Fire Point

by Sean Black

  ‘Domestic bliss, huh?’ said Ty, with a wry smile.

  Lock shrugged. ‘You know how it goes. People tell themselves the stories they want to believe. Anyway, that’s none of our business. Tomorrow I’m gonna go looking for Marcus and I want you to stay back here at the ranch. Go get some sleep. I’ll wake you in three hours.’

  Ty crossed the room and reached out a huge fist toward Lock. They bumped knuckles. ‘Later.’ He nodded out toward the wall that fronted onto the street. ‘You see anyone come over the top of that, blow their goddamn head off.’

  22

  A bad night was getting worse. Krank stood with his boys at the red rope as the two bouncers stared them down. On any other night, they would already be inside, chilling in the VIP area, but this club had changed hands recently. New owners had brought in new staff, and the new staff didn’t want the place turning into a sausage fest of horny single males so a group of three guys in their twenties wasn’t getting inside.

  Krank stayed courteous and polite and moved to the back of the line. A group of six women were about to join it. They were older, in their thirties, and, from their clothes, were from out of town, way out of town. ‘Like Indiana out of town,’ Krank joked to his boys.

  The three guys set to work. Loser pulled out a deck of cards and started doing magic tricks, while Krank and Marcus split two of the women away from the others and started chatting to them. The women, initially resistant, soon began talking, even if it was to poke fun at Krank. He rolled with their jibes, firing them back with interest but all the while with a smile.

  Marcus, who had been understandably quiet, managed to go through some old canned routines, asking one woman to imagine a cube in an empty room. Then when she had described it in detail he ran through what her choices meant. A large cube meant she was very sexual. He fine-tuned the meanings by gauging her responses and soon she was talking up a storm. The Cube was so ancient in pick-up artist terms that it qualified as retro but, between the routine, some magic tricks and Krank’s natural cocky approach, the women agreed to accompany them to a nightclub two blocks down.

  This time, with a mixed group that had slightly more women than men, they walked straight to the front of the line and inside. Once inside, Krank and the others quickly ditched the women they’d work so hard to befriend. They took a table near the back while the women shot them evil looks from the bar. Krank ordered drinks.

  While they waited for them to arrive, they scoped out the interior. In their world, women were ranked on a scale of one to ten. The women they had come in with were strictly threes and fours – older, out of shape, trying too hard with their make-up and outfits. Krank had explained to Marcus early on that there was no shame in sleeping with a three or a four. It was a good confidence-builder. From there you could make your way up to the sixes and sevens, and beyond. The holy grail was a ten. Tens were girls with the look of a Victoria’s Secrets model, beautiful, sexy, and fundamentally unattainable. They were hard to find, and rarely single. Krank obsessed over any tens he met. To him they were the ultimate prize, like a lion to a big-game hunter. But that was all they were. Not people. Prizes. A notch.

  The three young men sat at their table, sipped their drinks and argued over where various women in the bar fell on the scale. The waitress who’d served them was, by general agreement, a solid six. Loser, the hipster of the group, argued for a seven rating but was quickly shouted down. Even MG joined in: ‘She has the body-fat ratio of a four. She’s lucky we’re giving her a six.’

  Krank had noticed early on that MG was the most eager to run women down in situations like this. The kid had so much hostility, so much repressed rage, that Krank had found it funny at first. Later, he’d realized that it was a natural resource, there to be tapped. Except, when it came down to it, he wasn’t sure if MG’s rage could be channeled into swift, decisive action. Anger was fuel, but it needed direction. That was what he’d been working on. Seeing if he could channel MG. Seeing if he could turn him into a killer.

  The guys were still running down the women in the bar when Krank spotted Devon Malcolm standing by the bar. Krank grabbed his beer and headed over to say hi. Devon had been part of the San Diego lair but he claimed to have ‘outgrown’ the pick-up lifestyle. What that meant, as far as Krank could see, was that, having sponged off the community, Devon had finally hit the age when he had access to his family’s trust fund. A few days later he had moved into a palatial party pad high up in the Hollywood Hills.

  To be fair to Devon, he’d allowed Krank and the guys use of the place. They’d had some great times there. Crazy parties that went on for days. But Devon had hooked up with an LA Lakers cheerleader, who had convinced him to propose to her. She was a blonde WASP from somewhere back east, a solid eight, maybe even a nine. She hated Krank with a passion, and to keep her happy Devon had distanced himself from his old friends. It went against the code. Devon had never been part of the new inner circle. He had never had to live by the new code of blood in. But as far as Krank was concerned, Devon still owed him.

  Krank noticed that Devon had seen him coming over. He hoisted his drink in salute and tried to disappear further into the crowd but Krank cut him off, circling round toward the door. He bumped Devon with his shoulder. ‘Hey! Thought it was you. What’s new, player?’

  Devon’s girlfriend hated that Krank still called Devon a player, which only made Krank do it all the more. Her dislike of the term must have transferred to Devon because Krank noticed him grimace. ‘Where’s Lauren?’

  ‘Back east. Visiting her family,’ said Devon.

  Krank grinned. ‘Snuck out while she’s away, huh?’ He clinked his bottle of beer against Devon’s glass. ‘Nice.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  Krank thought about busting his balls for coming out with such a lame excuse but decided against it. Glancing back over his shoulder, he could see that Loser and MG had opened an all female five-set of sixes and sevens. They were still getting daggers from the women they’d arrived with, which amused Krank no end. It gave him an idea, though. He nodded at his boys, then said to Devon, ‘What about us heading back to your place to party? Maybe we can get these girls to call some friends. I mean, Lauren’s away, right?’

  The very suggestion seemed to cause Devon pain. He scrunched up his face. ‘She really doesn’t like me having people over. I mean, guys is one thing.’

  Krank clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. Devon would never have managed to get a seven, never mind an eight like Lauren, to speak to him without Krank’s help, and now he had, it was like Krank was some kind of inconvenience.

  ‘Hey,’ said Krank, ‘Remember the time that little honey at the Lizard Lounge threw a drink over you? Remember how I helped you with her?’

  Devon flushed at the reminder of that night. Some of the guys from the San Diego lair had been out looking for girls when they’d run into one at a bar whom Devon had taken a shine to. But she was way out of his league and he just didn’t have the game yet to bridge the gap. Krank picked her up instead, took her back to their apartment. Then in the middle of the night, while she was half asleep, he snuck out of the bed he was sharing with her, woke Devon and offered to trade beds. ‘Just keep the lights off. She’s kinda drunk. She’ll never know.’

  If the situation had been reversed, Krank would never have gone for it like that. It would have been an insult. And it was rape. Krank knew it, and so did Devon. But Devon craved sex more than power so, like the asshole he was, he slipped out of his bed and into Krank’s with the girl.

  About half an hour later there was one hell of a commotion and the girl was sprinting down the hall, calling Devon all the names under the sun. She was screaming about getting the cops on all of them.

  Krank intervened. It got ugly. Really ugly.

  In the morning, as dawn was breaking, Devon helped Krank move the body. Although killing her had freaked Krank out, it meant that, as far as he saw it, lame-ass
trust fund Devon owed him. And if you owed Krank he never tired of reminding you.

  Devon was still stuttering, his face flushed to a deep crimson. ‘Maybe another night, Krank.’

  Krank put an open hand on Devon’s chest. ‘No, not another night. Tonight. Lauren’s away. She’ll never know.’

  Devon started to protest, but Krank cut him off: ‘It’s not much of a favor, bro. Not in the grand scheme of things.’

  Of course Devon knew exactly what he was talking about.

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ Devon pleaded.

  Krank hadn’t wanted to play his next card, but Devon wasn’t leaving him with much choice. ‘Just as well I captured the moment, then, huh?’

  All the bedrooms in the San Diego lair had been fitted with cameras. They could operate in low light as well as daylight. It gave the footage a green tinge but you could still make out who was doing what to whom. The one in Krank’s room had captured Devon sneaking into bed with the girl, right up until the moment she had realized who he was and flipped out. The footage had been Krank’s insurance policy. It implicated him, too, but even at that early stage he had done things that were just as bad.

  Devon sighed. ‘I’ll see you guys up there.’ He slammed his glass back down on the bar, pushed past Krank and headed for the exit.

  Over at the table, MG and Loser were in full flow. Krank felt good to see it. He pushed his way through the crowd and launched himself into the middle of the merry throng at the table. ‘We got ourselves the best party house up in the Hills. Friends of ours. Big-time movie guy. Pool. Wet bar. Hot tub. What say we get out of here, go have ourselves some real fun?’

  23

  Krank was woken by a woman screaming. In his world it wasn’t that unusual. There was always drama. He grabbed a pillow from under the head of the blonde six in bed next to him, and shoved it over his head. The blonde girl woke and made a grab to get it back. ‘Asshole!’

  The screaming went on. It was coming from the hallway. It was a scream of anger, rather than fear. He wondered if it was MG. He had a habit of saying weird shit to girls, or asking them to do stuff that set them off. It was a running joke among the guys. Krank figured it was down to MG’s lost teenage years when girls had never even looked at him, never mind anything else. MG was a kid making up for lost time in a hurry. He only had to hear about some messed-up fetish and he got all one-track about trying it out. Which would have been fine if he didn’t then immediately spring it on some poor unsuspecting woman he’d just met.

  Krank threw the pillow at the girl lying next to him. ‘Here!’ He got up from the bed, an early-morning erection tenting his boxers. He had to step over Loser, who was crashed out on the floor next to a redhead five. Redheads, by Krank’s estimation, were usually fives or below, though he had met some exceptions. The floor was a mess of clothes, red plastic Solo cups, half-empty glasses and beer bottles. He almost tripped over a glass ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts.

  Through the window, he could see a fully clothed couple crashed out on a lounger next to the infinity pool that looked out over the Sunset Strip. MG raised his head from the lounger, looked at him, then turned over and went back to sleep.

  Now Krank could hear Devon meekly trying to defend himself as Lauren tore him to shreds.

  ‘What are they doing here, Devon?’

  This was followed by some mumbled effort at appeasement before Lauren started up again: ‘We discussed this. You are not to go anywhere near these losers. Hey, did you go out and meet them?’

  Devon offered up some half-hearted denial.

  ‘You did, didn’t you? I knew it. You can’t be trusted on your own for one night.’

  Krank tuned out, although he did get the sense that Lauren was busy waking one of the female guests none too gently to ask whether she had slept with her fiancée. He found his pants among the detritus on the floor, and pulled them on. He figured he wouldn’t waste the time required to find his socks. He grabbed the rest of what he could see and finished getting dressed.

  Stepping out of the bedroom, Krank looked left. Lauren had a short, freckly brunette pinned against the wall. Her right hand was around the girl’s neck. Her left hand was pulled back and bunched into a fist.

  ‘Honey, no!’ shouted Devon, as he went to grab Lauren’s arm.

  ‘Don’t honey me, you asshole. To think I was back home with my mom so I could plan our wedding.’

  ‘Hey, Devon, great night, man. Thanks for inviting us over,’ said Krank, sliding past.

  Devon and Lauren looked to him. The girl with the freckles took her chance and squirmed from Lauren’s grip. Lauren let her go and turned to Krank, hands on her hips, lips thinned to a razor’s edge, ready for war. His old buddy Devon wasn’t looking too happy either, thought Krank.

  ‘I knew you’d be involved,’ said Lauren, still staring at him. Her voice was calm, which worried Krank.

  ‘Lauren, you look great. Me and the guys are going to head now,’ said Krank. ‘Sorry if we caused any friction between you two. It was really my idea anyway. I talked Devon into it.’

  ‘He did. He totally did,’ said Devon, eager to grab hold of a lifeline.

  ‘Yeah, you’re leaving,’ shrieked Lauren, ‘because I’ve called the cops.’

  Krank froze. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. Devon seemed to freeze too. Krank knew that, new man or not, Devon still had a taste for cocaine ‒ in fact, they’d had some lines last night. A bunch of cops from Hollywood Division marching all over his house hadn’t been in Devon’s plans for this morning.

  Just then the doorbell rang. The chimes echoed through the house. They faded.

  ‘Why did you do that? Why did you do that, Lauren?’ Devon sounded exactly like the whiny child he’d been when Krank had first met him. Why did women do anything? thought Krank. Because they’re crazy.

  The doorbell rang again. No one moved, not even Lauren. Krank feared for what would happen if either Lauren or Devon opened the door to the two cops they could all now see on the small video intercom system mounted on the wall. Lauren must have left the gate open because they were already on the property. One was waiting for someone to answer the door while the other was already checking the side gate that led into the garden and pool area.

  ‘Lauren, we’re leaving, okay?’ said Krank. ‘Let me speak to them.’

  24

  Lock had slept fully clothed, his gun next to him, in one of the upstairs guest bedrooms. He’d fallen asleep as soon as he’d lain down, and woken, four hours later, without the need for an alarm. His ability to sleep and wake on cue was as important to someone in his line of work as shooting a gun or giving a bad guy the good news in a hand-to-hand situation.

  He rubbed his eyes, then got up, pulled his washbag from the overnight case he always carried in the car and headed into the bathroom, taking his gun with him. He had a hot shower, thinking over the events of the previous day. A day? It already felt longer.

  Lock rinsed off. He turned the shower handle and killed the water. As the pressure fell away from a blast to a drip, he heard someone beyond the bathroom door, walking around in the guest bedroom. He slid back the shower door and stepped out, realizing as he did so that he couldn’t see a towel.

  He went to the bathroom door and cracked it open. Tarian stood there, a large white bath sheet in one hand. The shaken, uncertain Mrs Griffiths of the day before was gone. She was wearing a lilac silk dressing-gown that finished just above her knees, revealing a killer pair of legs. Her hair was up in a towel, accentuating the high cheekbones and plush red lips. Lock had always figured that the true mark of a woman’s beauty was seeing her without make-up. Tarian Griffiths was beautiful. There was no question.

  She was holding the towel just out of his grasp. Something approaching a smile hovered on her lips. Normally game-playing like this from a client would have irritated Lock. Normally. He made a mental note that, once this gig was wrapped up, he really needed
to find himself a girlfriend and start getting laid on a semi-regular basis.

  ‘Why don’t you throw it to me?’ he said finally.

  Tarian smiled. Her eyes ran from the floor all the way up the edge of the door to Lock’s face. ‘Did you get some sleep?’ she asked, making no effort to either throw the towel or step closer.

  Lock nodded. The top of her robe had slipped open a little to reveal her cleavage. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Thank you. You?’

  A little of the self-assured Brentwood cougar seemed to leave her and he saw the sadness in her eyes that had been present the day before. ‘First time in weeks. I think it was knowing that you and Tyrone were here.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Lock. He stretched his hand out a little further. ‘May I have that towel, Mrs Griffiths?’

  ‘Mrs Griffiths?’ she said. The way she said it seemed to suggest that the title amused her. ‘Not Tarian?’

  ‘The towel?’ said Lock.

  She still didn’t move. From the corridor the sound of small feet came to him. Not so much a pitter-patter as a steady thump as the two younger kids made their presence in the house known. Tarian stepped toward him, and held out the towel. As he reached for it, she momentarily snatched it away, her eyes never leaving his.

  ‘Teddy and I are separating,’ she said, finally handing him the towel. ‘He would have moved out already only for this drama with Marcus. We thought that the kids were already upset enough. We’ve been sleeping in different beds for the last few months.’

  Lock already knew that from his walk through the house. There was a camp bed set up in one of the vast walk-in closets in the master bedroom. Judging by the clothes, it was Teddy’s. He gripped the towel in his hand as the words kept tumbling out from between Tarian’s plump red lips.