Die Laughing: 5 Comic Crime Novels

by Steve Brewer

  Nick leaned on her shoulder as they went into the house. Lola flipped the light switch and yelped.

  Two men stood just inside the door. They wore dark clothes and black ski masks. They had pistols.

  “Evening, Nick,” the taller one said. “We didn’t expect you to have company.”

  Lola tensed all over, like she might try to run. Right, Nick thought. In those shoes. He felt suddenly clear-headed, as if the adrenaline burst had burned up the alcohol in his system. But when he stepped away from Lola and put his weight onto his own two feet, dizziness washed over him.

  “Shut the door, Nick.” The tall one waved them toward the sofa with his gun. “Then come in and sit down.”

  Nick recognized that voice. He reached back and closed the door.

  Lola looked like she might faint. Nick put his arm around her and pulled her close. He thrust out his chin and said to the masked men, “I’ll do whatever you say. Just don’t hurt Lola.”

  Chapter 45

  Tony Zinn didn’t say another word while Ross pried the blonde loose from Nick’s arm and shoved her into the windowless guest bath they’d scouted out earlier. Ross shut her inside and locked the door with an ornamental key conveniently left in the lock. She yelled and banged on the door a few times, but her protest seemed oddly half-hearted. Maybe, Tony mused, she’d been locked in that bathroom before.

  Nick staggered across the living room and fell onto a couch as if from a great height. His collar was loose, and gray chest hair sprouted from the gap in his shirt. His crumpled face made Tony think of a paper sack wrapped around a bottle of booze.

  Tony stayed on his feet, keeping his distance, gun at the ready. Ross leaned against a column near the entryway, watching the front windows, and let Tony do the talking.

  “Nobody else coming, right?”

  “Lola drove me home ‘cause I was too drunk.”

  “That was nice, the dramatic way you threw out your chest when you said her name. ‘Just. Don’t. Hurt. Lola.’“

  Nick grinned. “I knew it was you. Why not score some points? Women love that hero shit.”

  “That’s shameful.”

  “I know.”

  “We need to talk,” Tony said.

  “That’s all you want? Talk? Then why the guns? The masks?”

  “We were making it look good in case you had security video,” Tony said. “We’re burglars.”

  “Cute.” Nick waved feebly around the room. “Take whatever you want. Make it realistic.”

  Tony ignored that.

  “Leo Berg is dead. Tortured. The guys who did it came after me next. They’re from Fowler.”

  “So you came here?” Nick said. “Somebody is trying to kill you, so you go to ground in Fowler? What kinda amateurs are you guys?”

  “Hey.” Ross took a step toward them. “I’ll show you amateurs—”

  “Take it easy,” Tony said. “We’re here for information, not macho bullshit. Why does Big Jim Kelton have people chasing after us?”

  The Greek ran his hands through his sweaty hair, then said, “Big Jim thinks I set up the robbery to scam the insurance company.”

  “So?” Ross said. “Everybody knows that. How is it his business?”

  “He’s a fuckin’ nut job who keeps a dead horse in his casino. Who knows what he’s thinking? He’s pissed about insurance rates or something. Cold sober, I couldn’t explain it to you. I sure as hell can’t right now.”

  He looked up at them.

  “Somebody killed my accountant. Left her body out in the desert. I’m pretty sure Big Jim’s people did it, and they made her talk first.”

  “Did she know about Leo?”

  “I never mentioned him, but Cindy was all up in my financials and stuff, and she was damned curious. Maybe she came across something—”

  “She the one who dummied up your numbers for the insurance company?”

  Nick’s bleary eyes widened. “How did you know about—”

  “You mentioned something at Leo’s, but never mind. Let’s leave it at she knew things. Things somebody made her tell before they killed her. That resulted in Big Jim and his boys making the connection between you and Leo.”

  Nick patted his pockets in search of cigarettes.

  “Who did he send? Big Samoan guy?”

  “Yeah. And a cowboy named Rex.”

  Nick shook the last cigarette out of a red pack, put it in his mouth and torched it. He squinted at Tony through the smoke.

  “You kill ‘em?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad.”

  “I just want them to go away,” Tony said.

  “Good luck with that. That fuckin’ Shamu. He’s not the type who goes away.”

  “What about his boss? Can he be persuaded?”

  “I doubt it,” Nick said. “Kelton thinks he owns this town. Thinks he can tell the rest of us what to do and we’ll line up behind him like baby ducks.”

  “Do you?” Ross asked.

  “Some do. The majority. Always easier to get along, you know?”

  “That’s how megalomaniacs are made.”

  Nick blew smoke at the ceiling. “The hell does that mean?”

  “Skip it. How do we get Big Jim out of our hair?”

  “The problem’s bigger than that now,” Nick said. “I’ve got an insurance investigator chewing on my ass about Cindy. The cops are all hot for me, and Big Jim’s egging them on.”

  “Hey, Nick. Those problems are yours. All this stuff, all this aftermath, is for you to solve. The only part that concerns us is getting Big Jim and his boys out of the picture so we can go back to our normal lives.”

  Nick gave them the hard eye. “So now you’re ready to kill ‘em?”

  “If it comes to that,” Ross said.

  “I’d rather not,” Tony said. “Nobody wants more attention focused on all this. We need to find some quieter way.”

  Silence while they thought it over, finally interrupted by a flush from the bathroom.

  “Sounds like Lola’s all done in there,” Tony said. “We should go. She’ll want to call the cops.”

  “She’s all right.”

  “Be the hero. Tell her you whipped the burglars and chased them away.”

  “Hey, only so much would she believe. I’m still drunk.”

  Tony and Ross backed away.

  “Don’t try to follow us,” Tony said. “If Big Jim finds us, I want to be sure the information didn’t come from you.”

  “I wouldn’t help the son of a bitch, no matter how he asked.”

  “Good. Keep thinking about a way to make him leave us all alone. I’ll be in touch.”

  Ross went outside, but Tony paused in the entryway.

  “Your cut from the heist,” he told Nick, “is in your freezer, behind the vodka.”

  Nick gave him a woozy thumbs-up.

  By the time Tony reached the Toyota at the curb, Ross had the engine running. As the car rolled toward the gated entrance of Villa Mirage, they peeled off their masks and smoothed down their hair. The guard hadn’t given them any trouble on the way in, not after they identified themselves as personal friends of Big Jim Kelton’s.

  They waved at the guard as they rolled past, but he didn’t even look up from the magazine he was reading.

  Chapter 46

  Lola Cantrell was checking her lipstick in the mirror when Nick opened the bathroom door.

  “Finally!” she said. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are those men gone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did they want?”

  “Just to talk. A business thing.”

  “In masks? With guns?”

  “It’s a tough business.”

  “They roughed me up!”

  “They barely touched you.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  “It was a misunderstanding. I took care of it.”

  She cocked her head to the side, studying him
. Still drunk, but he didn’t need anybody to prop him up anymore.

  “You’re not hurt?”

  “No,” he said. “But I sure could use a long piss.”

  “Oh. I’ll give you some privacy.”

  She pulled the door closed behind her and tiptoed into the living room, looking around nervously, as if masked gunmen might jump out from behind the furniture.

  Jesus, the life she led. Never a dull moment.

  A minute later, Nick stumbled out of the bathroom, still zipping up his pants. He stripped off his suit jacket and tossed it onto a chair. He pulled his wrinkled shirttails loose as he weaved across the room.

  “You sure you’re okay?” she asked.

  “Too much booze, but I’ll be all right. I need sleep.”

  “You could sleep now, after those men pointed guns at you?”

  “They didn’t shoot the guns. They just pointed them. Made bang-bang noises with their mouths. I calmed them down, and they left. It’s no big deal.”

  “My heart was pounding! I’ll be up all night.”

  She perched on the sofa and knitted her shaking hands together. Her head turned just so. “Didn’t you think you might be killed?”

  He bent at the waist, leaning unsteadily until they were eye-to-eye. Lola tried not to wince at the fumes coming off him.

  “I never worried about it. I was sitting right there where you are now. And I knew that—”

  He teetered, and reached out a hand to catch himself on the sofa. When he stood up, he had a compact pistol in his hand.

  “—I keep this gun down between the cushions. It gets a little dusty in there, but I like it handy.”

  Nick blew on the gun and brushed at it with his hand.

  “So, if there had been shooting,” he said, “it probably would’ve been me pulling the trigger. And we would’ve had a big mess to clean up.”

  He stuck the gun in his pants pocket and headed off toward the kitchen. “I’ve got some more cigarettes somewhere.”

  Lola realized she was gaping and shut her mouth. She needed to pull her shit together. Ask some more questions. By the time Nick came back into the living room, puffing smoke like a freight train, she was ready.

  “Tell me, Nicky. Are you in danger?”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “Be serious. Did those men want to hurt you? Do you owe them money?”

  “Nothing like that. They go around playing dress-up, with their ski masks, trying to be gangsters. They’re amateurs.”

  “Amateurs with guns.”

  “The worst kind.”

  Nick flopped into a chair across from her. He tucked his chin and looked at her from under his thick eyebrows.

  “They asked me if I knew a man named Leo Berg. Does that name ring a bell?”

  A hot flush crept up Lola’s neck. “No. Who is he?”

  “Pawnbroker over in San Francisco. Old guy. I’ve done some business with him.”

  “With a pawnbroker?”

  “Not pawning stuff. Jesus. Other business.”

  “Okay,” she said, “so you know this guy and I don’t. So what?”

  “So nothing. He’s dead, that’s all. Somebody killed him. These guys tonight thought I’d want to know.”

  Lola paled. “They needed masks for that? They couldn’t call you on the phone?”

  “They’re scared. They don’t know what to do.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I told them I didn’t know anybody by that name.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I’m not talkin’ to those guys. They might be cops, for all I know. They come in here in their masks, asking questions, scaring you. People got no manners anymore.”

  She tilted her head, smiling at him.

  “You were worried about me,” she said. “You made sure I didn’t get hurt. You really care, don’t you?”

  “Sure, baby. You’re the only one I trust.”

  Chapter 47

  Tony and Ross carried their giant sodas and drive-thru burgers into the cheap motel room, and Ross shut the door with his foot.

  “Whew, the onions,” he said. “This place will smell great all night.”

  “Better than the mildew that came with the room.”

  “True.”

  The Desert Springs Motel was on the wrong side of the Fowler strip. The narrow two-story building sat perpendicular to the highway, squeezed between a used car lot and a dusty diner that looked as if it had been closed for years.

  Inside, the motel room featured frayed furniture, see-through towels and beds so dished in the middle they resembled tacos.

  The table where they ate was so wobbly, it was like eating at sea. Midway through their burgers, Ross said, “So this is it? We’re across the street from six casinos, and we get to sit around this cheap-ass room all night, choking on onion fumes and watching reruns?”

  “We don’t want Kelton to find out we’re in town.”

  “The glamorous life of crime. The excitement never ends.”

  “Beats collecting stamps.”

  Ross took a big bite of his burger. Tony asked him, “So what did you think of Nick?”

  “Boozer,” he said around a mouthful.

  “The guy had a bad day. He drank too much. I wouldn’t hold that against him.”

  Ross shrugged and chewed.

  “Now if I were in his position,” Tony said, “I’d want to be stone-cold sober. He’s got Big Jim and the cops and the insurance company watching his every move. He can’t afford a mistake.”

  “We can’t afford any, either,” Ross said. “And we might’ve already made one. Nick’s girlfriend might go to the cops.”

  “He’ll talk her out of it. It’ll be okay.”

  “Hope you’re right.” Ross examined his burger for the next point of attack. “She was quite a babe, that Lola.”

  “Don’t believe your eyes,” Tony said. “It’s all silicone and mirrors.”

  “You think?”

  “She’s a collection of spare parts.”

  “Who cares? She’d be okay with the lights out.”

  “Anybody’s okay with the lights out. Your mother is okay with the lights out.”

  Ross tossed a French fry at Tony’s head.

  “I’m just saying,” Ross said, “you look at her, you see why Nick looks so tired.”

  “Just thinking about it makes me tired. Bouncing around on those implants? Be like sleeping in a waterbed.”

  “Sounds good to me. Been a while since I’ve been bounced.”

  “Great. I’m sharing a room with a horny redhead. This isn’t how I pictured it.”

  They chewed and crumpled and mopped up spluts of ketchup.

  Ross said, “You gonna call Eve?”

  “In a minute.”

  “What are you gonna tell her?”

  “That you and I need to stay here a couple of days. Size things up.”

  “She won’t buy that.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Ross gave him a level look. “You know it don’t bother me. Whatever you want to do, I’m with you. Always. But Eve doesn’t like when there’s shooting.”

  “I don’t like it either. There’s no percentage in it. But you heard what Nick said about Shamu. He’s one of those guys who doesn’t know when to stop.”

  Chapter 48

  The next morning, Shamu awoke with the Mother of All Headaches, the fucking Tsunami of Pain. A mooshy purple knot the size of a plum sat between his eyebrows. A nice firm lump stood out above his ear, where that son of a bitch Zinn hit him the first time with the wine bottle.

  Holy fuck, he hadn’t seen that coming. He’d been looking at the woman with the gun. Then boom-boom. Lights out.

  That’s the problem with guns. A gun changes everything, instantly the most dangerous thing in the room. You start paying attention to nothing but the gun. You make mistakes. Shamu liked it better man-to-man, bare hands and feet and teeth. Maybe a side of something p
rimitive, like a hammer or a blade. He’d let himself get distracted by the woman’s gun, so he deserved the throbbing in his skull. A reminder to expect anything.

  Still, a fucking wine bottle. That didn’t seem fair.

  Big Jim Kelton showed no sympathy for the fact that he’d been clobbered and trussed up all night, breathing paint fumes. All Big Jim wanted was someone to blame for tipping their hand to the heist crew.

  “Look at you,” Big Jim hollered. “Look at what those thieves did to you. Who knows what they’re up to now?”

  Shamu squinted at him, his head pounding.

  “Maybe they’re on the way here,” Big Jim said. “Maybe they’re waiting for us outside right now. Maybe there’s a bomb in my fucking car. We don’t know what they’re doing because you let ‘em get away.”

  The intercom on his desk squawked. He punched the button and said, “What is it, Gloria?”

  “You’ve got a visitor. Miss Cantrell?”

  Just like that, the anger went out of Big Jim. He straightened and smiled, and his eyes twinkled behind his aviator glasses. Shamu sighed. No talking to his boss now.

  “Send her in, Gloria.”

  Big Jim came out from behind his desk, passing within swatting distance of Shamu. It was all the bodyguard could do to keep still.

  As the door swung open, Big Jim doffed his cowboy hat in welcome. In strolled the blonde in a crimson dress that fell around her curvy body in tiers, looked like red lips swallowing her up. Matching red pumps and lipstick and nails. Damn. The woman had gone to some trouble.

  “Lola,” Big Jim said. “Aren’t you a prize for the eyes?”

  She veered to the far side of the office, keeping her distance from Shamu. Good instincts. He showed her his teeth.

  “Thanks for seeing me, Jim. I didn’t know where else to turn.”

  “Come tell me all about it, sweetheart,” he said, steering her into a chair near his desk. “Whatever’s wrong, I’m sure it can be fixed.”

  In the tight dress, she made a matinee of daintily sitting and crossing her legs. Shamu thought he might have to pick Big Jim’s tongue up off the floor, stuff it back in his fucking head.