McKuen’s Revenge

by Andy King

  “He think he’s some kinda rock star?” Eddie said. The man on the other end sighed.

  “Guess he’s been around the block a few times, too. Look, what’s the big deal?”

  Eddie could see his future—take another risk. It went against everything he’d practiced, but one or two million? Cash? Sweat ran down his back. One more try.

  “I’ll cut you in for thirty, just get him a message.”

  Feeling the other man waver, his hopes rose. Thirty thousand was probably three months take for the guy. His hopes flew out the window.

  “Ése, I really wouldn’t mind it. No I really want it, but I know what Zolo’s gonna say. Besides, from what I hear, this Reneaux’s his main client.”

  “Mothafucka!” Eddie almost slammed down the phone but thought he might need this asshole someday. He forced himself not to scream at the man. “OK, later.”

  He paced and looked at his calendar. If he was going back to Tony’s he’d better do it soon. He’d been there too many times, though. They probably had cameras. Was there any other way?

  He had to get the money.

  His wife had urged him to make a plan. Write it down, let her look at it, all that. Planning wasn’t his strong suit. He felt a headache hovering.

  A plan, huh? I’ve got your plan right here.

  A high performance Edelbrock carburetor, cleaned and polished, sat on a shelf, a memento. He scowled and ran his fingertips over the surface, remembering a simpler time.

  A plan…

  Maybe there was another way. He sat down and pulled up a Google map.

  8

  Wednesday the 11th

  Liv Reneaux looked out at the downpour. The TV said a massive arctic storm had slammed through British Columbia and howled down the Pacific coast. Snow was reported as far south as the mountains behind Santa Barbara. She shivered.

  Liv didn’t know the man who knocked on the front door. He was wearing an orange vest, big rubber gloves and a helmet, and looked like a power company worker. There were a couple of times when the lights had dimmed.

  She opened the door and another man wearing an orange vest swung around the corner. He pointed a big gun at her. She inhaled to scream. The first man clamped a glove over her mouth. She lashed out with a foot.

  The second man grabbed it. He stepped in and swung the front door shut. Man One held her by the mouth and neck. He glanced up the stairs. Man Two put up his hands in a caution sign. He pointed at the kitchen.

  The two of them wrestled her kicking and struggling through the living room. Man One’s grip was strong, the big rubber glove too thick to bite through.

  Liv wasn’t small—five feet eight. She had enough muscle and coordination she could fight off an average-sized man. Adrenaline blew though her veins. Her baby! But she knew they could restrain her indefinitely. Man Two produced a rope.

  She finally focused on them. Both Latino, one had a mustache and they were taller than average. The rope was going around her wrists. She tried to set her feet just right, and—

  Slam! She stamped on his foot. Ummmph! he groaned but didn’t let go.

  It felt like he had steel-toed boots on. That hurt, wearing Uggs. Mental note: don’t do that again.

  Two pulled out a roll of duct tape and tore off a piece. He held it in front of One’s glove. The glove disappeared, she inhaled to scream and tape was slapped over her mouth. Damn!

  She tried to kick Two and connected half-heartedly. He grabbed her leg and mimicked twisting it. He stared into her eyes, daring her to make a move. She nodded. No more resistance, for now. He put away the rope.

  Liv knew Dennis was asleep. She guessed these guys were professionals. One forced her to the back door. Eyes wide, she screamed.

  “Ummmph, ummmph!” She waved her head at her purse. One looked that way and looked back, puzzled.

  Two pointed at her belly. One nodded. Two grabbed the purse, opened the door and took a hand to steady her.

  They forced her into the rain, held her wrists tight, and steered her around the house down the driveway. A white van was double-parked. Liv knew it wasn’t visible because of a tree.

  She wondered if a neighbor might notice them dragging her out of the house with duct tape over her mouth. The rain. They were professionals.

  One opened a sliding door and forced her inside. Another man climbed in behind them, holding a screwdriver. Dressed identically, Three raised a gun. It didn’t waver. One climbed in the driver’s seat and drove the van down the street.

  Two and Three flanked her, squatting. Two went through her purse, screening for weapons. He confiscated a metal nail file and a keyring, found her phone, turned it off and put it in his pocket.

  “Be still, you don’t get hurt,” Two said. “When we get where we going, we get you dried off and warmed up.” All of a sudden she felt cold and shivered.

  Fear hit. With no idea where they were going, no phone, no way of escaping and no clue what was happening, she started to cry.

  _____

  Dennis pulled the covers over his nose. Getting out of bed on a rainy morning wasn’t a priority. He heard Liv doing something in the kitchen, probably breakfast. She knew he didn’t want any and he hoped she would stay down there and let him sleep. He was such a selfish slacker. He smiled.

  He dreamed he was riding his Harley up Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu. Somehow he was simultaneously travelling fifty miles an hour and guzzling a beer, and also slowly cruising through the Village where beach bunnies in string bikinis cheered him like a returning war hero. But that’s what dreams are for. Snore.

  Time must have passed, someone’s snoring woke him up. Oh, his snoring. Hmmm… Roll over and go back to sleep. That’s it, no thunder, nice and quiet. Snore.

  Too quiet. He opened an eye. Rain pounded the windowsill.

  Maybe Liv went to the market. Not on a day like this. Maybe she was sacked out on the sofa. He saw the clock. Ten? He didn’t think so.

  He pulled the quilt back and stretched. Cold, a draft. The furnace was on awhile ago. What draft?

  He rolled out of bed, stood swaying in a trail of sleep, then came fully awake. The house was quiet. It felt like a door was open somewhere.

  Not right.

  He charged down the stairs. “Liv?”

  He ran through the living room to the kitchen. The back door was open, rain pelting the walkway. In the garage? He looked outside. No light on.

  He ran back upstairs, threw on some clothes and punched Liv’s cell number. Voicemail.

  He grabbed a cap and pulled it on while running back down. Through the rain, out to the garage, he found the door open. Wet footprints led inside but his Ram, Liv’s Lexus and his Harley stood there, shiny and dry. No Liv.

  Not right. Back to the house.

  He searched each room and decided she wasn’t there. OK, where? He tried her phone again and got voicemail again. Oh, the acid test.

  Her purse—gone.

  Reluctantly he called McKuen.

  “What?”

  “Steve, sorry to wake you up, Liv’s gone, her car’s here and—”

  “What time is it?”

  “Like ten, uh, ten twenty-four.”

  “Crap, I should be up. Hang on.” Sounds of movement, then a groan. “OK, you said Liv’s like, gone?”

  “Yeah gone, her purse is gone, and I guess her phone’s in it, just goes to voicemail.”

  “When did you see her?”

  “Well, I heard her banging around in the kitchen awhile ago, that’s what woke me up, the house was too quiet.”

  “Her car’s still there?”

  “Yeah, everything’s in the garage, dry.”

  “Did you try her friends? Maybe she went out for breakfast or, I don’t know, shopping?”

  “She already had breakfast. Look Steve, the back door was open, it doesn’t feel right. Remember Zolo was saying he should get one of his guys watching her? Well hell, I didn’t take it seriously enough, I’ve got a bad feeling about th
is, man.”

  McKuen’s tone sharpened. “OK, hang on, let me think.”

  Dennis waited, seconds ticking.

  “I think we should call Coil,” McKuen said. “It’s not her jurisdiction, but her boyfriend’s a prosecutor. Remember Mindy’s cousin, Larry?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Anyway, if you think it’s time to call the cavalry, let’s go big.”

  “Well…”

  “It’s up to you, man.”

  “I’ll call, Steve. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not thinking clear.”

  “Big difference, dude. It’s Liv.”

  “And she’s pregnant.”

  “And that.”

  “OK, I’m coming over to Tony’s, I’ll call her from there.”

  “I’ll think about it some more. If somebody picked her up, there’s a reason. I mean, your house is locked, right?”

  “Yeah yeah.”

  “So think this way, if somebody picked her up, she let them in.”

  “Good point.” Click.

  Dennis made sure he had everything and hauled ass to the garage. He started his truck, hit the remote for the garage door and rolled out.

  At the end of the driveway, he heard a thump, then thump, thump, thump.

  A flat tire? Right now? What the fuck? He pulled over and called the auto club.

  Imagination exploding, he couldn’t wait. He called the West LA police station and reported Liv missing. An officer said it was too soon to file a report. After a few minutes of arguing, he dropped it and called Coil.

  Her phone went to voicemail, so he called the SMPD’s main number. A menu. Goddamn it! He forced himself to slow down. He worked through the menu and finally reached the detectives’ table. A detective said Captain Coil was in the field. Aggghhh! About to hang up, he had an idea.

  “Is Don Ishido there?”

  “Detective Ishido is in the building, hold please.” Seconds went by, then minutes.

  “Ishido.”

  “Don, Dennis Reneaux. Look, my wife, Olivia, I think she’s been kidnapped. My house is in Venice, but LAPD won’t even take a report, think you can do anything?”

  “I can take a report, but nothing’ll happen. We’ve got a backlog like LAPD. With you technically being inside LA limits—”

  “Yeah, OK. That guy, McAllister? He said Char’s not at the station.”

  “She might be taking a sick day. The weather, you know.”

  “All right. Thanks, Don.”

  “You sure your wife isn’t like out, uh, shopping?”

  “No, she’s pregnant and she’s got a half-shift starting this afternoon. Last night she told me she was gonna enjoy putting her feet up and doing nothing this morning, so I don’t think so.”

  “Well, sorry.”

  Dennis hung up and fumed. Still no auto club truck. Probably a million people out there with car trouble. Hair on fire, he couldn’t just do nothing. He called Zolo. Maybe he could send a couple guys to help with the tire. It rang. And rang.

  Then voicemail. Voicemail? Zolo always answered, even when he was sleeping. Shit!

  Twenty minutes later the auto club man arrived. Dennis jumped out and helped him change the tire, getting soaked but not caring. He needed to go.

  McKuen’s office was locked. He ran out to the barroom.

  “Where’s Steve?”

  “Don’t know,” Lori said. “You call him?”

  About to throw his phone across the room, Dennis took a deep breath. McKuen didn’t exactly say he would meet him.

  The Heart of Saturday Night was playing at low volume. It matched Dennis’s mood. He opened the front door of the bar. The rain was slowing to a drizzle but the gutters were torrents.

  Coil called back and told him her hands were tied. She knew Dennis had resources and said she would look the other way, “As long as nothing blows up in Santa Monica.”

  After the call, terror crept in. Dennis took a walk in the damp, trying to suppress anxiety. He left a voicemail for McKuen and called Zolo again. A half hour later he was approaching the alley.

  His phone rang—a blocked number. The man had a faint accent.

  “You ready yet?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready to deal, what do you think?”

  “What’s the deal?”

  “Hundred thousand, small unmarked bills.”

  “I don’t have that kind of money!”

  “Tough shit, then. Your wife, she is fine.”

  “She’s pregnant, motherfucker! You touch her and you’re dead!”

  “Then let’s see some dinero, we got her, you want her.”

  “Where? When?”

  “Call you back.” Click.

  Almost hysterical, he heard a tire splash through a puddle and looked over. He trailed McKuen through the back door of the bar.

  “Where you been? I’m going insane here,” Dennis said. McKuen reached past him and shut the office door.

  “Took a drive out to Encino, to Phil’s.”

  “Phil? Your lawyer?”

  “Wanted to fill him in on the murders and Phil’s got, uh, clients.” He pushed a finger against his nose in the universal gesture signifying old mafia. Dennis’s eyebrows went up.

  “Really? Wow! Never thought… Well, I only know him from my problem a couple years ago, with Sanborn.” McKuen took off his coat.

  “Yeah, Phil’s the man. He’s gonna put out the word. He’ll get back.”

  Dennis’s shoulders eased down. “Thanks, man. Hope this shakes something out of the woodwork.” Then red alert again.

  “Oh, just got a ransom demand,” Dennis said.

  “How much?”

  “Hundred large. Don’t know where or when.”

  “Huh. Seems kinda low.”

  “Low? Low? What the hell Steve, we’re talking about Liv, I’m going nuts here!”

  “Calm down buddy, I’m thinking this isn’t about money.”

  “Oh.” Dennis sort of understood the logic.

  “These murders are stacking up and there’s the piece of paper from the necklace,” McKuen said. “Somebody’s sending a message. I don’t get the message yet, but whatever it is, it’s connected.”

  Dennis stroked his beard. It was pretty fishy. The problem was that each of them had made a lot of enemies. It was impossible not to. The drug business attracted maniacs.

  His shoulders fell again. He sat heavily. The sofa protested.

  “All right, it’s somebody who doesn’t like us. That’s obvious.”

  “It’s got to be about the necklace,” McKuen said. “First Amy, now Liv. Christian’s ghost comes back to haunt us.”

  “Oh yeah, the account numbers. Somebody wants that piece of paper, you think this is connected with that?”

  “You got it.” They were silent for a minute.

  “So what about this call?” McKuen said. “The guy who picked up Amy was probably Latino. She said the accent was kinda faint, though.”

  “Yeah, the caller might have been, too, I don’t know. Soon as I answered, my head was flying around, hard to remember.”

  “What about the FBI?” Dennis snorted.

  “You think they’re better than Zolo’s crew?”

  “Probably not. I’ll call Coil.”

  “She’s home sick.”

  “Wah, give her something to do, you know her.”

  Dennis thought about it. OK, let McKuen take the heat.

  “Sounds good. Thanks, Steve.”

  “De nada, buddy.”

  Dennis went out to the bar and asked for a ginger ale. He sat and stared at the mirror, trying to think of any other angle. His phone rang—Zolo.

  “Jefe, I am sorry. I make my phone vibrate by mistake.”

  Growling, Dennis said he wanted an army out looking for Liv. He wanted Zolo to reach out and touch everybody he knew who might know something. Zolo cursed himself in Spanish for a minute.

  “Hey man, it’s OK,” Dennis said. “Well, i
t’s not OK but you didn’t do anything wrong, you suggested it. I should’ve followed up, it’s my mistake, not yours.”

  “But it is my fault. I even think about getting Jerky to do a, how you say, hidden watching on your house. He is good at sleeping in his car, he don’t mind.”

  “Look, we gotta deal with this right now. We’re wasting time with shoulda woulda coulda. Just start calling, OK?”

  “OK, is my stupid mistake, I find her.” Zolo hung up.

  _____

  McKuen looked up. Dennis walked into the office.

  “Zolo’s got a bunch of people asking questions,” Dennis said.

  “Still got a net around Amy, right?”

  “Oh yeah. When I was talking to Zolo, I made sure.”

  Dennis started to pace, hands clenched behind his back. His cowboy boots clunked on the wood floor.

  “How ‘bout you take the pacing out to the barroom?” McKuen said.

  “Oh, man.” Dennis stared at McKuen, face redder than usual, looking worn out and angry. He turned around. The clunking receded.

  McKuen shut the door. He was sympathetic, but he did better work in solitude. Quiet solitude.

  He punched Coil’s number and told her about the ransom call. It had to be connected to the person looking for the account numbers.

  She wanted to know why he was calling her. He flattered her by calling her the Christian expert, as if that would work.

  The conversation ended with Coil saying she would think about it, but it was pretty far down her priority list.

  He straightened things on his desk, squaring angles, then grabbed a pen and folded back a fresh sheet.

  He had to figure it out. Things were out of hand.

  _____

  Dennis groped for his phone in the dark. It was Zolo, reporting in after a long night.

  “The only lead is at a trucking company down Bandini Boulevard. Vato sees a gringa, looks a little like Olivia. She’s with three Latino dudes, getting out of a van.” Dennis’s blood pressure spiked.

  “You followed up, right?”

  “Sí, but it turn up nothing.”