Giles Blunt - No Such Creature

“Tell that to my fucking feet, Stu.”

“Naw, Zig just liked the legend, that’s all. Everybody’s heard about this mythical gang-why not live off their reputation? Act like you’re this invincible force of darkness, who’s to know?”

“So if you’re not the Subtractors, what’s the deal with Zig’s nipples? Being chained up in a bathroom, I got to see more than I wanted.”

“Word is, he was in D block at Sing Sing. He was in a beef, owed a lot of dough, and he was gonna get hit. So he did it to himself to get transferred.”

“Like I say-a guy who’ll do anything. So, if you think he’s going to let you live after all this, you’re out of your mind.”

Stu’s shovel clanked against rock. “Fuck.”

“You beginning to see my way of thinking?”

“No, no. I’m just hitting bedrock here.” Stu’s face was glistening with sweat. He was about two feet down. “What’s in it for me if I let you go? What am I supposed to do for work? Guy’s gotta make a living.”

“I don’t know. I could put a word in with Max. If he knows you saved my ass, he might do something for you.”

“I worked with Max one time. He was good for a laugh, but he’s past it, man. Way past it.” Stu had to rest on his shovel again, his face was dripping. “You think he might cut me in?”

“He doesn’t even cut me and Pookie in. But you’ll get some work. Max is a good guy to have on your side. Knows everybody.”

“Fuck it.” Stu threw down the shovel. “Okay, you convinced me. How about you help me dump Clem and then we hit the road together?”

“Deal.”

“Get outta the car and I’ll take off the cuffs.”

Roscoe got out of the car. His feet stung where the toes were missing, and every muscle in his body ached from being chained in the bathroom for days.

“I hope I don’t regret this.” Stu was fumbling in his pocket for keys. He found the right one, dropped it.

“Hurry up, man. I think I saw a car pull in over there.”

“Over where? I don’t see anything.”

“Under the cloverleaf. I could be wrong.”

Stu found the key and undid first the leg bracelets, then the handcuffs.

A pair of headlights rolled up to them and went out.

“Fuck, it’s Zig,” Stu said. “Let’s beat it.”

They got into the car, but before they could move, the headlights came on again and Zig swerved in front. Stu threw it into reverse, spitting dirt as they jerked backward. A bullet slammed into metal.

Their own headlights were on now, and they could see Zig standing in the glare like a scarecrow, gun hand pointing.

Stu spun the wheel so that the passenger side was between him and Zig.

“Fuck, man,” Roscoe said, ducking down.

“It’s the only way back to the-”

The glass above Roscoe’s shoulder shattered and Stu slumped sideways, a black hole in his temple. Zig was coming toward them, a black shadow in the cones of light.

Roscoe climbed over Stu and pulled up the seat release, pushing the driver’s seat all the way back. That left just enough room to sit on top of Stu and still reach the controls, even if his head was pressed up against the roof. He put it in drive and floored it.

Another shot hit the rear door.

As the car clattered onto the access lane, he could just see Zig climbing back into his car.

“You all right?” he said over and over again to Stu, but he already knew the answer.

“Oh, Jesus, son of the Father, light of my life, please, if I am worthy, send Sabrina back to me. Help me to win her back, for I know I can do everything through Him that gives me strength.”

Bill Bullard was on his knees before a round glass table in the corner of his Hyatt Regency living room. This time it was the honeymoon suite. Bill took one of the miniature Jack Daniel’s he had set out on the table, cracked it open, and drained it in one go.

“Heavenly Father, through whom and in whom all things begin and end, I thank you for helping me to find the woman of my life. And now I pray that you help me, a sinner-oh, I know I am not worthy-to help her.”

He checked the laptop that was open beside the minis. He clicked Update and the onscreen map shifted slightly, showing a squat red arrow on US 80 about one hundred miles east. She must have checked out of that Red Roof pretty early.

“Now, Lord, I ask you to grant unto Sabrina the perception to see into my soul and recognize that my life is consecrated to her, second only to You, almighty Lord. Let her see that she is enthroned in my heart in a place inviolable.”

He opened another JD and drained it.

“Lord of the Covenant, if that is asking too much, or if you feel I must be further tested, I beseech that you vouchsafe unto me the strength, the wisdom and the tenderness to win her heart. I hope and pray with your help to win her back, not just for me but for You, that I may set her feet once more upon the path of righteousness.”

There was no more Jack Daniel’s. He opened a Remy this time, sucked a little out of it, and made a face.

“Oh, and please don’t let me hit her anymore. Grant me the strength to keep my temper. I mean, except in the most egregious cases.”

There was a knock on his door. He got up and opened it to a man in a blue suit, white shirt, red tie, holding up an ID card.

“William Bullard?” Zig said. He’d conned the name out of the front desk, using the room number. “My name’s Zigler. I’m a state-licensed investigator. Would you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Bill looked closer at the license. Nevada. It appeared to be genuine, but you could buy anything fake these days.

“Questions about what?”

“May I come in? I won’t take up much of your time. My car’s out front begging for a ticket.”

Bill let him in and shut the door. He sat down in a chair near the balcony and motioned for Zig to do the same. Zig looked around, taking his time the way a real PI might. The suite was impressive-couch and chairs, huge desk, flat-screen TV, and that was just the living room. This Bullard character must have some dough.

Before Zig could ask his first question, the guy pointed a finger at him. “You musta had to be a cop before you became a PI. Where were you on the job? Vegas?”

“Santa Barbara.”

“Yeah? Who’d you work with?”

“Mr. Bullard, are you on intimate terms with the staff of the Santa Barbara police service?”

“No.”

“Then maybe you could just let me ask my questions.”

Bullard sat back with a smile. “Fire away.”

“I’ll get right to the point. I’m working for a client who needs to get something of his returned. Something precious that was taken from him.”

“Blackmail, you mean.”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Zig cleared his throat. His only contact with private investigators was through the movies. He didn’t have a clue how they might act or what they might say in real life.

“In the course of our investigation, my associates and I keep running into you and your green Chevy Blazer, and frankly we’re wondering what your interest in this case might be.”

“Case? I’m not involved in any case. I just happen to be looking for something myself. Some one . You used the word precious. Well, this person is very precious to me.”

Zig smiled. “I can understand that, Mr. Bullard. She’s very beautiful.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Judging by the way you’re keeping tabs on her, you probably know she’s been staying with one Max Maxwell and an individual who may or may not be his nephew, called Owen.”

“I’m aware of that,” Bullard said. “I didn’t know their names. That who you’re interested in?”