David Putnam - The Disposables

“Johnson?” The voice again.

I jumped into my skivvies and moved to the door, listened. “Who’s there?”

“Johnson, come on, man, open up. I can’t be seen out here.”

I glowered back at Marie, who now stood frozen in one place. I pointed to the door to indicate that I’d be opening it. She didn’t move. “Put something on, babe.”

She snapped out of her trance, jumped for her abandoned clothes on the floor, and slipped into her still damp blouse and slacks.

I went to the door and put my hand on the knob. “Who is it?”

“Detective Johnson, for fuck’s sake open the door. Open the damn door before someone sees me.”

I didn’t recognize the voice. I did, but it was way back there in the far corner of my brain and refused to come forward. A voice from long ago. I opened the door a crack and peeked out. The small man had the stature of a jockey, his head a little too big for his body. He had jet-black hair with gray wings at the temples, a neck and face pocked heavily with acne scars. I didn’t recognize him in profile, but when he looked directly at me, I saw his eyes, I did know him. Jessie Vanfleet.

I flung opened the door and yanked him in. Then I eased the door closed and listened, my ear to the warped wood. After a time, I turned to see Vanfleet as he stared at Marie who stood over by the bed. Marie, in her haste, had not put on a bra, leaving her breasts barely covered by the sheer blouse. Vanfleet was an over-sexed street perv who slung rock cocaine on the side, not for the money, but for sexual access to coke whores. There had always been something creepy about him.

I took hold of the back of his collar and shook him. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you know I was here?”

“Take it easy, man. I’m here to save your ass.”

Even though his words were directed at me, he still hadn’t taken his lecherous ogle off Marie’s breasts. I cringed as he licked his lips.

“You better talk and talk fast, little man, or I’m going to pound you into the ground.”

“Okay, okay. Chocolate sent me. The dude downstairs at the desk recognized you and told me. Chocolate put the word out that she needed to talk to you bad, real bad, so here I am. It’s no big mystery.” He batted at my hand. “Take your big dick beaters off me.”

I let him go but shoved him toward the door. I went over to the bed, yanked the top blanket off and wrapped Marie in it. On Vanfleet it had the same effect as flipping off a light switch, the lecherous leer faded simultaneously with the blanket cover. I still had the urge to knock his brown teeth down his little ferret throat.

“Is Chocolate okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. She said there’d be a grand in it for me.”

“That right? And you’re a lying little piece of shit too.” I looked back at Marie. I never used my street jargon around her and felt like a kid who’d just let slip a four-letter word in front of grandmum.

I looked back at Vanfleet. “You and I both know what she promised you, so don’t yank on my dick.” I took a couple of steps toward him.

He held up his hands, “Whoa, there cowboy. You can’t fault a guy for tryin’.”

“What’s wrong with Chocolate? Tell me.” I had an idea but didn’t want to give him any more information than necessary.

“She says you’re a good Joe and that you just did her a solid. Boy, she could never convince me of that. I still got the scar from when you kicked me to the curb.” His hand came up subconsciously and rubbed his nose. I couldn’t see any scar.

The first time I’d met the little weasel, I’d pulled up to a burglary of Radio Shack and he ran. His short legs pumping fast but no match for my long stride. I easily overtook him, ran right behind him, and told him one last time to stop. When he didn’t and kept running, I jumped up and kicked him in the back. He skidded headlong into the curb, broke his nose, and lacerated his eyebrow. He went to jail for consensual sex with a fifteen-year-old, a young girl he’d gotten hooked on coke just for that purpose.

“Chocolate’s fine. She kept babbling something about how you gave her a grand when she thought it was a hundred. That crazy bitch hasn’t been worth a hundred, let alone a grand, since Christ was corporal. What’re you doin’ stickin’ your dick in that when you got yourself a nice slice of Rican pussy right-”

I quick-stepped over too him, reached down, and clamped his throat. I ran him back up against the door and slammed him. The door bulged and rattled.

Marie was on my arm, yelling, “Don’t. Bruno, don’t.”

When I came back to reality, I looked down. I had Van-fleet’s feet dangling above the floor. I let go. He fell to the floor. I put my hand on Marie’s chest and eased her away from the perv who writhed uncontrollably. I went over and put my right shoe on, then clumped back to where Vanfleet lay on the moldering carpet. “You tell me what I want to know right now or so help me I’ll kick a lung out of you.”

He stared up at me, fire in his eyes. He rubbed his throat. “She said to tell you thanks for the money. She said to tell you Five-O is all over the street raisin’ hell looking for your sorry ass. She wanted me to warn you. That’s what she said to tell you but, as far as I’m concerned, I hope they get your sorry ass and cap you good this time right in that fat ugly face of yours.”

I was breathing too hard. I tried to slow down and think. “What else?”

“That’s it, man.”

I pulled my leg back to boot him. Marie said, “Bruno, don’t.”

Vanfleet held up his hands to fend off the size thirteen double E. “Okay, wait, wait. The last part-the last part I could get into a lot of trouble for. Me just passing the information on to you puts my ass on the line. Just tellin’ you, man. You know what I’m sayin’?”

“You think if I had any more money, I’d be in this shitbox of a motel? You made a deal with Chocolate, now tell me.”

“She told me to tell you, and I don’t really understand what it means, but she said to tell you it was Ruben the Cuban. She didn’t tell you before and she feels real bad about it. She said to tell you that it was Ruben the Cuban and that you’d understand and she hopes you forgive her.”

“What?” I said, not understanding the message, my mind too wrapped up in Robby chasing me, and I getting the hell out of the country with Marie and the kids. What he said didn’t register. Ruben the Cuban? Then it hit me. Right. It was the guy who was lighting the people on fire with the gasoline. A name I no longer cared to know. I had no plans to do anything with the information. That last thought lasted about a second. If I knew and didn’t do something about it, someone else could get torched.

“Get your ass up. Get out. Now.”

Vanfleet scrambled to his feet and fumbled with the door. He got it open and lined up to make a quick exit. I gave him some help and kicked him in the butt. As he flew across the hall into the wall, I shut the door.

“Quick, get your things together, we have to leave. He’ll sell us out.”

Marie went into a whirlwind of activity. I could only watch. What was I going to do about Ruben the Cuban? Should I call Robby, give him Ruben’s name as a suspect? To do that would jeopardize the kids.

Ruben had only been a ruse for Robby, nothing more than an excuse for Robby to watch me. Just like the dead kid out in front of the liquor store. More collateral damage. I suspected that Robby wanted Wally Kim most of all. Mr. Kim, the Korean diplomat, was putting heat on the State Department who in turn put the squeeze on the Sheriff’s Department to find Wally. Every cop in Southern California, including the FBI, would be looking hard and heavy for Wally Kim. Robby and the Violent Crime Team must have been assigned to find Wally, and Robby must have then checked other missing kids during the same time period. I know I would have. Robby found the missing report on Alonzo, my grandson. From there it was easy to draw the line to me. That also meant Robby knew about all the kids. They were all now at risk.