John Locke - Lethal People

CHAPTER 39

The elevator doors had barely opened before Chris Unger’s secretary let out a blood-curdling scream and jumped below her desk.

“Poor dear,” said Quinn. “I should comfort her.”

“That work for you in the past?” I asked.

The musclehead who was obviously Chris Unger’s bodyguard suddenly appeared. He looked at Quinn, did a double take, and said, “ Jesus H. Christ !” There was something about the guy I couldn’t place. Up close, he looked familiar. Perhaps he came to earth with powers far beyond those of mortal men, at least that’s how he comported himself. In any event, he was a big, heavily muscled guy, built thick like a fireplug. His head was shaved completely smooth and on his forehead, above the bridge of his nose, someone had carved XX.

Quinn sat his duffel on the floor.

“What’s in your purse?” asked Musclehead. “A tampon?” He pursed his lips and smacked a kiss in Quinn’s direction.

Augustus noticed my left leg had buckled. He shot me a look.

“I’m okay,” I said.

He nodded. Nobody moved. The musclehead kept his voice calm. He said, “Miss, come on out and get behind me.”

She scrambled out from the desk well and shielded her eyes as she ran behind Mr. Muscles. From what I could tell, she had a nice enough figure, but I wasn’t a fan of the tight, angry bun she wore in her hair. She was hyperventilating, and her voice made a funny huffing sound as she struggled to get herself under control.

“Your severe reaction toward my associate suggests poor training,” I said, trying to be helpful.

To Augustus, she shrieked, “You keep away from me!”

The musclehead whispered something, and she backed up a few steps and slowly circled around us and disappeared through the elevator doors. I could have stopped her, but I knew Sal’s driver would handle it.

Now that he was alone in the room with us, the body builder let us hear his street voice.

“Who the fuck’re you turds and what do you want?”

“We’d like to see Garrett Unger and his brother Chris,” I said, trying to be polite about it.

“I work for Chris Unger,” he said, “and you don’t talk to Chris Unger without my okay. You got something to say to Chris Unger, you say it to me.”

“Very well,” I said. “Tell Mr. Unger his body guard is a pussy.”

The musclehead kept a watchful eye on my giant and the space between them. Then he said, “Okay, so you know who I am, right?”

I looked at Quinn. He shrugged.

“We don’t know,” I said, “but you look familiar to us.”

“You always speak for the dummy?” he asked.

I noticed that he noticed my limp as I took a step toward him.

“I’m Double X,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Quinn and I exchanged looks again.

“You carve that in your head when you turned twenty?” asked Quinn.

Double X frowned. “It’s my nickname. On the circuit.”

“The circuit,” I said.

Double X sighed. “Hello-o, the UFW circuit? Ultimate Fighting Warriors?”

“Oh, that circuit,” I said.

I took another gimpy step toward him. He shifted his weight into a fighting stance and said, “I’m the former heavyweight world champion.” He said that part with a healthy measure of pride. “How nice for you,” I said. “Maybe we can talk about it after I see Mr. Unger. Would you be a good little warrior and take us to him?” Double X sneered.

I’ve had tough guys sneer at me lots of times, but I was pretty sure not many had sneered at Quinn. I glanced at my monster. He didn’t appear to be offended.

Addressing me, but pointing at Augustus, Double X said, “I don’t know your boyfriend, Mr. Ass Face, but I know who you are. You’re the guy who kidnapped Monica Childers.”

Quinn said, “Ass Face?”

To me, Double X said, “You’re pretty tough when it comes to assaulting skinny, middle-aged women, but in me you’ll find an unbeatable foe.”

I said, “They teach you to talk like that in the UHF?”

“That’s UFW, asshole.” He appraised me as if he were sniffng an onion. “You got some size on you, and you may have kicked some untrained butt in your day, but you can’t fathom the stuff I’ve seen. You wouldn’t last thirty seconds in the quad.”

“Quad?”

“That’s right. They stick you in a cage with a world contender and you don’t walk out until one of you is basically dead.”

He let that comment sit in the air a minute, then added, “You guys are going to stay right here till I say you can move.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Mr. Unger’s secretary is at this very moment talking to a member of organized crime about you. You guys are already dead; you just don’t know it yet.”

A good martial artist will always attack your weakness, and Double X didn’t disappoint, rushing me the way I knew he would, leading with his right leg to sweep my gimpy leg out from under me.

Unfortunately for Double X, I didn’t have a gimpy leg, and I easily moved inside his kick before it could do any damage. Double X suddenly found himself in a strange position, slightly off -balance, vulnerable, his leg still rising toward a target that wasn’t there.

Before he had a chance to regroup, I punched the former quad cage heavyweight champion of the world in the neck, with full leverage behind the blow. I followed it up with a left hook to the other side of his neck, and his eyes went white. He tried to fall, but I caught his Adam’s apple between my thumb and index knuckle and crushed it until his mouth formed a perfect O shape. When I released my grip, Double X fell in a heap and grabbed his throat. He made an attempt to speak, but the effort proved too great. He rolled onto his side, and his legs began twitching involuntarily, like a sleeping dog dreaming about chasing a rabbit.

I looked at Quinn. “Just before I crushed his larynx, he patted my shoulder several times. Why do you suppose he did that?”

“I think he was tapping out. It’s what they do in the quad cage when they’ve had enough.”

“Oh. He should have said.”

I stepped over him and went through the door from which Double X had appeared a moment earlier.

Quinn found Double X’s gun and put it in his duffel. Then he grabbed Double X by the collar and dragged him and his twitchy legs through the door and down the hall until he saw me enter Chris Unger’s suite.

First thing I noticed going in, Chris Unger was at his desk, his back to the windows. Three client chairs faced him. The first was occupied by Chris’s brother, Garrett. The second chair was empty. Sitting in the third chair was my favorite crime boss, Sal Bonadello.

Sal nodded in my direction and said, “Hey, this is—whatcha call—serendipity. We was just talking about you!”

I recognized Sal’s bodyguard, leaning against the far wall.

“I guess Joe said it’s okay to bring Big Bad.”

Sal nodded. “I was takin’ a leak just before you got here. Takin’ a leak always makes me think of Joe. So I called him.”

Big Bad had his hand inside his jacket.

“You still use the 357?” I asked.

Without changing the expression on his face, Big Bad glanced at Sal through reptilian eyes. Sal said, “It’s okay; they’re with me.”

Both Ungers gave him a look. Then they looked at each other. Garrett seemed more nervous than his older brother.

All eyes suddenly turned to the doorway as Quinn entered, dragging Double X behind him. Double X continued to hold his neck with one hand while pawing the air with the other. Still trying to tap out, I figured. Quinn released his prey, and Double X hit the floor face first. Quinn locked the door behind him.