Josh Stallings - Out There Bad

“Is she worth an eye?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” She held the blade for a moment then retracted it and folded it into her pocket. She walked out without looking back.

Piped leaned against the counter, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry, baby, I had to know.”

“Fuck you, Moses, fuck you. I’ve never been anyplace but in your corner.” She was looking at her feet.

“I know, but things are so sideways.”

“Just leave, Moses. Don’t come back.” Walking out, I knew I had broken a cardinal rule, I had gone against my friend. Chosen fear over her.

In the car, I wanted to ask Mikayla if she would have cut me. But I know she would have. She was hard-wired for destruction. Instead, I asked her why she hadn’t.

“Because she was telling the truth. I knew when I saw her looking at you with the razor to your eye. She loves you.”

“Not anymore,” I said, letting it sink into my bones.

Manny’s Chrysler was the only car in the parking lot behind the club. I knew he’d be counting out the night’s receipts, he never trusted anyone, not even me, to do the final count or the bank drop.

Sliding my key into the back door, I moved in quietly. Motioning for Mikayla to check the lap room, I checked the restrooms. The place was empty, which didn’t surprise me, the cleaning crew didn’t arrive until the next day and everyone else was long off the clock.

The office door was open a crack, leaking a sliver of light into the dark hall. As I moved toward the door, I pulled the Beretta from my waistband.

Uncle Manny looked up from behind his desk. His eyes widened only slightly, a mere flicker of panic crossed his face then was gone. “Keep your hands on the desk, Manny.”

“The cash is in the bank bag,” he said, trying to stare me down.

“You know why I’m here.”

“Yes, to rob me, you ungrateful son of a bitch.”

I slapped the pistol down across his face, opening a small gash in his cheek.

“Wrong answer,” Mikayla said, flipping the razor open.

“You want to cut me? So what?” Manny looked at the blade like it meant no more to him than a toothpick.

“Glendale Adventist,” I said to Mikayla, “Bed five fourteen. You’ll find an Arab there. Kill him.”

“Ok,” Mikayla shrugged and headed out the door. She got all the way down the hall before Manny broke.

“Wait, Moses, wait. Call her back.”

“I’m way past fucking around here, Manny.”

“Call her back, I’ll tell you what I know.” His shoulders slumped and he was suddenly a sad old man. I let her get ten more paces before I finally called out.

Coming back into the office, she looked put out at not getting to kill anyone. She leaned against a credenza behind Manny, flicking the razor open and closed.

“Tell me about the Israelis,” I ordered Manny.

“Who?” He looked genuinely confused.

“The motherfuckers you sent to waste me at the bus depot.”

“No, I called Dimitri Petravich. Moses, you must believe I had no choice. They threatened to kill my family. You saw what they did to my nephew, I had no choice.” Sweat ran down his forehead.

“You always have a choice. You chose to give me up.”

“I care for you like a son, if I thought they could succeed in harming you, I never would have told them. I knew you could take care of yourself, but my family…”

“You knew they had their girls whoring out of the club, didn’t you?” I had to change the conversation away from his sentimental crap before I started believing him. “How did they get their hooks into you?”

“They threatened to have me sent down as a terrorist. They have friends working for Homeland Security. All they need is a suspicion and I would disappear. Guantanamo, Spain, wherever they were hiding combatants. I would be gone. Who would care for my family? What was the harm? A man wants to get his cock sucked, a girl is willing to suck it, what is the harm?”

“The girls weren’t willing,” Mikayla said. Manny turned around to look at her. Slamming my fist on the desk, I caught his attention. I had to keep him from engaging Mikayla and getting his throat slit.

“Bullshit, Manny. Some Russian gangster tells you he has government connections and you roll over? Nah, don’t buy it.”

“A federal agent came to the club, he said it was a routine immigration check. But I knew it was a message from the Russian. He was proving his connections were real. I’m not proud of what I did, but it was what I had to do. Now if you are going to kill me, please make it look like robbery so my wife can collect the insurance.”

“You fucked me hard and dry, Manny. Killing you won’t even this score, not by a mile. No, you stay in play with these bastards. You’re my inside man now.”

I told him to keep his cell on, I’d be in touch. On the way out, I grabbed the bank bag. It was the price he’d pay for fucking a friend.

Manny had been the only father I had ever known. He was a hard, street fighting bastard. I had trusted him. My mistake.

We made it two blocks before the government car hit its siren and lights.

“Where the fuck are the girls?” The fed’s belly hung over a rodeo belt.

“At the mall?” It was stupid, but fuck it, I was tired. I had been cuffed and on my knees for the past twenty minutes. The same question over and over.

Mikayla was gone. When he hit the siren, I jammed on the gas and let the beast roar. We hung a left so tight, I could feel the right tires lift off. He missed the turn but he wasn’t far behind. Left, right, I was running blind through Frogtown, a small area of convoluted streets, pinned between the 5 and the LA river. The last turn was a mistake. Two hundred feet down, it dead-ended into the river. Slamming on the brakes, I gave Mikayla the cash, the Beretta and the name of the motel. Then I jumped out and ran towards the black sedan. Mikayla slipped into the shadow.

“Stuck your dick in a hornets’ nest this time, boy.” I could smell bourbon on his breath as he leaned into me. “I’m tossing you a life line, maybe you should think about taking it.”

“Meet you halfway?”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

“Only one problem, chief.”

“What might that be?”

“I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.” He hit pretty good for an old guy. I fell over on my side.

“I’m sorry, damn my temper. Damn.” Lifting me back onto my knees, he started to dust me off. Something hard hit something soft. His body went rigid. His hands stopped moving. He hit the pavement with a thud.

Mikayla stood over him, a bloody brick in her hand.

Harry Clemmit, that was his name, or at least that was what his ID said. He was a Federal Marshal assigned to Homeland Security. He had eight hundred and forty-two dollars, a VIP card from Fantasia’s bikini club and not much else. He was handcuffed on the bed with a towel full of ice on his head. Mikayla sucked on a cigarette. I sucked on a Coke, wishing it was a scotch.

I had chosen the Rose Motor Lodge in Eagle Rock. They took cash and didn’t ask any questions. It was a small court of pre-war single story bungalows. His wallet and half-drunk quart of Four Roses whiskey sat on the coffee table. His Remington 12 gauge and Kevlar vest rested by the door. His.44 Bulldog was in my belt.

Harry’s lids slid open when we dumped an ice bucket full of cold water on him. Eyes darting, he tried to place himself. Navigating his way back from whatever dark place he had been, he locked on me.

“You are one sad sack dumb fuck, convict. Kidnapping a cop?”

“You look up my record?” I sipped the Coke.

“Two time loser, yeah, I looked you up. I got a sack of hammers at home that are smarter than you.” He tried to sit up, pain swimming, he leaned back down.