The Jook Page 13

  "So Rudy hints he's got big things doing and has to be at the hideaway that's what he called it at a certain time because he and Stadanko have some business to take care of. He likes to hear himself talk and make himself look important."

  She leaned back. "Stadanko comes around the corner we were talking outside of the conference room and Rudy shuts up.

  He's full of himself, but he ain't crazy I don't say anything and the two of them march off.''

  ''So me and Zee get up there now?" Nap asked.

  "No, it should be me and Zelmont," she answered.

  I looked at Nap. "Why?"

  "Because there might be some computer files to hack into. Can either of you do that?"

  Nap and me didn't have jack to say.

  "Okay, then, we go up early tomorrow morning. I have to be in New York to finish these broadcast negotiations on Friday, and I know the haggling will take me over to the following week. So once I get back, I don't want to raise any speculation should I then turn around and go out of town again. The season is almost on us, and I'll need to account for my time."

  I was about to say something when some dude came over and tried to join our set. "Man, you is the bomb, home." He was pushing past me, shoving a drink toward Nap's face. "'Member that game where you knocked the shit out of Brett Farve and the ball flew up and you snatched it back down and went on in for the touchdown?"

  Nap put his eyebrows up. "Sure do, I"

  "Yeah he shook a finger all excited at Nap, "and that time you blew past Drake and White and got the one-hand tackle on Young? It must have been 20 below."

  "He's your number one fan, Nap." Wilma winked.

  The dude didn't take the hint. "You got that right, baby Ain't nothing about football I don't know, and certainly ain't nothing about the big man here I ain't up on. Like that Super Bowl game where he got six unassisted tackles."

  The same Super Bowl where I made my spin and a half and caught the game-winning pass. I knew he was gonna slobber all over me any second.

  "Let me buy you a drink." He got all in front of me, leaning on the table like he owned the joint.

  "I'm cool, my man. Me and my friends are discussing some business, okay?" Nap said calmly. "How about I catch you a little later?"

  "Aw man," the fool cackled like one of them sisters in a bingo game. He moved closer, splashing some of his drink on my sleeve but not noticing. "You ain't gonna high hand me like that, is you? Got my girl over there I want you to meet."

  I looked over to where he was jerking his Jheri juice head. The chick he was pointing to had a big ass, a tight dress, and a bad weave you could tell was gank even in this light. "Nap, sign a napkin for this boy and send him on his way."

  He put his drunk eyes on me. "Who the fuck is you, his motherfuckin' secretary?" He jabbed me in the chest with two fingers. "You ain't nobody but a hanger-on, ain't that right?"

  "Yeah, that's right." I was getting real hot so I wasn't breathing right.

  "Then skip your ass over to Office Depot and get a pad of paper for him to sign."

  I was about to jack the chump when Nap put his arm around the dude. "Look here, brah, let's go over and meet your fine lady friend."

  He looked up at Nap like he was a kid about to ride a merry-go-round for the first time. "Oh, that's great, man, great."

  Nap took him away.

  Wilma touched my hand. "We have to be circumspect from here on out, Zelmont. No untoward business that will give Fahrar an excuse to jam you or any of us up."

  I was barely paying attention to what she said. I couldn't believe that gin-soaked punk didn't recognize me. I just couldn't believe it.

  The drive up to Ridgecrest took over three hours, me at the wheel of the Explorer. Wilma wasn't much for rap so it was a steady diet of the CDs she'd brought along. Her taste was okay, but along with stuff like classic Led Zeppelin she had a weird-ass album by some band called the Squirrel Nut Zippers. Their music was like listening to old radio recordings, and I was glad when she slipped on Otis Redding.

  "I can't remember the last time I was in the Mojave Desert," Wilma said. The sun was now up and we had the windows half cracked. The cool morning air felt good on my skin, and it smelled sweet outside. I usually didn't notice shit like that, but riding along with Wilma half-dozing on the seat beside me it seemed natural. Almost made me forget we had a job to do.

  On the side of the road were those tall spiky trees with white flowers at the top. "What do you call those again?" I asked.

  She didn't have to look. "Joshua trees, baby."

  Ridgecrest was much more built up than I had expected. If I didn't know where we were, I might have thought it was some part of the Valley, except it looked cleanlike Disneyland does 'cause they always got them squares walking around with their brooms and dustbins on a pole picking up trash and horseshit. And every night they're scrubbing down the streets and scraping up gum before it turns black from being stepped on constantly.

  "Can we stop and get breakfast?" she said.

  "How many black people they got up here, Wilma?"

  She turned her head at me. "We're not going to get jumped."

  "We don't need to call attention to ourselves."

  "Yeah, one of these old boys might recognize you. I guess we better find the cabin."

  Maybe she was just saying that to make me feel better, but it did. I was starting to sweat so I rolled up the windows and put on the air conditioner. We drove, using the map Wilma had drawn after she got the address for the cabin. The houses we passed were out of a Spielberg movie about the 'burbs, the lawns very green and no cracks in the sidewalks.

  Eventually we were back in the countryside again. "Do you know where we are?" I checked the gas gauge. Off to the right were some mountains that had shaved-off tops and funny angles. "What the hell are those called?"

  "The Trona Pinnacles, I believe," Wilma answered. "Part of the charm of this area. And yes," she said, studying her handmade map, "I do have an idea of where we are. We should be heading towards Indian Wells.''

  We passed the turnoff we were supposed to take, but Wilma caught it and we doubled back. I drove downhill through all kinds of shrubs on a gravel road barely wide enough for my truck. We hooked right and came upon a lot of bamboo set in front of a stone wall. In the middle was a large, showy iron gate.

  "This is the place," Wilma said.

  I stopped and turned off the ignition. "Let's scope this out first."

  "It doesn't look like there's anyone here. Let's drive in," she said, pointing toward the gate.

  "I think it'd be better if we go in on foot."

  "So you can bust a move?"

  "We should be careful, Wilma." A jack rabbit scooted past us, then back into the greenery.

  She looked like she was gonna argue but let it go. "Fine."

  We got out and stretched. She got her purse from the car, then we walked up to the gate. Wilma unlatched it and it swung open. I was surprised it was unlocked. Inside there was a mess of plants and the same weird, stick-like cactus that grew on either side of the roadway we'd come in on. Wilma was already marching past me and up towards where the cabin must be. I grabbed her arm.

  "We ain't in that big a rush, are we?"

  "Why? There's nobody here."

  "How do you know?"

  "They only use this place for their meetings." She took off again.

  "But you said he kept his files here too. Otherwise what are we doing here?"

  "You're right. Better safe than sorry." She slowed down, waiting for me to catch up.

  We went up the walk, different kinds of plants and cactus and yellow and purple flowers all around us. Any second, I just knew a bad breath Rottweiler with nasty teeth was gonna come running out of nowhere and snack on my leg.

  In a few more ticks, we were facing the cabin. Well, it was about as much a cabin as a classic Jaguar is just a car. The joint was big, two stories and a deck, with a triangle for a roof. There was as much glass as there was woo
d and stone to the place. A satellite dish was on one part of the roof, and some other kind of antenna was sticking up beside that. It looked like a small radio tower.

  "How the hell are we gonna get inside this place? He's got to have this thing rigged with fancy burglar alarms. I know we're in the middle of zero, but Stadanko ain't no clown." How come her or Nap didn't bring that up before?

  Wilma had her hands on her hips. "Do me a favor, Zelmont. Check around on the side over there, okay? I think there's some kind of work shed."

  "Your boy Rudy tell you that?"

  She came up and put her arms around my waist. "When I back-traced the address from the phone number, I checked out the property specs. There's an additional piece of property listed, all right?" We kissed, and she grinded against me. I went off to do like she asked.

  Coming around a corner of the cabin I found a box of a place with some plants and cactus grown up around it. As I walked I noticed a door in the side of the building. I could also see the area behind the house. There was a nice-ass pool and deck chairs laid out, and I went to check it out. The pool was done in the shape of a football, with a large painting of one on the bottom. Good thing I was staring at the design 'cause I caught the reflection moving behind me and whipped around just in time.

  "Trace I said as I tackled the cornfed chump. That caught him by surprise and together we fell back on some of the chairs, scattering them all over the place. I landed a blow on him but he was buffed so it didn't do much damage. His knee came up and I twisted to get away from being groined.

  We were holding onto each other, struggling to stand up. "Defiler," he growled, his dog teeth clamped together. He hit me across the face and I'm not too proud to say the faggot hurt me. Motherfuckah was strong. But I'd been knocked around by the dirty boys in my day and knew how to hang with some serious pain.

  "That's all you got, bitch?" I went low and sunk one into his middle, then immediately followed with an elbow to his jaw. That got some respect. We circled each other hunched over, hands out like a couple beefheads on the WWF.

  "How do you want me to hurt you, Raines?" The flaming cross on his cheek twitched. It seemed bigger than what I remembered.

  I lunged but he was ready. He caught me dead on the side of my face, dazing me. I fell against some kind of statue of a chick with four arms and a snake crawling around her. It tumbled over but didn't break. Off balance, Trace rammed a fist into my side, making stars pop behind my eyes. Fuck. I sank down to one knee.

  "You're going to be my woman, Raines." He kicked me in the shoulder, knocking me over. I tried to focus my sight, and from the angle I was at I could see some tools leaning against the shed. Knowing he was going to kick me again, I rolled to one side. My shoulder still burned like a mother. I got up and ran for the shed. I could yell for Wilma, but what good would that do? Plus, what kind of man would I be if I did?

  "Come on, Zelmont, I want to play," the big punk laughed. "Don't go home yet, your mama will let you stay out a little longer."

  I dove through the plants, cutting myself on cactus thorns and what all. I scrambled up faster than I had in any drill I'd ever done and was about to latch onto a handle of a shovel when a fist socked me hard in the kidney. I fell against the shed, damn near crying from the pain. Hands grabbed me and turned me around. It was another Internal Truth Squad sack of shit. His cross had a purple kind of flame dancing from it. He hauled me out of the shrubs and dumped me on the deck like I was wet clothes.

  Trace, standing next to his God-fearing pal, looked down at me with a sick smile. "Meet one of my good friends, Zelmont. Randy, meet Zelmont."

  I was trying to rise when Randy said, "Mr. Raines," and hit me across the back of my head, knocking my face back into the ground. Trace stepped closer.

  "What business do you have out here, Zelmont?" He put his hands in his pockets, relaxed, enjoying seeing me crawling like a prison sissy at his feet.

  I looked up. "Your sister asked me up here 'cause she wanted some new dick to suck 'sides yours." That got me a heel aimed at my mouth like I hoped. I grabbed his foot, and with all I had I lifted and shoved him backward. Trace went over. Randy was already on me and had his iron-hard arms around my chest from behind. He had a knee in my back and was pulling the top of my body towards him. I felt like I was going to pass out.

  "I like dark meat, Mr. Raines." He started biting the mess that was my face and I screamed, the blood warm against my sweaty skin. I got a hand behind me and latched onto his johnson. I squeezed it like I was trying to get the last drop out of a toothpaste tube.

  "Oh Lord, grant me strength," Randy cried, his jaw letting go of my face. Trace was running forward. I shifted, the pressure from Randy's knee having let up some. We fell over, Trace getting tangled up too. This was worse than games where I was half doped on painkillers and my hip was doing weird tricks in the socket. But fuck it, this was no game.

  I had my hand on flesh and bone. It was a neck. It was Randy's neck, and I was squeezing it like I was wringing out a rag. Punches were landing on me and I didn't care. Trace had his arms around my waist, trying to pull me loose. But I wasn't going to let go, ever. I got a foot under Trace's jaw, using his solid body to wedge myself against him and Randy. I got my elbow up, then came down hard with it, ramming Trace's partner in the Adam's apple.

  Trace yanked me clear. I slid into the statue. I got up, operating only on reflex. Randy was on his feet, gulping hard, his eyes bugged out at me.

  "Curse of Ham," he wheezed, coming at me like Lon Chaney in one of those old Wolfman movies. Trace moved at me from the side. Just then one of Randy's bug eyes came flying from his head. His body kept stumbling forward and landed hard on the statue, breaking it into sharp chunks.

  Both of us stared at him and then at each other. I looked past Trace to see Wilma standing at the edge of the pool. She had a gun in her hand, and obviously knew how to use the thing. Trace rammed past me, jumping into the bushes and plants.

  "Get him," Wilma yelled.

  I was already moving. I ran past the shed, catching something out of the corner of my eye in the way I spotted a lineman angling at me. The shovel was missing. My face hurt like hell from Randy's chewing and my body was stinging from all the blows, but I kept going. If Trace got away, I knew it wouldn't be good. No good at all. I got to a clearing. All around were them Joshua trees Wilma had told me about. I stopped, waiting and listening. Why run? Trace would want to finish the fight.

  "I thought you was gonna make me put my hand in your back pocket. You ain't punkin' out, are you, homeboy?"

  I crept up near a part of the trees and heard him moving somewhere nearby, hidden from me. I went into the trees, ducking low and moving as quiet as I could. My hip started to act up but there was nothing I could do. I had to show Wilma I could take care of business. Off to my left, in front of where I was, I heard him moving again. He was trying to figure out where I was too.

  I started to move in a circle, and a plant cracked behind me. I froze, crouching down. Trace stopped too, listening for me. I took off again, moving like a dog on my hands and feet. The hip was grinding in the socket and I wanted to rest. At any moment I knew I was going to run out of gas, my second wind all played out.

  There, to the right, I told myself. I shot forward, bumping against a tree. Trace turned and swung the shovel down at me and I dove out of the way. The side of the shovel sunk into the tree, and he yanked on it to get it loose. I was already up, absolute fear blocking the pain. I latched on to Trace and headbutted him under his jaw. He stumbled back, letting go of the shovel.

  He'd almost got the thing free. I grabbed the handle and pulled it out. I swung it, tripping him up as he tried to run off. My second swing caught him straight in his face, knocking the fool back to the ground. He was still awake so I hit him again, this time dead in the nose. He went over on his side, his face hidden behind a sheet of blood.

  I leaned over, holding myself up with the shovel where I'd put it into the ground. My li
ps tasted salty and I stayed like that for a while, getting myself together. "Wilma," I shouted as I walked into the clearing. I was so goddamn tired. I shouted some more and she finally trotted over.

  "Keep your voice down, there are other properties around here."

  "Like they didn't hear that gunshot?"

  "People are always target practicing out in the country."

  "You got an answer for everything, don't you?" I said as I dragged Trace by his heels into the clearing. I sat down.

  Wilma stood over Trace, a concerned look on her face. I knew it wasn't 'cause I'd broken his nose and he looked like shit. She was wondering like me what Weems' right-hand man was doing here, and what that meant in terms of the holier-than-thou commissioner's involvement.

  "Well, he's breathing, that means he can answer questions."

  "You should have been a cop with that kinda attitude."

  Wilma bent down and slapped Trace on the side of his face with her pistol. It was a good-sized gun. Pistols weren't my thing, but it was clear homegirl knew something about them.

  Trace's eyes fluttered like I'd seen players do after getting their head rung.

  "Why did Weems send you?" She stood back, the gun on him.

  "You have broken a commandment," he said.

  "Let me worry about my soul." She waved the gun, a shiny automatic of some kind. "You need to focus on the issue at hand, Trace."

  He grinned. "And who is he that will harm you if ye be followers of that which is good?"

  I shook the end of the shovel in front of him. "How 'bout I bust you upside the head again and see if that harms your Biblespoutin' ass?"

  "The defiler can never know the ways of the righteous."

  Wilma kicked him in the leg. "Cut the sanctimonious crap. How much does Weems know about Stadanko? Or were you and your dead pal up here on some kind of fishing expedition?"

  Trace lifted his large shoulders and let them come back down. "I am but a vessel. Thou therefore endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ."

  I sank the handle of the shovel hard into his gut. He didn't flinch much, only sneered at me. ''He's just going to keep this bullshit up. We're wasting time."