Josh Stallings - Beautiful, Naked and Dead

Walking up to my crib I was afraid Cass would be holding a grudge for leaving her behind. Instead I found her smiling, curled up on the sofa with Angel’s head on her lap. She had cleaned up the house, it looked nice. She even cut a rose from the garden and put it in a water glass on the coffee table. She had draped one of my Mexican blankets over the sofa, two or three little touches and it almost looked like someone could live here.

“Hi dear, how was your day?” Rising up onto tiptoes, she gave me a peck on the cheek.

“Still going on. You want some lunch?” Her eyes sparkled at that.

“Always.” We went down to a small taco stand, she ate three carne asada soft tacos, a plate of rice and beans, and a diet coke. I told her about Lowrie and his offer of police protection.

“Are you trying to dump me? Did you make a deal with him?” Fear flickered down deep behind her eyes.

“No, just giving you your options.”

“I’m staying with you,” she said firmly taking my hand in hers. “I’ll be a good girl, I’ll do just what you say. I promise.” I was her lifeboat and the storm clouds were brewing all around us.

Walking up the block toward my house I spotted a dark sedan parked across the street, a G-man in a cheap dark suit and Raybans was leaning against the front fender.

I pulled Cass back around the corner before the fed could see us. “Go in the back, through the alley, ok, baby girl?” I said, she started to say something then caught herself and complied. I crossed the street and walked up to the G-man. His partner sat behind the wheel, reading a file. They both looked bored. “You looking for me, or do you just like my house?”

“McGuire?” he said in a clipped voice.

“That’s me.”

“What do you know about Gino Torelli?” He didn’t waste any time on formalities.

“Who?” I kept my expression neutral.

“You’re a two time loser McGuire, want to go for three strikes? Interfering with a federal investigation, resisting arrest, threatening a federal officer with an unlicensed firearm. Oh yes, I can make it stick, who do you think the court will believe? “

“Is that your best shot? I reached out to you, remember?”

“You may have fooled your LAPD buddy, but I know who you are. Now, what do you know about Gino Torelli?”

“Fuck you,” I said and started to turn away, he grabbed my arm and spun me back. Suddenly he had his Glock in hand, pointed at my gut.

“As long as you asked me so nicely.” I strained to look calm. A pat search would reveal the.38 in my boot and then I would be dry lube fucked. “Like I told Lowrie, the name Torelli came up in connection to a murdered friend. I don’t know anything about the man, except he has something to do with internet porn and that you boys are looking for him.”

“That’s it? Everything?” He slammed the barrel of the 9 mm into my gut and almost got a face full of my partially digested taco. “Don’t think about holding back on me.”

“Look, that’s it. You want more, you’re going to have to find another sucker.”

“Alright for now. Do yourself a favor and stay out of San Francisco. You pissed in my stream, and I will warn you once, but only once. Walk away. Don’t look back and forget you ever heard the name Gino Torelli.” I hung my head in what I hoped passed for defeat. He holstered his piece, climbed in the sedan and left me standing in the middle of the street.

My face felt cold as I tried to stuff down my feelings of rage and impotence, fact was the fed could drop me any time he wanted, put me in a cage and say goodbye to daylight. He was right, who the hell would take my word over his. I knew the score and so did he. In the straight world I was nothing but a two time loser with a penchant for violence. And he was a shining star of valor.

“Who was that?” Cass asked as I walked past her to the kitchen.

“A couple of government pricks on a fishing expedition.” I poured myself a tall glass of Scotch and sat down at the kitchen table. Angel curled up around my legs laying her head on my foot, and went to sleep.

“What’s the plan, Ace? Get drunk and hope it all goes away?” Cass said.

“You got a better plan? Me, I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“Then let them skate. Put me on a bus out of town, they will find me sooner or later but you won’t have to worry about it. You can just get drunk and forget you ever met my sister or me. Is that what you want?” I didn’t answer her, instead I took a long warm drink. The McCallans tasted like liquid smoke warming its way down to my soul. Standing with the bottle in hand I walked past Cass and her reproachful eyes. Falling into bed I took one pull off the bottle before sleep swept up over me and took me down under.

I’m back in Chino, out on the yard, but the place is completely empty of human life. The guard tower is manned by a guy in a black suit and dark glasses. He is following my every move with a scoped rifle. Men just like him stand on all the walls, none move. Except for the wind rustling their suits they could be statues. I try to move but a cage has formed around me, closing in getting tighter with every second. My breath is ragged as the bars push against my chest.

It was dark when I woke, Cass had taken the bottle from my hand while I slept and Angel was curled up on my chest. In the shower I let my mind unwind. Somehow I’d been looking at this thing from the wrong direction. Kelly’s killers had something to do with this Gino Torelli. The boys in the desert were mobbed up, I was sure of that. Two from Vegas and one, a James Grasso, his driver’s license told me, was from San Francisco with an address on Post Street. Had they whacked Kelly? If so, who sent them? I knew who would know.

It was ten o’clock when I pushed through the door of Figueroa’s. An older square headed muscle man stepped into my path as I moved for the back room. “Sorry, we’re closed.”

“It’s me, Eddy. Moses, remember?”

“I know who you are, and we’re closed.”

“I need to see the old man.”

“Make an appointment, he’s busy.”

“Eddie!” The metallic chirp of the Pope’s voice box called out.

“Don’t move,” Eddie the Mechanic said as he headed for the back. He was once one of the most feared enforcers in LA. Pushing sixty he still put a chill in my bones.

Don Gallico sat at his table, drinking an espresso while a mousy young nurse stood beside him drawing blood. “Moses, word is our Armenian problem is walking with a limp, I owe you one for that. The vig is stopped, the principal is all you owe us,” he said spreading his hands out with benevolence.

“I’ve come to ask for more than that, I need your help.” I said keeping my face neutral.

“You owe two large and I haven’t taken your spleen. I’d say we were even. What the fuck are you trying to do shish-kabob me? “ he squawked at the nurse. She didn’t bat an eyelash, she just kept pulling blood from his wrinkled arm.

“A girl I know was killed up in Silver Lake.”

“It happens, LA is going to the dogs.”

“She was hit, pro.” I shot the nurse a glance but her full attention was on her job. “Is it ok to speak around her?”

“Say what you want, she’s deaf as a tombstone. Now, what the fuck makes you think I know anything about some dead girl?”

“It came out of San Francisco. Gino Torelli is involved. It’s got mob stink all over it.” I looked in his eyes, not a flicker or a flinch.

“Mob stink? That’s nice, you got the manners of a wart hog. And you’re ignorant to boot. Read the papers, there hasn’t been any family business in the Bay Area since 1988 when Milano bought a Rico charge.”

“Who is Gino Torelli?” I said, and still saw no reaction.