Ken Bruen - The Max

He ordered a Campari and soda, didn’t say please. A true gent never said please to the help. He was just about to have a large sip when a very attractive blond girl in her twenties approached, asked, “I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr. Child?”

Child? The bloody hell was this? Then he spotted the paperback book in her hand. A thriller of some sort, written by that Lee Child fellow whom Sebastian had been mistaken for on several occasions. He was about to tell the woman to bugger off when she held out the book and said, “I’d be so honored to have your autograph, Mr. Child.

He gave her his most radiant smile, said, “Call me Lee. And the honor is mine, I assure you.”

She handed over the book and a pen. It was a Mont Blanc and he thought, Money. Then he thought, Mile-High Club.

Seeing as how the blushing woman was obviously convinced he was this writer fellow and just as obviously idolized him, he didn’t think a little joint trip to the loo would be hard to pull off at all. He scribbled an illegible scrawl on the book’s title page like a real pro, and added a little heart. Touch of class. You couldn’t teach that, either it came naturally or it didn’t come at all.

He handed her back the book, holding the pen as if he’d forgotten it, asked, “Dare I be so bold as to offer you a refreshment?”

She blushed an even deeper shade of crimson and he thought, Gotcha.

She was so flustered, flattered, she never even saw him slip the pen into his jacket. He had one tricky moment after she’d had her second vodka tonic when she asked, “What’s next for Reacher?” But he rallied, gave the enigmatic smile that had lured more quail than he could count into the sack, and said, “Now my dear, that would be telling.”

They had champagne cocktails after takeoff and he looked out at the cloud of pollution over Athens and thought about the American psycho bitch back on the island. She was probably still wondering where her cigs were.

He had to stifle a laugh, turned to the girl, asked, “What say you, my sweet, to another champers before dinner?”

Her glassy eyes as she nodded yes told him he was about to join the Club.

Later, after he’d rogered her, they crept back to their seats and he got a knowing look from the stewardess. Or was she giving him the come on? Sorry, gell, but he was shagged out. A chap had only so much to go round.

The girl snuggled up in her seat and was out in minutes. He waited till they dimmed the lights then went through her handbag. Ah, let’s have a look, shall we? Lots of crisp 50 sterling notes and a batch of credit cards. He took only two, a chap wasn’t greedy. He ordered a brandy, and some snacks, sat back to watch the movie, something starring Will Ferrell. This chap was in every movie, it seemed.

He started to nod off and had the familiar dream, the one about the student he’d killed. Sweat was rolling down his face as he relived the awful events.

Richard had been one of those upper-class pillow biters, the real deal, descended from one of the families related to the Royals. Well, who wasn’t? But he was about 1,000 in line to the throne, meaning only 999 buggers had to croak before Richard got a shot at it.

And, lordy, the chap was loaded, had buckets of dosh. And generous with it, too, spent it like it was water. Sebastian hated him, damn scoundrel had it all. But Richard fell in love with Sebastian, who encouraged him in the belief that buggery was definitely in the cards. Meanwhile, pay the freight you bloody homo.

Richard, like all blue bloods, had access to the best drugs, clubs, people; all of which was damn hunky fucking dory with Sebby. Yeah, what Richard called him. He’d pick out a suit from his closet, a beautiful Jermyn Street made-to-measure beauty and say, “I’m tired of this, Sebby, you have it,” and throw it across the room to him.

Time came to pay the freight, Sebastian was almost ready to let it happen. It was a Brit tradition, how else could you explain the whole Public School system?

They’d been partying hard, lots of the old champers, a little nose candy to chill out. They ended up back in Richard’s lovely flat.

First false note, Richard had ordered, not asked, “Pour me a Gordon’s.”

It was the imperious tone that irritated Sebastian to no end.

Sebastian, a little the worse for wear, snapped, “What am I? Your servant?”

And Richard, in that totally dismissive accent, said, “You’re the help, darling, a leech. So once you get the drinkie-poos, hop over here, Sebby, and service my Lancelot.”

He had a name for his dick? Well, all right, who didn’t. But he also had a name for Sebastian, and it was the more demeaning of the two.

Sebastian lost it, strangled the upper class twit with his Eton tie, screaming,

“Don’t you dare call me Sebby!”

And then horrified, strung him up from the light fixture, took all the available cash and yes, a few suits and ties, and prayed to everything unholy that he’d get away, that he’d, dare one say, swing it.

The family hushed it all up. Sebastian even read the eulogy at the very private mass, quoted a passage from Wilfred Owen.

Later, when he saw the movie The Talented Mr. Ripley, he so identified with Matt Damon, he almost shouted: I’m with you, old chap!

After that shit in the mess hall, with the bandajo Max Fisher takin’ all his pies, and his whole crew sittin’ there, watching like, You gonna take that shit? Sino knew he had to make a move. Shit, not only was he dissed, but he got called by that white pudgy middle-aged white motherfucker.

His face burned, man, rage. He swore on his abuela ’s life, he’d gut this white trash from his balding head to his tiny dick. He knew he’d have to act and fast, to be crewless was to be chowder. Yeah, he’d love to do Fisher himself, but that wasn’t the way it was done. When you were the main man in charge of a whole crew, you told people to do shit, you never did it yourself. White people had a name for that shit. Out saucering? Yeah, he was gonna out saucer this shit.

In the yard, he spotted a new fish, kid named Carlito. Puta ’s first day, looked like somebody’d already cut him a new asshole. The bandajo ’d been caught driving a stolen car, first time. Man was Mex and got the max, five and change.

Yeah, was time to make the man earn his way in.

Carlito stood with his back to the wall. He’d been told about the train and couldn’t get Tom Hanks in that goddamn movie, going All aboard the train, out of his mind. He’d been told his only hope was to join a gang in, like, Speedy Gonzales time. But how the fuck did you join? He’d seen the Crips, and the other gangs, all giving him the dead eye, not like he could wander up, go, “What’s shakin’, dudes? And, oh, I wanna join the gang.”

Then he saw a dangerous-looking one heading his way. The guy was smiling, like a Great White, put out his hand, said, “ Muchacho, how’s it hanging, boss?”

As Carlito took it and felt the man squeeze real tight, Carlito tried to figure out where it had all gone down the shitter. He’d had a nice lady, girl named Maria, and she’d been making marriage sounds. She was such a sweet senorita, they grew up together in Guadalajara. He was making seven bucks an hour from his job in the garage. Yeah, the garage – he knew cars, and that was how the shit hit the fan.

Maria had gone to see her Mama and Carlito had decided to let off a little steam. He’d been pulling twelve-hour shifts, getting the down payment ready on a little apartment, and Dios Mio, he was wound up awful tight, so he got together with a few amigos, they were downing some Dos Equis, nice and cold and going down so easy, till one of the hombres ordered up shots of Tequila. Carlito was basically a beer and chips kinda guy, but he didn’t want to look bad, like some maricon, so he had the shot and then, Madre Mio, a whole lot more and he didn’t know, they were falling out of the bar, laughing and high fiving, when one of the hombres spotted the Firebird, red and with the keys in the ignition. The owner gone to the ATM. Next thing, Carlito was driving the baby, like he owned the highway. State Trooper chased him for half an hour before the bird ran outa gas and Carlito ran shit out of luck.