Robert Ferrigno - The wake-up

Thorpe stared at the phone.

"It was an accident. Vlad distracted me."

Distracted? Thorpe watched Paulo taking another lap. "You killed your sister?"

"I told you already. It wasn't my fault."

"Is Arturo there?"

Cecil cackled. "DOA. That was one uppity Mexican, but I put him down like a bag of warm shit. You got to get over here and see what I done, Frank. It's pretty impressive, if I do say so myself."

Thorpe couldn't speak. He had expected Vlad to get the assignment, but never Cecil.

"Practice makes perfect, Frank. It's true. You wouldn't believe the trouble I had running down that old bitch, but tonight, facing off against Arturo and Vlad, I was in the zone. Come over and see for yourself. I'm the real deal now. We got a lot to talk about, you and me. I'm at the Huntington Beach store."

Cecil had killed Betty B. Thorpe looked past the homeboys at the nearby table, still trying to picture Cecil as the angel of death. Arturo was dead, and Missy, and maybe Clark and Vlad, for all he knew. That should be enough. Enough to make up for Ray Bishop getting his head hammered in. More than enough. Thorpe watched Paulo make another pass through the park, standing on the pedals, hollering.

"Come on by, Frank. I don't know what I'm going to do if you don't."

Thorpe clicked off the phone and started for his car.

Paulo drove past, making his loop-de-loop, racing with another boy about his age, the two of them barking like dogs as they pedaled. Paulo glanced at Thorpe but didn't react, didn't recognize him. Thorpe smiled. That was as close to a happy ending as he could expect.

"Welcome to the scene of the crime." Cecil grinned as he waved Thorpe inside. "Check it out."

Thorpe stepped into the back room of the surf shop, closed the alley door. A folding cot was set up in the far corner of the room, Vlad's clothes strewn on the floor. Missy sprawled beside a table, her elegant black dress hiked, one of her high heels snapped off. There was a hole through her eye. Vlad sat on the floor, his back against the sofa. Arturo lay on his back beside him, hands neatly folded across his suit jacket. Other than the fact that one ear was caked with dried blood, he looked as if he were resting. The room smelled like molten copper.

"That's the only downside of the evening." Cecil pointed at Missy's body. He had two guns shoved into the front of his pants like Billy the Kid, Arturo's machine pistol and a small.22 semiauto. "Damn Vlad got me all upset and threw off my rhythm. Pissed me off, I'll tell you that much."

Vlad's complexion was even whiter now, waxy and translucent, a road map of fine blue veins visible under the skin. Thorpe realized that the dark spots on Vlad's shirt weren't part of the tie-dyed pattern. "You've been shot."

Vlad nodded.

"I told you, Frank, he pissed me off," said Cecil. "I won't stand for that kind of thing. Not anymore. What we got here is a fucking new day for Cecil. You and me going to work together. You best understand that."

Thorpe laughed.

"What's so funny?" asked Cecil.

Thorpe made eye contact with Vlad. "Do you remember the art dealer Missy used? The one who sold her-"

"Douglas Meachum," said Vlad. "He was at the party. He saw me standing in the corner, shaking… but Meachum just walked past. You were the only one who stopped to help."

"I asked you a question, Frank," said Cecil.

Thorpe ignored him but kept track of him with his peripheral vision. Any sudden moves… "Arturo went to Meachum's house a few days ago," he said to Vlad. "He went there and killed a man. Were you with him?"

Vlad's face was blank. "Arturo didn't kill anyone at Meachum's house."

"The man's name was Ray Bishop," said Thorpe. "Arturo beat him to death with a claw hammer. Were you there when he did it?"

Vlad scratched his head, and tufts of white-blond hair drifted down. "I wasn't there. Neither was Arturo. He would have told me if he had done that."

Thorpe stared at him. Vlad was a lot of things, but he wasn't a liar. "You're sure?"

Vlad nodded. "We were partners."

Thorpe turned as Cecil reached for the machine pistol in his belt. "Don't do that."

Cecil gripped the butt of the gun but didn't draw it. His face was incandescent. "I don't take orders anymore."

"Okay," said Thorpe. Vlad coughed, and Thorpe glanced over, saw blood bubbling from his lips. Thorpe took his eyes off Cecil for only an instant, but it was long enough.

"I'm willing to forgive you for putting my head through the wall that time at the house," said Cecil, the pistol steady on Thorpe's chest. His knuckles were raw. "I'm willing to forgive and forget, because I'm a little shorthanded now, and I'm going to need some help when I take over the operation."

"Clark might have something to say about that."

"I'm not worried," sneered Cecil. "You should have seen him, blubbering like a baby, talking to Missy like he expected her to answer. When he left, he told me he was going to grab his board and paddle out until it didn't hurt no more." He shook his head. "Hey, she was my sister, but you don't see me dying about it. You got to move on, right, Frank?"

"Easier said than done."

"Well, I said it and I done it." Cecil's finger curled around the trigger of the machine pistol. It was all he could do to hold himself back. "You going to work for me or not?"

"I don't even want to be near you."

Cecil grinned, pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, of course.

Thorpe stepped closer, pulled the pistol away, and swatted him across the head with it. "You have to flip off the safety."

Cecil groaned, rolled across the floor, holding his head in his hands.

Thorpe turned to Vlad. "If you and Arturo didn't kill Bishop…" He was thinking out loud, and not liking the answer he kept coming up with.

"Frank?" Vlad nodded toward Cecil.

Thorpe flipped the safety off, pointed the pistol at Cecil. "Don't do it."

Cecil stared up at Thorpe, the.22 in his hand. "You scared? I'm not."

"Put the gun down and get out of here," said Thorpe.

"I don't think so," said Cecil.

"Go home," said Thorpe. "It's over. We can stop now. All of us."

"I don't want to stop. This ain't the old Cecil you're talking to."

"I don't want to kill you," said Thorpe.

"Look at you, all serious and concerned." Cecil showed his bad teeth. "I don't need you after all, Frank. Like I told Missy, I got an aptitude." His finger tightened on the trigger.

Thorpe shot him three times, knocked Cecil backward in a spray of blood. Ears ringing, Thorpe wiped the machine pistol clean and tossed it onto the table. He felt an overwhelming heaviness, as though the room were caving in on him. He had been wrong about everything.

"I know what Cecil meant," said Vlad. "It's hard to stop once you start."

Thorpe nodded. "Sometimes I think it's nearly impossible… but we have to try." He moved closer. "I should drop you off at a hospital."

Vlad smoothed the lapels of Arturo's suit. "The first time Arturo saw me, he crossed himself. I didn't understand, so I waved back. It was a silly mistake. A lucky mistake." He smiled. "We bumped into each other at Los Angeles Airport, and when I waved, he thought I was a courier from the Bucharest syndicate. I had worked for the syndicate before, done some cold work for them, but I had left to come to America. I wanted to see cowboys. Arturo and I stood in the airport, talking and watching the luggage circling round and round, and by the time my bag arrived, Arturo said he didn't care if the syndicate hadn't sent me, he had work for me." He glanced at Thorpe. "What's wrong?"

"Just… coincidence." Thorpe shook his head. "All of our planning and calculation and research, but ultimately our lives pivot on a missed signal or a man in too much of a hurry."