Nobody Move

by Philip Elliott

  The front door of the house hung open. He ran inside and heard the TV going but nothing else and rushed into the living room to find only Lois inside, slumped on the floor with her back against the sofa and a hand clamped over a bloody wound on her belly.

  “Where is she?” Eddie said, kneeling in front of Lois. He shook her shoulders. “Where’s Dakota?”

  “Eddie, I’m sorry. I made a mistake.” Her voice raspy. “My god this hurts.”

  “You told them you fuck, didn’t you? On the phone in the kitchen. You fucking told them.”

  “I owed Saul money. Like you. And I had no way to pay him back, either. When you said he wanted to kill you for it, I panicked. Made a deal. Gave them you in exchange for clearing my debt. But they shot me anyway, the bastards.”

  “Jesus Christ, they’re going to kill her, Larry.”

  “Lois—”

  “Oh fuck off you piece of shit. You can really hold a grudge.”

  “It wasn’t about that. Well, maybe a little.” Lois looked at her bloody belly. “Eddie, this really hurts.”

  “No shit, you got shot.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry you got shot. This is why I bailed on you in Alhambra—because you would have done it to me in a heartbeat.”

  “You know what, Eddie, you’re right. I admit it. Will you please call an ambulance?”

  “You’ve got some nerve.”

  “Please, Eddie. I don’t want to die in a man’s body.”

  Eddie stood up. “How the hell did you get involved with Saul?”

  Lois grimaced and groaned. “You remember Snake-eye Ricky?”

  “Of course I remember that crazy asshole.”

  “I needed money, for the down payment on my surgery plus other expenses. He said he knew a big-time gangster who loaned money at a good rate. The way he described the whole thing he made it sound attractive. You know how Snake-eye can talk. It was a mistake.”

  “Man, Saul has a hand in everything, the greedy fuck.”

  “Eddie, I’m really in a lot of pain here. I think I’m dying.”

  “If you were dying you wouldn’t feel so much pain. Now shut the fuck up for a minute let me think.”

  Eddie stood there trying to think of what to do next.

  A phone rang in the foyer.

  “For you,” Lois said.

  Eddie marched out of the room and picked up the receiver.

  “Where is she?” he said.

  “Eddie,” came Saul’s slick voice. “Nice to hear from you.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Saul. Where is she?”

  “You know, Eddie, I’m sorry it’s come to this. All I wanted was to talk with you, find a way to sort this out, peacefully, together. But you escalated it and escalated it and now here we are.”

  “When you want to talk with someone you don’t send two guys with guns. You couldn’t have just called my cell, you fuckin’ asshole?”

  “Your problem, Eddie, you got no respect. You think the whole world’s against you.”

  “Nah, just you, you fat fuck.”

  “You want the girl to live through the next ten minutes you better shut up real quick.”

  Eddie kept his mouth closed.

  Saul said, “That’s better, can’t hear myself think here. Where were we? The girl. You want her to make it out of this alive, you got a job to do for me.”

  “Don’t you have enough guys to do your jobs?”

  “This job’s specially for you, Eddie.”

  “What is it?”

  “You’ll love this. It’s a bank.”

  “Course it is. What’s the take?”

  “Two million.”

  Eddie’s breath caught in his throat. “What? There’s no way we could get cash like that without opening the safe.”

  “Correct.”

  “Jesus Christ, Saul. How’d you get to be so fuckin’ greedy?”

  “I was deprived of breast milk as a baby. Now listen, smartass—I’ll sweeten the deal. Pull this off and not only will I let the girl live, but your debt will be cleared and you’ll be out of the business, which I know is what you really want. You can walk hand in hand into the sunset with that slut and live out the rest of your days in peace, as long as you stay out of California.”

  Eddie scratched his neck and thought about it. There was no way Saul would let them live, but maybe he could form a plan to save Dakota.

  “All right, I’ll do it.”

  “I know you will, Eddie. I wasn’t asking. Twelve p.m. tomorrow at your apartment. Be there.”

  “Wait. It’s after midnight. Do you mean tomorrow today or tomorrow tomorrow?”

  “Today. Monday.”

  “How do I know she’s alive?”

  “Because what fun is a dead bitch?”

  Saul hung up.

  Eddie cursed and slammed the phone down. He went to leave the house, hesitated, and turned back to dial for an ambulance.

  13 | The Plan

  Since Floyd tried the Irish breakfast tea in Saul’s restaurant, he’d been having it at home, his wife thinking he’d had a stroke when she saw him carrying three cartons of teabags through the door. He needed it very sweet, dropping three heaping spoonfuls of sugar on top, and, now that he thought about it, that was probably what had him hooked. So, sitting now at Saul’s table in The Long Goodbye, Floyd asked for some Irish breakfast tea before Marcel had even brought out the platter, much to Saul’s delight.

  “It left an impression on you, I see,” Saul said.

  “It’s, I dunno … comforting.”

  “Comforting is exactly the word.”

  The restaurant was quiet, it not even 10:00 a.m. yet. Marcel the waiter was the only staff member Floyd had seen, and, as far as he could tell, Saul was otherwise alone.

  “How’s your shoulder?” Saul said.

  “Not as sore as it should be, considering.”

  “We’ll find him and make him pay soon as this job’s done, mark my words on it. A man like him can’t stay hidden in this city very long.”

  “He ain’t tryna hide.”

  “Even better then.”

  “Listen, boss, this nigga, the Puerto Rican—”

  “You have your reservations.”

  “I looked into him. Man is serious business. Does big contracts, you know—multiple targets, high-profile shit. Why you bringing in someone like that for something simple we could do ourself?”

  “Would you do it yourself, Floyd?”

  That stopped Floyd for a moment.

  Saul said, “I’m simply sparing you the decision by bringing in the Puerto Rican. And the man can keep his cool, we might need that.”

  “Why we even doing this? Eddie fucked up, sure, but the man was a good worker, loyal—”

  Saul raised a hand, three fat rings shining on his fat fucking fingers.

  “I’ll stop you right there, Floyd. It almost sounded like you were questioning me for a second.”

  “With all due respect, Boss, from where I’m sitting, none of this makes any fuckin’ sense. My ass might be dumb, but I ain’t no dumbass.”

  “Your fondness for Eddie is making it all seem more complicated than it is. I’ll simplify it for you. Right now Eddie is a walking bag of evidence ready to put you in prison again, this time for the rest of your life. I’m sure your loyal wife will remain faithful as ever when she’s visiting you for twenty minutes a week and talking with you through plexiglass. The other thing is, we need money to expand our operations. I’ve spoken with the Mexicans. They’re installing somebody to take over Bill’s company to keep distribution flowing, and they’re increasing production. Either we buy the extra product or someone else does. And, Floyd, we can’t afford to let those pieces of shit in San Fran get their hands on it. We can push them out if we do it now, but it’s our last chance. We’re not just fighting for control of California here, we’re fighting to survive.”

  “I know.”

  “Remember, this is your bus
iness now too. After this, you and I are partners.”

  “You wasn’t bullshitting me ’bout that, huh?”

  “You’ve been a loyal worker for many years now. You’re the only one I can trust, and you’re smart, dedicated. As we expand, I need a partner to help me manage operations. Pull this job off, and that’s you. You’ll make more money than you’ve ever dreamed.”

  “All right, but if I’m to be your partner then you can get used to me questioning you. Now, I understand why you want Eddie out of the way. I understand ’cause I want him out of the way too, I ain’t going to prison again, but I think Eddie would leave town if we let him. He ain’t totally fuckin’ stupid. But fine, Eddie gets taken out, I get it and I ain’t got a problem with it. One thing I don’t get is why we using him for this job. Why not treat them as separate issues? I do the bank with some pros, and the Puerto Rican does Eddie, separate.”

  Saul signaled to Marcel and the man hurried over. “Bring out two glasses and the Springbank, and don’t spill a drop.”

  Floyd went to speak and Saul raised a hand, looking back as Marcel left, clearly going to make Floyd wait until his lapdog returned.

  Marcel came back with two glasses of an amber liquid and set one down before Floyd. A smell of whiskey wafted up to him.

  Marcel drifted away and Saul picked up his glass and swirled it, sniffing.

  “Taste it,” Saul said.

  Floyd picked up the glass, heavier than he’d expected, and swallowed some of the whiskey. It was thick but silky with a smoky, leathery taste and a fiery afterburn.

  “What do you think?” Saul said.

  “Scotch ain’t my kind of whiskey but this is pretty good.”

  Saul took a sip of his. “I bought this bottle six years ago. It’s one of the most expensive whiskeys in the world. Seventy thousand dollars it cost.”

  Floyd was sure he’d heard him wrong. “You say seven thousand?”

  “Seventy. The price of a C-Class Mercedes-Benz. Taste it again.”

  Floyd swallowed some more.

  “It tastes better now, doesn’t it?” Saul said.

  “You know what, it does.”

  Saul nodded. “I kept the bottle sealed for almost two years. Then one day, after one of his movie premieres, Tom Cruise came in here with half the cast. This was before I was in the drug business and everything else. We’d just been awarded the second Michelin star and there was a buzz about the place. We used to try get celebrities photographed here, good for business. Now I couldn’t give a shit, bunch of assholes. Anyway, me being the hungry fool I was back then, I bring out the Springbank saying ‘Mr. Cruise, this bottle of scotch was distilled in the year nineteen nineteen and cost seventy thousand dollars and I’m giving you a glass on the house.’ The little shit watches me open it, waits until I’ve finished pouring, then says, ‘Thank you, but I don’t drink.’ Some slut next to him says, ‘I’ll have it.’ ‘Not a fucking chance’ I say and take it back, drink it myself. I’ve been drinking it a couple times a year since then, and you know what I’ve learned? Three things: Nothing is as good as it seems; you can always be more rich; and I fucking hate Tom Cruise.”

  Floyd smirked, the whiskey warm in his chest.

  “Point is, Floyd, when we’re partners you can buy seventy-thousand-dollar bottles of whiskey. You can buy the wife a house in the Bahamas and ship her there when you need a break from her. You can buy a truck full of whores and fuck them one by one while pouring liquid gold on their tits, if that’s what you want. But before that can happen, we need that two million. You want to know why I’m using Eddie and the Puerto Rican, I’ll tell you why. Firstly, we didn’t have near enough time to find two competent guys I can trust. I got tipped off about this job three days ago, and it has to be done today. And before you say it, I said ‘two’ guys because I’m not using that fuckhead Sawyer. Yeah, he can drive, but this is the kind of job that goes so smooth you drive slowly away, invisible. I want someone who keeps their cool waiting in the car, someone who won’t lose their mind or bail at the the first sign of trouble. The Puerto Rican matches that description, and offers the added bonus of taking care of Eddie afterwards. The Puerto Rican is the rare kind of man not in this business for the money. He has his own principles. I don’t know what they are but I do know that his reputation is immaculate, more valuable to him than a couple million bucks. He wants only what I agreed to pay him, nothing more. Finally, Eddie is no stranger to armed robbery, and you and him have worked together many times. What’s better? You and two guys you’ve never met and can’t trust, or you and Eddie, and the Puerto Rican cool as a cucumber in the car? Plus, Eddie has the motivation not to fuck us over on this, or bail. We both know he freaked out after killing that girl. He won’t want another on his conscience, and that faggot who gave him up said Eddie has feelings for her. When you put all the pieces together, it’s not just a good plan, it’s the best damn plan you’ve ever heard.”

  Floyd frowned, sure he was missing something here. “What faggot who gave him up?”

  Saul grinned. “Now we get to the fun part. I have something to show you. Come on.”

  Saul stood up, not much taller than when he’d been seated, and shuffled on his little legs toward the kitchen, which was empty. It was just Marcel in here with him after all.

  Saul cut through the kitchen and stopped outside the closed door to the manager’s office. He opened the door and stepped to the side to reveal a woman kneeling on the floor looking up at Floyd, her hands and ankles tied together, duct tape over her lips.

  “I believe you two know each other,” Saul said.

  Sitting in his Chevrolet in the heart of Beverly Hills across the street from a restaurant called The Long Goodbye, Rufus watched the nigger he’d stuck his knife through go inside. It pleased him to see the man wincing and rubbing his chest as he opened the restaurant door. Rufus almost went in after him—he’d been sitting outside since before 9:00 a.m. and had seen only a short, fat man with the swagger of someone used to giving orders (who must have been Benedict) and one other man go inside—but he wanted the one called Eddie, too, and the one with the long blond hair who had stopped him finishing off the nigger. No harm waiting a while longer, see who else turns up. He could wait all day.

  A skinny woman with hair so bleached it looked white walked out in front of his car, a fluffy white dog on a leash trotting behind her. She crossed the street and waited under the palm trees that divided it until the coast was clear to make it to the other side. The sky was blue and clear and the sun burned hot above the car.

  Rufus fingered a cigarette from the packet in his jacket and reached for his lighter before remembering he’d lost it somewhere, possibly that lawyer’s office. It was unusual for him to lose something and this irritated him. What if the cops had found it? So what? A lighter won’t tell them shit.

  Rufus turned up the radio as Johnny Cash crooned “The Man Comes Around.”

  Yes, He does. But now The Man has arrived, He has been taking names, and His judgment will be swift and terrible.

  “This one slippery bitch. How’d you find her?”

  Saul said, “Eddie’s got a faggot friend likes to wear dresses and pretend to be a woman. He shows up at this friend’s house on Mulholland Drive, looking for somewhere to lay low. Not leaving town like you said, Floyd, but staying right here to help this one find her sister.” Saul looked at the woman on the floor. “We had a nice talk about what you got to do with all this, didn’t we, beautiful?”

  Being gagged, the woman couldn’t answer, just stared at the tile, looking distant and defeated.

  Saul said, “Yeah, this one has Eddie wrapped around her little finger. But it didn’t work out very well, did it, Dakota? Floyd, you won’t believe this, you’ll think I’m bullshitting you. Guess who her sister is.”

  “Oprah Winfrey. Fuck am I supposed to know that?”

  “I’ll give you a hint: You and Eddie murdered her.”

  Floyd blinked, a dizziness com
ing over him. “What you saying?” He glanced at the woman who was looking up at him now with raw hatred in her eyes. No one had ever looked at him like that before. If she didn’t have duct tape over her mouth, she’d no doubt be screaming at him. Shit, she was probably putting an Indian curse on him right now. The thought of it made his skin crawl.

  Saul grinned like a fish. “What are the chances? I know. Dakota here had no idea till I told her. I asked her what she had to do with all this. She said she was looking for her sister but was too late because someone killed her. I said, ‘Who’s your sister?’ ‘Kaya White’ she tells me. I could hardly fucking believe it. The girl you and Eddie buried with Bill—her fucking sister. The sister worked at that strip joint which is why Dakota started working there, trying to find her. Dakota meets Eddie there and the two of them help each other out. Little does she know she’s helping the man who killed her little sister. It’s like poetry.”

  Floyd’s head was spinning. He avoided the woman’s gaze but felt it burning into him.

  Saul said, “But Eddie’s luck ran out. His faggot friend owed me twenty large. Called me up last night and said, ‘Mr. Benedict, I thought you’d like to know that Eddie Vegas is in my home right this minute and has a woman with him and I’m hoping giving you this information will clear my debt.’ I said, ‘Yeah, sure’ and sent a few of the guys around to grab the girl and shoot the fucking faggot while they’re at it for ever giving me a headache in the first place.”

  Floyd couldn’t help looking irritated. The fat motherfucker was losing it.

  “You killed the man did you a favor?” he said.

  “I didn’t say I killed him. I told them to shoot him somewhere it’ll hurt. If he dies, that’s his problem.”

  “And you told Eddie if he wants to save the girl, he gotta do this job.”

  “Plus I’ll consider his debts paid and let him leave the business freely so long as he never returns to California.”

  “But really the Puerto Rican gonna kill Eddie soon as the job’s done, and her too—” he nodded at Dakota. “So you get your money and your problems solved all at the same time.”