Secret Society

by Stuart R. West

  No time for subtlety or a sneak attack. Ten feet from the car, Leon dropped the suitcase. Steadying the gun with both hands didn’t help. The barrel whipped back and forth like a dog’s tail. He squeezed the trigger, hoping for the best. A quiet whiff. The back window exploded, glass hailing down onto the trunk. Cody’s arms flapped up. The other man dipped out of sight. Leon stopped at the passenger side, gun pointed inside.

  Cody jabbed an elbow into the man’s head, scrambled across the seat, and leapt out. “Jesus Christ. You coulda’ shot me!”

  “I didn’t,” Leon said. The man in the car wagged his head like a mischievous child and raised his hands. “Cody, get his gun.”

  “Already did, yo!” Cody twirled the gun and tossed it into his other hand. “Let’s waste these punk-asses!”

  “Just hold your gun on him. Don’t shoot unless I tell you to.”

  Cody bent down, poked the gun barrel into the man’s cheek, and said, “How do you like it…bitch?”

  Leon’s hands trembled as he readied another syringe. Still it felt like an old friend after the gun. He opened the back door.

  “Now, Leon. Let’s not do anything…hasty,” said the man, grinning as if they were old friends. Nothing frightened these men.

  Leon stabbed the needle into the man’s neck, yanked up on it to ensure pain. “This is your last chance. If I see you again, I’ll kill you.”

  The man chuckled then fell over with his hands clasped together ever-so-politely in his lap.

  “What the hell, Leon? These dicks tried to kill us twice now.”

  “Quiet,” snapped Leon. “Go get us another car. Now.”

  Grumbling, Cody shambled off into the parking lot. Leon patted down the man’s pockets until he found his phone. He snapped it in half.

  Not trusting his aim, Leon pressed the gun’s barrel to a tire and sent a bullet into it. As an afterthought, he shot out the other back tire. A reassuring sizzle left the tire. But the power of the gun felt overwhelming. Leon secured it in his pocket with a shudder.

  A mechanical roar startled him. The green Nova screeched to a halt, the modified engine thrumming. Cody revved the engine one more time, a hopped-up kid in a hot rod.

  Leon jumped into the passenger side, suitcase held against his chest. “Is this the most inconspicuous car you could find?”

  “Hey, it’s what I could wire. It’s not like you told me what to get or nothin’.”

  “Just drive.”

  Horns blared as Cody tore recklessly through the crowded shopping district. This time Leon didn’t care. He wanted to get as far away from the men as fast as possible.

  “We really shoulda’ wasted those assholes.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Leon under his breath.

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘maybe you’re right!’” Wind buffeted in around the Nova’s faulty weather-stripping, making it hard to hear.

  “Damn straight, yo.”

  “Get back onto I-70.” Leon leaned back and massaged his closed eyes.

  How did LMI find them? They’d thrown everything away. The phones were ditched, their automobiles left back in Kansas, no credit card usage…

  “Stupid! So damned stupid,” Leon said.

  “What?”

  “It’s the computer!” Leon pulled the laptop out of the suitcase. “I’ve been so damned stupid. LMI has my computer bugged—or they tapped into the system—something. It’s the only answer.”

  “Throw the bitch out the window!” Already cranking down the window, Leon prepared to do just that. He stopped.

  “I need to do something first.” Leon plugged one of the new phones into the computer. “Just take me a couple minutes.” Everything had to go. All the electronic photos he accumulated over the last several years—worthless trash now. Except for a few. Leon downloaded the photos of the mysterious old man in black to his phone. “Okay, now it’s ready for the trash heap.”

  They pulled into an isolated rest stop. Cody volunteered for the job.

  Cody shattered the laptop with a wrench, howling like a savage beast. The look in Cody’s eyes unsettled Leon—uncontrolled, almost sexual, pleasure. Leon gave the gun in his pocket a quick few taps, thankful for the protection it provided. From LMI and Cody.

  Chapter Eighteen

  While crossing the border into Utah, Leon kept his gaze locked on the rearview mirror. Very few cars shared the roads with them, definitely no tails. With an hour-and-a-half of highway behind them, Leon deemed it safe enough to stop for gas and caffeine.

  A poorly lit diner sat off a highway exit, the sort of dive where you wouldn’t find LMI assassins gobbling biscuits and gravy.

  “What’re we doin’?”

  “We need to eat.”

  The bell above the door announced their arrival. Late night eaters sat at the counter. No police or out-of-place suits. Just bleary-eyed truck drivers, heads sunken into their eggs and coffee. Leon headed straight for a booth in the back.

  “Yo, you know they’re just gonna’ keep coming after us.”

  “You’re probably right.” Leon wished Cody would drop it. His constant reminders about letting the men live were growing wearisome.

  “We left a hella’ mess back there at MightyMart.”

  “Good. I hope the police arrest them. Eat something.”

  Dried egg yolk spotted the paper menus, turning Leon’s stomach. Cody picked up a pinch of spilled salt and tossed it over his shoulder. “For luck, yo,” he said with an idiot’s grin.

  A heavily made-up waitress sashayed toward them. “What can I get you fellas’?” Once her wandering gaze landed on Cody, her smile grew wider.

  “Well, for starters, sweet thing, how about your phone number?” Cody winked.

  Leon slumped down into the booth, waiting for the floorshow to end.

  “You don’t look old enough to drink, let alone handle me, honey.” Even though she rebuffed Cody’s advance, her grin spoke a different story.

  “Oh, burn.” Cody glanced at Leon for masculine affirmation. Leon ignored him. “Well, after you’re done jotting down your digits, I’ll take a burger, fries, chocolate shake. Although your shake’s more than enough for me.”

  Unable to maintain her harried façade, the waitress’s red cheeks blossomed even rosier. “What’ll you have, hon?” she asked Leon.

  “Two coffees, please. Salad, vinaigrette dressing on the side.”

  “Sorry, no vinaigrette.”

  “Okay, your pick.”

  “I’ll be back with the coffees.” She left with a wink, tossing her hips back and forth enough to ensure future back problems.

  “Cody, why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know we’re supposed to keep a low profile. So why do you have to flirt with every girl you meet?”

  Cody shrugged. “I dunno; because I can, I guess. When you got it, you know, use it. You might live a little bit, yourself, yo. You’re gettin’ up there in age and everything.”

  “You know something?”

  “What?”

  “I am not old. I’ve barely cracked forty. And I’m not old enough to be your father. I can’t believe you told the MightyMart clerk I was your father.”

  “What? You’re kiddin’ me, right? You need a reality check, brah. You’re way old enough to be my old man.”

  Leon realized the futility of this playground battle. But, lately, age and mortality had been at the forefront of his mind so he had let himself be baited. Time to change the subject. “So what was your father like?”

  Cody’s glassy eyes cleared, became focused. “I didn’t have a dad.”

  “Do I really need to have a biological talk with you?”

  “Shut up. Just…shut up.” He struck a fork onto the tabletop, the tines scraping like a minor fender-bender. Several of the previously blind patrons took notice.

  “Calm down. I won’t ask about your father again.”

  “I never knew the dick, all right?
So I never had an old man.”

  “Maybe…you’re better off for it.”

  Cody glowered at Leon. The waitress provided a well-timed diversion as she dropped the food off. She lingered, obviously hoping to continue the earlier flirtation but the moment had passed. She moved on with a huff, leaving the scent of her over-powering perfume behind.

  “Just forget I said anything—”

  “What? You got issues with your old man?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “See? How do you like it?” Cody dipped a few fries into his milkshake and sucked the ends of them dry.

  “Point taken. I don’t like it.”

  Cody ignored him, too busy combining other items from his heart attack on a plate. “Good shit.”

  “You have the ‘shit’ part right.”

  Once Cody dumped ketchup onto his plate, stirring sugar into it with a fry, Leon’s tolerance level hit the ceiling. “How do you eat that?”

  “What?” Cody filled his spoon with the ketchup abomination and swallowed it. “How do I eat what?” The ketchup oozed from the corner of his mouth like blood.

  * * *

  Leon flipped the dial, settled on jazz.

  “What, now we gotta’ listen to jazz?”

  “Yes.”

  “Boring.”

  They drove on. The endless, dark highways delivered little diversity.

  “So, what’s in those needles of yours, anyway?”

  Leon shot Cody a glance to determine his sincerity. He never expected to share “shop talk” with anyone. Surprising how liberating it felt. “I use an animal tranquilizer called ‘azaperone.’ It’s fast acting, pretty dependable.”

  “Yeah, I use an animal trank, too. I tried azaperone once…” Cody drifted off as if fondly remembering the drug.

  “Why’d you quit using it?”

  “I needed something more potent. More…powerful.” He smacked a fist into his palm. “Got onto M-99. Wicked shit. Kills ‘em quick.”

  “Well, I try to be…humane, even though my ‘projects’ don’t deserve it.”

  “It’s cool; it’s cool.” Cody scratched his soul patch as if deep in thought, just idle chatter amongst pals. “I use a tranquilizer gun myself.”

  “Really? Isn’t a gun hard to conceal?”

  “No deal, yo. No big deal.”

  Uncomfortable with the conversation, Leon turned the radio up louder.

  “You know, you asked me why I do it.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Earlier. You asked me why I do what I do.” Cody sighed, looked out the window. Several times he opened his mouth then closed it as if the words obstructed his throat. Drawing a finger down the window, he finally said, “When I was a kid…I lived with my mother.”

  “Because your father left.”

  “Yeah, douche-bag ran out on me before I was born.”

  “That’s…rough.” Truth be told, though, Leon wished his own father would have left before he was born.

  “Tell me about it, yo. Anyway, my mother…she was a real piece of work. A true bitch from Hell. She locked me up and made me skip dinner all the time. Whenever she had some random dude come over, she’d throw me in my room while she got her sex on. I always thought I did something wrong. I was too young to know any better. Never figured out ‘till later it was all her.”

  Leon winced, struggling to keep his own past buried where it belonged. He wondered how many other like-minded individuals were abuse victims channeling their past miseries into their current endeavors.

  “I didn’t have any friends. The bitch wouldn’t let me hang out with anyone. I couldn’t ever have anyone over. She told me I was embarrassing enough as it was without some other grubby little mongrel hanging around. You believe that shit, Leon? The only thing—the only thing—I had was my dog…” A small moan, barely realized, escaped before he regained his composure. “It was nothing much, really. Just a stray mutt. I found it rooting around in our back yard. It was pretty jacked up.”

  “And your mother let you keep it?”

  “Moment of weakness, I guess. She said she never wanted to hear it, see it…smell it. It was my responsibility, and if I didn’t take care of it, well… Anyway, I’d come home from school, and she’d start screamin’ the dog wouldn’t shut up. A couple times she threatened to kill my dog. I begged her—begged her—not to touch it. One time I even grabbed onto her legs while she headed to my bedroom with a knife. She dragged me along while I tried to stop her. She kicked me a couple times. I guess she just got tired. She gave up and went to bed.”

  “That’s…awful.”

  “Shit happens.” He spoke the words with bravado, but Leon felt the underlying pain. “One day she said I should go to the mall ‘cause she had something to do. I thought it was weird. But since she never let me do anything, I was all over it. I got out my bike and went by myself. Nobody to hang with. When I got home, she was passed out on the couch, bottles of booze everywhere. I couldn’t find my dog. I couldn’t find my damn dog!” Cody raised his hands and dropped them into his lap. “I woke my mother up. Asked her where my dog was. She said he ran away. I went up and down the streets, calling for him. I must’ve looked for hours. I don’t really remember. I was out there forever, but…all I could think was my only friend—the only goddamn thing I loved—ran away from me.”

  “Did you find your dog?” Leon asked, although he knew the answer.

  “I finally looked in the crawlspace underneath the house. You know what I found? He was under there all right…with his head cut off. His fuckin’ head cut off! There was the knife next to him, blood everywhere. My mother’s kitchen knife. I must’ve sat under there with my dog…for hours.”

  “Cody, I’m really sorry—”

  “Whatever. Finally, I went inside and asked her why she did it. At first she denied it. She actually had the balls to deny it. Later, she changed her story, said he was barking. He wouldn’t shut up. So—” Cody rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes. “I called social services on the bitch, yo. What the hell else could I do? They took me away. And you know what? Even though the foster home sucked, it was a better existence than living with a crazy, evil bitch! That killer bitch! Anyway…you know the rest.”

  The tale unsettled Leon. True, the gruesome details were nightmarish but the similarities in their upbringing shook Leon to his inner core. He thought of himself as better than Cody, saner, more in control. Maybe he’d been lying to himself, hoping to hold onto his last remnants of humanity by justifying what he did because of his projects’ penchant for abuse.

  No, not his “projects.” His killings.

  “So, that’s why you left Rachel alone? Because of the dog?”

  Cody nodded, the night’s shadows shrouding his face. “Yeah. I rescued the dog from that damn Travis dude’s house. Dog was wrecked.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I can guarantee Rachel will take good care of the dog.” Cody said nothing, avoiding eye contact. “So, you target mothers who abuse their children?”

  “Whatever. They’re all bitches, cruel to their kids and their pets.” He said this matter-of-factly, spoken with conviction. Whether insane or a sad abuse victim—probably both—Leon now understood Cody better. Clarity opened a window Leon wished would’ve remained closed. “So, what’s your deal, Leon?”

  Leon knew what he meant but played dumb. “What do you mean?”

  “Why do you, you know, do your ‘projects’?” Cody tossed out exaggerated finger-quotes.

  “I told you. I’m a very private person.” Leon’s head tightened, deep resonant drums beating.

  “Come on. I told you mine, now, tell me yours, yo!” Cody’s short-lived foray into sensitivity didn’t last long. His cocky swagger roared back in full force.

  “I told you I’m a private man.”

  “Come on.”

  “Okay, fine…” Leon had no idea why he told Cody about his past. Perhaps it filled a need for human bonding,
to share the human suffering he’d survived. The second person he’d told, something he thought he’d never do. It made him feel not so alone.

  “Dude…that’s fucked up.”

  “Yeah, coming from the kid whose mother cut his dog’s head off.”

  “Screw you, old man.”

  “Don’t call me ‘old man.’”

  They laughed—tired laughter, bordering on delirium.

  It didn’t last long, though, as the urgency of their impromptu business appointment weighed heavily over them.

  * * *

  At six-thirty a.m., Los Angeles woke up. Businessmen beat their horns on crowded highways under a blanket of smog. The morning traffic hadn’t changed since Leon lived there, and he certainly didn’t miss it. It felt odd returning to where he began his alliance with LMI, yet somehow seemed appropriate, too.

  Before finding a hotel, they went shopping again. To gain access to LMI’s headquarters, they needed presentable clothing. Cody moaned about wearing a suit before finally relenting. And, of course, Cody eyeballed the pair of scissors Leon bought with suspicion. Rightfully so. Cutting Cody’s hair would invariably lead to another battle, so Leon let it lay. He’d tackle it after some sleep.

  Much to Cody’s amusement, the last items Leon purchased were a mustache and glasses at a costume store.

  “Nice porn-stache, yo! Bringin’ back the ‘70s.”

  “Whatever it takes,” said Leon, smirking at the packaged mustache, thick and hairy as shag carpet. Maybe it was overkill.

  Approximately five miles from LMI’s headquarters, they checked into a hotel, this time the accommodations were much nicer.

  Leon tossed his jacket onto the bed, ready to collapse upon it. Once again, Cody appeared jittery. “We need to get some sleep. We don’t know what’s waiting for us.”

  “Sleep if you want. I can’t. I wanna’ see what L.A.’s all about.”

  “This isn’t a vacation. Get some sleep.” As Cody strutted toward the door, Leon barred his path. “You’re not going out.”