John Locke - The Love You Crave

“Which one?”

“ Top Six.”

“When?”

“Ten.”

I click off the cell phone and pick up the PhySpa phone.

“Who’s this?” I say.

“Tony Spumoni.”

“I was just talking about you,” I say. “Your ears must’ve been burning.”

“You think that’s funny?”

I think it’s hilarious. But what I say is, “What do you want?”

“I want to settle this thing between us.”

“How?”

“I did some checking. I know who you are, what you do.”

“So?”

“Can we meet tonight?”

“Why?”

“I got a proposition for you.”

“You can’t tell me over the phone?”

“I already said too much.”

My cell phone vibrates. Lou Kelly. To Tony I say, “You know the club, Top Six?”

“Carmine Porrello’s club?”

“Yeah.”

“What time?”

“Ten-thirty.”

I hang up the house phone, answer the cell. “That was quick.”

“I’m going to take a stab at this,” Lou says, laughing. “Kimberly’s boyfriend’s a pre-Rapture pet salesman, right?”

“You’re good. You found him?”

“I don’t know where to start. There are hundreds of these guys scattered across the country. I found six in Duval County. Their standard sales pitch is pets have no souls, so they’ll be left behind when the Rapture takes place. If you love your pets, you won’t let them starve.”

“So Kimberly’s boyfriend has to convince them he’s sinful enough to be left behind but loving enough to care for their pets.”

“Odd way to make a buck,” Lou says.

“Anything else?”

“Kimberly’s grades.”

“Do I want to know?”

“You do.”

“Lay it on me.”

“Perfect attendance, A’s in every subject but one.”

“Biology?”

“Right. B plus.”

“He’s a dick.”

“Who, the teacher?”

“Yeah.”

“She said that?”

“She did.”

“Kids talk like that to their parents these days?”

“I don’t know how kids talk. Like we said, she’s pushing my buttons.”

“You say anything to her about it?”

“No. She’s got all the power.”

“How so?”

“She can hang up anytime she wants.”

“You can stop sending her money.”

“And what type of message would that send? Respect me or else?”

Lou pauses a minute. Then says, “Well, at least she’s still enrolled, making good grades. That’s a good thing. And she’s always been a great kid.”

“And still is,” I say. “So yeah, I’m lucky. It could be a helluva lot worse. How about our guy, Jimmy T.?”

“You still want her followed?”

“For a little while. Until I’m completely comfortable about things.”

“I’ll track Jimmy down and put him to work.”

“Thanks, Lou.”

I focus a pinpoint of light on the face of my watch as it turns 9:00 p.m., thinking, two hours ago Gwen Peters asked Carmine “The Chin” Porrello to have me whacked.

I’m in the Las Vegas Zoo, standing by the monkey cage. The monkeys are so surprised to see a visitor after closing time, they actually stop picking their asses to stare at me.

“You talkin’ to me?” I say, channeling my inner Robert DeNiro.

The zoo’s been closed three hours. It was harder to break in than you’d think. Probably because they house endangered cats, apes, and exotic reptiles, so their security needs to be top notch.

It’s dark, but not pitch black. I might need the pen light to see my watch, but I can see the monkeys without it, and they can see me. I snap the light off and put it back in my pocket, remove the ceramic device and move it around in my hand.

The monkey cage isn’t actually a cage. It’s more like a deep, circular pit with a rock mountain in the center, and some artificial climbing trees. The monkeys have lots of space to move around in, and the trees and mountain offer them opportunities to exercise. The chain link fence around the perimeter comes up to the middle of my chest, high enough to keep kids from falling into the pit.

I fling the ceramic device at the monkeys.

Several rush to the place where it strikes the mountain, and scramble around, fighting for it, until one emerges with the prize.

I watch with amusement as he tries to keep it away from the others. He jumps onto one of the trees and makes his way to the top. He sniffs it, puts it in his mouth. For a moment I think how funny it’ll be if he swallows it. But he removes it from his mouth and works it around in his hand the way I’ve been doing.

Pressing the button four times in ten seconds will fry my brain.

The monkey gives up and tosses the device to the ground.

Dozens of monkeys begin fighting over it, and I assume it won’t take long for this many monkeys to press a single button four times in ten seconds.

Why am I doing this?

I don’t know. It’s fun? I’m in Vegas? I need the rush? My fate is in the hands of a bunch of monkeys, which seems appropriate, somehow.

I start to laugh. And keep laughing. Kimberly’s not the only one who can push my buttons!

“Have at it!” I shout, and walk away. I get about five feet when something hits me in the back of the head.

I bend down and pick up the device.

The monkeys have spoken.

I wipe the device on my pant leg, put it back in my pocket. Then head to Carmine Porrello’s club, the Top Six.

“How old IS that one?” I ask Carmine, pointing at the skinny blond on the far left.

“The nurse?”

I feel like saying, “nurse costume,” but what’s the point?

“You like her?” Carmine says.

“She doesn’t look legal.”

“I run a legit club. She don’t look eighteen, but she’s got a driver’s license. You want me to call her over?”

“No.”

I look at the skinny girl a second time. Her hair is close-cropped, with a streak of red on the front of each side, framing her delicate, pale face. She looks like she’s completely drugged out. But there’s something else in her face that would break my heart if I were her father. It’s something you don’t normally see at her age.

She’s given up.

This is the type of kid who probably won’t live to see her twenties. I’m looking at a dead girl, I think.

“You keep lookin’ at her,” Carmine says. “Here, I’ll call her over.”

He waves his hand until she notices him. She looks over her shoulder a minute, then back at Carmine, then reluctantly climbs off the stage and comes over.

“Hi Shirl,” he says.

“Is something wrong?” she says. “I’m supposed to go on next.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Shirl looks nervously to the left of the stage. “But Roy-”

“I’ll take care of Roy.”

She looks dubious.

Carmine says, “You trust me, yes?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Porrello.”

He nods. “Good. I want you to meet a friend of mine. A good friend.”

She looks at me. I notice Carmine didn’t say my name, which is his way of showing respect. He’s old school. He’ll let me decide if I want to use a fake name.

“Hi Shirl, I’m Donovan Creed.”

I put my hand out. Shirl looks at me with utter confusion, bites the corner of her lip and looks at Carmine, who says, “He’s offering you his hand. Shake it.”

Shirl looks completely bewildered, but takes my hand. It took her exactly ten seconds to make me feel like I’m mentally challenged. She looks back up at the stage, clearly agitated, shifting her weight from one leg to the next, while looking at the big, angry slab of beef who’s giving her a hard look.

“That’s Roy?” I say.

“Uh huh. I better go.”