The Shake

by Mel Nicolai

  It was possible Danny was following orders from Richardson about what to tell me, and Richardson wanted to steer me toward these Russians. He probably thought they could get me off his back.

  The girl was still breathing, but she hadn’t moved from where Danny had thrown her off the sofa. “Who’s the girl?” I asked.

  Danny looked at her like she was as irritating as the pee he was sitting in. “A customer. Nobody, really. Just some fucked up rich chick.”

  “You use this shit?” I asked him, pointing to the drug paraphernalia on the coffee table.

  “Fuck no, man. That’s for stupid people. It’s strictly business.”

  “And young girls.”

  “Whatever, man.”

  Danny just wasn’t a very likable guy. That, in itself, was not a reason for me to kill him, but the circumstances were offering me a convenient meal, and that was a reason.

  “So, you hungry?” I asked, as if we were old buddies who might step out for pizza.

  Danny looked confused.

  “Hungry?” I repeated. “You want to get a bite to eat?”

  Danny started to laugh, but tried to hold it back, making a choking sound that escaped through his nose. “No I don’t want anything to eat. Jesus!”

  “You don’t mind if I grab a bite, do you?”

  “Whatever, man.”

  So I did. I drank about a quart, then held Danny down on the sofa and let rest of his blood mix with the girl’s pee. When he was almost dead, I went through the kitchen drawers and found a small screwdriver and used it to stab Danny a couple of times in the neck to disguise the teeth marks, then cleaned my prints off the screwdriver.

  The young girl had beautiful hands. Slender and very soft. The nails looked like they’d been done professionally. The cops were going to have fun figuring this one out. I pressed the handle of the screwdriver into her palm. She surprised me by gripping it, like an infant grasping its mother’s finger. She was a minor. She’d get off easy. Maybe the ordeal would help her clean up her act. Or not.

  I went into the bathroom and washed my face and hands. There was some blood on my shirt, so I took it off and buried it on the bottom of Danny’s overflowing laundry basket. I put on the spare I carried in my fanny pack, then left the house, sliding the back door closed on my way out.

  The connection, whatever it was, between Arnaud and Richardson was puzzling. It may have been limited to whatever drug-related business transpired between them, but I had a hunch there was more to it. Richardson would need a good reason to put a cop, no matter how dirty, between Danny and his customers. I had no idea what that reason might be, but it could have had something to do with the missing girl. Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe the Russians killed Arnaud for reasons that had nothing to do with Richardson. Maybe Arnaud had been killed over something related to the missing girl and Richardson’s role was just to set up the drug buy. It was possible Richardson didn’t even know in advance that Arnaud was going to be killed.

  I was going to have to dig a little deeper.

  Chapter 10

  Karla had only been working for me for a few days, and I wanted to give her time to get settled into the job. I thought I’d have her drive me a few more times, run some errands, and so on, before I started expanding her duties. As it turned out, our next evening drive wasn’t as routine as I’d intended.

  I gave her a call and asked her to pick me up at 11:00 p.m. at the footbridge. The night was breezy and overcast, but it didn’t feel like rain. Karla was right on time. Her outfit wasn’t as blue-collar this time. She was wearing her leather jacket over a light sweater, but no hat. She was also wearing makeup: lipstick and eye shadow, and what she probably thought was a subtle touch of perfume. To my vampire nose, the touch wasn’t so subtle. Fortunately, it wasn’t one of those modern androgynous scents that suggest an attempt to market youthful innocence in the guise of debauchery. Or was it debauchery in the guise of innocence? Either way, this particular fragrance was something from the chypre family, with a hint of patchouli, which I rather liked.

  The evening’s destination was a rural area northeast of town, around Sloughhouse. It was far enough away from the city that there was still pastureland with small herds of horses and cattle. A mammal as large as a horse or cow has enough blood in its body that a few pints can be drained off without causing the animal any harm. The careful incision of a leg artery produces an abundant flow of blood, and coagulates soon enough not to endanger the animal’s life. Not that I was concerned about the animal’s life. It’s just that a dead horse attracts the owner’s attention and scrutiny, whereas a small cut will most likely go completely unnoticed. Which means I can go back to the same herds again and again without arousing suspicion.

  My intention was to have Karla park somewhere convenient and wait in the car while I slipped into a nearby field to practice my bloodletting arts. We took Watt Avenue south, turned east on Jackson Road, then south again on Sloughhouse Road. A mile or so further, there was a stand of eucalyptus trees where a creek crossed under the road. The shoulder there was wide enough to park the car and the fields on both sides of the road were used to graze a few horses and cattle.

  “I won’t be long,” I said, opening the door. “Maybe fifteen minutes. You should keep the doors locked while I’m gone.”

  She looked around, trying to imagine what we were doing parked in the middle of nowhere, but she didn’t ask. I heard the locks click after I’d shut the door. When I was far enough away from the car to be sure Karla couldn’t see me, I hopped the fence and moved quietly toward a group of six cows, four of which were lying down near a feeding trough. These were dairy cows, which tended to be fairly placid and would usually allow me to approach without losing their wits, if they happened to have any. I chose one of the two standing cows, approached it slowly, then rubbed its flank to calm it. With a small ceramic knife I’d brought along for the purpose, I made an incision on the inside of the left front leg. I had taken a couple of pints of blood when I saw the lights of a car coming from the north down Sloughhouse Road. The car slowed as it passed Karla, but continued on south.

  If I would have been paying more attention, I would have seen the lights abruptly go out further down the road. I did hear a car door open and close, but the sound came from well south of where Karla was parked. I should have been more cautious, but I went back to my dinner. A couple of minutes later, I heard voices, one male and one female, talking quietly, then the sound of Karla’s car door opening. I stood up and sniffed the air, catching the scent of Karla’s perfume, and then a different scent. A male scent.

  I jogged back to the road, then walked quietly toward our car. The driver’s door was open and a man was standing against it, preventing it from being closed. I could see Karla’s profile through the rear window. She was leaning away from the open door, as far as she could without climbing over the center console. As I began to catch the guy’s words, “...matter, baby? You can’t spare a little?” I picked up my pace.

  He was reaching in with his right hand, trying to take hold of Karla. I could hear the fear in her voice, hissing “No!” as she tried to brush his hand away.

  “You want me to hurt you, I guess,” he said, reasonably, as if it were her intention rather then his.

  He let go of the door and started to go after her with both hands. As he bent down to extend his reach, I tapped the rear fender with my knuckles. He turned his head, froze momentarily when he saw me, then slowly stood up, turning to face me. He was apparently sure enough of himself to smile. The degree of miscalculation behind that smile almost made me laugh. I thought of a story by Chuang-tzu, one of the two Taoist sages, about a praying mantis in the road. As it is about to be crushed by the wheel of a carriage, it raises its arms in a posture of threat. The little critter just didn’t get it.

  When the guy stood up, Karla scrambled over the console and out the passenger door. She stumbled a few steps away from the car before spinning around. I glanced at her calmly
, which seemed to confuse her. Her eyes darted back and forth between me and the guy, but she didn’t say anything, just stood there breathing hard.

  “This your daddy?” the guy asked Karla, but without taking his eyes off me.

  “Shake,” she whispered.

  The guy took a large folding knife out of his pocket, opened the blade, and held it out in front of him to give me a good look. He had definitely watched too many movies. “We can do this the easy way,” he said, “or the hard way.”

  I wondered how many times he’d fantasized about using that line on someone. Who knows, maybe it was his favorite line and he used it a lot. He was quite a bit bigger than me, broad and muscular and no doubt mean as hell.

  “Since you’re offering us a choice,” I said, “what’s the easy way?”

  “The easy way,” he said, “is you get in your car and drive away and forget any of this happened.”

  “And the hard way?”

  The pleasure he took in describing the hard way suggested his preference. “The hard way, fuck head, is I gut you and then me and the girl take up where we left off.”

  I looked at Karla. She was wide-eyed. The guy had given her a bad scare. If I let him walk, the whole experience would be so negative for her, she might decide to quit. I thought I’d better give her a clearer idea of who was on her side.

  “Let’s do it the hard way.” I said.

  There was a moment of surprised confusion before he smiled even wider. He stepped away from the door and circled out into the street so that, facing him, I had my back to the car. He was waving the knife back and forth in some way he must have thought was threatening. I was pretty sure we’d both seen a lot of the same movies, so I raised my hands a few inches, palms up, and gestured with my fingers for him to come forward. The smile disappeared, his eyes narrowed and he came at me, swiping the knife at my face.

  I caught his knife hand by the wrist, forcing it out away from our bodies. With my other hand, I grabbed a handful of his jacket and pulled him in close, holding him immobile against his effort to pull away. Our faces were only a few inches apart. I held him there, watching the bravado draining out of his eyes, replaced first by confusion, then by fear. I was squeezing his wrist, slowly increasing the pressure, giving him time to let the disbelief sink in. He dropped the knife and screamed with pain as the bones in his wrist snapped.

  “Down,” I said, lowering him, “on your knees.”

  When the knife hit the pavement, I heard Karla exhale, then her footsteps coming around the front of the car. She stopped a few feet away, her fists pressed to her chest, as if she were shielding herself from something. She was hyperventilating and I was afraid she might pass out.

  “Karla, why don’t you sit in the car.”

  She looked at me, at the car, at the guy on his knees, then lunged forward and spat at him. I’m not sure any of her spit hit him, but she sprayed me pretty well. This seemed to satisfy a need that allowed her to relax some, and she sat down behind the wheel, leaving the door open so she could watch.

  The guy was cradling his right arm against his stomach. I rapped him on top of the head with my knuckles to get his attention. “What’s your name?”

  He looked up at me. He was crying. “Bill.”

  “How’s your wrist, Bill?”

  “You broke it!”

  “Life can be so unpredictable, can’t it? I mean, one minute, you’re just minding your own business, living your life as best you can. The next minute, something horrible comes along: a disease, a freak accident, it could be anything. Maybe you’re sitting in your car, waiting for a friend, and some evil, predatory freak decides to terrorize you.”

  The strain of trying to figure out what was happening had stopped his crying. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to hurt her.”

  “Shit like that, Bill, is only going to make it worse for you.”

  I turned and looked at Karla. She was still shaking, but her breathing had settled down. “He says he’s sorry. Should we forgive and forget?”

  “Break his other arm!” she said, with enough venom that it seemed to surprise even her.

  “You hear that, Bill. She doesn’t think your apology comes from the heart. Would you like to try again?”

  I’m always amused by how quickly the typical bully can shift into groveling and ass licking.

  “I’m really sorry,” he whined. “Really, really sorry. I don’t know why... what I was doing. I’m such an asshole, sometimes. I can’t help it. My life is complete shit. I don’t know what’s wrong. I just can’t get...”

  I rapped him again on the top of his head. “That’s enough, Bill. You’re supposed to be feeling remorse, not self-pity.”

  It just wasn’t smart to let him walk away, but I didn’t want Karla to witness the alternative. There was a telephone pole about twenty yards south of the car, close enough to be visible in the darkness. “You see that telephone pole, Bill?” I said, pointing.

  He glanced in the general direction.

  “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll give you a head start to the pole. That’s pole number one. The next one down the road is two, the one after that, three. If you can run to pole number three before I catch you, I’ll let you walk away.”

  He was young and fit. He measured the head start in his mind and I could see his confidence rise. “If I don’t make it, then what?”

  “Then you don’t make it.” I said.

  He looked at me like there was something more to say.

  “That’s the deal, Bill. I suggest you start running before I change my mind.”

  He scrambled up and took off, holding his damaged arm against his chest. Under different circumstances, his confidence would have been justified. For a human, he could really run. I glanced at Karla. She looked positively mystified. Then I took off after Bill. I wanted to time it so that I caught him a few strides before the third pole. When he passed the second pole, he looked back over his shoulder. The expression on his face was priceless. I was a lot closer than he’d expected, and he really turned on the steam.

  I closed the gap. When he was just a stride or two from the pole, I nudged him on his right shoulder. Running flat out as he was, he had no control over the change in direction. The telephone pole was about six feet from the road edge and he hit it at full speed. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs and he bounced back several feet, landing flat on his back. I walked over and checked him. He was unconscious, but still breathing. I grabbed a handful of his jacket and shirt with one hand, and his belt with the other, picked him up, spun him around and slung him against the telephone pole. When I checked him the second time, he wasn’t breathing.

  When I got to the car, Karla was leaning her forehead against her two fists gripping the steering wheel. She had been badly shaken. She spoke without raising her head. “Is he gone?”

  There wasn’t any point in my trying to make light of the situation. She could either cope with it, or not. “He’s about as gone as he can be.”

  She raised her head then, turning to face me. “Did you kill him?”

  I was a little surprised at how cold the question was. She may have been afraid of the man, but she was not afraid of the answer to her question.

  “Let’s just say he came to a crossroads, and, as so often happens, he made the wrong turn.”

  “He was going to hurt me, Shake.”

  For a second I thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t.

  “I don’t know if he was going to rape me, but I know he was going to hurt me.”

  “All things considered, you handled yourself pretty well tonight,” I said. “I’m proud of you.”

  There was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were struggling to square what I’d just said with the preceding events. “I don’t think so, Shake,” she whispered.

  “I told you when we first met that I wasn’t a bad guy to have on your side. I’ll look after you, Karla. But you have to help. It wasn’t smart to open your door to
that guy.”

  “I know I fucked up, Shake. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m curious about something. This was the second time I’ve seen you spit on some guy. What’s that about?”

  She thought for a second, then laughed nervously. “A few years ago, I had this real shit for a boyfriend. We used to fight all the time. So one time, he said something that really pissed me off, and I punched him in the face. It was the first time in my life I’d ever really slugged someone. It wasn’t like in the movies. I hit him as hard as I could and I broke my hand. It really hurt! And of course, the asshole got a good laugh out of it. So now I spit. That way I don’t break any bones.”

  “You know, Karla, I like that about you.”

  She looked at me questioningly.

  “Even when you’re furious, you’re never completely out of control.”

  She smiled, seemingly a little embarrassed, as if she wasn’t quite sure to what extent it was meant as a compliment.

  “Can you drive?” I asked.

  She started the car, put it in gear, but gave it too much gas, spinning the tires in the dirt. She backed off immediately and started again, more slowly.

  “You know,” I said, “he might have had a gun. You had no way of knowing. In the future, if you should ever feel the need to drive away, if you feel it’s your only alternative, then drive away.”

  “I thought I could handle it. You know, take care of myself, be the tough girl.”

  I thought again of Chuang-tzu’s praying mantis. “You’re tough enough, Karla. But strength is always relative to the context. He was a lot bigger than you. In situations like that, you have to be smart, too.”

  She was quiet for a minute. “He was bigger than you, too, Shake, but you...”

  “You made a mistake with him. He made a similar mistake with me. Who knows? One day I might make the same mistake with someone else. We all tend to take too much for granted.”

  Karla drove in silence for a few minutes. “What you did to him... he didn’t have a chance against you. Is this one of the things I’m not supposed to ask questions about?”