she didn't deserve. I mean…cutting off a man's hand, for god's sake…Take the money! My money's as good as hers."
I sat back in my chair, thinking it over. Watched the hope in his eyes. Looked over his shoulder at Buddha.
"Where's the money?" I asked him.
He went through a full–body shudder before he whispered "Safe."
He gave me the combination. I dialed it quickly. Half a dozen kilo–sized bags of white powder, shrink–wrapped in clear plastic. And cash. Neatly stacked, all in hundreds. I speed–counted the banded stacks…more than sixty grand.
I dropped it in the satchel.
"We'll leave you the powder," I told him.
"Hey! There was…"
"Shut up, now. You got a good deal. You paid us to call it off, right? The rest of the cash, we'll do a job for you."
"What job?"
"You think that broad's not going to come after you again, pal? You think this ends it? You bought yourself one safe night, that's all."
"You mean…?"
"Sure. Way I figure it, we owe you a job…right, Fong?"
Buddha nodded behind the stocking mask.
I could see him thinking it over.
"When would you do it?" he finally asked.
"Tonight."
"And that's it?"
"Tell her," I said, handing him the phone.
5
T oxic waste bubbled out of his mouth, hard, evil ugliness over the phone lines. Telling her that her little scheme backfired. How he had her and he'd always have her.
"You listening to me, cunt? You understand the way things are now? I'm coming to see you, bitch. And when I'm done, you'll come back here. On your knees. I'll have my mark on you again, you…"
He hung up, bathed in sweat, licking his lips.
I nodded to Buddha. A hard hand clamped down on the back of the man's neck as I slid the hypo home.
6
H e went out in a minute. I gently taped his right hand into a fist, watched as Buddha took the man's elbow in one hand, held his wrist in the other…and slammed it into the glass desk top until the knuckles were bruised and swollen. I took a wax model of a woman's hand out of my satchel, the long false nails with their bright red lacquer gleamed in the light. I held the wax hand, scratched a long, deep gouge in the man's cheek.
7
I n the car, I used a Handi–wipe to remove the dragon tattoo. Buddha took off the stocking mask, popped the rubber wedges out of his cheeks, took off the bulky jacket and lost fifty pounds. Our prints weren't anywhere.
We were at her house in an hour.
"You get it all?" I asked her.
She nodded, pointed to the tape recorder attached to her phone.
She held out her hands. Stayed perfectly still while I attached the false red nails.
I slapped her in the face, hard. Her eyes flared into life, watching me, focused. Good.
"He came here about an half hour ago. You opened the door, didn't expect him. He punched you in the stomach. You went down. He punched you in the face, over and over again, twisted your arm so hard you felt it snap. You scratched his face…You remember doing it, you felt your nails go in. Deep. Then he beat you some more until you passed out."
"Thank you," she said.
Then I went to work.
Crossfire
1
"B e careful with it," the man told the uniformed parking valet. "It cost me a bundle," he added unnecessarily, the gleaming black Mercedes 600SL coupe making that statement on its own.
"Yes sir," the valet responded, throwing a half–salute, palming the ten–dollar bill and sliding behind the wheel all in one smooth motion.
The man entered the Runway Club slowly, his eyes sweeping the main room as he paid the cover charge. The joint sat in the shadow of the airport, but its name came from the long T–shaped platform that bisected the interior, not its location.
The man made his way to a small round table toward the back, a good distance from the end of the runway. It was harder to see the girls from there–early on a Tuesday night, the man was surrounded by pools of shadow.
A blonde waitress approached, wearing a tiny black Spandex skirt over fishnet stockings
I sat back in my chair, thinking it over. Watched the hope in his eyes. Looked over his shoulder at Buddha.
"Where's the money?" I asked him.
He went through a full–body shudder before he whispered "Safe."
He gave me the combination. I dialed it quickly. Half a dozen kilo–sized bags of white powder, shrink–wrapped in clear plastic. And cash. Neatly stacked, all in hundreds. I speed–counted the banded stacks…more than sixty grand.
I dropped it in the satchel.
"We'll leave you the powder," I told him.
"Hey! There was…"
"Shut up, now. You got a good deal. You paid us to call it off, right? The rest of the cash, we'll do a job for you."
"What job?"
"You think that broad's not going to come after you again, pal? You think this ends it? You bought yourself one safe night, that's all."
"You mean…?"
"Sure. Way I figure it, we owe you a job…right, Fong?"
Buddha nodded behind the stocking mask.
I could see him thinking it over.
"When would you do it?" he finally asked.
"Tonight."
"And that's it?"
"Tell her," I said, handing him the phone.
5
T oxic waste bubbled out of his mouth, hard, evil ugliness over the phone lines. Telling her that her little scheme backfired. How he had her and he'd always have her.
"You listening to me, cunt? You understand the way things are now? I'm coming to see you, bitch. And when I'm done, you'll come back here. On your knees. I'll have my mark on you again, you…"
He hung up, bathed in sweat, licking his lips.
I nodded to Buddha. A hard hand clamped down on the back of the man's neck as I slid the hypo home.
6
H e went out in a minute. I gently taped his right hand into a fist, watched as Buddha took the man's elbow in one hand, held his wrist in the other…and slammed it into the glass desk top until the knuckles were bruised and swollen. I took a wax model of a woman's hand out of my satchel, the long false nails with their bright red lacquer gleamed in the light. I held the wax hand, scratched a long, deep gouge in the man's cheek.
7
I n the car, I used a Handi–wipe to remove the dragon tattoo. Buddha took off the stocking mask, popped the rubber wedges out of his cheeks, took off the bulky jacket and lost fifty pounds. Our prints weren't anywhere.
We were at her house in an hour.
"You get it all?" I asked her.
She nodded, pointed to the tape recorder attached to her phone.
She held out her hands. Stayed perfectly still while I attached the false red nails.
I slapped her in the face, hard. Her eyes flared into life, watching me, focused. Good.
"He came here about an half hour ago. You opened the door, didn't expect him. He punched you in the stomach. You went down. He punched you in the face, over and over again, twisted your arm so hard you felt it snap. You scratched his face…You remember doing it, you felt your nails go in. Deep. Then he beat you some more until you passed out."
"Thank you," she said.
Then I went to work.
Crossfire
1
"B e careful with it," the man told the uniformed parking valet. "It cost me a bundle," he added unnecessarily, the gleaming black Mercedes 600SL coupe making that statement on its own.
"Yes sir," the valet responded, throwing a half–salute, palming the ten–dollar bill and sliding behind the wheel all in one smooth motion.
The man entered the Runway Club slowly, his eyes sweeping the main room as he paid the cover charge. The joint sat in the shadow of the airport, but its name came from the long T–shaped platform that bisected the interior, not its location.
The man made his way to a small round table toward the back, a good distance from the end of the runway. It was harder to see the girls from there–early on a Tuesday night, the man was surrounded by pools of shadow.
A blonde waitress approached, wearing a tiny black Spandex skirt over fishnet stockings
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