by Martha Carr
“Johnny was not always this way,” my dad said, watching me pace. “And Rosie married into his business. She had no idea this was how his businesses made money until it was too late.”
“Well, this whole thing is crazy. Sorry, I can’t help you.”
“That’s disappointing to hear.”
I stopped pacing and glared at him. “You know what’s disappointing here, Dad? Getting wall-to-wall lectures and guilt trips since the second I arrived. I’ve been here two hours and it already feels like two years. I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment, but you know what? At least I’m not laundering money through a foot massage parlor. I’m going for a walk.”
I yanked my phone off its charger and stormed out. My senses reported unfamiliar voices and delicious smells coming from the kitchen, but I was too pissed off to pay much attention. My coat was still where I’d left it beside the door, and I had just grabbed it and wrapped my hand around the front door handle when I heard my mother clear her throat behind me.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“For a walk.”
“Come with me.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me downstairs into the basement. “I see your father talked to you. I can only assume, given the look on your face, that it went well?” I followed her into her home office and shut the door behind me.
“What he’s asking me to do is foolishness, not to mention illegal. I’m not doing it.”
She crossed her arms and pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, her classic frustration pose. For the first time, I noticed new lines framing her eyes and mouth, and the tension that webbed the skin on her forehead. “Why do you think we asked you for help?”
I wandered over to the built-in bookshelves and let my eyes slip over the titles of the medical reference books she kept there. “How’s Epidemiology? I hear it’s infectiously funny.”
She placed her hands on my shoulders and turned me to face her. “Look at me. Why do you think we asked you for help?”
“You guys think you know what I do, but if you think I can single-handedly dissuade a gang from rooking my dumbass uncle over the course of a weekend, I’m sorry. You’re mistaken.”
“We don’t want you to dissuade them. All we want you to do is escort Johnny as he tries to make a deal with the gang. Your father has drawn up the papers to sell the business to the gang via a system of shell companies. All they have to do is sign the papers, and they get to keep Johnny’s businesses and Rosie and Johnny can move on.”
“You want me to be the muscle?”
“Only if things go wrong. The deal is all but closed, all they have to do is sign. As long as Johnny makes it home safe, he and Rosie can pack up and move on. All you have to do is make sure they don’t hurt him.”
“He deserves to be hurt for the position he’s put them in,” I said.
My mother’s gaze was steady. “Of course he does, but that’s not my concern. Will you help?”
I thought about what it must have cost my parents to ask me for help, and how it would feel to live up to their expectations for once. “Fine. I’ll escort him to the meeting, but that’s all.”
She beamed and wrapped her still-strong arms tight around my torso. “Of course you will. Thank you, Daniel. You’ll be back in time to get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll make you pancakes for breakfast. It will be easy.”
I would later wonder whether she meant to jinx me by saying that.
“How can you sleep at a time like this?”
I opened my eyes on a dark, nondescript street lined with warehouses. The Nissan we’d borrowed from my dad was off, and the chill in the stale air indicated we’d been parked for awhile. “Time?” I asked.
Johnny pulled out his phone and pointed its bright display at my eyes. “It’s 12:30, they’re late. They were supposed to be here at midnight.” He checked the display again while I tried to blink away the glare. “No messages. No nothing. What if they decided to blow us off? And shouldn’t you be doing something besides sleeping?”
I shrugged. “What would you like me to be doing?”
He huffed. “I thought you were some big secret agent guy. Shouldn’t you be looking for tails or surveilling the building or something?”
“As I told you before we left, and again on the way here, I’m just a normal guy who’s coming with you for moral support and legal counsel. And I’m pretty sure secret agents aren’t called secret agents, they’re called terminators.”
Johnny furrowed his brow. “What? No, they’re not!” He had a wide, square forehead above beady eyes that were set too close together and a wispy fu manchu that I bet nobody thought was a good idea.
“Oh, they most definitely are. Hollywood just never gets it right,” I said around a yawn. “Makes them sound a lot cooler, doesn’t it?”
He rolled his eyes at me. “You’re an asshole, you know that? Always have been, always will be.”
I put my hand on his sport-coated shoulder and left it there too long for the express purpose of making him uncomfortable. “Johnny, you haven’t seen me in almost a decade. Shut the hell up.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but shut it when three pairs of headlights from black SUVs approached from Bay Street and rumbled closer.
“These your friends?” I asked as the SUVs, which closer inspection determined to be Yukons, boxed us in.
He brushed my hand off his shoulder and ran a hand over his thinning black hair. “Yes. This is them. Are you packing?”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath while the Yukons idled behind and to either side of us. “The next step is they open this warehouse door and follow us in, correct?”
“Yeah,” he said, thumbing sweat from the side of his mustache. “But they usually do that right away. I have no idea why they’re taking so long.”
“Intimidation, probably. It’s a standard negotiation technique.” My voice was calm, but I was inwardly furious with myself for agreeing to this idiotic idea. It was one thing to volunteer to put myself in danger for the good of the country, quite another to do so for the family dumbass. We were outnumbered by at least six to one, and Johnny would be useless in a fight. I watched exhaust fumes swirl in the still night air and reviewed the research I’d done after dinner.
Johnny and Rosie were being squeezed by the Calabasas, a gang whose operations had been expanding in scope and influence in the east Los Angeles area for the last decade. They’d graduated from extorting local businesses for protection money to elbowing in on the sex trafficking and meth trade and were considered one of the top four most powerful LA-area gangs.
When I’d asked Johnny why they were meeting him so far north of their territory, he hadn’t known.
A young black man wearing a black button-down shirt and jeans exited the truck to our right and unlocked the rolling warehouse door, sliding it up with one hand while his eyes swept the street. After a cursory check of the warehouse interior, he waved us in. Johnny turned the car on and drove to the back of the warehouse, followed by two of the Yukons. The third stayed outside, and the sentry rolled the door shut behind us.
I grabbed the Redweld file folder of papers my father had prepared and Johnny and I exited the car. The interior of the warehouse was lit by rows of fluorescent tubes which cast unflattering shadows on bare stainless steel rolling tables, round white gas canisters, and an empty conveyor belt. The air had an unpleasant smell, like rotting flowers and garlic, and there were stains on the bare concrete floor that felt gritty beneath the soles of my shoes.
The front doors of the car closest to the exit opened, divulging two massive bald white men in tailored suits. They opened the rear doors for a pair of black men, who buttoned their suit coats as they walked toward us. One of the men was short and wore a plum-colored suit over an athletic frame. His goatee was short yet well-shaped, and he wore his hair shaved to the skin. His companion was at least as tall as I was, which put his height north of six feet, with ebony skin so dark it s
eemed to swallow the light and a slate-gray suit that looked Italian.
“And what is this, Johnny? Did you bring your bodyguard?” the shorter of the two said. He clapped his hands and laughed. “I thought this was a meeting of friends, but if you want to look tough I guess I’m going to have to, as well.”
Behind him, three black men and a Latina exited the Yukon that had parked behind our car. The men wore wife beaters and jeans with guns tucked into their waistbands. They kept their hands on their weapons and their eyes on us. The woman, whose dark brown hair was parted in the middle and tied back in a ponytail, held a notebook of some kind and was dressed in khakis with a white button-up.
Johnny approached them with his hands up. “Desmond, this is just my cousin. He’s a lawyer, that’s all. He helped me draw up the papers. That’s it, I swear.”
Desmond smiled, revealing even white teeth and bright pink gums. “Is that so? You here to drive the hard bargain, lawyer boy?”
I held the Redweld containing the papers over my head with one hand, and gestured down at my outfit with the other. I’d borrowed a suitcoat from my father so that I’d look more lawerly. “I’m just here to get these papers signed. I’m pretty sure your weapons look a lot tougher than my paperwork. Sir.”
He looked me up and down before feigning a punch to my gut. When I flinched and moved to cover my stomach with my arms, he clapped me on the back. “Relax, lawyer boy. This should be painless. In and out, just a deal between friends. Nothing to get too worked up about. Come on over here.” He led the way to one of the stainless steel tables and hopped up onto it, dangling his feet like a little kid. “Show me what you got.”
I unfastened the clasp on the envelope and splayed the documents on the table beside him, conscious of the cadre of armed people at my back. Desmond’s silent partner stood behind me, inspecting the forms I’d spread out. “Here’s the purchase agreement, P&Ls, valuation report, certificate of good standing, business license, and current lease contracts. I just need initials here, here, here, down here, right there, and a signature at the bottom here.”
At a nod from his strong, silent type, Desmond slipped a fountain pen out of his inner breast pocket and started scribbling his name on the documents. Johnny looked to me when it was his turn to sign and, when I nodded, put his pen to paper as well.
“These will need to be notarized, of course, and filed with the city in which the primary business operates,” I said. “I take it that won’t be a problem?”
Desmond nodded to the female member of his crew, who pulled a notary stamp and pad from her pocket and collected the forms of ID Johnny and Desmond held out to her.
“You’ve got to love the full-service henchman,” I said while she notarized the documents.
“Shut up,” Johnny said with an elbow to my ribs.
Desmond frowned at me. “That it, Esme?” he asked the notary.
She nodded and held out the ink pad. He pressed this thumb to it, then to the logbook she’d opened on the table. Johnny did the same. Esme closed the logbook and replaced her supplies in her pockets.
Desmond hopped off the table while I gathered the papers into a stack and dropped them back into the envelope. Desmond’s tall, silent partner took the envelope from me and carried it to the Yukon while Desmond twiddled this thumbs and stared at us with an expectant smile.
“Okay then,” I said, prodding Johnny back to my dad’s Leaf. “You all have a good evening.”
“There’s just one more thing,” Desmond said.
Of course there is, I thought. There always is. It can’t ever just be a simple task, that would be too easy. If someone’s not getting punched in the throat, is it even worth showing up for? My palms broke out in a damp sweat and my heart picked up the pace a bit as I turned back around. “What?”
“We’re going to need to keep collecting that monthly payment from you, John.”
Johnny’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve already given you my businesses.” His voice shook as he put his hands together in a supplicant’s pose. “I have nothing left. We’re completely broke, please. Just leave us alone. We won’t say anything, we’ll just go our separate ways. Please.”
Desmond cocked his head to the side. “But what about what I’m not saying anything about, huh? It’s pretty hard to keep the location of that body we took care of for you a secret. I’m thinking $500 a month to keep that information to myself, though that number is subject to change depending on market conditions.”
“Yeah, I hear the blackmail market can be pretty volatile,” I said.
Desmond frowned again. “I don’t like you, funny boy. Marco, shut funny boy up.”
“Shut up, Dan –” Johnny began to say before Desmond pistol-whipped his cheekbone.
Marco, or goon number one as I’d been calling him in my head, lumbered toward me with his right fist cocked. I held my hands up in mock surrender until he was within range for me to feint to the left and then drive my right shoulder into his solar plexus. His right fist batted futilely against my back until I stomped his instep with my right foot, leaned back, and rammed my right elbow into his nose. He staggered back in surprise, his watery eyes red and shocked above the ruin of his nose.
“Here’s the thing, Des,” I said, stalking toward the little man in the smart suit. “I don’t like you very much.”
He backed away and waved his other goons toward me. “You think I care? Get that sonofabitch.” They reached for their weapons.
I held up one hand. “I wouldn’t draw those if I were you.”
“Why?” Desmond said, taking cover behind them. “You Neo? Gonna stop these bullets with your mind powers?”
“No,” I said, my voice calm. “But you cook here, right?”
I heard Marco coming up behind me and, as I turned, saw the dull glint of metal as he raised his gun and pointed it at me. I spun into him so that his gun arm was across my body, twisted it, and shattered it with a jab of my elbow to the back of his arm. His elbow bent back at an unnatural angle and he howled, releasing his weapon.
I picked it up with my fingertips and wiped it off against my pant leg. “As I was saying,” I said, releasing the magazine so I could estimate the number of rounds I was working with, “I wouldn’t fire those weapons in here.” I popped the magazine back into the gun and released the safety.
“Why the fuck not?” Desmond asked, inching toward his car as his goons formed a protective ring around him. Even the notary had drawn a gun, and she held it with steady hands below a terrified expression.
“As I was saying, you cook here right?” I scuffed my foot against the gritty floor. “This is lye, right? And that nasty smell coming from those canisters over there is phosphine. Two extremely volatile chemicals, if I remember my chemistry lessons correctly.” While what I was saying may technically have been true, I had no idea whether either substance was present in sufficient quantities and concentrations to do much other than smell bad. I didn’t have to know, though. I just had to make them believe I knew.
Desmond had reached his car and paused.
“As I was saying, I don’t like you very much, but I don’t really like this piece of shit much better,” I said with a light kick to Johnny’s shin. I put the center of Desmond’s body in the sights of the gun and sighed. “So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to get in your car and leave. I’m going to put this idiot in my car, and I’m going to leave. And that will conclude negotiations between you two forever. Understood?”
I swung my gun over until it pointed at the canisters. “Or maybe we do a little science experiment today to find out what happens when you fire a hot bullet into a canister of phosphine gas. Tell me, does your health insurance cover chemical burns?”
Desmond glowered at Johnny as he slid into the backseat of his Yukon. “See you later.” At a knock to the rolling door from the notary, the sentry posted outside rolled the door up. Goons two and three helped Marco into the car and then all three vehicles rumbled bac
k into the night.
“You’re the fucking idiot if you think that’ll be the end of it with him,” Johnny said, holding his swelling cheekbone with one hand while he limped back to the Leaf. “He’ll just come back later.”
“Yup,” I said, backing the Leaf out of the warehouse. As expected, as soon as I left the parking lot I had three sets of headlights blinding me from behind. I led them through downtown Berkeley and past the university before turning up Centennial Drive and up into the hills. There, I laid down some speed and hugged the curves until I came to a turnoff for one of the lower fire trails through Hamilton Gulch. The front bumper of the Nissan broke the chain blocking the entrance with a loud plink and we bombed down the narrow trail with the three Yukons in close pursuit.
“What are you doing?” Johnny screamed as I wrestled the small car around the soft dirt curves.
“Shut up,” I replied as the Yukon behind us accelerated to ram into us. Right before impact, I jerked the wheel to the right around a sharp turn and watched in my side mirror as the truck fell victim to momentum and rolled to the left and smashed into some trees.
A turn to the left and we were back off the fire trail and passing houses in a blur. I accelerated out of a sharp turn to the left to stay on Panoramic Way and felt some relief as the clunky vehicles were slower to come out of the turn.
My relief was short-lived, however, as the drivers of the Yukons used their superior horsepower to race up from behind me and flank me to either side as soon as the road opened up again. As the Yukons nosed closer to my back side panels, a yellow icon popped up on the dashboard, along with a little chime.
“What the hell is that?” Johnny asked, his voice tight with panic as he craned around in his seat to watch the Yukons.
I glanced down at the battery charge indicator and throttled the steering wheel. “Stupid Leaf. It’s the battery. We’re almost dead. Okay, hold on.”
Johnny braced one hand against the dashboard as I slammed on the brakes. The Yukons zoomed past us while I whipped the car around in a one hundred eighty-degree turn that gave both of us whiplash.