John Locke - The Love You Crave

“Forget something?” Lou says.

“Quick question.”

“Shoot.”

“You know anything about the Rapture?”

“The rap group? The book? The movie? The Bible?”

“The Bible.”

“Like what?”

“You know if pets can go?”

“Where?”

“Heaven.”

He pauses. “I’ll check it out.”

“Wait. You’re not going to ask why I want to know?”

Lou laughs. “Nothing you could say would help me understand.”

“Good point.”

“Plus, I want to figure it out for myself.”

“Are you that bored?”

“Last time you called me was a week ago. I could’ve been in the Bahamas all this time.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

“What heart?”

“Good point. Again.”

“We’re friends, right?”

Carmine “The Chin” Porrello, west coast mob boss, is on the phone. Wants to know if we’re friends.

“That’s a tough one,” I say.

He chuckles. “Well, I were you, I’d say yes.”

“Then, yes.”

“’Cause this is a friendship call.”

“Good to know,” I say.

“I don’t approve of you bustin’ in my house.”

“I know.”

“On the other hand, you could’ve killed me, and you didn’t.”

“And I paid you fifty grand.”

“True,” he says. “Plus, I hear our friend survived the shooting.”

He’s talking about Gwen.

“She did,” I say.

“You datin’ her?”

“It’s up in the air.”

“Women, right?”

“Tell me why you’re calling.”

“You young people,” he says.

“What about us?”

“You’re too impatient. You don’t understand the art of chit-chat.”

“There’s an art to chit-chat?”

“See? You don’t know.”

I feel like reaching through the phone and pulling the purpose of his call from his throat. He’s right. I don’t like idle chit-chat. I’d rather have a root canal. I’m sitting on a cot in the windowless room I built in the center of PhySpa, talking on the phone to a guy who’s so old, last time I saw him his nuts were hanging out of his underwear and he didn’t even know it. Until the phone buzzed, I’d been holding the ceramic device we recovered from Gwen’s boob a few hours ago. Working it around in my hand the same way I used to work the silver dollar my grandfather gave me all those years ago. I wonder why I keep playing with this device instead of smashing it with a sledge hammer like any intelligent person would do. For some reason I’m content to hold this weapon of death in my hand. This device that can kill me instantly, should it fall into the wrong hands.

I wonder what that says about me.

Finally, after what seems like months, Carmine gets to the point.

“Someone wants to take out a hit on you.”

“Thank goodness!”

“This news makes you happy?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why?”

“It’ll add excitement to my life.”

“I didn’t accept the hit.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“Oh.”

We’re quiet a minute. Then Carmine says, “Don’t you wanna know?”

“What?”

“The person who wants you dead.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“That’d make it too easy.”

“I think you’ll be surprised.”

“I’m just messing with you,” I say. “I already know who it is.”

“Really?”

“Tony Spumoni. You know him?”

“Sure. He comes to the club.”

“I embarrassed him today.”

“How?”

“Ripped one of his ears off.”

“No shit?” Carmine chuckles. “You’re somethin’ else, you are. That must’ve hurt.”

“You’d think so. But you’re right, I am surprised.”

“Why’s that?”

“There’s a lot of uncertainty in his company. I’d expect him to wait till the dust clears.”

We go silent again. Then Carmine says something that surprises me even more.

“It wasn’t Tony.”

“What?”

“It was your other business partner.”

My other business partner? I frown. “Who, Wadsworth?”

“Nope.”

I think a minute.

Of course!

Who stands to lose the most in the new business arrangement? The vice president of research and development.

“George Best,” I say.

“I don’t know Mr. Best,” Carmine says.

“Okay, I give up. Who is it that wants me dead?”

“Our friend, Gwen Peters.”

What? Gwen wants to put out a hit on me? Why?

That’s what I want to say to Carmine. Instead I say, “You spoke to Gwen personally? ”

“I knew you’d be surprised.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes, I spoke to her personally.”

“No possibility you might be mistaken?”

“I’ve known her forever.”

“Sometimes phones can be tricky,” I say. “And face it, you’re hard of hearing.”

“Creed.”

“Yeah?”

“I spoke to her in person.”

“What?”

“She came to see me.”

“When?”

“Ten minutes ago. She just left.”

“Did you ask why?”

“Of course! Like I say, she and me, we go way back, you know?”

“What reason did she give?”

“She wouldn’t. Said if she had to give me a reason, she’d take her business elsewhere.”

I shake my head, move the device around in my hand some more. I’m careful not to press the single button. There wasn’t supposed to be a button, but there it is, right in the center. I was told the device attaches to a hand-held unit and can be reprogrammed with a new four-digit code. It can work that way, but as the others filed out of the board meeting today, George and William told me the board wants the device back. When I asked why, they explained it can be used on its own. In other words, if I press the button four times within ten seconds, it’ll fry my brain. I told them they couldn’t have it. I could keep it or turn it over to the police. They weren’t happy about either possibility.

“You still there?” Carmine says.

I know why I’m feeling a little blue. My abandonment issues are kicking in. The device reminds me of my silver dollar, and the silver dollar reminds me of my original family, all of whom are dead, which reminds me how alone I am in the world. I know what you’re thinking. I’m supposed to look on the bright side, right? Well, maybe you can help me find it. My ex-wife Janet hates me. My daughter Kimberly won’t return my calls except to punish me. The woman I loved, Kathleen, is married to another guy. My girlfriend, Rachel, is a homicidal maniac. When we were together I had to drug her every night to keep her from killing me in my sleep! My close friend and facilitator, Lou Kelly, tried to kill me recently, which has severely impacted our working relationship. My boss at Homeland Security, Darwin, ordered a chip to be planted in my brain so he can kill me whenever it suits him. Callie, my best friend in the world, doesn’t trust me. She used those exact words to describe our relationship recently, and gave me her death stare an hour ago.

And now Gwen wants to pay someone to kill me.

“What did you tell her?” I ask Carmine.

“I said I’d think about it.”

“Doesn’t sound like something a friend would say.”

“If I gave her a quick no, she’d call someone else. This way you can nip it in the bud.”

He’s right.

“Thanks, Carmine.”

“You’re surprised, aren’t you!”

I am.

“I owe you,” I say.

“That’s what I like to hear!”

The PhySpa phone rings, so I tell my friend, the mob boss, I’ve got to run.

“Come see me tonight,” he says. “At the club.”