But Nobody Wants To Die

by David M George

  “Of course I do,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, but I want you to let me help. I want to find your Dad and your friend too. Once we do that, we can worry about everything else.”

  “But what about the bakery? I know you need to be there,” I said.

  “My cousin Eduardo, the guy you saw last night knows how to run the bakery. He’s wanted me to give his sister a job, I’ll call him and give him the green light to hire her.”

  “Are you sure?” I said.

  “I’m sure about everything,” he said.

  After breakfast, I asked Carlos if he would drive to the Howard Johnson’s. I had him park two blocks away and asked him to walk past Room 128 and come back and tell me what he saw.

  “Be careful, and don’t call any unnecessary attention to yourself, okay?” I said.

  “Did you forget the part where I told you I spent four years as a Navy SEAL?” he said.

  “Yeah, but it could have been four years on Coronado Island guarding the perimeter against all seagulls foreign and domestic,” I said.

  He laughed. “I keep forgetting you’re a Marine Corps brat. Trust me,” he said, “it wasn’t all spent on Coronado Island. But there were times in the Kunar Province in Afghanistan when I wished I was back on Coronado Island. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

  I described Rick and Mikey once again, not really expecting them to be there, but I wanted to let him know who to look for, just in case.

  “One more thing okay? Please put my number in your cell phone so you can contact me if necessary. I’ll wait at this bookstore across the street.”

  “Roger that skipper,” he said.

  “I have to admit I like the unquestioning obedience part. It’s the skipper part I have trouble with. Isn’t that what people call their dog? Besides, it sounds far too navy for my taste,” I said.

  “And just what would you prefer?” he said, shaking his head.

  “How about LT, as in lieutenant?”

  “I figured that’s what it stood for.”

  “Oh, so you’re not a complete idiot?” I said.

  “No, not complete,” he said.

  “So go already,” I said.

  “Aye, aye sir, uhh, LT, sir.”

  He gave me a very sharp salute, did a crisp about face and walked away. I watched him go, thinking he is so beautiful, it is going to be so hard not to fall in love with him, dad or no dad. And thinking about my Dad, the funny part was that when I was talking about him at Denny’s, I realized that even after all those years of rebelling, fighting him every step of the way, promising myself I would never be anything like him, we turned out almost exactly the same. It was so ironic that after all those years apart we reunited at long last only to be separated again. I’m coming Dad, I thought, and I promise I will find you.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  PRETTY IN NOT PINK

  T he bookstore was probably not a good idea, the waiting was making me nervous and it was difficult to concentrate on the book titles as they all seemed to blur together. I kept checking my watch but the minutes dragged on and on. But, finally the phone rang and it was Carlos.

  “No sign of anyone but I do have a present for you,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “Uh, it’s kind of a surprise.”

  “What’s your twenty?” I said. The military jargon for location coming easily, reminding me of what Dad would have said.

  “I’m about half a click away,” he said, responding in kind, “be there in five minutes.”

  I went outside the bookstore and walked towards the car and just a few minutes later I saw Carlos. He had someone with him. A very small someone. When they got closer I saw it was Melinda D.

  Her fingernails were still pink but even the shade had changed. It was lighter, more feminine, less Day-Glo. No make-up, no mascara, no pink lipstick and no stilettos; she wore blue jeans, an oversize gray t-shirt, a pair of Nike’s and a blue LA Dodgers baseball cap that hid most of her no longer blonde hair. The best part was that her eyes were clear and bright.

  “Well I’ll be damned, what are you doing here?” I said.

  “I got a call from Mikey,” she said, “He thought they figured out he was the one in the Buzz Light Year costume and had a feeling they were coming for him. I asked him where he was and he told me he was staying at the Howard Johnson’s on Tropicana.”

  “I know I shouldn’t have come, but I was so worried about him. Please don’t be mad at me,” she said.

  “It’s okay honey, as long as you’re still clean, I’m not mad at you,” I said.

  “I’m clean, honest, and I want to help. Do you know anything?” she said.

  “Not much, I know they have Jamie. We think they have Dad, as we found his wallet in the parking lot outside the casino. I see you met Carlos,” I said

  She smiled, “Yeah, I saw him out by the pool reading the newspaper but didn’t recognize him, so I just walked by and he said hello. I guess you told him about me, cause when we were talking and I told him I was visiting from Phoenix, he goes, ‘Are you Melinda?’ And I go, how did you know? And he says, ‘I heard you were really short.’ He asked me to sit next to him while he kept an eye on Room #128, but we didn’t see anything.”

  Carlos picked up the story, “We waited until we were sure the coast was clear and went to the room. The door was ajar and we went inside but it was empty. No sign of a struggle or anything out of the ordinary,” he said.

  “So,” I said, “that means that they’ve taken Rick and Mikey as well.”

  When I saw the look of anguish on Melinda’s face I started thinking out loud for her benefit. “No matter what he did, Mikey is still Tony’s son, so I don’t think they would hurt him. You, on the other hand,” I said, nodding at Melinda, “you are in danger, especially here in Vegas where someone is bound to recognize you sooner or later. Big Ears wants his e-mail back and he wants you dead, preferably both.”

  “I’m willing to take that chance.” Melinda said, “Besides, everything about me is different, not only the way I look, but where I go, and what I do. My whole life has changed thanks to you but without Mikey who knows what might happen? I don’t want to go back to who I was before, I like the new me.”

  After that touching declaration there wasn’t much I could say. “I like the new you too Melinda, if only there was some way to make you taller.”

  “So is that what you learned in your four years in the Navy,” I said, turning toward Carlos, “How to read a newspaper and lounge around the pool?”

  “No, no,” he said. “I was merely pretending to read the newspaper and pretending to lounge around the pool.”

  “So what were you really doing?” I said.

  “I was maintaining constant surveillance on Room #128 and using the lounge chair in the pool area and the newspaper as cover and concealment. Oh, and by the way, checking out Melinda,” he said, giving her a hug.

  “He says the sweetest things, I think you should keep him,” she said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  LA CASA DE CARLOS

  W e went back to the empty room at Howard Johnson’s and gathered everyone’s belongings. When I used some of Dad’s $880 to settle accounts with the motel office, I asked if they had seen anything out of the ordinary late last night and they said no, nothing at all, which wasn’t much of a surprise.

  Carlos said we could set up camp at his apartment, which was a generous offer on his part, and since we were a little short on alternative housing, Melinda and I were more than happy to accept. It turned out that his place was very upscale, in a predominately upper middle class white neighborhood.

  “Are you sure you’re Mexican?” I said, looking around at the furnishings. It was straight out of an Ethan Allen catalogue, all polished wood, leather, and ginger jar lamps.

  “You’re disappointed, that there are no velvet paintings of Elvis on the walls? No carved wooden statues of Mother Mary gracing the entryway?”


  “I don’t think disappointed is the right word. Surprised might be a better word. After all I live in the barrio in central Phoenix and none of the houses I’ve been in look anything like this.”

  “Would you be happier if I told you I keep them in the guest bedroom for the tourists?” he said.

  “I’m sorry, I hate it when people stereotype me as gay just because I’m a boxer and the last thing I want to do is do it to someone else. I didn’t mean anything by it, honest” I said.

  “You don’t have to apologize; after all when we came to Las Vegas, I lived in the barrio too, in a house almost exactly like the one you’re describing. Maybe four years in the Navy broadened my horizons, made me appreciate the finer things in life. Anyway, I like to surround myself with nice things, I’d rather have one really nice picture, professionally framed, than ten run of the mill prints in cheap frames.”

  Then he turned to look at me, “Just like I’d rather have one girl with a good heart than a different one every week with no idea what a heart is for. You’re a beautiful girl,” he said, “and from what I can tell so far, I think you have a good heart.”

  Some women hear this kind of stuff every day and never give it a second thought. Me, I keep track of these declarations since they didn’t seem to come around all that often. There was Tommy Wilson telling me I had a beautiful smile in the 10th grade, just after I got my braces off, my trainer telling me I had a beautiful left hook, and some guy at the gym coming on to me by saying I had a beautiful butt.

  But this was the complete package, not just separate parts, but plain beautiful, period, end of story.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m flattered, especially since I’ve got this huge cut over my right eye that’s still healing and don’t exactly feel all that attractive. Just as long as that doesn’t mean you want to hang me on the wall next to that $500 oversized framed print.”

  “No, of course not. I didn’t mean it that way,” he said.

  I saw the hurt in his eyes and wondered why I was being such a horse’s ass. Why was I being so rude to him, trying to find fault, pushing him away? Maybe I was afraid. He was so nice, so damn good looking and just plain wonderful that perhaps I was afraid I was falling for him. Why was love so hormonal? Shouldn’t it come with an instruction manual?

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to continually offend you.” When all else fails I thought, try honesty. “Maybe I’m just scared is all. I have to stay focused on the mission, finding my Dad, and falling for you is not in my plans and I’m afraid of what that might mean. Please forgive me okay?” I said, searching his eyes.

  “Love is scary, but it’s scary for both of us, not just you. It doesn’t come with any guarantees. But who knows, it just might be wonderful,” he said, returning my gaze.

  I reached for his hand. With his other hand he caressed my face and I couldn’t keep myself from looking at him like he was the very last egg roll at The Golden Pagoda’s All You Can Eat Chinese Buffet. He returned my stare watt for watt as the distance between us suddenly melted away, his arms around me, our bodies touching at last. Just before the curtains went up in flames Melinda came back into the living room after taking a self-guided tour of the place.

  “Your apartment is just beautiful,” she said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that we were about to make love on the living room floor.

  “Uh, thanks,” Carlos said. We quickly broke apart, retracing our steps and I watched his mouth as he spoke; I couldn’t remember ever wanting to kiss someone’s lips as badly as I wanted to kiss his.

  Smiling at me, he said, “Why don’t you two share the master bedroom, and I’ll move my stuff into the guest bedroom.”

  What I wanted, what we both wanted I thought, was for me to share the master bedroom with him. Which, given the circumstances, was probably not such a great idea. Maybe we were lucky to have run into Melinda D.

  “The bed in the guest bedroom looks pretty good size,” Melinda said.

  I looked at Carlos for confirmation. “It’s a queen size mattress,” he said.

  “And since Melinda is so small, I’m sure there is plenty of room for both of us, right Melinda?” I said

  “Yeah, we’ll be just fine,” Melinda said.

  Carlos threw up his hands in mock surrender, “Okay,” he said, “it’s up to you.”

  “Thank you though for being such a polite host,” I said

  Carlos beamed. “Sure,” he said.

  See, I thought to myself, that wasn’t so hard was it? You can quit being a total bitch of you want to.

  Logistics completed we all gravitated toward the kitchen to talk while Carlos started pulling things out of the refrigerator to make some lunch.

  “I don’t think they would keep them at the casino,” Melinda said. “If they have all four of them, it’s too hard to watch them without somebody noticing. It’s too hard to keep their presence a secret.”

  “So you think they would keep them someplace else?” I said

  “Yeah, I think so. And I think I know where they might be,” Melinda said.

  “I’m so glad you’re here” I said.

  Melinda smiled, “Once I heard Big Ears talk to somebody on the phone about something he called, ‘the North Pole,’ and I got the impression it was a warehouse somewhere in North Las Vegas near the air base.”

  Carlos said, “I’ve got a computer set up in the guest bedroom, let’s see what we can find.”

  Lunch was put on hold as we gathered in the bedroom. It didn’t take long. Thanks to something called LoopNet, we quickly found a 10,000 square foot warehouse close to Nellis Air Force Base bizarrely named Arctic Springs.

  “That’s got to be it,” Melinda said, looking at the picture. “I remember Big Ears saying how in the hell can you have palm trees at the north pole?”

  “Arctic Springs? Only in Las Vegas,” Carlos said.

  “We need to take a look,” I said.

  “And we will, right after lunch,” Carlos said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  WE’LL PICK YOU UP

  “L et’s stake out the building, see what we can find out,” Carlos said.

  “Good idea, but we’ll need to rent a car, something nondescript. We could never watch them using your ‘54 Chevy,” I said.

  “That’s true, let’s call Enterprise, see what they got,” he said.

  Carlos looked up the nearest location and I dialed the number as he read it to me off their website.

  “They have a 2012, four door Chevy Impala, grey, automatic,” I said.

  “Must be a million of them on the road right? Sounds good, we’ll blend right in,” Carlos said.

  “You can come pick us up, just like on TV? My credit card number? Sure thing, hold on.” I read the number and handed the phone to Carlos so he could give them his address and directions.

  “They said they would be here in about an hour,” he said.

  “What should we bring?” Melinda said.

  “Some coffee to stay awake. Maybe some sandwiches,” I said.

  “We should make a list,” Carlos said, pulling out some paper and a pen. “First, a pair of binoculars to watch from far enough away to not arouse suspicion.”

  “Hats, sunglasses, to keep from being recognized,” Melinda said.

  “Good point, we don’t want anybody to recognize you,” I said.

  “Weaponry, for self-defense of course,” Carlos said.

  As he wrote, he outlined the itinerary, “I’m not sure how long we’ll be there. But just in case, let’s do four on, four off, person off sleeps in the back seat. We rotate clockwise, person in the passenger seat is the one on duty, the one with the binoculars, who watches the building; the driver is the back-up and watches for anyone on foot, traffic, anything out of the ordinary. We leave the keys in the ignition at all times, so we’re ready to leave in case things go south. We park about 300 yards away from the front entrance. Sound good??”

  Melinda volun
teered to make the sandwiches. Carlos and I went into the master bedroom so he could get what he needed out of the closet.

  “Binoculars; Zhumell, 10 X 42, short barrel, waterproof,” he said, handing them to me.

  “Check,” I said.

  “M11 Sig Sauer, P 228 pistol,” he said, pulling it off the shelf.

  “Looks like a toy,” I said, carefully laying the binoculars on the dresser. “My Dad carried a Glock M-9 for years with the LVPD and before that, of course, a Colt .45.”

  “You fired either one?” Carlos asked.

  “Yes, range qualified with both,” I said.

  Carlos nodded approvingly, holding the gun so I could examine it and then gave me the whole spiel.

  “The M11, P228 is a recoil operated, semi-automatic pistol that fires a 9mm NATO round, the same size as a Glock M-9, from a 13 round magazine. Its advantages over older, antiquated military firepower,” he said, giving me a look, “is that it is small, very lightweight, yet durable, accurate and most importantly, easy to conceal.”

  “This isn’t going to be a treatise on how the U.S. Navy SEALS, with its newer and far more modern technology is vastly superior to old fashioned, and as you were so charming to point out, antiquated weaponry of the U.S. Marine Corps is it?”

  “No of course not,” Carlos said, “It’s about how the U.S. Navy SEALS, with newer and far more modern technology, and superior training is vastly superior to the old fashioned, antiquated weaponry, and training, of the U.S. Marine Corps.”

  “Oh I see, and of course no mention of how the Navy and their darling poster boys are routinely given huge sums of money to piss away on the latest and greatest unproven technology, and training, while the Marines are lucky to get the crumbs off the table and continue to make due with weapons left over from the Vietnam era,” I said.