Michael Connelly - Chasing the Dime

"What do you want?"

It was hard to talk upside down. Blood was pooling in the back of his throat and on the roof of his mouth.

"What do I want? Well, I first wanted to get a look at you. A guy spends his time sniffing your asshole for two days, you want to see what he looks like, right? There's that. And then I wanted to give you a message. Six-Eight."

Pierce was suddenly hoisted up. Still upside down, his face had come up to the open bars of the balcony railing. Through the bars he saw that the talker had stooped down so that they were face-to-face, the bars between them.

"What I wanted to say was that not only did you get the wrong number, you got the wrong world, partner. And you got about thirty seconds to decide whether you want to go back to where you came from or you want to go on to the next world. You understand what I am saying to you?"

Pierce nodded and started to cough.

"I… unnerstan… I'm… I'm done."

"You're damn right you're done. I ought to have my man drop your stupid ass right here and now. But I don't need the heat, so I'm not going to do that. But I have to tell you, Bright Boy, if I catch you sneaking and sniffing around again, you're gonna get dropped.

Okay?"

Pierce nodded. The man Pierce was pretty sure was Billy Wentz then reached a hand between the bars and roughly patted Pierce's cheek.

"Be good now."

He stood up and gave a signal to Six-Eight. Pierce was pulled over the balcony and dropped on the balcony's floor. He broke the fall with his hands and then pushed his way into the corner. He looked up at his two attackers.

"You got a nice view here," said the smaller man. "What do you pay?"

Pierce looked out at the ocean. He spit a wad of thick blood onto the floor.

"Three thousand."

"Jesus Christ! I can get three fucking places for that."

Now just straddling the edge of consciousness, Pierce wondered how Wentz had intended the word fucking to be interpreted. Was he talking about places for fucking or was he just routinely cursing? He tried to shake off the clouds that were encroaching. It occurred to him then that the threat to himself aside, it was important to try to protect Lucy LaPorte.

He spit more blood onto the balcony floor.

"What about Lucy? What are you going to do?"

"Lucy? Who the fuck is Lucy?"

"I mean, Robin."

"Oh, our little Robin. You know, that's a good question, Henry. 'Cause Robin's a good earner. I have to be prudent. I have to calm myself when it comes to her. Rest assured that whatever we do, we won't leave marks and she'll be back, good as new, in two, three weeks at the most."

Pierce scrabbled his legs on the concrete in an effort to get up but he was too disoriented and weak.

"Leave her alone," he said as forcefully as he could. "I used her and she didn't even know it."

Wentz's dark eyes seemed to take on a new light. Pierce saw anger work its way into them. He saw Wentz put one hand on the top of the balcony railing as if to brace himself.

"Leave her alone, he says."

He shook his head again as if to ward off some encroaching power.

"Please," Pierce said. "She didn't do anything. It was me. Just leave her alone."

The small man looked back at Six-Eight and smiled, then shook his head.

"Do you believe this? Telling me like that?"

He turned back toward Pierce, took one step toward him and then swiftly brought his other foot up into a vicious kick. Pierce was expecting it and was able to use his forearm to deflect most of the power but the pointed toe of the boot struck him on the right side of the rib cage. It felt like it took at least two ribs with it.

Pierce slid down into the corner and tried to cover up, expecting more and trying to control the burning pain spreading across his chest. Instead, Wentz leaned down over him. He yelled at Pierce, spittle raining down on him with the words.

"Don't you fucking dare try to tell me how to run my business. Don't you fucking dare!"

He straightened up and dusted off his hands.

"And one other thing. You tell anybody about our little discussion here today and there will be consequences. Dire consequences. For you. For Robin. For the people you love.

Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Pierce weakly nodded.

"Let me hear you say it."

"I understand the consequences."

"Good. Then let's go, Six-Eight."

And Pierce was left alone, gulping for breath and clarity, trying to stay in the light when he sensed darkness closing in all around.

Pierce grabbed a T-shirt out of a box in the bedroom and held it to his face, trying to stop the bleeding. He straightened up and went into the bathroom and saw himself in the mirror. His face was already ballooning and turning color. The swelling of his nose was crowding his vision and widening the wounds on his nose and around his left eye. Most of the bleeding seemed to be internal, a steady stream of thick blood going down the back of his throat. He knew he had to get to a hospital but he had to warn Lucy LaPorte first.

He found the phone on the living room floor. He tried to go to the caller ID directory but the screen remained blank. He tried the on button but couldn't get a dial tone. The phone was broken -either by the impact with his face or when Wentz had thrown it to the floor.

Holding the shirt to his face, involuntary tears streaming out of his eyes, Pierce looked about the apartment for the box holding the earthquake kit he had ordered delivered with the furniture. Monica had showed him a listing of the kit's inventory before ordering it.

He knew it contained a first aid kit, flashlights and batteries, two gallons of water, numerous freeze-dried food items and other supplies. It also contained a basic phone that did not use electric current. It simply needed to be jacked into the wall for it to work.

He found the box in the bedroom closet and dripped blood all over it as he desperately used both hands to rip it open. He lost his balance and almost fell over. He realized he was fading. The loss of blood, the depletion of adrenaline. He finally found the phone and took it to the wall jack next to the bed. He got a dial tone. Now all he needed was Robin's number.

He had it written in a notebook but that was in his backpack down in his car. He didn't think he could make it down there without passing out on the way. He wasn't even sure where his keys were. The last he remembered, they had been in the hands of Billy Wentz.

Leaning against the wall, he first called Information for Venice and tried the name Lucy LaPorte, asking the operator to check under various spellings. But there was no number, unlisted or otherwise.

He then slid down the wall to the floor next to the bed. He began to panic. He had to get to her but couldn't -he thought of something and called the lab. But there was no answer. Sundays were sacrosanct with the lab rats. They worked long hours and usually six days a week. But rarely on Sunday. He tried Charlie Condon's office and home but got machines at both numbers.

He thought about Cody Zeller but knew he never answered his phone. The only way to reach him was by page and then he would be at the mercy of waiting for a callback.

He knew what he had to do. He punched in the number and waited. After four rings Nicole answered.

"It's me. I need your help. Can you go to -"

"Who is this?"

"Me, Henry."

"It doesn't sound like you. What are you -"

"Nicki!" he shouted. "Listen to me. This is an emergency and I need your help. We can talk about everything after. I can explain after."

"Okay," she said in a tone that indicated she wasn't convinced. "What is the emergency?"

"You still have your computer hooked up?"

"Yes, I don't even have a sign on the house yet. I'm not -"