The Bouncer

by David Gordon

  When they got to the top of the steps, Don put his hand on Juno’s shoulder. “Hold it here,” he said. He put the pistol in the back of his belt and shouldered the AK he’d been hiding under a jacket. Then he handed Juno the vial cased in plastic. This was the first time Juno had actually held the thing. The million-dollar perfume, if that’s what it really was. Whale sperm or not, this was starting to seem like a lot of drama over smelling good. He’d had plenty of time over the last day and night to think about what it was, and he hoped it was the cure for AIDS or cancer, but something told him this was not a bunch of humanitarians he was involved with.

  Then Don spotted Clarence on the other side of the clearing, holding a duffel bag, as instructed. “Okay,” Don said, prodding Juno with the barrel, “let’s do this.”

  Heather took up her position. She had arrived early, in her running gear, with the sniper rifle dismantled in a small backpack. She jogged through the park and up the stairs toward the plaza where the meeting would take place, then took cover in the trees, lying flat in a spot where she commanded a clear view. She assembled her rifle, then lay still, while insects hummed slowly through the air around her, and birds warbled and screeched, jumping incessantly from twig to twig in the summer-green trees above. She was thinking about the vacation she and her husband would take, beginning the second this mission was over. She’d already booked the tickets, under false names, of course, and chosen a hotel. She imagined herself under a different, deeper, bluer sky, a closer sun, dozing beside him, hand at rest in his. She’d shut her eyes then, against the glare, and only the ocean would whisper into her ears.

  Then she saw the young black kid arrive at the top of the stairs, with the muscle head, Don, prodding him from behind with a gun. She shifted into shooting position. When she saw Clarence arrive at the other end, holding the duffel bag full of newspaper, she pressed her eye to the scope. Ideally, he would kill or try to kill those two and she would kill him, but it didn’t really matter, as long as they all died and she brought the virus home to her husband.

  When Don grunted, “Let’s do this,” Juno held his hands out to show he had the vial and no weapon, and began, very carefully, to walk. The plan was that he’d cross over, exchange the vial for the bag of cash, and then come back, while Don covered Clarence with the AK. Of course, Juno realized that Don had no intention of sharing the money, but would he kill Juno over it or just ditch him? And how, Juno wondered, could he not find out, by escaping the fuck out of here, with or without the money? The fact that he could, in theory, just catch the bus home made the idea that he was caught in a possibly fatal trap even more of a weird nightmare.

  He reached Clarence. Feeling a bit awkward, he instinctively smiled. “Hey, Clarence, sorry ’bout the mess,” he said, holding out the vial.

  Clarence shrugged. “It’s cool, kid,” he said, taking it and handing over the bag. “All in a day’s work.”

  Then Juno heard a shot go off behind him and saw the look of panic on Clarence’s face. He spun around to see Don firing wildly into the air, as his brother, Eric, of all people, grabbed him from behind. Juno turned to dodge the flying bullets, only to see Joe grabbing Clarence and yanking him back. And his own pal Charles was with him in his trademark Marlins cap. It was like a surprise party. Juno broke into a run toward Joe and Charles, away from Don’s gun, when someone else, someone out in the woods, took a shot and blew up the bag in his hand. Shredded newspaper exploded like a piñata.

  “Motherfucker!” he yelled, partly at Clarence for faking the cash, partly at whoever was shooting at him. The word just came out like other folks yelled “Geronimo.” Then Juno took off at top speed into the trees.

  When they got to the park, Charles, who was tracking Juno’s phone on his own phone, led them all—Joe, Yelena, Eric, and the still silent big man—straight to the base of a large hill covered with trees and with a flight of stone steps running up the side.

  “According to this, Juno must be right at the top,” he told them.

  “You know this spot?” Joe asked. “What’s the layout like?”

  “Sure,” said Eric. “We’ve been coming here our whole life. These steps go up to, like, a paved area where you can sit on top. There’s more steps going down the other side.”

  “If you don’t mind a suggestion,” Joe said, “I think you and Yelena should go up these steps, while Charles and I take the other side. That way we have a gun covering both exits.”

  “What about the big man?” Eric asked. The man in question also turned to Joe.

  “If it’s all right with you,” Joe told him, “I’d say you should cut up that path through the woods there and circle around. That way you can take down anyone who slips past us.”

  “Sounds good,” Eric said. The big man nodded and immediately took off, jogging at a surprisingly good clip; it was like seeing your refrigerator suddenly jump up and move.

  “Give us a minute’s head start,” Joe said, and turned to Yelena. “See you at the top,” he told her with a wink.

  She smiled. “I will be waiting.”

  Joe and Charles took off running, Joe now naturally taking the lead, Charles happy to follow even though he was the one with the gun. Not to mention he was winded at the top, when Joe suddenly stopped and put a hand out, like, Halt. Charles halted. Then Joe crept up slowly, and peeking after him, Charles saw what Joe saw: this white guy, older, with a bald patch in the back, talking with Juno. Then shots cracked out. Juno jumped, and before Charles could do anything, Joe had snatched the white guy back from behind and was pinning him down with a knee right on his throat.

  “Charles, point the gun at him,” Joe said.

  “Right, sorry,” Charles said, and did it. He’d been a little stunned.

  Joe eased his knee off the guy’s throat, but when he tried to sit up, Joe pushed him back with his knee now on his chest. He held up the plastic box the guy had been holding.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Joe, listen, I’m not the one who crossed you. It was Don and the kid—”

  “What is it?” Joe asked again, pressing harder against the man’s solar plexus.

  “It’s a bug,” he gasped.

  “A bug?” Joe and Charles both looked at the clear plastic. To Charles it looked like the urine sample he’d had to give when he got busted for weed that one time.

  “Like a virus,” the guy went on. “It’s germ warfare shit.”

  “Where’s the client?” Joe asked.

  “He’s waiting for me to call him. Here …” He reached for his pocket and Charles almost shot him out of pure nervousness, but the guy yelled, “Phone! I’m just getting my phone,” and slowly pulled a disposable flip phone from his pocket.

  Joe took the phone and eased back, releasing the guy, who sat up, rubbing the sore spot on his abdomen, just a few inches below the spot where the wound suddenly bloomed when the bullet went through his heart.

  “Jesus!” Charles yelled, as Joe called out, “Take cover,” but Charles already was scampering back down the steps. Joe took off running the other way, up to the top of the hill, and was gone.

  When Heather saw the exchange going wrong, she took her first open shot. It was at Juno, and she missed. Juno had, maybe accidentally, done the smart thing, running for cover in a chaotic and jagged fashion, making it much harder to aim accurately. Heather was an excellent shot, and if he’d run in a straight line she would have picked him off, no problem, instantly calculating his speed relative to that of the bullet. But, as it happened, his erratic movements threw her just slightly and saved his life. She missed him and tore through the bag full of newspaper. Before she could get another shot off he was gone, into the woods.

  Heather couldn’t see Don now, but swiveling left she could see Clarence through the trees, struggling with another white man she didn’t know. Clarence was now a liability—he knew too much—so when the man backed off and she saw a clear target, she shot him through the heart. She was about to kill the
white guy next, whoever he was, when she heard something crashing through the woods behind her, like a bear or a whole platoon. She rolled over, but the foliage in which she was so cleverly hidden made it impossible to turn around and fire quickly. She had just enough time to glimpse a huge black guy, like a football player, jumping on top of her.

  He weighed a ton. Just the impact squeezed the breath out of her, almost knocking her unconscious. As it was, she was immobilized with her rifle uselessly trapped beneath her. She began squirming, looking for leverage, some small opening from which to punch him in the balls or something. But like the well-trained wrestler he was, he moved quickly to keep her effectively pinned. But this wasn’t wrestling, and instead of tapping out, Heather bit him, hard, right through the ear. She tasted blood and felt him jerk away but only clamped down harder, locking her jaw.

  The big man screamed, instinctively rising up as he shook loose. And that gave her a chance. She got her free arm around his neck. It was like a tree, it felt as thick as her waist, but as he grappled with her, she found the point on his vein and pressed, hard and steady, keeping the pressure on even after he realized what was happening and, in desperation, smacked her on the side of the face with his huge hand, before slipping into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  It took several precious minutes for her to get out from under him. She felt as if she was buried alive. She exhaled completely, making her body even smaller, and wriggled a little bit, then again. Finally she got an arm free and grabbed on to a root. Using that as leverage, she managed, with a moan, to slither out. She got unsteadily to her feet. Her whole body ached and she could feel her face already swelling. Her rifle was still hidden somewhere beneath him, and he was beginning to mumble, slowly regaining consciousness, so she left it there and ran.

  As soon as Yelena and Eric got to the top of the hill and she saw him go for Don, she knew he was making a mistake. But it was too late to say so, and he hadn’t asked. Men rarely did ask. He was worried about his brother, which was understandable, and why would a muscular man, over six feet tall, ask a slender young woman who barely reached his shoulder how to fight? Plus, he had a gun.

  So Eric grabbed Don by the left shoulder, with his left hand, and jabbed the pistol into his right side, causing Don to jerk his arm up and fire randomly. Eric should have grabbed him by the throat and yanked back, throwing Don off balance. Or knocked him out with the gun. Or else just shot him. But as it was, he gave Don the chance to do what she would have done. As soon as he felt the poke of what he knew was a weapon, he spun right, slashing out with his elbow and knocking Eric’s gun into the woods. Then Don followed through, completing his turn, bringing his left fist up hard to clout Eric hard on the side of the head and knock him sideways, ear no doubt ringing. He then tried to bring his own weapon, the AK-47, up from his side and into play. But by then Yelena was on him.

  Already moving when Don moved, knowing what would happen, she had jumped, leaping over Eric as he stumbled sideways, and kicking the rifle from Don’s grip into the trees. But before she could get another blow in and finish him, Don had grabbed her in a bear hug and they went over together, struggling as they tumbled down the steps.

  At the bottom she was up first, springing backward, catlike, kicking out as he rose and clipping him on the chin. He fell back, onto the steps, and she was closing in when his hand came up holding another gun, this one a flat automatic.

  “Hold it,” he yelled. And she listened. She froze in motion, putting her hands up, and even stepping back, giving Don room to stand and giving Joe, whom she saw coming swiftly down the steps, a chance to jump him from behind.

  Joe did not make a mistake. He grabbed Don by the neck, locking his left biceps tight around his throat, while his right arm seized Don across the forehead to grip on the base of his skull. In one smooth movement, he broke Don’s neck.

  PART IV

  41

  Charles took the big man to the ER to get his ear stitched up. They said he got bitten by a dog, which meant threatening him with rabies shots, but otherwise he was fine. Eric took the rest of them back to their place, Juno beside him in front, the two brothers’ arms around each other the whole way, Yelena and Joe in the back. When they got home, he gave them their guns.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I see now I should have let you hold them.”

  “That’s okay,” Joe said, and shook his hand.

  Yelena shrugged. “Turns out we didn’t really need them,” she said, and they shook hands, too.

  “So then, what are you going to do with this?” he asked, pointing to the encased vial, which sat on the coffee table, atop a stack of magazines, like a weird modern paperweight.

  “I’m out,” Juno said, shaking his head. “I have no problem stealing some rich lady perfume. Shit’s already a rip-off. But this? I say turn it over to the cops or whoever. The dudes in the hazmat suits. What about you, Joe?”

  “It’s been a really exciting weekend,” Joe said, “but I didn’t go through all this to walk away empty-handed. I say we call the client and see what he offers.”

  “It’s all yours,” Juno said. “I’m happy just to be alive.”

  “No,” Joe said. “You put in the work. You still get your cut.”

  “Thanks, man. You’re all right,” Juno said. He asked Yelena, “What about you?”

  “I’m with Joe,” she said.

  When Heather got home and told Adrian what happened, he saw her swollen cheek and he was furious, mainly at himself.

  “I never should have let you go.” He got an ice bag from the freezer. “I can’t believe I put you in harm’s way.”

  “Please. I’ve had worse injuries in kickboxing class and you know it.” She lay back on the couch as he handed her the ice bag. “Thanks, baby.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you worry about me. I feel the same about you, but you know I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can, better than anybody,” he said, kneeling by the couch. He lifted her shirt to kiss her belly. “But now you have my son to take care of, too.”

  She laughed, ruffling his hair. “Your daughter doesn’t even have lungs yet. Or eyes. She is just a tiny blob of cells.”

  “Still.” He sat on the floor and leaned his head against her. “I couldn’t bear to lose you both.”

  “You won’t,” she said, and stroked his head without further argument. She knew he had abandonment issues.

  42

  Gladys was just sitting down to watch Jeopardy! when Gio stopped by.

  “Hi, hon,” she said as he leaned down to kiss her, “help yourself in the kitchen,” then hurried back to her chair.

  “Oh, right, it’s time for Alex,” Gio said. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  He went into the kitchen and got a Fresca, then sat quietly on the couch and waited for the commercial. He knew better than to interrupt.

  “Who is Milton?” she yelled at the screen. “Where is Zimbabwe? What is the clavicle? Clavicle, you idiot.” The tension was palpable as the little buzzers beep-beeped. “Radium! I mean, what is radium? Take geography for five hundred, dummy. What are the Himalayas? Himalayas!”

  She sat back and took a breath, seeming to notice Gio for the first time. “Oh, good, you got a Fresca. Put a little in here for me.” She held out her glass, which she’d emptied but for the ice. He poured in the Fresca and she topped it up with some whiskey. “So what’s new? How’s the family?”

  “Good. Nora’s soccer team is undefeated so far—”

  “God bless. I think it’s great how nowadays girls will do anything. And how’s your mom?”

  “Fine. The same.”

  “Send her my best.”

  “I will. And how are you?”

  She waved her hand over her domain. “As you see, no complaints.”

  “Have you heard from Joe? I’m trying to reach him.”

  She sipped her drink, leaving a fresh lipstick print. “You and everybody else. But I guess he’s too busy to call me.”

&nbs
p; “Who else?”

  “This nice lady Fed. Spanish name … I’ve got her card somewheres.” She began looking around, moving things. “Now where did I leave them?”

  “The card?” Gio asked, looking over the coffee table.

  “No. My glasses.”

  “They’re on your head.”

  “Oh, ha … silly me.” She reached up into her hair and pulled them out, then set them on her nose. “Okay, then, let’s see …” Gio waited and smiled encouragingly. “Oh, here it is, right in my pocket. Sorry.” She peered at it. “Donna Zamora?”

  “I know Agent Zamora,” Gio said.

  “Cute, right? Nice little bod on her, too.”

  “Sure.”

  “I think she’s sweet. For a cop.” She took another sip.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “What do you think? Zilch.”

  He smiled. “And what do you think she wanted?”

  “You know what I think? I think she has a little thing for Joey.”

  Gio laughed. “Okay, Gladys, thanks for the Fresca. And if Joe gets in touch, tell him to call me. I don’t want to worry you, but it’s important.” He stood up and bent to kiss her.

  “I’m not worried. Joe can take care of himself. And me sometimes.” She pinched his cheek. “And you, too, Gio.”

  He grinned. “I know it.”

  When Gio walked out, keys in hand as he strode toward his car, already on the phone like the multitasking executive he was, Donna was watching. She’d come by a couple of hours before, just on her own, and parked discreetly up the block and sat, on the hunch that if the elusive Joe were going to pop up anywhere, it might be at Grandma Gladys’s apartment, which was his only known abode, unless “back booth in a strip club” counted as an abode. Gio had turned up instead.