Hogdoggin'

by Anthony Neil Smith

  “But…he was…no, Billy. No.” A little more clarity. Lafitte watched it dawn. “Shit. No, goddamn it. How could he?”

  “Because of this right here. Because he didn’t want to go out there and risk me getting killed. This way, we’ve got a distraction.”

  She shook her head. “No, it was…I had the better of him. I know I did.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Please Billy.” She grabbed his shirt.

  He wrenched her fingers off. “I said shut up.”

  Kristal sniffed up her tears and said, “Let’s get going. We’ll talk later.”

  Lafitte looked over her shoulder at Steel God. Face lifted to the ceiling. Nothing up beyond it for that man. No stars, no heavens. Off-white plaster, that was all.

  “We’ve got to split up,” Lafitte said.

  “The fuck we do.” Not sad any more. Not doing her little soap opera drama. “He was the one we needed to split with. You and me, we’re going together.”

  “Too late for that. We’re surrounded. We go out two different directions, we’ve got a better chance. Same plan, just without…” Couldn’t even look at him any more. She did a number on the big man. Shit. That shit wasn’t right, the final look the cops getting at him getting gutted over pussy rather than filled with a hundred .40 caliber slugs in a firefight. How the fuck could he have? Like euthanasia. What’s it called? Assisted suicide. Better one of his own than to risk the cops tazering his giant ass and bringing him down without a fight. “Fuck. Fuck. Oh, fuck.”

  “You think you can do it alone? You need me. You’re still not strong enough yet.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got an idea.”

  “Tell me.”

  “No way. You don’t tell me yours either. One of us gets picked up, at least the other can’t roll.”

  He’d thought of splitting up as soon as he saw Rome’s woman in the squad car. Kristal could deal on her own. They would meet up later and head back at the club’s sanctuary. But…shit. Goddamn Steel God. Couldn’t think past the shootout. Like a perfect robbery right up until some asshole decides to go upstairs, wake the homeowner, and play thug. You shouldn’t fuck up your meal ticket. But this girl didn’t even stop to think about it. Maybe just wound the man, not castrate and slit his throat like a pig. She was like a bug zapper. Couldn’t help but attract trouble.

  Kristal stood straight. Eyes clear. That was fucking cold, girl not even caring if her act was convincing any more. “If they catch me, you’re going to suffer twice as bad. I’ll make sure the word gets out that you betrayed him. You. Not me. Last time you did good hiding, but if they’ve got me, you’ll be caught in less than a week. I fucking swear.”

  “Sure about that?”

  Little lip curl, little eyelash batting. “Where are you going to go? Back to the MC? Back South to your wifey? Back to Minnesota? Where? Mexico? You can get to Mexico on your own? With every fucking biker and every fucking pig looking for you?”

  “Damn, baby. C’mon.” Shook his head. “I’m not trying to—”

  “We go together. You’re always going to be more valuable than me. So you either keep me free or I’ll tell them whatever they want to know about you, and that’ll also keep me free. You’re a walking golden ticket.”

  Smart bitch. Too fucking smart. Damn, like, played everyone she’d ever known. Girl could fuck and connive her way to a Ph.D. if she wanted, but she’d rather hold expectations low. Lafitte thought it through.

  He held up his palms and said, “Hold up, give me a minute here.”

  “Fuck that, we’ve got to go.” She knelt and rebagged the stuff that had spilled. Adjusted the blazer to cover her ass again.

  Lafitte stepped past her, sat on the bed that wasn’t splashed with blood. Took another look over at Steel God. Each time the corpse looking worse and worse, the little details popping out. His face, what wasn’t covered by the beard, was usually flushed red, on fire. Now it was just pale with broken blood vessels webbing across. Whatever dark and murderous soul had lived inside him, it must’ve added a lot of mass, because he seemed shrunken. An illusion maybe, but who was Steel God, really, if not a product of his own reputation?

  Brought down by this woman crawling on the carpet, fighting to be in control. Fighting to be a badass. Like one of those plate-spinners. Five going at once.

  “I’m going out alone.”

  She looked up. “Didn’t you hear me just now?”

  Lafitte stood. “Yep. Don’t care. We’re splitting up. Meet me at that truck stop, what was it, a Flying J? You know, the one where we stole the guy’s wallet, bought breakfast, and then fucked in the bathroom. After that we’ll head home. You bring any shit to our doorstep, I’ll see it coming from far away. You got it?”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I swear.” Held up his right hand. “Just like you wanted. I’m taking my place at the head of the pack.”

  “By getting rid of me?”

  “Shit, baby, blow a few cops and you’ll be on the street thumbing a ride by sundown.”

  She hung her head. Said Fuck over and over, whispered and sharp. Her hand still inside the shopping bag. Lafitte watched, had a good idea. why.

  She pushed off the floor and came up on her knees with Steel God’s pistol. Tried to get her other hand wrapped around, too, but Lafitte had been waiting, already moving before she even realized. Boot connected with her hand. Gun flew. Lafitte kicked again. Put Kristal on her back. Fell on her like bricks, flipped her over, wrenched her arm up high, knee on her neck, just like the police had taught him.

  She clenched her teeth. Not one sound.

  Leaned close to her ear. “Good girl. Don’t want to attract attention.”

  “You…like, were all weak.”

  “Just trying to catch my breath. How the fuck do you think I’m not already dead ten times over?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Cop blood. That’s what it is. Listen, I’m going to leave you here bound and gagged and shit. Tell whoever finds you whatever you want about me. Doesn’t matter. I’m still gonna be fine.”

  “Please, Billy, please. Okay, I understand. We’ll split up for now.”

  “Too late.”

  “Goddamn it, Billy! I’m trying to help you!”

  Lafitte reached across her to pick up the gun. Held it by the barrel, wanted to knock her out. He slammed the handle across the back of her head.

  She thrashed, “No, fuck, no don’t don’t.”

  He hit her again. And again. Remembered Fawn trying the same trick with him in that basement. And again. How it didn’t work. Never works like on TV. And again. Harder. Blood. Knee crushing her neck. And again. And again.

  All the shit that had happened.

  Fuckers torturing him in the basement.

  And again.

  Rome setting him up. Using Ginny to do it. His fucking kids, for fuck’s sake.

  And again.

  Nate and his girlfriend trying to kill him. Had to watch the kid die. Had Colleen on his trail wanting revenge. Saved her fucking life.

  And again.

  This bitch here trying to tie him up, squeeze his balls.

  And fucking again.

  Kristal stopped talking. She stopped thrashing. She stopped period.

  And again.

  Lafitte fell off her, against the wall. Her eyes, still open and glaring at him. Lips parted. Lafitte’s hands shook. All he had to do was tie her up. Tie the girl up and go. That was all. What the fuck?

  The gun, handle thick with Kristal’s head goo, aimed towards his face. The whole time he’d been slamming her with it, the barrel was pointed right for him.

  Turned his head to God’s corpse. Voice strained, “Why do I keep getting so lucky?”

  FORTY

  The Lieutenant in charge at the hotel told Rome, “We’ve got some SWAT guys running point in the stairwell, but we’re not ready for full coverage yet. There are still some people we want to get out. And we’ve heard it�
��s getting loud up there, like our perps are arguing amongst themselves.”

  Rome looked at Wyatt.

  Wyatt shrugged. “I’m only here as an observer.”

  Back to the Lieutenant. “Charge the door and toss in a flash-bang.”

  The Lieutenant frowned. “From what I’ve heard, Steel God eats flash-bangs for breakfast.”

  “But where’s the proof? Throw in two, then. Just…” Rome waved his hands around, hoping they’d do something sensible. “Whatever. Just…something.”

  “We thought you were going to talk to him first.”

  “He already knows I’m here. I saw him looking out the window. By now, he’s got some plan or something. Talking won’t do shit. So…let’s fucking move.”

  “We’ll do what we can, sir.” The Lieutenant turned to a Sergeant, started mumbling. Not even real words, Rome thought. Trying to get rid of him is all. Got this far, finally able to corner Lafitte, no chance of escape, and all he can do is stand around with his thumb up his ass pretending to be leading these jokers. Maybe someone in some office had told them Rome was the one in charge, but these guys, always some excuse for moving slower than he wanted them to. Traffic. Bad communication. Still some guests in the hotel that needed to be moved. Didn’t want to alert the media yet just in case these idiots saw themselves on TV and decided to up the ante. Like shit. Like it really could be pushed any higher. Come on.

  Rome bundled himself tighter. The snow was still light, but blowing all around in the wind so that it was tough to see beyond about twenty feet. Rome glanced over his shoulder, barely saw Wyatt’s car back there. Snow blanketing the windshield. No need for Desiree to sit there alone if she wasn’t in any real danger.

  Standing, waiting. Rome thought about what was next. If the Bureau forced him to resign, he could use what he knew to get some nice rec letters, move back East, get involved with corporate security. Yeah, real cloak and dagger shit. Those guys actually encourage you to skirt the rules. Shit, planning black ops, packing the latest arms, that was outright cool. Plus, traveling all over the world on private jets and having money practically thrown at you. Desiree deserved some perks like that. She’d been deprived long enough.

  The Lieutenant was saying something and Rome latched on when he heard “Problem.”

  Whipped his head around. “Excuse me?”

  “We think a handful of new people have gotten inside. I don’t know, they slipped past somehow.”

  “And they’re not contained?”

  “Well…” Shrug. “If they missed the initial call for evacuation and just got back from whatever they were doing, you know, we can try calling rooms that didn’t answer the first time. But if everyone else would just stay in their rooms—”

  Rome said, “Fucking hotel walls are paper thin, man! Shots’ll go right through.”

  “My people are extremely well-trained.”

  “So what? So’s Lafitte. That biker ain’t bad either. Charge the room already and get this over with before they take it out into the hall or lobby. Then we’re really fucked.”

  The Lieutenant’s face was red. Lips moving. He wanted to, Rome could tell. Wanted to tell him where to go. Wanted to take him down. Copper’s dream, getting one over on a Fed.

  Then again, that would be Mr. Lieutenant’s ass.

  He swallowed hard, said, “The protection of the public comes first. Nobody charges anything until we figure out if this can be peacefully resolved…sir.”

  Rome shook his head, made some ticked noises. Like, yeah, the party line conquers all. “All right, all right.” Signaled surrender. “Come get me when you grow some balls.”

  He left Wyatt behind to run point while he trotted back to the squad car. Snow coming down even more, getting in his eyes and melting. Blinked clear. Getting his hair all wet, too. Not at all the scene he’d imagined. If these lame-ass cops didn’t screw the pooch on this one, he’d gladly settle for another go in the interrogation room. Break Lafitte down bit by bit. Not even about Q&A any more. Well beyond that. Just a nice steady drip of humiliation.

  Rome shook the thought away on reaching the car. Looked in the passenger window. Dee wasn’t there.

  Checked the back. Maybe she was napping.

  No. The car was clean.

  Maybe someone asked her to move. Maybe she needed a bathroom break.

  He searched around, found the closest uniform about thirty feet away. Called him over.

  “Did you notice if my wife left that vehicle recently?”

  Blank stare.

  “Tall woman, in her forties, wearing…ah…the hell was she wearing…like a, a,—”

  “Jacket?”

  “Yeah, it was purple.”

  Nothing. “Was she….um…”

  “Black. Yes. Goddamn it.”

  The uniform showed his teeth, sheepish, said, “Sorry.”

  Rome pointed. “Use your radio, please. Ask if anyone else has seen her.”

  The uniform spoke into the handset on his shoulder while Rome searched the ground outside the car. Not much snow sticking because of the wind, but enough to get a bit of a path started. He followed five feet before losing the trail. Frantic. Don’t think it, don’t think it.

  Caught the trail again between parked cars, heading towards the hotel.

  Not if she was going to the bathroom, surely. Dee would know better.

  No, no, no.

  He rushed over to Wyatt, grabbed him, said, “Do you carry a spare piece in your car?”

  “What? Slow down.”

  “A gun, man, do you have a spare in the car.”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, shotgun’s in the trunk.”

  “Not there, like, up front. A back-up, just in case.”

  The Lieutenant was paying full attention now. Wyatt steered Rome away, whispered, “Keep it down, for fuck’s sake. Jesus.”

  “Show me.”

  “Don’t you already have—”

  “Please. Show me.”

  Wyatt didn’t move for a moment. Rome took a step in the direction of the car. “Come on.”

  Wyatt took a deep breath. “It’s in the glove box.”

  Not another thought. Rome started hard for the hotel, Wyatt shouting behind him, chasing.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Baby going to get herself killed. No, no, no, no.

  The Lieutenant spoke into his radio: “Hey, hey, we need to subdue Agent Rome. Middle-aged, African-American. You have a go to taze. Repeat, a go to taze.”

  FORTY-ONE

  A killer.

  All the time he’d spent trying to avoid recognizing that’s what he was, even when he’d fucked up and helped his partner in Gulfport kill that banger they couldn’t pin shit on, then in Detroit, those wannabe jihadists—that one was self-defense—but then what he’d had in mind for Agent Rome when he broke into the man’s home…still, he didn’t go through with it. He was pretty sure he was weened off the bloodlust by then.

  Even as an enforcer for Steel God, he tried real hard, and most of the time he was able to maim or intimidate instead of outright kill. Only killed when the other guy was really gunning for him. This whole trip, going out of his goddamned way to make sure innocents didn’t get taken out in the crossfire, and look where he ended up.

  Killed a biker slut in a motel room. He’d already disarmed her, could’ve easily overpowered her, tied her up. But Lafitte had really wanted her to shut up. For the love of God, why wouldn’t she shut up?

  Asked himself again as he leaned close to the bathroom mirror, focused on his bruised face, the dark circles under his eyes. He’d used the entire little bottle of hotel shampoo to get the blood off. Letting the hot water run over his hands now. Not hot enough. Not for what he wanted to feel.

  Lafitte couldn’t imagine leaving Kristal like she was, so he’d dragged her over to Steel God, arranged then so God had his arm wrapped around her, cuddled close. It wouldn’t fool anyone, what with the trail of blood Lafitte had left, but it was fitting. Like a photo of an ancient t
omb in National Geographic. A Father guiding his daughter into the underworld. Or close enough.

  The blood was as bloody as usual, and Lafitte had gone through every washcloth and towel, tossed them on the floor, wondered how the maids would’ve reacted if they had happened on something like this. Like, could’ve at least left one or two clean ones, you pig.

  He was ready. Splashed steaming water on his face to shock himself higher. Adrenalized.

  Pistols, two of them, loaded and ready.

  Kristal’s little knife, cleaned to a shine, ready.

  One more look in the mirror, not even wanting to look back at the bodies. Nodded to his reflection. All right, then.

  Out into the hallway. Quiet. He hoped they were all cleared out already. If not, he hoped to pull this off without any stray bullets. Not even about trying to be a nice guy any more. Just wanting to keep the numbers down—no need to keep adding bodies to the list of charges.

  Best shot at an exit was the elevator, maybe. SWAT would have the stairwells covered. The lobby was out. Like a pit of poisonous snakes, almost for sure. But the second floor? Third? Maybe he could jump from there.

  Any better ideas?

  He punched the down button and waited. Only three floors above them. Four below. He put his ear to the elevator door. Sounded like it was coming up. Maybe they’d filled the car with cops. Lafitte hopped in place, sucked in air. Shit, this was fun, man. If you’re going out hard, this is the way to go. Having a grand old time.

  The elevator dinged.

  Lafitte slung the guns up towards the doors. Waited.

  When they slid open, it was one guy, hands up, in the back corner. Jeans, tight polo shirt, gray hair, buzzed. The grandfather form the pool, the one who looked like a coach.

  “Whoa, partner. Hold on a minute, now. I want to talk to you.”

  Cute. Not an official negotiator, though. Lafitte could already count that off. In fact, he was pretty sure the phone started ringing in his room while he was waiting for the elevator.

  Lafitte said, “Get out of there.”

  The guy stood stock still and the door began to close. Lafitte stepped up, held the door back with his boot. “I said GET. THE FUCK. OUT!”