Victor Gischler - Gun Monkeys

“Can it, Burt. I want to know what fucking happened.”

“Okay. Calm down. The neighbors heard gunshots and phoned us. A patrol car went over to investigate, and they found Danny on the floor. The apartment door was wide open. Danny’d been shot, and he was bleeding pretty bad. The officers at the scene phoned for the paramedics, and he was taken to County General. He’s there now. I’m told he’s recovering okay.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Whoa, Charlie, hold on. That might not be good for you to be seen around there.”

“Is he under arrest or something?”

“No. He had this enormous fucking gun, but it was purchased legally and registered, so it’s a straight case of self-defense.”

I’ll be damned. “Then what’s the problem?”

“Well, nobody believes it was a simple break-in. I managed to call off my boys, but the Feds are a different story. Agent Dunn keeps showing up around Danny’s room. I think he’s hoping to catch you there. Dunn is crazy pissed. There’s been some strange, bad shit going on.”

“I’ll worry about Dunn.”

“Charlie?”

“What is it, Burt?”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s all going to be over soon.”

Danny opened his eyes, saw me, and grinned weakly. He had the usual array of tubes in his arms. I’d sent the nurse out so I could talk to him.

I said, “Hey, Bro.”

“Hey.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“What happened?”

“They came in so quick.” Danny swallowed hard, closed his eyes. “I had my gun out, fired.” He shook his head. “It was no good. I didn’t even know what was happening.”

“How many?”

“Three. I’m not sure. It was all confused. Three, I think.”

“One was a woman, sharp features, short black hair?”

“Yes.”

Tina.

“Do you remember anything?” I asked.

“They shot me, Charlie. I was so scared. I thought I was going to die.”

A lump rose in my throat. “I know. I’m sorry. Try to remember.”

“I was trying to stay awake, trying to get up and help. Amber was-”

“Go on. It’s okay.”

“She was screaming. Oh God, screaming and begging for them to let her go. The woman said they’d take her someplace out of the way. She said it wasn’t safe to stay in Orlando.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Oh, God.”

“It’s okay, Danny.” I grabbed his hand, squeezed.

“You’ve got to get her back, Charlie.”

“I will.”

Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. “Please. You’ve got to find her, get her back for me. I’m begging you.”

“I will,” I said. “I’ll find her. I’ll fix everything.”

Outside the hospital room, I found a water fountain. My hands shook, breathing turned heavy. Danny. My brother. Almost dead.

I took a pill, found the elevator, went down.

In the parking lot, Agent Dunn stood next to my Buick waiting for me. I stopped in front of him, and we looked at each other for a second. He lit a cigarette, puffed.

“I’m getting pretty damn tired of never knowing what the hell’s going on,” he said.

“Sorry.”

“I told you to get out of town.”

“I’ve been trying.”

“Maybe I should take you downtown, question you there.”

“I don’t have time for that,” I said. “How about I make you an offer?”

He gave me a curious look. “Like what?”

“Like maybe I help you solve some of your problems.”

“Really? This is just absolutely fucking fascinating. And what are my problems per se?”

“You’ve got three rogue agents for one thing,” I said.

“It’s only one now. We found two of them shot, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

I shrugged. “I know I can get Beggar Johnson’s accounting ledgers for you.”

That made him stop puffing his cigarette.

“Where are they?” he asked.

“That’s not how it works. You’ve got to get out of my way and let me do what I need to do. I’ll send you the books. Beggar’s no friend of mine. Put him in jail, or don’t. It’s all the same to me. But I don’t have time to mess with you right now.”

He considered, then stepped aside. “Sure. Why not?”

I got in my Buick, but he grabbed the door before I could close it. “I’m not going along with this because I trust you. I don’t. I’m going along with this because this case is already so fucked up, I don’t see how it could hurt.” He handed me a business card. “But if you’re on the level, I can be reached at this number.”

I took it, and he stepped back. I closed the door and drove away.

I went back to Amber’s apartment complex, parked the Buick, and grabbed my tote bag. I’d made sure to park as far away from Amber’s apartment as possible. I was a little tired of people following me, and I wanted to finish my business without any of Beggar’s men or the Feds on my tail.

I zigzagged my way through the buildings and found Danny’s Impala. I threw my luggage in the backseat and found the keys under the floor mat.

I’d been holding the steering wheel too tight from stress, and it made my hand hurt. I wanted another pill bad. I resisted and drove.

I knocked on Jeffers’s door, but he didn’t answer. His Lexus was in the driveway, so I tried again. Tired of waiting. I tried the knob. It turned, and I pushed my way in. Nobody in this town locked up anymore.

In the hall, I passed a bathroom. A radio sat on the back of the toilet, country music, turned up loud. I kept walking.

Into the kitchen. A little TV on the counter blared I Love Lucy at me. Whaaaaaa, Ricky!

I remembered where his office was. Jeffers wasn’t in it, but his stereo was up almost all the way. Steve Miller Band blaring “Jungle Love.”

The living room, another TV. This time MSNBC’s constant flow of misery. The Middle East blah blah blah. Washington blah blah blah. The economy blah blah blah.

I felt another giggle stirring in my gut, looking to rear its ugly head. I pushed it down. Not now. Find Jeffers.

In the corner of my eye, I caught a little flash of movement through the French doors leading out back. My hand drifted into the pocket of the pea coat, closed around the butt of my Minelli cannon. I ducked behind a curtain, looked through the French doors to the backyard. Jeffers had a pool, and I wondered if I was walking in on the Sunset Boulevard scene with Jeffers facedown in the pool like William Holden.

Jeffers stood stripped to the waist. He was sagging and pale, a few tennis muscles covered by a layer of prosperity. His back was to me. He danced a silly, drunken middle-aged dance. A little portable radio sat next to an empty gin bottle. Jeffers was having a little party for himself. The radio and gin bottle perched on a glass table with a mirror and a mound of white powder.

Jeffers was barefoot, and his slacks were soaked to the knees, where he’d evidently braved the first step or two into the swimming pool. I turned down the TV, so I could hear what he was dancing to. Some oldies bubble-gum pop.

I opened the French doors and stepped outside. I kept my fist around the Minelli cannon but didn’t haul it out.

Jeffers heard somebody behind him and spun quickly.

“Tina?”

“Nope.”

He looked terrible, dark heavy bags under the eyes, skin sallow and clammy. His hair was a matted, greasy mess. I didn’t believe he’d bathed recently or gotten much sleep. I assumed the tumbler of clear liquid in his fist was gin.

His glassy, bloodshot eyes focused on me with effort. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.”

“Where’ve you been, for Christ’s sake?”

The song on the radio segued into “Sugar Shack.”