Mondo Crimson

by Andrew Post

  That glimmer of pride she had in herself fell from Amber’s face. “You try going back to living straight. After seeing how much you can make in just one week doing shit like this, working for these kinds of people? I got a record. What was I going to do? Put in an application at fucking McDonald’s?”

  “True. Booze isn’t cheap,” Brenda said. “But by the look of things, you’re not exactly picky. Quantity over quality kind of gal, I’m guessing?” With the toe of her boot, she nudged an empty bottle of, according to the label, Very Good Vodka.

  Amber took Brenda’s words on the chin. She broke eye contact, surveyed the bottles arrayed about the room, picked at her fingernails that’d been chewed to the quick. Under her breath, she said, “You work for Felix too.”

  Brenda said nothing.

  “I’m just saying I picked my horses,” Amber said. “I may not be clicking my heels about each and every one of them, but that’s life sometimes.” She looked Brenda dead in the eyes. “You don’t always get to be the person you like to think you are. Sometimes, you end up finding out that person never even existed in the first place and you just have to accept you are – and were the whole time – just a piece of shit.”

  Though she had to admit there was a degree of relatability to that – Mama’s just doing a job – she still deflected Amber’s go at being deep with an exhausted groan. “If we’re finished feeling sorry for ourselves, how’s about you tell me who was supposed to meet me at the drop?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Brenda lifted the gun and with a breathy thwack put a hole in the wall’s wood paneling next to Amber’s head. Both Mel and Amber crushed themselves together at the far end of the couch, going saucer-eyed at the smoking puncture in the paint. In duet they said, “What the fuck?”

  “Relax,” Brenda said, leaning down to pick the bullet casing from the floor and putting it in her coat pocket. “Care to try that again?”

  Mel said, “Would it be all right if I sat somewhere else?”

  Brenda moved the gun over to Mel. “You’re fine right there.” Then she moved it back to Amber. “Talk.”

  “Bitch,” Amber said, “I rent this place.” She ran her finger across the ragged hole in the wall. “Goddamn it, look what you did. I can see into the bathroom. How am I supposed to explain that to the landlord?”

  Uninterested, Brenda said, “The drop. Who was going to be there?”

  “Someone the client sent, probably. I don’t know.”

  “On the phone, you said Felix was adamant that you pass along the address to me.” She brought out her burner. “551 Meadowside Drive. Where is that?”

  “It’s in South St. Paul, over there by the recycling center and the trainyards and that dog food factory you can smell for a mile away in the summer. But that’s all I know,” Amber said. “That’s all he said. ‘Make sure she gets the address. No matter what else happens, make sure she gets sent that address.’”

  “Suppose they’re still there now waiting on me? The drop was supposed to go down this morning.” Brenda used her phone to get the time. Ten past noon. “How long are they going to wait?”

  “I don’t know any of that. Just please do not put another hole in my wall.”

  “Would you prefer I put one in you instead?”

  “No, and for fuck’s sake stop pointing that at me, please.”

  Brenda kept the gun on her. “Amber. Speak.”

  “If I knew, I would tell you, I swear, but I have no idea, I don’t know shit, okay? Felix told me to send you the address at around ten this morning so that’s what I did, that’s everything.”

  Brenda lowered the gun.

  Both Amber and Mel slumped in their seats with a shared sigh of relief.

  “The fuck are you all stressed about?” Amber said to Mel. “She wasn’t aiming that at you.”

  “She did earlier,” Mel said.

  “Ladies!” Brenda shouted. “Think we could focus up here please?”

  “Who was the mark?” Amber said.

  Brenda said, “What difference does that make?”

  “Well, you go do that job and then all of this happens? I’m just trying to wrap my head around the timeline.”

  “Chad, Chip. Something like that.”

  “You don’t even remember his name?”

  “Of what use would it be for me to hold on to that information?”

  “Jesus Christ,” Amber said. She turned to Mel. “Contract killers, am I right?”

  Brenda said, “Chaz. His name was Chaz.”

  “Chaz Knudsen?” Amber said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “If it’s the same Chaz Knudsen, he works – well, worked – for Felix. That makes a lot of sense now.”

  “Explain.”

  “Chaz did a job last week for Felix but Felix told me not to pay him. And if I still had his passwords and bank info, I should freeze his accounts.”

  “So you did?”

  Amber’s face twisted. “I locked him out of his money. You fucking killed him. Apples and oranges, Brenda.”

  “Chaz is who told me what’s going on.”

  “This theory of yours about Felix is arranging it that we all kill each other?”

  Mel’s head moved back and forth like she was watching a tennis game.

  Brenda said, “What was Chaz Knudsen’s line?”

  “His what?”

  “What presumably bad shit did Chaz do for Felix in exchange for money?”

  “He oversaw low-level loans,” Amber said. “Poisoning dogs, breaking arms, fun stuff like that if people couldn’t pay. But hold on. What did Chaz Knudsen say to you? He said Felix is setting everyone up?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “Then how about in the same number he used?”

  “He didn’t say shit for seven days straight. Not one word. Not a peep. Screamed a whole lot, sure, but as far as coming out and telling me he works for Felix? Nothing. Then today rolls around and I’m about to, you know, finish up with him and that’s when he decides to come out with it, saying ‘Felix is making us all….’”

  Amber waited. “Making us all what?”

  “What I did to Chaz, apparently. And what I’m guessing Felix was expecting I’d do to her,” Brenda said, motioning toward Mel. “And then the rest of us. Making the whole thing fold in on itself.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you seen Felix recently? He’s not well.”

  Mel said, “I can attest to that. Dude’s looking rough.”

  Amber said, “If he wanted to close down, why didn’t he just stop assigning work orders? I assume you’d all get the hint it was over.”

  “He’s either doing it to keep us all quiet or there’s something else going on,” Brenda said. “Some other motive. I was hoping you might know, seeing how you’re his Girl Friday.”

  “We don’t talk. He emails a dollar amount and a name and I punch that in and send it off. That’s it.” Amber looked at Mel then back at Brenda. “Wait, go back. Chaz Knudsen tells you this and you just go and shoot him anyway?”

  “I kind of cut him off in the middle of it,” Brenda had to admit.

  “I still don’t understand. Why didn’t he say anything sooner?”

  Brenda shrugged. “Maybe he thought me coming to see him was Felix testing him, hold his feet over the coals to see if he’d cough up information, test his loyalty.”

  “You held his feet over coals?”

  “Figure of speech.”

  “Because I’m assuming if you spent a whole week with him, you did worse than that.”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “No, I don’t,” Amber said. “So, if Felix does have this big plan going – I’m not saying he does, I believe you believe it though – how did Chaz Knudsen know about it?” />
  “No clue. Someone may’ve told him, who I assume has already been taken care of, or Felix himself let it slip. How many accounts have gone quiet?”

  Amber glanced over at her laptop screens. “Most of them, actually. But I just figured things were slowing down because of the holidays.”

  “How many, Amber?”

  “Most. Well over half. Guys he keeps busy like Johnny Jade, Kerry Kerosene, and Dentist Ricky have slowed way down.”

  Brenda said, “Fuck.”

  Mel said, “What about this Merritt guy?”

  Amber looked at Brenda. “Felix had me wire him a hundred thousand day before yesterday.”

  Brenda said, “Fuck.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mel said. “What does that mean?”

  “That proves my theory,” Brenda said. “That is what’s going on.”

  “Let’s not get too hasty,” Amber said. “It makes your theory a teensy bit more credible, but as far as proving anything? I wouldn’t go that far.”

  For a few long moments, the only sound was the buzz of Amber’s dying television.

  Something dawned on her evidently, and Amber’s eyes narrowed. “What were you supposed to have taken to the drop?”

  Brenda moved her eyes from Amber to Mel and back to Amber. “Chaz Knudsen’s blood. I’ve got it out in the car in a cooler.”

  “She’s not kidding,” Mel said. “She does.”

  “And Felix, our Felix, told you to do this to Chaz?”

  “Yes, our Felix did. He said it was a special request from the client.”

  “To take Chaz’s blood.”

  “Don’t look at me. I thought it was weird too.”

  “How much of it? Like enough to do a test and make sure it’s the right guy you did, or are we talking go-get-a-bucket kind of quantity?”

  “He said the client wanted ‘as much as I could get out of him’. So that’s what I did.”

  “And you never stopped to question it.”

  “I questioned it. When he told me that’s what they wanted me to do, I damn near got back on the plane and went home.”

  “Damn near, but didn’t. You stayed, and you did what he asked.”

  Brenda said nothing. The hook of money had kept her here, in this. And now, pierced through her cheek, it was towing her down into the inky depths to be eaten by the bigger fish, who’ll get eaten by even bigger fish and—

  Amber said, “Who’s the client?”

  Brenda laughed. “Like I’d fucking know. You know how Felix is about that stuff. He’s front of the house, I’m back. You’re in the basement.”

  “Well, regardless, I think I’ve heard enough.” Amber made some hand jive similar to a croupier cashing out. “I know entirely too well how this story ends. Spoiler alert, everybody gets fucked. So, that said, I think it’s high time you two leave. Right now.”

  Brenda watched Amber start to get up from the couch. When Brenda brought the gun back up, the sound of her thumbing back the hammer carrying through the quiet little house was all Amber needed to hear. She stopped halfway to the kitchen, the foot of her prosthetic leg forward, as frozen as Buffy on the TV behind her. She pivoted on her heel and looked Brenda in the face.

  “Murder for money is one thing,” Amber said, looking right down the barrel, unafraid, used to living in that place. “Stealing cars, rigging poker games and boxing matches, running dope, loan sharking, dog fights, all that shit? None of it’s healthy behavior by anybody’s standard. But when you get in bed with people who are okay trafficking in flesh and blood – fucking trust me when I tell you this, Brenda – it’s better to cut your losses while you’re ahead.” She bent at the waist to knock on her false leg. “Trust me. They may look like people, they may talk and walk like people, but they are not people. That stops when they get involved in this trade.”

  It surprised Brenda that the young woman’s words could chill her. There was trauma behind Amber’s eyes. A boulder of it, behind each, uncrackable.

  But at this point, this far in, there was no turning around. A chase was the only thing that’d result. There was only forward. Through.

  Brenda looked at the two laptops with dueling screen savers going on the table across the room. “I assume if you had my number, you have everybody else’s too, right? Burners, personal cells?”

  With a slow blink, Amber allowed, “I do.”

  “Dig up whatever active number you have for Merritt Plains.”

  The blood left Amber’s face. “Why him?”

  “Because I’m guessing that’s who Felix was going to send to the drop.”

  “Maybe you should forget about the drop,” Amber said, “and, I don’t know, run while you still can? You still have both of your original legs. You’re already winning.”

  Brenda waved the gun around. “Do you want your landlord just sort of miffed at you or straight-up pissed? Because I’d be happy to redecorate.”

  “Fine, fucking fine, but when I find his number, you are not calling him from here. You and her, you two can conduct your business elsewhere. Clear?”

  Brenda thought about it. “Nah, I think we’ll stay here. I like you, Amber. Don’t take it as a criticism, but your odds of survival go up exponentially if I stick around.”

  Amber turned to Mel. “She sell you a similar line?”

  “Pretty much,” Mel said.

  “If you’re going to be hanging out, do you think I could draw on your cast later?”

  “Sure. But no dicks, okay?”

  Amber sighed. “Never mind.”

  Brenda snapped her fingers. “Amber. Merritt’s number. Today.”

  “Okay, okay.” As Amber went over to her laptops and started typing and clicking away, Brenda looked at Mel then nodded sidelong toward the TV. “Find the remote, turn this shit off, and put it on the local news.” Then to Amber’s turned back, “Got any coffee in this pit or just rotgut?”

  “Above the sink.”

  “Instant crap or the real deal?”

  “Real deal.”

  Brenda started toward the kitchen. “Melanie, sweetness? How do you take your coffee?”

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “Are you asking me or telling me? I thought we talked about this.”

  “Cream and sugar. Thank you.”

  Amber said, “Um, I’d give the milk a sniff.”

  “Noted. How about you, Drinky Doris?” Brenda said. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” Amber grunted. “Black’s fine.”

  “Girl after my own heart.”

  Chapter Three

  The only evidence anyone had driven across the snow covering the empty lot was Merritt’s tracks, parallel serpentine ruts coming to stop where he had parked his Neon, facing the road but not in easy view if someone were to come driving in – like they should have, hours ago.

  Winston said, “I think it’s fair to say the jig’s up, Merritt. She’s not coming.”

  Merritt held the steering wheel. Listened to the classic rock station. No need to have the heat up too high because he had his flak vest on and it lent about as much warmth as a goose-down coat. In the passenger seat lay his silenced MP-9, the silenced Beretta, and the chopped double-barrel for if things got messy. All cleaned, loaded, and ready to go. All they needed now was something to shoot at. But it was starting to look like nobody was going to show. She was running late, by four hours.

  “Tried telling you, son,” Joseph said, directly behind Merritt, “she may not be the smartest around, but she doesn’t have to be when it’s you who’s after her.”

  Merritt looked into the rearview, but didn’t see his father, only the Mississippi behind his car. A plane of white and powder-blue, frozen over save for a slash in the middle where the dark water glimmered in the early afternoon sun. He adjusted the mirror to look into the ba
ck seat. Two travel coolers standing side by side, buckled into their seats, one red and one blue, a half-gallon of Michael inside each. The young man had given so generously. Felix was going to be so proud of Merritt. He couldn’t wait to see his face when he showed him what he’d brought.

  Merritt checked his phone, then the burner. No calls, no texts, no emails.

  The burner lit up in his hand. He didn’t recognize the number. 651 area code, though.

  He took the call but didn’t say anything.

  They didn’t say anything either.

  Merritt’s flak vest made him feel like he was wearing a girdle. The Velcro straps crackled with each stifled inhale, barely holding fastened.

  Finally, Brenda Stockton said, “Did you do Johnny, Merritt?”

  He said nothing.

  “What about Kerry Kerosene?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Dentist Ricky? Did you do him?”

  Just from the sound of her voice being directed at him, Merritt almost crushed the phone in his hand. He heard the plastic casing crack. “Brenda,” he said, “as far as I’m aware, those men are all alive and well.”

  “Well, I have reason to believe they’re far from alive and well. And it may not have been you who did them, but somebody did. Johnny Jade’s wife says he went to the store two days ago and nobody’s seen him since. Same deal with Dentist Ricky. According to Mrs. Dentist Ricky, he went out to pick up a pizza for the slumber party one of their kids was having and neither he, nor any large two-topping, ever materialized.”

  “I’ve got nothing to tell you,” Merritt said. “It’s news to me. Sad news at that. I like those guys.”

  “I’m sure they liked you too,” she said. “Just got off the phone with Kerry Kerosene’s girlfriend, Bernice, a minute ago. Yeah, the arsonist’s girlfriend’s name is Bernice. Match made in heaven. Ha, get it, a match made in heaven? I did it again. I swear I’m not reading this off a script. Anyhow, Bernice tells me she hasn’t seen hide nor hair of her firebug beau since last Tuesday. And that got me thinking. So I figured I’d give my friend and colleague a ring to see if you wouldn’t mind comparing notes.”