But Nobody Wants To Die

by David M George

  “You mean get him killed?” Dad said. He slugged down the last couple of swallows in his glass. I think he actually liked the stuff.

  “Yeah, worst case scenario,” I said. Dad got up and turned to wash his glass out in the sink. I had to admit that I felt pretty good considering it was several days since I ate real food, even my arm felt better.

  “Don’t you think our friends in Washington D.C. have attacked the P.L.A. before?” I said.

  “I’m sure they have,” Dad said, drying his hands. “The point isn’t to necessarily launch a successful attack. If it is successful, so much the better, but the point is to change their minds about Alphonso, make them think that he is trying to double cross them.”

  “We better talk to Rick,” I said. “Without him signing on this is just so much wishful thinking.”

  “We better take Jamie with us,” Dad said.

  “You think that would help?” I said.

  “No man likes to look cowardly in front of his girlfriend,” Dad said.

  “Uh, number one, since when is displaying common sense considered cowardly and two, how did Jamie get to be Rick’s girlfriend?” I said.

  “She got a battlefield commission,” Dad said. “Let’s just say the LT got killed and we’re kicking her upstairs.”

  “As long as it’s the lieutenant and not us,” I said.

  “I’m going stir crazy,” Dad said. “I need to go to the gym.

  “Must be the kale,” I said.

  “Breakfast of champions,” Dad said. “Do you want to come along?”

  “I’m still too banged up to go to the gym,” I said. “And besides, I’m really tired. You go. I’ll be fine.”

  “You should take the Glock,” he said. “Put it under your pillow.”

  “Just leave the bat, okay? You still keep one in the trunk, right?” I said.

  “Okay,” Dad said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Dad went out to the car and came back with the bat. There was just enough light in the darkened motel room to read the Louisville Slugger logo engraved on the side.

  “I’ll put it here by the bed,” he said. He tiptoed out, closing the door quietly behind him.

  That was the last thing I remembered until I awoke to the sound of wood breaking. I jumped up and grabbed the wooden bat propped by the bed. Someone was kicking the door. Holding the bat, I ran to the wall next to the door and braced myself against it, my heart pounding wildly as the door started to cave in.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CARLOS FIVE YEARS LATER

  T hey were called ladders. Carlos thought of them as his stepping stones to sanity. A mile jog to warm-up, then a 200 meter run followed by a 400, an 800, and then a mile at the top, all at six minute per mile pace or better. Then back down, the 800, the 400 and the 200, with a mile cool down. Just under five miles all together. Interspersed with rest? Oh, that’s funny, runners who did this workout, either walked or did a slow jog between each one, but SEALS never rest. Each run was interspersed with planks, 2 ½ minutes of planks, and just to make sure there was no resting, the planks included 30 pushups, done slowly, a pushup every five seconds.

  Fitness? Sure, it kept him fit, but mostly it kept the dream away. It was always the same dream. There had been a mistake in his time served. And because of the miscalculation, his discharge papers were rescinded, and moments later he was back in the Korengal Valley. Always the same ambush, the same firefight, the same result.

  Some drank, some chased women, some fought in bars, and most did whatever it took to keep the demons at bay. Carlos tried all three when he first came home, but none of it helped. In fact, it made things worse. He soon discovered that if he worked out like a mad dog, the endorphins pumping through his system afterwards postponed the dream for another night. And any night he didn’t wake up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, the same warning your buddies never heard echoing off the bedroom walls was a good night.

  Eduardo covered things at work while he was gone, and even with the drive to and from the nearby high school track, the workout never took longer than an hour and a half. Sometimes being the boss had its advantages. But the business had never been a big money maker, even when his Uncle was alive.

  When he took over the business he tightened up the accounting, but the cost of supplies kept going up, cutting into the already slim profit margin and he was concerned how he would keep it afloat. But as bad as things were he never had dreams about the business, the things that civilians worried about seemed mundane in comparison to the war in Afghanistan and what happened in the Korengal Valley.

  What was he read? America wasn’t at war, only America’s military was at war, America was at the mall. But he was at war almost every night. He hoped with the passage of time, the dream would eventually release its grip and even if he was never again normal, he could at least get close enough to normal to pretend he was.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  MIKEY ROUND TWO

  T he door finally gave way and flew open in a shower of splinters. A gun came through what was left of the doorway, followed by a hairy forearm. I brought the bat down as hard as I could and felt it connect. There was a screech of pain and the gun skittered across the floor as Mikey came into the room. He had a huge bandage on his head and a splint on his nose, the skin under both eyes still a vibrant black and blue.

  “Hello asshole, forget your costume?” I said, as I quickly moved between him and the gun, my heart clanging against my ribs.

  Mikey grabbed his wrist with his left hand, sizing up the distance between me and the gun as he eyed me warily. “A baseball bat? You’re full of surprises aren’t you bitch?” Mikey said, massaging his tender wrist.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t have a rock handy. How’s your head?” I said, as I raised the bat as menacingly as I could, silently cursing the cast that prevented me from gripping it any tighter.

  “Better than yours is gonna be after I remove it from your scrawny neck,” he said, grabbing the lamp off the dresser and yanking the cord from the outlet. It was when he raised the lamp that I decided that perhaps negotiation was better than hand to hand combat. Dad always said the best fight is the one you can talk your way out of, and even with a broken nose, Mikey still outweighed me by almost a hundred pounds. Besides, the cast was hindering my so-called combat effectiveness and just because I was the one holding the bat, didn’t mean I liked my odds.

  He threw the lamp and I ducked as it shattered against the wall behind me and while he was contemplating his next move I made mine.

  “Look, Mister Power Ranger,” I said, “I promised Melinda I wouldn’t hurt you unless I had to, but if you throw anything else at me I’m going to shove it up your ass and then me and Willy Mays here are going to make sure you spend the rest of your miserable wanna be life in a wheelchair.”

  “You’ve seen her?” he said.

  Mentioning Melinda’s name seemed to have the desired effect. I saw doubt creep into his eyes. I took this opportunity to back pedal slowly until my heel nudged the cold metal of Mikey’s gun on the thin carpet of the motel room floor.

  “Yup, we had a nice long talk and she agreed to get cleaned up and walk the straight and narrow. She must love you terribly to try to kidnap me and give me to Alphonso just to help you out of the jam you’re in,” I said.

  “You didn’t turn her over to the cops?” he said.

  I shook my head. “She agreed to go to rehab in lieu of explaining this whole sordid story to Phoenix PD,” I said.

  “So you must know who I am,” he said.

  “We know everything we need to know except your third grade teacher’s name and certainly enough to put you at the scene of the crime. Look, no offense, but obviously you’re not exactly the Mafia type. It’s not you we want anyway. We want Alphonso. He’s the one that sent you in the first place, right?” I said. I bent down slowly, keeping my eyes on Mikey and picked up the gun. It was a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson. I clicked the safety to ON and tucked
it into my waistband.

  “Yeah,” Mikey said. “He told me it was what my Dad’s wanted, but I’m not sure I believe him.”

  “You’re right not to believe him,” I said. “We believe Alphonso is not only trying to undercut your Dad, but steal as much money as he can before your Dad gets out of prison.”

  “The fact that Alphonso wants to take my dad’s place is not exactly front page news,” Mikey said. “But him thinking he can get away with stealing money from the mob is hard to swallow.”

  “Alphonso is a smart guy,” I said. “But he’s greedy. The problem is he thinks he’s too smart to get caught. We think he has both hands in the cookie jar and the e-mail that Melinda showed us would be reason enough for him to want to keep her quiet permanently,”

  “What e-mail are you talking about?” Mikey said.

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “But the condensed version is that Melinda took an e-mail that was in his pocket. It proves Alphonso is involved in a plot to siphon off millions of dollars from the casino.” This was quite a stretch, if not an out and out lie. Our theory was that it implicated Alphonso. We didn’t really have any proof. But I wasn’t worried about semantics. I was more concerned about staying alive.

  “Look,” I said, “if you kill me it’s going to look like your dad was the one behind it. Which is why Alphonso sent you to Phoenix in the first place and then sent you back to finish the job in the second.” While Mikey was contemplating this last pitch, I threw the slider. “And no matter what you do,” I said, “Alphonso still needs to silence Melinda, she knows too much.”

  Mikey’s eyebrows became giant question marks. “Why are you telling me all this?” He said. “What do you want from me?”

  “Your help would be nice,” I said. “Maybe get us into Alphonso’s office so we can take a look around.”

  “You must think I have a death wish,” Mikey said, shaking his head. “What do I get for helping you?”

  “To be honest, not much,” I said. “I tell the judge you were truly remorseful. That you helped us at the risk of losing your own life to make amends and let’s see, key point; you keep Melissa from waking up dead.”

  “Melissa and I could do that on our own,” Mikey said. “We don’t need you.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “But no matter where you go, Belize, Nicaragua, even Pago-Pago, nothing changes. Alphonso is still calling the shots and eventually he will find you. We want to cut him off at the knees; put him away for good. If you help us you don’t have to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder.”

  Mikey nodded. “I need to talk to Melinda,” he said. “See if any of this is true.”

  “Okay,” I said, “that’s fair enough.” I grabbed my cell phone off the dresser and called Jamie’s number and was relieved when I hear her familiar voice on the other end.

  “Serenity House?” I said. “There is a Michael Battaglia here who wishes to speak to Melinda Dormer. Could you page her for me?”

  Jamie was a little slow to catch on. Not surprisingly as I threw a lot of information at her all at once. There was a long pause as she figured it out. “Are you okay?” she said finally.

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s Dormer with a D.”

  “Well, I don’t have to page her, she’s standing right next to me,” Jamie said.

  “Oh good,” I said. “Please put her on.” I tossed the phone to Mikey.

  Between all the heartfelt dialogue, which seemed to mostly consist of,’ I love you,’ and, ‘I’m sorry,’ Melinda must have convinced Mikey there was an incriminating e-mail she took from Alphonso and he was more than a little anxious to have it back and kill her in the bargain. She must have also told him we had been straight up with her and could be trusted.

  I could only guess this is what happened because when Mikey tossed the phone back to me he nodded and said, “Okay, I’m in.”

  “Anything else?” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry I tried to kill you.”

  “Is that it?” I said.

  “Well, that and you don’t have scrawny neck.”

  “Keep coming,” I said, waggling the bat.

  “Oh right,” he said. “You’re not a bitch.”

  “Apology accepted,” I said. “I’m sorry I called you an asshole. But don’t think this means we’re going to the prom.” I put the bat down.

  He smiled. “No, no prom,” he said.

  Just then Dad walked through what was left of the doorway with his Glock pointed at the back of Mikey’s head. “Put your hands up where I can see ‘em,” Dad said.

  “Dad, it’s okay,” I yelled. “He’s unarmed. Everything’s cool. Mikey’s decided to join us.” Mikey froze and then very slowly raised his hands in the air.

  “I told you, you should take the Glock,” Dad said. He gave Mikey a look of such intense hatred that I was worried that Dad was going to shoot him anyway.

  “I know Dad,” I said, trying to calm him down, “and you were right. But if I had taken it, Mikey would be dead and we’d be filling out police reports for hours. This is better.”

  “Maybe,” Dad said, finally lowering the Glock. “Maybe not.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHECKING OUT

  “W ell, it was time to check out anyway,” Dad said, surveying what was left of the door frame. Looking at Mikey he said, “Why don’t you go pay for the damages while I have a little talk with my daughter.”

  Mikey nodded in agreement and walked past my dad out into the parking lot towards the office. Dad waited until he was out of earshot and said, “Are you crazy? How in the world can we trust a guy who tried to kill you?”

  “Look I know it’s a gamble,” I said, “but we have Melinda as leverage. They’re in love, or at least they think they are, and besides, he has information we need. We don’t have to let him in on all the details, just give him a general outline.”

  “I don’t want him sitting behind me all the way to Vegas,” Dad said, “details or no details, unless I grow eyes in the back of my head.”

  “But we need to keep tabs on him somehow,” I said. “Look, why don’t we let him sit up front in the passenger seat. That way we can include him in our little tea party without you feeling like Wild Bill Hickok in the Bella Donna saloon.”

  I knew Dad didn’t want anybody he didn’t trust sitting that close to him. But just meeting Mikey in Vegas gave him too much time to change his mind, maybe deciding that delivering us lock, stock and barrel to Big Ears might be the lesser of two evils.

  “Alright,” Dad said finally. “But first we need to go talk to the computer genius. Without him the trip to Vegas is just an excursion to see the Elvis impersonators. Let’s tell Mikey we’ll meet him afterwards.”

  “How about Denny’s at 1300?” I said.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Dad said.

  When Mikey came back we asked if he would meet us at the Denny’s on Scottsdale Road and Osborn at 1:00PM. He said he would. We packed our meager possessions, settled accounts with management and fired up the Dodge.

  “I think Howard Johnson’s just put me on their persona non grata list, they were a little irritated about having to replace the door,” Dad said.

  “Welcome to Motel 6,” I said. “We’ll leave the light on for you.”

  Dad gave me a look that could send shivers down the spine of even the most hardened 9th Street vato loco, as he exited the parking lot and we rolled out onto the main drag.

  “It must be time to put our very own digital forensics expert on the case,” I said as I called Jamie.

  “Say girl,” I said when she picked up, “we want to recruit Rick to fight Chinese aggression, the Las Vegas Mob and save our sacred American way of life, and we need your help. Got anything to wear with a slit in it?”

  “I might,” she said. “What kind of slit are we talking about?”

  “Considering the fact you haven’t attracted his attention so far, maybe something that leaves almost no
thing to the imagination,” I said. “How about a slit up to the sticky note on your undies that says: “THIS WAY.”

  “Oh that’s funny, did you really want my help or did you call just to piss me off?” Jamie said.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, “I was just kidding. Some people are so sensitive. Just try and wear something sexy alright?”

  “Girl,” Jamie said, her voice dripping venom, “Dressed in a coffin I could steal your boyfriend in ten seconds. Oh wait, snap, I forgot, you don’t have one.” The line went dead.

  Dad noticed I was staring blankly at an unresponsive phone. “I think it’s fair to say that your motivational skills suck huevos. I think you need to attend the Marine Corps Leadership class,” he said.

  “Jamie responds best when challenged,” I said. I was now hoping that she would still answer the door when we got there.

  “We’ll see,” Dad said, scowling.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CLOSING THE SALE

  J amie did open the door, but her expression indicated she wasn’t thrilled to see me.

  “Be right out,” she said.

  It suddenly dawned on me that the reason she was so upset was that she was falling for Rick and was hurt that he was either not responding the way she hoped or was too oblivious to catch on. My teasing her about it was much heavier than the proverbial straw, it was an anvil.

  Either way, I knew I needed to apologize, “Hey, look, I’m really sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Sometimes I try to be funny when I shouldn’t. One of my many faults.”

  “Well, we probably don’t have all day to compile the complete list, but saying the first thing that pops into your head is near the top,” she said.