BAD TIME TO BE IN IT

by David Burnsworth

  His phone buzzed.

  He looked at the display, saw Grietje’s number, and thought tonight wouldn’t be any better for his marriage.

  Grietje stared at him from her seat at the bar, giving him her full-lipped smile, as if she’d never tried to have him killed.

  “Miss You” by the Rolling Stones played in the background.

  Blu pulled two cigarettes, lit them with the Pirate’s Cove matches, and gave one to her.

  She took the offered smoke between two long slender fingers, held it to her mouth, and inhaled a lungful. Blowing out a steady stream to the ceiling, she smiled. “I’m surprised you would want to see me again.”

  “To tell you the truth,” he said, “I’m not sure I’m thinking clearly.”

  Fingering the stem of her wine glass, she hesitated before speaking. “My men wouldn’t have killed you.”

  Using the same hand that held his cigarette, Blu picked up the tumbler of club soda, raised it to her, and took a drink, not believing a word of what she just said.

  “You don’t trust me, do you?” she asked.

  “Not at all, but it’s a nice thought.”

  “What is?” she asked, leaning in. “Thinking that I wouldn’t have you killed, or wanting to accept what I say to you as truth?”

  The halo of the dim lighting around her curls made him want to touch them. He said, “You didn’t enjoy it very much when I carried you down the street.”

  She sat back and hooked an elbow behind the backrest of her barstool, retreating but still open to him. “You find that funny, don’t you?”

  “Not at the time.” But thinking about it now: her weight over his shoulder, the closeness of her, and the smell of her perfume on his clothes afterward.

  “Probably not,” she said. “But now, here facing me. You’re thinking about it and liking what you did. How you handled me.”

  “Lady,” he said.

  “You know my name.” She moved toward him again, getting in close. “It’s Grietje.”

  He didn’t blink. “I know what you said your name is.”

  Nose to nose, like he’d been with Hope, but nothing like he was with his daughter, Grietje said, “I’m just the person in the middle. I’m not bad. I’m just doing my job.”

  With noses still touching, he said, “You’ve been doing this for too long.”

  With a slight head tilt, but still making skin contact, she said, “What do you mean?”

  “You’re so good at lying that you can lie to yourself.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder and guided him in for a kiss.

  He didn’t resist. Hell, he wanted this. And a distant part of him, deep inside, said he’d also been doing this for too long because he didn’t care anymore.

  Crome sat alone and nursed a pint and his pack of Winstons while he watched his partner across the room. The woman really was beautiful. She’d flipped some switch in him when he first saw her with Jansen. And now she was using her beauty to hoodwink his partner. The worst part was it worked.

  When the woman pulled Blu in close, Crome said sotto voce, “Oh, no.”

  There were a lot of things Crome could do. Try to call his partner on his cell phone, see if the poor sap would actually answer the call with that woman’s hands all over him. He could walk up to them, slap his partner on the back, and remind him he was still married. Yell from where he sat. Pull out his Beretta and fire a warning shot.

  He did none of those things.

  Blu could be crazy, unpredictable, and often totally wrong. But the ladies loved him.

  Blu didn’t know how far this was going to go. Grietje seemed to want to take it over the edge. He wanted to find his client.

  There didn’t appear to be any middle ground.

  They left the bar and made it to her hotel room. Blu realized he was way past the line of sense and sensibility.

  Except for one detail: Crome.

  Blu was putting quite a bit of confidence in his partner exercising good judgment and stepping in to save him from himself. It might not have been the best of plans. The phone in his pocket buzzed. He checked the display and found the number he and Crome had agreed upon for “all clear.”

  The room was actually a suite with a large sitting area next to the bed. She made herself a drink from an already opened bottle of bourbon, kicked off her shoes, and sat on a couch.

  “Why am I really here?” he asked.

  She patted the cushion next to her. “Take a seat.”

  Blu sat next to, but not beside her. “I want to talk to my client.”

  “Impossible.” She sipped her drink.

  “Call your handler and hand me the phone.”

  “He already knows you’re here. Ron hasn’t agreed to the terms, yet.”

  “So, again, why am I here?”

  “Because,” she said, “I don’t want you out there looking for him.”

  “You think you’ve got me locked up?”

  “My team is close by. You’re not going anywhere.”

  He said, “I think you might have overestimated yourself.”

  She paused from taking another drink. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I’ve got a man outside your door. I’ve got a van waiting down at the curb. And I’ve got a place a lot less comfortable than this where you’ll be while I look for Jansen.”

  “You think you can take me?” she asked.

  “It’s what I’m good at,” he said. “Making people disappear.”

  “And I thought we were getting along so well in the bar downstairs.”

  “We were,” he said. “But you have my client and I want him back.”

  “What if I scream?”

  Blu rapped on the wall. “This is old construction with solid beams and horsehair insulation. Scream all you want.”

  “My men will stop you.”

  With a smile, Blu said, “Your men are already out of the picture.”

  The turn in her expression was slight. The confidence of someone usually in control now wavering. Next would be anger and then fear. It didn’t matter. Only getting his client back mattered.

  Grietje tried to play it cool. She took another drink, set the glass on the coffee table in front of the couch, and ran her fingers through her hair.

  If Blu hadn’t had Abby and Hope to think about, he knew he’d have succumbed to Grietje’s beauty. And if he didn’t have Crome at his flank, he’d already be dead.

  It was time to go back to church like his mother had taught him and thank God for keeping him alive these twenty-seven years.

  He picked up her purse and took out a nice Ruger thirty-two which he stuck down the front of his jeans.

  “You can have my lipstick too, if you want.”

  With a smile, he took a cell phone out of her purse and handed it to her. “Go ahead and make the call.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  October 2000

  Crome stood beside the panel van he’d rented for the evening. Inside were four men hog-tied and in various states of consciousness.

  Propped up on the windshield wiper were four cell phones. One of them buzzed and he answered with, “Mick’s cleaning service. We take the trash out.”

  “Who is this?” said a woman’s voice. Hopefully, the woman Blu had gone upstairs with and wasn’t having sex with at the moment.

  He said, “Who’s this?”

  No answer.

  “Listen, Grietje,” he said. “I’ve got your men. I’ve got their phones. And I’ve got their guns. Tell Blu where Jansen is and I’ll let them go. Play some game and I’m going to chop them into pieces and use them for crab bait.”

  The call ended.

  He took a nice long drag from a Winston and chuckled.

  Blu asked, “Who did you think you were pla
ying with, here?”

  When Grietje had ended the call, she sunk further into the couch. Whatever hope was left in her operation had vanished.

  “You don’t understand,” she said. “He’ll kill me.”

  “Me and my partner. We’re who you have to worry about.”

  She looked at him. “You’d kill a woman?”

  The truth was that neither he nor Crome would kill someone in her position. Not when they already had the upper hand.

  He said, “I’ll do whatever it takes to win this game.”

  Springing to her feet, Grietje tried to run for the door.

  Blu grabbed her blouse and tugged hard. She sailed backwards and ended up back on the couch. “Don’t try me. I need you alive right now. But that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you.” He ripped one of the sheer curtains down. “Stand up.”

  She stood and looked at him, trying for seduction again with big, bedroom eyes.

  He turned her around.

  She tried to slap him.

  He gave her a thumb lock, putting pressure on the thumb joint and twisting her elbow back.

  She yipped but he knew she couldn’t move. He had her in complete control.

  Then he shoved her back down onto the couch.

  “I’m going to use your phone and call your handler. I want you to get him over here.”

  She spat at him. “I’m not doing anything for a man who likes to hurt women.”

  “You’re lucky that’s all you got.” He bent down so he was eye to eye. “I don’t like hurting women. But I’ve got lady-friends who would love to take turns turning that beautiful face of yours into something less attractive. And they work cheap.”

  It wasn’t exactly a hollow threat. In his line of work, he met all kinds.

  After a beat, she looked away, defeated if he had to guess.

  “It’s the second number in my call log,” she said.

  Blu hit the green button, got the list of previous calls and selected the number.

  The phone was answered on the second ring by a voice who sounded a lot like the man that rode into town with him the previous night. “Did you take care of them?”

  Instead of putting the phone to Grietje’s cheek, Blu said, “She sure did.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “The man who gave you a lift into town the other night. I want to speak to Ron Jansen.”

  There was no reply.

  “I’ve got Grietje and her operatives. They’re still alive, but may not be much longer depending on how this conversation goes.”

  With more than a hint of panic, the man said, “Don’t hurt her.”

  “She’s okay so far.”

  Grietje screamed, “He hit me!”

  The man said, “You hit her?”

  “No,” Blu said. “But I can. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Meet me in Battery Park in one hour. With Jansen.” Blu ended the call.

  Grietje started to say something else.

  Blu drew the Ruger and showed it to her.

  She stopped.

  At thirty-five minutes, Crome walked up the steps and knocked on the door to the hotel room.

  Blu opened the door, waved him in, and said, “She’s all yours.”

  “Looks like she’s in one piece,” Crome said, but thinking, she’s even more spectacular up close.

  Looking at Grietje, Blu said, “She knows she’ll stay that way as long as she doesn’t try anything stupid.”

  Crome said, “See you in a few.”

  Blu saluted and left.

  Staring at the woman as she looked out a window, Crome said, “Why go through all this?”

  There was no response. She didn’t even bother to look at him.

  Crome lit a Winston, took a drag, and then put it to her lips.

  She inhaled and tilted her head back as if needing the nicotine jolt. Exhaling, “How are my men?”

  “That depends.”

  Two were beat up pretty badly. The other two surrendered without too much of a fight.

  “On what?” she asked.

  He offered her another drag and she took it.

  “On how long this takes before you can get them proper medical treatment.”

  “Cruel.” She pronounced it with two syllables.

  “And setting up my partner wasn’t?”

  She didn’t reply, looking toward the window again.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said. “Selective judgment.”

  “You don’t understand. There is a lot at stake. This is big enough that people will do anything.”

  She went silent after that and Crome didn’t feel the need to understand.

  At the exact time Blu was to meet the man and Jansen, Crome untied Grietje and handed her purse back sans Ruger and phone.

  She slung the bag over her shoulder and clenched her fists as if ready to come at him. Instead, she turned and left.

  Jansen stood on the walkway overlooking the harbor when Blu walked up. The medium build man with his glasses and thinning hair had a weak smile that made him look vulnerable.

  Blu asked, “Where’s your captor?”

  “He told me to tell you he can take you out anytime he wants to.”

  “What’s all this about?”

  Jansen sighed. “Cruise ships. I want them anchoring off our harbor but they don’t.”

  “I thought you were an economic advisor, whatever that means.”

  “Tourism is big money. Cruise ships will bring it in by the boatloads.”

  Blu asked, “So can we leave or what?”

  “He said when he hears from the woman, he’ll let us go.”

  A woman’s voice said, “I’m right here, Mr. Jansen.”

  It was Grietje.

  Blu turned to see her aim a gun at Jansen just as gunshots erupted and she fell forward, dropping the pistol in her hand. He caught her as she fell.

  Jansen took off running.

  More gunshots went off.

  Crome approached, gun drawn, yelled, “Get down!” and shoved Blu and the woman to the ground.

  People around them screamed.

  Blu and Crome stood on the elevated part of the stone walkway overlooking the harbor. Battery Park, and its line of million-dollar homes, was directly behind them. Officer Powers, Blu’s friend, stood nearby.

  If Blu had to categorize the day, he’d say it started out well but ended up not so great. Crome shot Grietje because she was about to shoot Jansen. Whoever fired at them could not be found. Her handler was in the wind.

  Turned out Grietje was part of an eco-terrorist organization called Marine Life Marines. While Blu appreciated the concept of protecting the oceans, he didn’t see where this plot of theirs did anything besides get Grietje killed.

  Ron Jansen escaped without harm. He was giving his statement to the police. Blu had a chance to talk with him before they’d arrived. The truth was there was no married woman. Jansen just wanted someone watching his back. He promised to pay Blu for seven twenty-four-hour days as a thank you for, what he called, “A job well done.”

  Blu was going to take the money, even if he didn’t feel he’d really earned it.

  Crome looked over at him, unfazed that he had just killed a woman. “Whatcha thinkin’?”

  “If Jansen had told me the truth, Grietje would still be alive because it never would have gotten this far.”

  Exhaling a cloud of smoke and flicking his cigarette butt into the water, Crome said, “You want black and white. Life ain’t ever black and white. It’s all gray. A million shades of it. It’s why we make a living. Besides, you really think we could handle some desk job?”

  Crome took out another cigarette and lit up. “No, this is who we are, Blu. This is
who we are.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Present time, McDonald’s in Mount Pleasant, Tuesday evening

  Blu stood outside the McDonald’s, thinking hard about what he was going to say to his business partner. Crome was normally the smartest guy in the room, but recently he’d been acting like a complete jackass.

  In any other situation, this would be grounds for dissolution of the partnership. But this wasn’t any situation. Crome was all screwed up inside. He cared for Maureen and he wasn’t used to caring for anything but his motorcycle. Blu had come to realize this was new to him.

  Some whack job had taken her and only God knew how the man had been treating the poor woman.

  So, with all that, Crome deserved the benefit of the doubt. He deserved help.

  Blu stepped inside the McDonald’s.

  Crome watched as Blu took the bench seat across from him, neither of them saying anything for quite a long time.

  After staring at his partner, Crome picked up his sandwich and continued to eat.

  “How do you want to play it?” Blu asked.

  It was typical of his partner to do exactly the opposite of what was expected. Like now. Crome knew his partner was livid. He’d spent a lot of time and effort tracking him. He said, “All the way.”

  Leaning forward, fingers laced, hands out in front of him, Blu said, “That’s a given. You got me and Harmony and Tess and Patricia and Pelton and his wife. And you got this big chip on your shoulder.”

  Crome finished his sandwich. “Good. What have you got?”

  Blu said, “I’d say we’ve arrived at the same place. Only I had to spend extra time tracking some tool who thought he didn’t need any help.”

  Crome drank from his Coke, the liquid cavitating in the straw as the last of the drink got sucked down, the noise echoing in the restaurant. Setting the cup on the table, he said, “That’s the difference between you and me, partner. I’dda known what you were doing and tried to work on what you weren’t.”