I’ve
been fucked before, but never quite like this.
It
all started the day that Angus Campbell knocked my door open with enough
force to snap the doorstop and put the handle through the wall and
stomped into my office. He slapped his meaty hands down on my desk
and leaned towards me until I could see his five-o’clock shadow’s
shadow. “You’re gonna take someone out for me,” he said.
“If
he looks like you, I doubt he’s my type.” I wanted to kick
myself as soon as I said that. What the hell was wrong with me?
Twice my width, with several inches on me in height, Angus Campbell
could’ve passed for the red-headed, freckle-faced version of the Jolly
Green Giant.
He
laughed in my face.
“Geez,
ever heard of mouthwash?” I could feel my nose twitching, an
annoying habit stemming from an unfortunate sensitivity to smell that
had earned me a few nicknames over the years.
Here
I was, nose to nose with a guy that looked like his mom had shown love
through portion sizes, with a cracked front tooth and a three-inch
ragged scar etched on his cheek that complimented the nick off the lobe
of his left ear.
And
I was being smartass.
I
should’ve known better. After all, I knew who Angus Campbell was
the minute he busted my door. Angus had a reputation.
He
leered as he let his gaze drift down to my chest and then snorted.
“And
I like women with tits. I’ve seen zits that were bigger.”
Yeah,
when you were looking at your ass in a mirror. Thankfully, I
kept that one from slipping out of my mouth.
“What
I’m sayin’ is, you’re gonna whack somebody. And I’m not
talkin’ about a slap and a tickle.” He snickered, seeming
impressed by his own wit. “I’m talking about doin’ somebody
in.”
I
leaned back in my chair, in part to get away from the stench. The
moldy bits between his jagged teeth, where something undigested was
fermenting, were too much for my nose. And my eyes. And my
stomach, which was starting to churn like a washing machine.
“You
sure you’re in the right office?”
“You’re
a private investigator?”
“Yeah.”
No point denying it. It said so on the door.
“You’re
Micky Rickards arentcha?”
I
swallowed. “Uh huh.”
A
slow smile spread across his face. If I’d been in a back alley
I’d have been looking for a two-by-four. Or a broken bottle.
“Then
you’re the bitch I’m lookin’ for.”
“So let me get this straight. You,” I looked him over
before staring him in the eye and continuing, “need me to whack
someone for you.” Like, what the fuck, buddy?
You can’t whack somebody yourself? “What makes you think
I’d do that?”
He
straightened up, reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope.
It
landed on the desk in front of me.
“The
reason you’ll do it, and the guy you’ll whack. I’ll be back
tomorrow.” He leered at me. “Give you a chance to think
it over.”
He
turned and stomped out of the office, leaving me with a hole to patch in
the wall and a bad feeling.
Should
I? Shouldn’t I? The debate was almost over before it
began. Once I had my gloves on I tore the seal off the envelope
and dumped the contents out on my desk.
And
suddenly felt like I’d just swallowed a boat anchor.
Oh
shit. I’m fucked.
There
were two photos inside the envelop. The first one sent me reeling
back thirteen years, when I’d been a scrawny teenager with a bad
attitude and a cocaine habit. Will Van Noppen, had been my
supplier.
The
other guy was Johnny Johnson. Obviously the product of
unimaginative parents.
And
the reason for the big mess I needed Will to help me with.
“Is
he gone?” Enrique sounded like someone wearing steel-plated
stilettos had just kicked him in the crotch.
I
looked up to see my assistant blowing his nose as he stood in the
doorway. Whenever I had a cold I ended up with a scratchy voice a
few octaves lower than usual. Instead, Enrique sounded like
someone was pinching his privates.
“Yeah.”
I stood up, shoved half the papers from the envelop in my locking desk
drawer, grabbed my leather jacket off the back of my chair and stuffed
the rest of the papers in my pocket. “I’m going out.”
His
left hand landed on his hip just as he jutted his lower body out into
what I liked to call The Pose. It was the “Hmpph, you’re so
difficult” stance that got thrown at me on a daily basis for
everything from the way I chewed my fingernails to how tight my jeans
were to why I never wore a dress or make up, or ‘Did you see that
guy’s ass? Yummy.’
Being
a free country I figured Enrique has as much right to inspect the
backsides of passerby as the next person. I just didn’t want to
hear about it.
“What
if he comes back?”
“He
won’t. Nothing to worry about,” I said as I snatched the
envelope and papers off my desk.
“Will
you be gone long?”
“Could
be. Probably have to go to the airport.”
“Stay
off Columbia. They’ve got a speed trap set up near the
Queensborough Bridge. I just got a ticket last week and it was
over two hun…”
I
shook my head. “The other airport.”
Enrique’s
eyes widened. “Oh. You know, I should write a letter and
complain. They’ve got a bunch of construction vehicles parked on
the side of the road in those windy bits. Really dangerous.
Someone takes a corner too fast and…”
“What
do you think? I’m tearing through the streets, trying to cause
an accident?” I sighed. “Look, thanks, I’ll watch out
for it.”
Once
I closed the door behind me I stuffed the papers in my inside coat
pocket, reached behind me and pulled out my gun. I checked to make
sure the clip was full and jogged down the stairs,
It
didn’t take me long to get to the seedy four-level apartment building
where Twitch Van Noppen was staying. After I parked I glanced
through the papers one last time, then tossed them in the glove
compartment.
Twitch
had moved in here a few months ago and was supposed to be staying out of
trouble, laying low. Except he was on the top floor, with a
bird’s eye view to the street and the alley and a distinct advantage
if anyone came around looking for him.
And
based on the information Angus had dropped on my desk, Twitch had been
doing more than bird-watching from his perch. I knew where he was
because I always knew where he was. The old ‘keep your friends
close, you enemies closer’ idea. Not that he was an enemy,
exactly. But he knew stuff that could get me into trouble, and
he’d done me a big favor once. So I’d been helping him hide
out from another bookie for two months, only to have him rack up a new
debt with Angus Campbell.
“What’re
you doin’ here?” he muttered when he opened the door and saw me
standing on the landing outside his door.
“We
need to talk.”
His
frown deepened. “About what?” He was two inches shorter
than me, wiry, with scraggly brown hair and a shoddy attempt at a beard
filling in a few patches of skin on his face.
“You
really want to talk about this out here?” I shoved past him,
surveying the one-bedroom apartment. The kitchen was littered with
crusted plates and the odor reminded me of Fat Man from my office.
“Jesus, Twitch. Ever heard of soap?”
“I’ve
got an allergy. My whole hand breaks out with hives. And
then any part of my skin I touch.”
“Can’t
have that. You’d have to give up your one extra-curricular
activity.”
He
pushed his mouth up into a grin, but it disappeared almost as quickly as
it had materialized. Twitch shifted his weight from one foot to
the other and back, scratching at his arms as though the hoodie he wore
concealed the welts he’d referred to.
But
I had a pretty good idea what the zip-up hooded sweater was really
hiding. And it had nothing to do with allergies and sensitive
skin.
I
took a step towards him, glaring down at him. “How much are you
using?”
He
gulped and looked away. I grabbed his chin and twisted his face to
make him look at me. “Pack a bag. Now.”
“Why?”
His eyes quadrupled in size.
“Because
you’ve been shooting your mouth off and you’ve got me into
trouble.” I let go of his face and went to the hall closet,
grabbed a duffle bag and tossed it at him. “Now pack your
clothes.”
“Wh-where’m
I goin’?”
“To
the airport. I’m buying you a one-way ticket out of the
country.”
He
licked his chapped lips and then swallowed. “Wh-who told you?”
“That
you’ve been talking about me? Try the fucking Scottish mob,” I
said as I followed him into his bedroom.
“There’s
a Scottish mob?”
“Yeah,
the Tartan terrors. Trust me, you don’t want to see what’s
under their kilts.” I watched him roll up the few items of clothing he
had, tripping over a mirror with a spoon and a razor on top of it.
He nicked his toe on the blade and blood spurted out onto the carpet.
“Shit!
My damage deposit.”
“Forget
that. You aren’t coming back to collect it.”
Twitch
zipped up the duffle bag. “You can’t make me leave for good,
Mick.”
I
folded my arms across my chest and glared at him. “To hell I
can’t. You want to know what happened to me today, Twitch?
Do you?” I stepped towards him, careful to kick the mirror and
accessories out of the way so I wouldn’t trip on them. I
didn’t want his drug-infested crap getting wedged into the soles of my
shoes.
“This
fat fuck storms into my office and tells me I’m going to kill somebody
for him,” I said as I grabbed Twitch’s arm, his left arm, right in
his preferred shooting zone. I barely had to touch him to feel him
pull back as he winced. “Why do you suppose he thinks I’m
capable of murder?”
Twitch
stared at me, his mouth hanging open, the second time that day I’d had
a chance to ingest rotten air.
“And
just who do you think Angus Campbell wants me to kill, Twitch?”
He
swallowed and closed his eyes, lifting a trembling hand to his forehead,
scratching an invisible sore.
“You’re
right. Uh, thanks Mick, thanks.” He followed me downstairs
and outside.
Up
‘til then I’d been working off the sheer adrenaline, the annoyance,
of having my ass on the line.
Which
may explain why I’d neglected all my training on the way over.
It
wasn’t until I unlocked the doors of my jeep that I finally recognized
the niggling little voice in the back of my head that had been trying to
get my attention. You know how it is. We’ve all got those
voices. Good angel tellin’ us what we should do, the little
devil tellin’ us to do what we want to do, and the voice of
self-preservation that only comes out to scream in our ears.
That’s who I heard this time. Only I was getting the message too
late.
“So,”
a voice hissed in my ear as I opened the back passenger door and tossed
Twitch’s bag on the seat. “You skipping out on our deal?”
I
turned to see Twitch dangling from Angus Campbell’s grip, sputtering
as the fist around his throat tightened.
“What?
You think I’d whack Twitch in his place? So that all the
unemployed neighbors could ID me?” Twitch’s eyes were wide as
saucers. Smart wasn’t his strong suit, but I hoped to hell he
had enough sense to keep his big mouth shut.
For
once.
But
then if he’d done that before, we might not be in this mess.
Angus
Campbell sneered. “Don’t think you’re putting that one over
on me.”
“Then
let’s take him back upstairs and kill him.”
“Mick,”
Twitch squealed.
“You’re
such a smartass. Why come today, huh? I told you I’d come
see you tomorrow.”
“Thought
you’d rather hear the job was done already.”
Angus
laughed. “That’s the best you can do? Pretty sloppy for
a PI. I had no trouble following you here.”
Shit.
“Maybe that’s because I had nothing to hide.”
He
grabbed my arm and dragged us around the vehicle, opened the back door
first and shoved Twitch in. Angus grabbed Twitch’s arm,
handcuffed it and attached the cuff to the upper handle, the one above
the window that you hold on to when you’re 4x4ing.
After
he pushed me into the driver’s seat Angus clamped another handcuff
around my left wrist, and attached the other end to the steering wheel.
When
Angus got into the front passenger seat, he twisted towards the door as
he reached back with his left hand and pulled out his gun.
“Where were you going?”
“I
told you. To kill him.” I don’t know why I bothered.
Angus
leaned over the seat and fired once. The shriek from the backseat,
was matched by the sight of Twitch’s face in the rearview mirror,
contorting with agony, tears streaming down his face.
“Now,”
Angus said, leaning back into the seat. “Where were you
going?”
“The
airport.”
“Then
let’s go.” He waited until I’d put the jeep into drive and
pulled out onto the street. “And don’t try anything stupid.”
Seemed
to me like I’d used up my stupid quota for the day. Maybe even a
month’s worth. Being baited into coming here like a complete
amateur. Not even thinkin’ I’d be followed.
Twitch’s
damn drug habit had always been his weak spot. I knew if he ever
spilled his guts about me killing Johnny Johnson it would be when he was
high or in desperate need of a fix.
And
after all these years he’d gotten behind with the wrong guy and had
tried to barter his way out with information. Only it had
backfired.
Johnny
Johnson had leered at me much the same way Angus Campbell was now.
I almost felt bad about what happened. Not because I defended
myself when he wouldn’t take no for an answer. But a screwdriver
in the carotid was excessive. He’d yelped and his eyes had
gotten this…this look, a vile, bitter stare. Like he knew he was
going to die and was going to do his damnedest to take me with him.
I
had the bruises, had the claw marks, had the torn skirt and shirt.
If it wasn’t for the dusting of cocaine sitting on the table and the
dilated pupils, I might have called the police.
Johnny
had yanked the screwdriver out of his neck and took a swing at me,
knocking me backwards. Then he wobbled as he fell down on one
knee, which is probably the only reason he didn’t manage to stab me.
I grabbed the nearest thing, not even thinking about what it was, until
he got up and lunged again.
And
I jabbed the pliers into his nuts and squeezed and twisted until it was
only the echo of screams I was listening to, Johnny’s body already
cooling off on the concrete floor beside me.
That’s
when Twitch had shown up. We used to meet at this old, abandoned
shack in the middle of nowhere, which is why nobody heard Johnny
screech. Twitch didn’t want to call the police, probably
influenced by the fact that he was my supplier back then.
We
got rid of Johnny, made sure we did it so that nobody would ever find
him. After all, when you’re hemmed in between the mountains and
the ocean, there are plenty of places to dump a body where it will never
be found.
That
was the night I sobered up and went off the drugs cold turkey.
I’d been clean ever since.
Something
I was coming to terms with as I drove. Oh, I knew I was as good as
dead. Angus was going to do Twitch and then take his time with me
before putting a bullet in the back of my skull because he was convinced
I was going to double-cross him. Twitch and I would end up on the
bottom of the Pacific, or maybe the Fraser River, weighed down with
enough concrete to make sure we never saw the surface again.
That’s
what I was thinking about when I blew through a red light. In my
defense, it had only just turned red. Just as I entered the
intersection. But it was enough for four lanes of traffic to lay
on their horns and attract the attention of an unmarked police car
pulled over by a coffee shop.
As
I glanced in the rearview mirror I could see Angus shaking his head.
“You stupid little bitch. Don’t think you can get out of this.
As soon as I tell my crew, you’ll be dead.”
“I
thought your crew sent you.” I was scrambling to remember
everything that had been in the envelop. The proof he knew I’d
killed Johnny Johnson. The order for me to kill Twitch. A
bunch of bills that had something to do with money Twitch owed, money
someone had fronted to him for his gambling debts…
“You
vouched for Twitch and when he didn’t pay up you decided to have him
whacked to save your skin? Why drag me into it?” The car
was getting closer. The officer on the passenger side was
reaching, presumably for their light so they could signal to pull me
over. I glanced at Angus.
“Having
you in my debt could be,” he licked his lips, “beneficial.”
Oh,
Christ. I really didn’t have much to lose. Live and be on
the hook to this sick fucker, or just go straight to hell. Which
suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
The
blare of the siren jolted my attention back to the road. Behind
me, I heard Twitch mutter, “Oh thank God.”
“Don’t
think you’ll get out of this so easily,” Angus Campbell growled.
I
looked at the handcuffs, thought of Twitch bleeding in the backseat from
a gunshot wound. “This isn’t exactly going to end up a routine
traffic stop.”
Angus
unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over the seat. In the rearview
mirror I couldn’t see much besides the overflowing cheeks glistening
with the red and blue lights reflecting off the pale skin and quickly
averted my eyes. Twitch started off with a “Hey,” as I heard
the sound of a zipper opening and then Twitch said, “What the…”
“Shut
the fuck up, or I’ll stuff it down your throat.”
Angus
sat back down and looked at his bloodstained hands, shrugged and wiped
them on his jeans. Then he put his gun into the compartment of the
console between us.
“No
problem,” he said with a shrug. “We’re rushing our friend to
the hospital. He’s been shot. And the next time I come
looking for you, I’ll bring friends.”
That
wasn’t an idle threat. If there was one thing I’d heard about
Angus Campbell, it was that he never left a job undone.
The
sound of the siren, finally engaged, and the flash of lights in the
rearview mirror were followed by a grunt from Angus. The cops were
still six or seven cars back, but traffic was moving slower than usual.
What was it Enrique had said earlier?
The
light ahead was already yellow. Yanking hard on the steering
wheel, I made a sharp turn into the inside lane and accelerated,
entering as the light turned red.
Behind
me, I could see the flow of traffic had stopped the police car from
reaching the intersection, the cars between honking as drivers twisted
and turned, trying to figure how to get out of the police car’s way.
I
had just enough time. I could see what I was looking for, just up
ahead.
We
were going into the bend and I didn’t straighten out. The metal
pole with the construction sign cracked through the windshield. I
heard the screech of metal on metal, like someone dragging their
fingernails across a piece of steel and one last scream as the sign
smacked Angus’s head into a jelly pancake on the headrest.
The
jeep skidded and I pulled on the emergency brake. We spun
around and ended up with the back end propped up on the far side of the
embankment, the nose of the jeep down in the ditch.
Angus’s
face was a mess of fractured tissues and blood oozing out onto the
upholstery. Remarkably, he was still moaning softly, on his way
out of this life and into oblivion. Or hell, if there is a God.
As
I reached towards him, I groaned, realizing how hard I’d been thrown
against the seatbelt. Enough to bruise, though I didn’t think
anything was broken.
I
fished the gun out of the console and reached for Angus’s left hand,
already tainted with gunshot residue. His breathe came in deep,
labored gulps and there was no resistance as I turned the gun to his
head and pulled his finger against the trigger, forcing the gun to fire.
“Th-thanks
Mick. I owe ya. I swear,” Twitch jammered, wiping a tear
from his cheek as I turned to look back at him. “I’ll never
talk to nobody again.”
“I
know,” I said. I pushed Angus’s hand back at an awkward angle
and pulled against his finger again. The first bullet cracked
through Twitch’s skull, right between his eyes, but I wasn’t taking
any chances.
My
hand squeezed Angus’s one last time. Then I pushed Angus’s hand
down. The gun slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor.
I’d
planned on taking Twitch to the cabin in the woods, where I’d killed
Johnny. It seemed like a fitting place to kill Twitch after all
these years.
Unfortunately,
Angus Campbell had gotten in the way. But at least I didn’t have
to worry about dealing with him later.
The
sirens were getting louder again and I drew a deep breath, had a
momentary regret that I’d given up smoking, and eased my body back
against the seat.
Drugs,
extortion, racketeering. Angus had a rep on the street and with
the cops.
And
thanks to him, I had the proof in the glove compartment that Twitch was
his latest target.
Proof
with Angus’s fingerprints on it.
Such
a shame I was doing a favor for a friend, taking him to the airport,
when a local criminal came to collect on a debt…
Copyright 2006 by
Sandra Ruttan
Sandra Ruttan’s debut mystery,
SUSPISCIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES, is scheduled for release this November. She
is an editor with Spinetingler
Magazine and has stories that will be appearing soon in Flashing
in the Gutters and Crimespree Magazine.
