a family and now I, as your patron, must undertake that debt. I can’t begin to pay it off if we keep killing Frezzetti’s men. It would never stop and that particular family has the means to make life difficult for us.” I looked past Karen and saw Mandy, emerging from the kitchen with a fresh platter of dishes.

  “Debts? You think we owe these people?” she whispered. “He wasn’t a good man and besides, what happened to him was an accident. I might have even done this city a favor.”

  “Good…Evil? When did that start to matter? Life isn’t about morality. It’s about what you owe and to whom. That the incident wasn’t intended means very little. It happened. A life stolen, a debt accrued.” I moved close to her, placing a soft kiss to her forehead. I could feel her tremble, a holdover from her time before. “I’m not disappointed with you–how could I be?”

  She leaned her head against my chest. “What happens next, Dagon?”

  “What must. Our escort places his calls, he’ll want backup,” I turned my eyes over to Mandy, now with an empty serving tray tucked under her arm, “and I’ll place mine.”

  Karen gave me a questioning look through reflections of blue and green.

  “I might need backup, too.”

  Karen and I were given the V.I.P. treatment. We were ushered into an awaiting silver Cadillac coupe by half a dozen armed escorts. Three cars formed an impromptu convoy that guided us down streets that were laid before the first internal combustion engine was even conceived. The rat faced man in the passenger seat held a gun on us. It was the second time tonight that someone had pointed one at me. I wish I could say that was a record. Huey Lewis and the News were singing about the ‘power of love’ in hushed chords that were barely audible over the revving engines. I stared the gunman in the eyes as I sat in silence; Karen’s fingers wrapped loosely around my own. Bars of light from above the streets streaked through the compartment in a staccato rhythm.

  Rat face must have been bothered by the quiet, because he was the first to break it. “So, you, your name is Karen, right?” He bobbed the gun over at her by way of pointing. His finger remained along the outside of the guard.

  “Point that over here.” I rumbled.

  “We’ll get to you.” he said. “Karen. That’s an easy one. It’s a Greek name, it means pure.”

  “So?” Karen shrugged one shoulder.

  “So, I love onamastics,” he smiled a scrunched, rat faced little smile, “that’s the study of proper names for the layman. You think that names have a certain power over people? That names can influence their destinies?”

  “I think certain names are very powerful.” I answered in an attempt to draw his attention from Karen. His black, squinty eyes shifted to me for a microsecond, before turning back to her..

  “What I’m asking, Rainbow Bright, is are you really Karen? Are you pure?”

  Karen’s lip curled up into a disgusted snarl. I felt her muscles tensing and I clenched my fingers around her hand. When I felt her relax, I became certain I had just saved Rat-Face’s life.

  “See, me? I got a boring name too. Ray. Means king.” Rat-Face Ray tapped the side of the barrel against his forehead as he laughed. “But this gu
y, over here.” Now the gun was back where it belonged, pointed at my chest. “Now he’s interesting. Very. Interesting. Name. Dagon. Shit, I was stumped. I’m embarrassed to say it, but I googled it on my iPhone on the way over. I love those goddamn things, the power of the future in the palm of your hand, am I right?”

  “I don’t carry a cell phone.” I replied quietly.

  “Fucking, neanderthal, this guy. Why not?”

  “Because, unless you’re standing in someone’s presence. You don’t really know who you’re talking to, or who…or what might be listening.”

  “Oh,” he strung the syllable across several little chuckles, “okay mister creepy. Mister Moss. Dagon. Moss. So, do you know what the name Dagon means?” he asked me.

  “You seem excited to tell me. I don’t want to ruin that.”

  Ray jumped right in. “It’s Aramaic, the language of Christ. It means…to be cut open!” He followed that declaration with a series of wild braying laughs. “I mean, how crazy is that? Who would want to name their kid that? I mean, were you a C-section? Come on I’m dying to know.”

  “No. I was born in a very uneventful way. One of a million mundane miracles that year.”

  Ray seemed to chew on that for awhile. “So, while Karen may or may not be pure, there’s no reason to suspect that you, Dagon, are cut open. At least, not yet. A little hitch in my name-makes-the-person theory. Which, of course brings me to my next point-”

  “Jesus, you talk more than a fuckin’ parrot, Ray you know that? Can I please just listen to the radio?” the driver added. He was the same man from the club, he gazed back at us through the rear-view.

  “This is important, Eddie, besides we’re almost there.” Ray mollified. That prompted me to look out the window. We were heading towards the waterfront. “Sorry,” he addressed us again and gestured towards the driver with his empty hand, “Eddie–wealth protector. Anyway, my second point is, you, Karen…you have chosen another name for yourself. Kraken? Right? I listened to a couple of your songs driving around with Pau–well, just driving around, and I gotta say you’re very talented. Now, Kraken, that’s a giant fucking octopus in the German. Or, maybe it’s Scandinavian from Krake, which means, an unhealthy animal or something twisted. I admit, I googled that one too.”

  “I’m sorry, what was the question?” Karen uttered through pursed lips.

  “Does the name you choose, override the name you were given? Do you get to take the reins of your destiny by just calling yourself something different? Is that really all it takes? Are you pure? Are you unhealthy and twisted? Or are you an octopus?” Ray snickered.

  “Maybe I’m a purely twisted octopus.” She responded, a growl rumbling in the back of her throat. Ray rested the gun on the top of his seat, while maintaining a grip on the pommel. His smile widened until I could see the brown rot along the base of his teeth, near puffy red gums.

  “So what do I call you? The name you were given, or the name you took?”

  “There’s only one reason you got to call me Karen,” she spat.

  “This?” Ray ventured a guess, lifting his gun and drumming his fingers along the slide.

  “No,” her voice dropped to a whisper as a dark smile played across her slender lips. “Him.” She gave my hand a squeeze as the gunman laughed. Karen tensed again, but this time it was the car that interrupted. It came to a stop by the docks. The sole building on this stretch declared in bold blue letters that it was the Parnet Marine Services Corp. No doubt one of Caesar’s entrepreneurial ventures.

  “We’re here, everybody out.” Eddie, the driver, barked.

  “Nice and slow.” Ray added like a Sam Spade cliché.

  We were led into a small office on the second floor of the complex. Karen and I were seated in front of a desk as our escorts took positions around the room to dissuade any possible escape. I sat calmly, in an effort to reassure both Karen and our heavily-armed babysitters. Eddie dashed my hopes of a true face-to-face with his boss when he set a laptop onto the desk in front of us.

  “What, you don’t like computers neither?” Ray asked. My disappointment must have been written clearly over my face.

  “Not particularly.” I said as the other goon plugged in the electric cord and powered the computer up.

  “Welcome to the future, Mr. Moss.” Ray half-sat, half-leaned against the side of the desk as Eddie went through the required steps that would bring up an image of Caesar Frezzetti. He was an older man who looked to be in his mid-sixties, once handsome, but ravaged with age. His hair had been dyed a pitch black color. I could see beyond his composed demeanor to the worried father beneath. Sharp light brown eyes stared out across a vast ocean of electrical impulses.

  “Can you see me?” Caesar asked, his movements jerky and unnatural as captured through the machines’ camera.

  “Yes sir, Mr. Frezzetti. You’re coming through loud and clear.” Eddie replied.

  “Is this them?”

  “Yes sir.” Eddie repeated.

  “Mr. Frezzetti-” I began.

  “You shut up!” Caesar barked an interruption. “I have one question for you and just one question. Where is my son? Where is my boy?”

  “Dead.” I answered. The men around me were unsettled, either by my reply or perhaps the manner in which I delivered it. But I have always believed that the truth should be spoken plainly, or it isn’t really the truth is it? Caesar’s face contorted with a surge of grief. Sharp eyes turned pink in an instant, the transition lost to the digital void. He covered his mouth with his hand and looked away for several long moments. “There’s no way to change what happened. Death is loss, a tragedy no matter the context. My hope is that we can avoid-”

  “Was it her?” Caesar interrupted in a voice choked by his emotions. I hated being interrupted, but given the circumstances, I was willing to ignore my pet peeve for now.

  “I am taking responsibility.” I answered. Karen shifted uncomfortably in the seat next to me.

  “Eddie!” Caesar barked. That was apparently the cue for Eddie to teach me a lesson. The pistol butt struck hard against the side of my head, any hope of avoiding a splitting migraine knocked right out of me. I placed a hand on Karen’s thigh. Maybe I was a hopeless optimist but I still thought I could avoid further bloodshed and there was still a debt that I owed Caesar. When you’re in a man’s debt, you have no choice but to allow him some leeway when it came to social graces. I bled obligingly.

  “Are you the bitch that killed my boy?” Caesar’s grief had turned to rage. He was more focused now, sharper. The trademark of a man accustomed to anger.

  “Fuck you.” Karen answered. For a singer, she certainly had a way with words.

  “Eddie!” Caesar growled, but as the goon moved for Karen I stood, interposing myself between the two and drawing the sight lines of every gun in the house. Three times in one night. Still not a record.

  “Touch her and I’ll take your hand off at the wrist. I promise you.” I said. Eddie’s eyes looked into mine, he hesitated for a moment, but he had the advantage of numbers and arms.

  “You do that and I tell my men to fill you with so much God-damn lead people’ll think you were made in China,” the computer screamed.

  “I have been nothing but civil. Don’t force me to do something we’re all going to regret. Your son was taken from you, the blame for which you can place at my feet. Before we talk about what I can do to compensate you for your loss, I ask that you let the girl go and give me your word that whatever happens between us, her involvement ends here.” I remained standing. I knew I was a razor’s edge away from taking the bullet train to Hollywood, but I figured if I didn’t speak now, I’d never get the chance.

  “Compensate? Compensate? He was my son! You think you can just stroll into my city, kill my family and start making demands?! Who do you think you are?” The mobster snarled through gritted teeth.

  “I think the more important question, Caesar, is who do you think I am?”

  “You thi
nk your tough shit with your man-of-mystery routine, but I know who you are Dagon Moss. You think tonight is the first time I’ve heard that name? You’ve been trying to infiltrate my organization for years. Yeah. I know exactly the kind of trash you are. You’re not a self-made man, everything you had you got handed to you. Inherited a small fortune in gold that you turned into a very large sum when gold prices peaked during the recession. You’re a self-styled entrepreneur that wants to what…be a gangster? I know you got seed money in businesses all over the country. See, that’s the problem with you. You’ve spread yourself thin–your reach exceeds your grasp. Whereas this is Providence. My city. A city that I have slaved over, that I have bled over, that I have taken one God-damn inch at a time. You never had to struggle, you never had to learn your place. So you mistakenly think you can stand there and look me in the eyes like an equal.”

  “You’re the one hiding behind a screen, Caesar.” I smiled darkly.

  Eddie didn’t wait for his attack command on that one. Underneath that paunch was dense muscle, which I was made aware of as he slammed his fist into my breadbasket. My legs buckled out from under me and I ended up on my knees, bracing onto my chair to avoid falling completely to the ground.

  Karen stared down at me, she wanted to act. She would have acted if I weren’t holding her back. But she was young, impulsive and loyal. Usually I was grateful for all of those traits, they were a large part of what attracted me in the first place. But this wasn’t exactly her arena. Though even she probably had some idea that this particular high-stakes negotiation was going against me. Another sledgehammer blow rained down, this time against my jaw. I rebounded painfully off of the chair and indulged in a few moments of coughing and spitting blood onto the floor.

  The muzzle of Eddie’s pistol pressed firmly against my temple, I could hear and feel the click of the hammer being drawn back.

  “The only reason I haven’t had my boys give you the fastest brain surgery in history, is because I think a bullet is too good for you. You don’t deserve to die like a man. You want to negotiate? Here’s my final offer Mr. Moss. Where’s Pauly’s body? You tell me and I can promise you both will die before you get it in your heads to beg for it.”