CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The moon was bright and a cat was meowing when I splashed through the street and came up to the apartment. There was no light in the apartment and I drew up suddenly scared.
"Jaquan?" I called it low. "Jaquan Vessey?"
His voice came out of the darkness near the woodpile, close by but so soft I could hardly believe he was there.
"Man, am I glad to see you!"
I could sure hear the relief in his voice.
"There’s been trouble, trouble enough."
When I locked the door, I went into the apartment, where Jaquan was coming and using a candle hooded by a tomato can.
"I can trip the proper from under it and it snuffs the candle. Mostly I been on guard before dark, then laying out until late. I sure enough knew why that Neiden had him a back door rigged."
Jaquan had told me there had been several shots at the door. They had shot the stove and they had almost set the apartment a fire.
And then a few nights ago, there had been night riders.
"Night riders?"
"Uh-huh. A motorcycle click riding. I guess they figured I’d scare," he chuckled. "I ain’t been afraid since I was young and was scared by an owl."
They had come the first night. When Jaquan drew the AK-47 and unloaded, he called out when they recoup he’d be ready again. At that, they really got mad and warned him to leave before I got back, or they’d fix both of us.
That didn’t sound like Cermain Oaks or Blaricum Rourke. Oak’s could have gone to shooting right off. It sounded more like some of Bohlen’s hands.
For the next few days we worked hard, staying together most of the time, separating only when necessary, and never for long.
Day by day the weather grew colder. Frost came, and the leaves turned from green to slim golden candles, shimmering in the slightest breeze. There was white frost on the meadows, and the tracks of vehicles left dark lines across the streets until the sun took the frost away.
We hustled more in, working dark to dark, up before the sun and slept until after the sun was down. And all the time we rode with our pistols closer.
After we had a few warm days, we took some time off and cleaned the yard and the apartment.
And Me and Jaquan, we started boxing and he taught me a few, how to punch straight, to jab, and a crossover punch, how to work in a clinch, how to tie the other man up. And he added a few wrestling moves, no good in a boxing ring but very good in a street fight.
That Jaquan was as smooth as you ever saw. He never seemed to hurry or take any pains.
But I took to it right from the start. Fighting was something I had always liked, and Jaquan knew how to teach.
"All scientific boxing is, is just a bunch of things men have learned over the years. A straight blow is faster than a swing because it’s the straightest line to what you’re aiming at. And you don’t punch at something, you punch through something or somebody," Jaquan said.
Our work was hard, rough, and cold, but we stayed with it. Once in a while we’d take a day off, and sometimes we’d box or practice for an extra hour or so. But all the time I had an uneasy feeling that we were living in a fool’s paradise.
I were aching to ride over to Dowel’s. But I held back. I had sense enough to know why I wanted to go, but sense enough, too, too know that such a woman as Bree would never be interested in a 39 year old, even if I spoke proper grammar, which I didn’t.
Nobody had shot at the apartment since I’d got back.
Everything stayed quiet, until one morning we rode out and found that during the night somebody had boarded the windows with plywood.
"We better pack some ammo," I said to Jaquan.
"We going after them?"
"We going after them," I said.
The sun wasn’t a hour older when we rode out of there and headed north following a trail of vengeance up the street.
Riding south along the street gave me time to do some thinking. The street was enough and plain enough and it was obvious the goons wanted a turf war. In either case, Jaquan and I were likely to find ourselves in all kinds of trouble.
Yet that was not what kept me studying. I was trying to pull together all the loose threads, some of which were plain enough.
The starting point had to be Price Hilmore. If he was a rebel, that would account for Bree Dowel’s lawyer knowing about him. He had been hunting Karl Kellen, but the last we’d seen of Karl Kellen was back in the next state, unless that was him I glimpsed on the street in New Jersey.
That accounted for Hilmore anyway.
And if he was a rebel, he might have been trying to figure where the missing weed went to.
There in Jimtown, I had come across Jarez Claymount, and he was working for my old friend Hobes Izumi. He were booming and Izumi, according to what I heard, were booming. And it had come from somewhere.
Thinking back of what I knew of Izumi, I decided it wouldn’t surprise me none if he took some of the green for himself.
No thief ever knows when he’s well off and every one of them thinks he is going to be the one who gets away with it.
These fellows had been stealing the magic green plant and they were getting self confident. And when a man gets over confident, he invites trouble. He basically gets his head chopped off.
They always make light of what they’re doing, but what they never seem to realize is that there are others. The truth alone really never will get you anywhere. And from what the way McNamara, Santini, and Bohlen were talking, I surmised the time had come.
But none of my thinking explained the drive-by, although it was a hunch that drive-by was somehow involved. Of that I was sure.
This was some of the finest spots in the world when the season was right. If you had rain or good winter snows that could melt and sink in, you had gross, and a lot of it. I began to ride a first rate hunch.
They’re headed for the Delaware River and from there they’ll drive across to the Jersey Hotel," I said to Jaquan.
"How many do you think there is?"
"Four. Maybe five. The way I figure it, they’ll hustle the work."
We got our guns and some clips and ammo and some grub and a nights rest before we went after them.
What were on my mind and what tingled me were the killing of Aileen Enrique. And Bree Dowel’s face stayed with me. Some man was going to be mighty lucky to get her. Thinking about that, I took myself to bed.
We cut out before sun up, riding fast toward the Delaware River. It was on my mind that they would hold up there overnight. And be in no hurry to start out at dawn. They would have reached the hotel and spend the night. The hotel were a known spot and a popular spot to role out of. You couldn’t boom too long because it were a hot spot and the police would often hit it from time to time.
As the sun was topping out on the far off hills, we reached the shadows west of the Delaware River. If they were smart they would have had somebody up there on the Delaware River watching their back, but by now they must feel pretty sure of themselves. And even if they had somebody up there, I had an idea we’d made it into the deeper shadows before it was light enough to see movement out on the open view.
We worked our way up the side of the Delaware River, keeping under cover of the trees and the bushes as much as we could, although in places the cover was sparse. When we topped out on the ridge we were under cover of the trees and bushes and we could see them getting off some work.
We worked our way towards them and I seen a pothead buy a sack of weed.
Pointing it out to Jaquan, four others were down there also, but I couldn’t tell who they might be at this distance, and that made all the difference. There’s some who will get spooked at anything suspecting and open fire and then there’s some who will check into things, and at that, surprise and ambush you.
I somehow got a glimpse of Blaricum Rourke. And he were trying to get a pothead to buy more weed. And when he laid eyes on me, he was looking right into the barrel of a gun.
 
; Now, Blaricum Rourke was a cocky, belligerent man, but he was no damned fool. He drew up quickly and reached for his gun. He was a dead man. I pulled the trigger and his head jerked from his shoulders as looking he had whiplash and his body anvil to the concrete.
Jaquan opened fire on the other three and so did I. They pulled there pistols and took for cover gunning at us.
Jaquan, Me, one of ours or their bullets hit the pothead in the neck and blood went to gushing outward faster than an exploding drainpipe. The other three fired from around a building hoping to hit something. Me an Jaquan did the same opening and firing behind cover.
One peeped his head around the corner as I fired at him and sparks flew from the impact of the bullet hitting the corner of the building.
Another guy took off running towards the car to get away and Jaquan shot him in the arm and he collapsed to the ground crawling on his knees and Jaquan finished him.
Me, and Jaquan then shot it out until the very end.
They were gunning believe that. A bullet whizzed by my car that I thought I were shot. Jaquan rushed over too see if I were okay. A little bit closer and it would’ve taken my head off.
That brought a rage in Jaquan and he went mad insane on gunning them down to the ground. He took careful aim of a trained specialized marksmen, a sharpshooter, a sniper and picked the other two off one by one. When they were dead and stinking, I looked at Jaquan and asked him, "Did you work for a special OP’s for the service?"
Jaquan said, "No. I remembered the days when I were at the arcade with the video game with the machine gun attached to it."
I chuckled, but there was no humor in it.
We recollected ourselves and went to see who the other three guys were. A nigga named Outlaw, his real name were Clarence Bipod, Jerreld Darden, and Curtis Flemming. All three of them were handling the drop-offs and shipments at one time or two.
Figures, after looking at who they were. All of them were greasy slime niggas.
We retrieved the pounds of greeny green where they stashed it. And got the hell out of there before the cops came.
"Roman Bohlen," I said, "is going to sweep this city, and he’ll be carrying extra guns."
"Who rides a sedan with leather interior and hubcaps, grayish silver? Whoever rides that car killed Aileen Enrique."
Jaquan and I didn’t know who rode that car no more that how God created the universe from thin air.
Ice frozen on the ground that night.
There followed a pleasant a time as any. On the second day, Jaquan stayed in and bar-b-que steak, hamburgers, sausages, wieners, and onions and buns.
It was clear, cold, and still most of the time.
We saw no cops our way looking for or halting us.
Jaquan was a good lad as ever.
Had this spell in my life come to me sooner, I’ve enjoyed it a whole lot more. Maybe it wasn’t Jaquan alone, for from time to time, and more often of late, I’d been somehow discontented. Now the idea of going back and beating the hell out of Shalhoup Cleveland didn’t seem the way it had. Neither did the thought of holed up warm and snuggly for the winter please as much as I expected. I kept thinking of…
Maybe the realization of that Bree Dowel was just over the rise worried me too. Supposing I met a girl like that, supposing I wanted to ask her to have me, what could I offer? A life of hustling?
So all the time I rode, my mind kept continuously worrying me of the idea of what to do. From time to time, I remembered what Jaquan had said of about getting rich, but that idea did take stick in my mind, and I’d no sooner think of it than I’d throw it out and think of something else. But how else was a man to get ahead?
Late one afternoon, guess who came riding in, Hobes Izumi.
"Pacino. I hadn’t planned on coming back anyhow and now that I’m here, I need a favor."
"What is it Izumi, spit it out. You’ve favored me a time or two."
"Well,"
"Come out your mouth."
"Well, it’s not good for me in Miles City right now. Kats take notions, like you advised when I were here before. I can go into town, and I’m bone dry of Vegetable Balsam, and if I don’t get some, I’m likely to kill myself and die."
"We got some Gardner’s Horse Liniment. You tried that? Good for a man or a beast."
"I got to have the Balsam. And I don’t take anything else. Don’t let them talk you into no cheap untried medicines. I don’t want nothing but Dr. Godbold’s Vegetable Balsam of Life."
"We got some Dr. Robertson’s Stomach Elixir. My momma swore by it," Jaquan said.
Hobes Izumi eyed him suspiciously. "I don’t know. That there Balsam is the best I’ve seen, and nobody’s tried more patient medicine than me. Isn’t that correct Pacino?"
"Damn correct. You ain’t said shit! Back in the days, Hobes had his own shelf right over his bunk. You never did see a collection of medicines as his."
"Hell, Pacino, I’m a sick man! You know that. I’ve always been ailing and might have died years ago if it weren’t for that home medical adviser I found in the spot that winter. Why, I were coasting down towards the graveyard until I learned what were wrong with me."
"That’s right, Jaquan," I spoke seriously. "You’ve have thought of picturing him of a health nut, never a sick day in his life, ate enough for two men and work as hard as any man, or half as hard, we might say. And then he found that book."
"Deceiving, that’s what it is. Could’ve been dead right now and you visiting my grave. Thing that saved me was calcium pills, that, and bourbon. Even so liked not made it until spring."
"I say, nobody ever had more symptoms than me. Used to stay up some of the night studying that adviser. I had nothing to read but that, a mail order catalogue, and a naked girl magazine next to the bed. And at the end of the night, if nothing were popping off, bourbon and a naked girl magazine got me to sleep. I’ve heard of folks talking of Shakespeare, but for sheer writing, the man who wrote that adviser hat it all over him. When he described something he were something fierce. And he had a list of that would curl your hair."
Izumi took a gulp of bourbon. ‘That Shakespeare, now, a lot of people say he wrote the Bible. I think he borrowed a lot here and there. Once in a while I’ll come on things in his plays that I been done heard some saying for years. All he did was write them down."
"And for blood thunder and money! He killed more folks in one story than was killed in a horror movie," Izumi said.
Izumi looked over at the table. "What’s that I see? Don’t tell me you’ve got a bear sign? I could eat a horse and my weight."
"Do you really think you should?" Interrupting a bit. "You’re bone dry of Balsam, and I’ve heard bar-b-que is hard on your arteries."
Hobes Izumi's hand hesitated while his poised above his appetite and lost. The hand descended and came up with a rib. "I ain’t had one of these in a minute. I think my arteries can handle it."
When Izumi pulled off into the night carrying him a plate of bar-b-que, he had the bottle of Dr. Robertson’s Stomach Elixir also, from years of standing on the shelf.
Jaquan, he listened to the engine of a passerby vehicle until it died out. "That man’s a greedy eater," he said.
That man’s a greedy eater," I agreed.
However, when Hobes were gathering his que, I had mentioned it in a way.
"Hobes, your company is welcome, but if you know anybody who might still be thinking of riding on Santini, you tell them to stay clear away."
"The first time I’d taken that lightly. The second time I’ll come gunning. And if I have to come again, this here and the previous ride are all the warning I needed. We’ll shoot to kill anybody who looks near suspicious."
He just grinned at me, Hobes did, and then he burped.
"Sorry, excuse me," Hobes said. And then added, "Any word I hear, my advice will be to lay off." He gave me another grin. "I wouldn’t want to cut off the supply of bear sign."
Right before I went inside, something cold and
wet touched my cheek, feeling like a sprinkle of rain. It were a snowflake. I looked at my shoulders and at the snowflakes and the snowflakes on my sleeves. It were starting to snow.
It were freezing cold in the morning. Inside of the spot, with a burning fire, it were cold. You’d think sometimes it’s warmer outside than it is inside, and vice versa in the summer.
I were bundled in a bubble coat under some blankets, and cussing because I were the first awoke. And I stayed under the blankets trying to decide how many steps to take to cross the cold room to use the bathroom and how long to piss, and how many steps back to the warmth of my cocoon where I were and how long it’ll take to get to the warmth before I got up.
No use in procrastinating, so I raced to the bathroom.
In a few steps, I were across the room and in the bathroom. The piss steamed of the cold winter. Then finished pissing and then to warmth again.
Back into bed, I rubbed my hands together to feel them again, and then I piled on heavy pieces of sheets and blankets.
When I looked, Jaquan grinned at me. "Were figuring you’d hop into bed again," he said. And I cussed at him.
I looked out the window, and it were cold and the snow were at the minimum six inches deep, and steady snowing.
I saw no tracks against the snow.
No sooner had I thought, I asked myself whether it was necessary to ride by the Dowel place. But all the time, I knew, necessary or not, I was going to ride over.
The ride would be long and cold, but with a good breakfast under my belt and a breakfast along with a bottle of gin, gin will make you sin, I started off, riding a route that I thought would be a good route.
It were after 7:45 when I rode away from our place, and shy of 42-45 minutes after, guessing by what I could see on my fogged steamed watch, when I topped out on the rise above Dowel’s home. Twice I had taken a swig of gin.
The wind had started to rise, winding the snow. I came up on the street and paused there looking for Dowel’s home. And then suddenly I realized that Dowel’s apartment wasn’t there anymore.
For what must have been a couple of minutes. I sat behind the wheel starring down into the land unable to believe it. Had I made a mistake in the snow and chosen the wrong street?
No. What remained of the pluming were there, although covered with snow. And the apartment was gone, no question about it.
My heart began to pound and my mouth felt dry. Without hesitating any further, I started down the street.
When I rode into the clearing I could see the snow covered ruins of the apartment’s foundation, and when I got down and kicked away the snow, I saw the roots of the foundation. A section of bricks lay flat on the ground, and I knew what that meant. It had been pulled down by a bulldozer either something plowed the complete apartment away. And looking of a vacant land for sale.
Right then I was scared. I was scared of what I would find next. But when I looked the place over, I found no bodies. Whatever had happened to Arnold Dowel and Bree Dowel, I had to find out.
And just then, voices.
Two individuals were coming down the street opposite to the one down which I had ridden. When they saw me, they spread apart a little, and I grabbed my pistol and looked right and left for shelter. There was none. I started to run for the car and get in and leave and come back around the block against the white of the new fallen snow.
True, the snow that was falling now blurred the air between us, but it wouldn’t stop a bullet. I chilled as though I just got there.
Both of the men were known to me. Johnny Whiffs was a youngster with a reputation as a gunfighter. He was said to have killed a man in Kit Carson, Colorado, an another at Doan’s store on that Texas trail. The man I actually knew of him killing, was an old man up near Glendive.
The man with him was a bad one, known around as George Woll. Somebody had said that Whiffswas working for Roman Bohlen.
"Kind of off your usual aren’t you?" Whiffs said.
"Don’t know. My usual has always been wherever I wanted to make it."
"Like down at a petting zoo?"
Whiffs had the safety off his pistol but I had my pistol in my hands.
George Woll were motionless.
"I don’t know," Whiffs said. "Only you might have been down there."
"Maybe. Maybe not."
Whiffs was grinning unpleasantly. "Bohlen’s looking for you."
Gesturing at the remains of what were Dowel’s home, I asked, "What happened here?"
"Fuck, do you need a map? Dowel was a goddamn hoax. He got what was coming to him."
Like I said, I’ve got a temper, and right then it got away from me.
"If you say Arnold Dowel had something to do with what’s going on, you’re a damn liar!"
Wiffs face went angry and he started to grip the pistol tighter, and my pistol had him dead center in the belly, at no more that fifteen yards. "Go ahead goddamn you!" I said. "Go ahead and shoot!"
Oh, he wanted to shoot in the worst way. And Woll, looked at me as if his face was frozen from the cold, but he kept his hands in sight and didn’t make a move or say a word. I decided to watch my back when George Woll were around.
I were angry as a maniac. "Arnold Dowel," I said, "if he has been murdered, I’ll lay a bet every damned one of you will die for it!"
"Die?" Whiffs repeated. "For killing Arnold Dowel?"
"If you killed him, you killed the wrong man. Arnold Dowel was a former officer in the Ireland Army, a man of a good family, a man with connections, and if you killed him, you’ve blown the roof off this whole city."
"Really? He wasn’t that important," Whiffs said. "An if he were so, what difference does it make?"
"I can name you five names, an all of them friends of the Dowel family, and family."
I were stretching the point, but Bree had said they knew some of his family and so I might be more right than I could swear.
"What about her? What did you do of her?" I asked.
"Her who?"
"Bree Dowel, Arnold’s sister."
Whiffs shot a quiet, scared look toward Woll. Then he said, "He didn’t have a sister as I recall."
"He had a sister. She recently arrived a few days ago. I rode out with her myself."
They were really scared now. And Whiffs gave an apprehensive look at the what were the foundation of the remains of Dowel’s home.
Woll spoke for the first time. "You seen him?"
So Dowel weren’t dead. Either he were, they weren’t sure of it.
Their urge for trouble were, it were gone for now. They were gonna need the time to try and figure if I were lying about Bree Dowel and they’ll want to ask Bohlen about Arnold himself also.
Woll and Whiffs rode for their clicks, and the big clicks hated a settler. At least they lived off the neighborhoods, somewhat, or it were generally believed. They supported a few of the homeless, and organizations for better health and science.
It was a war for the land, with the initial odds all on the side of the big organizations, but as time went on, the numbers were on the side of the nesters. It was not that they were organized, but simply that they kept coming. They were murdered, starved out, or driven out, or they simply couldn’t take the hard work, the cold winters, and the endless struggle to make a living that was necessary to homestead in, and therefore many of them left. But others came, and continued to come.
Some, like Arnold Dowel, resided small residents of their own and some came because of the great state, and the rugged life out at the end of creation. The average was contemptuous of the nester, but in that he was often wrong. Many of those who came were just as tough, just as enduring, and just as able to fight for their rights as any.
Arnold Dowel was born to the wild lands, and when he got a taste of it on the northern part of New Jersey, he knew he could never settle for anything less. I had a feeling that Bree was the same sort. Or maybe I was just talking, thinking toward myself what I wanted to believe.
&n
bsp; Not many of the riders for the big organizations knew Dowel, although he was well known among business people in New Jersey and Cheyenne, and he had friends among the backers of the big organizations, and among those from England who had themselves settled.
Actually, I was one of the few who knew him well. Most of them thought him were a foreigner, but I knew better. He was a strong, rugged man, a dead shit with any kind of weapon. He learned quickly.
Roman Bohlen, who had the largest organization of any of Dowel’s neighbors, simply did not like him. He didn’t know him, but to a man of Bohlen’s temperament that was not at all necessary. Had he known Dowel, he may have liked him even less, for Bohlen’s nature would have crossed routes with Dowel.
Now I’d done been here a while, but I stopped by his place when riding through, grubbed with him a few times, and drunk a few with him.
Woll and Whiffs had plenty to think about now. It was no small thing to kill a woman, an if they had done that, they were in for a real challenge. They’ll ride off and they’ll think about it, and might see Roman Bohlen.
So what was there for me to do? Standing there as they turned away from me, still holding my gun, no one turned their back on a loaded gun. No real nigga, in his right mind, no sane man. I fired at them. Each of them. They were so self confident thinking that they could turn their back and Arnold’s home were gone. They tried to whiz around and retaliate, time then, it were too late. Their bullets hit the snow and parked cars.
If Arnold or Bree was wounded or hurt, they’d freeze to death in the cold. It had to be a few degrees above zero and forecasted below zero before nightfall. Anyone who has lost blood is in no shape to survive under such conditions.
The snow had covered all tracks and was still coming quietly down, not a thick snow, but steady. The snow will cover my own tracks and their bodies within a few hours.
Dowel and his sister Bree, they were unsure if they were alive.
Where did they held them or taken their bodies?
Santini’s spot?
Woll and Whiffs evidently believed that Dowel was dead or dying, so they must of shot him in his head, either wounded him and knocked him unconscious. Bree didn’t quite know were Santini’s spot were, but she had an idea, and she might of found the spot and rescued Dowel while under fire, possibly.
Standing there in the cold, I tried to figure where the two might be. They were somewhere out there in the snow, a woman an a wounded man, perhaps a dying, if not dead as of now.
It were a long, cold ride back to the camp. There were few cars there when I got there. Grasping the pistol, anyone that jumps off or acts stupidly, anything, I am going to put the pistol to them.
Jaquan Vessey sat inside, his back against the wall. He wore a gun belted on, the first I’ve ever seen him wear and his guns in his hands.
When I stepped into the room, I found myself facing Johnny Santini and three of his goons. I knew each of the goons, whom I worked with before. There were no friendliness to their tone.
"Hello Santini," I said. "Weren’t expecting you here."
He shifted uneasily.
"I’m cutting you loose. Windy and Morris handling things now."
"What the fuck? What’s the word? What do you mean you cutting me loose? For what?"
"You’re getting too hot. The cops around. You’re drawing heat and a lot of commotion."
Santini looked uncomfortable, and then Morris spoke up. "You were seen with Hobes Izumi and…"
"You think I had something to do with it! So you’re suspecting me?"
"Hobes Izumi were an acquaintance of mine. He dropped by, a chit chat."
"You cutting me loose, fine then, I’m going to get the hell out of here. But before I catch fire, you listen to me and you listen hard and loud and clear! And you others too! And every else in the click. I don’t have anything to do with it! I put in hard work! You saying we blowing the spot up, we hot! And you say you seen Me and Hobes Izumi and think I got something to do with it? I am going to say this, If you or your click gets the notion in their peony peon brains and thinks, talks, spread rumors that I’ve got something to do with it, I’ll kill em’! And any and everybody!"
Not one of them opened their mouths. An I were getting angrier and angrier every second. Jaquan gathered our shit, an I didn’t loose eyesight of neither one of them.
Then, I said towards Santini, "If you’re in that shit with Bohlem, you better get out. They might’ve killed Arnold Dowel and his sister, and Hell is going to break loose!"
"What you mean, his sister?" Santini asking and looking startled and shocked.
"The woman from Ireland."
Santini seemed frightened and he started to bluster. "Dowel was nothing but a rouge. He…"
I said, "Mr. Santini, Arnold Dowel was a former officer in the Ireland Army. He belongs to one of the finest families in Great Britain. He just liked this country and the life here. Most the men and the money behind the others are friends of his. When this hits the surface, it won’t be big enough to hold Bohlen and those tied in with him!"
His face were dead white as I finished. Uneasy before, he was really scared now. Bohlen’ll have him high tide and hung if he weren’t cautious.
Windy came outside with us as we gathered our shit.
"You meant what you said?" Windy asked.
"Goddamn right I meant what the fuck I said!"
His trap was fucking shut. But when we stepped in our rides he had the nerve to say, "Pacino, you better fucking run and run hard and hide better than Osama Bin Laden!"
"So what you saying? You saying I’m supposed to be scared or something?"
"If you said what the fuck you said Bohlen’s gonna want me, and to attend your funeral. You know of that bitch Bree, and that bitch and what you know is gonna be the death of you because Roman’s gonna want to kill you!"
He didn’t say anything new, or of I didn’t hear of or thought of.
Bohlen will be looking for me and only me.
If they didn’t kill Arnold, they’d need too and dump the body.
And they’d need to kill Bree also.
It were nighttime and cold, and we needed to find a place to rest.
At the end, Johnny Santini got flustered and said we didn’t have to go so soon. I wouldn’t let myself stay there any longer than needed. I know when it were time to go.
When Jaquan grabbed the grub, Morris reached for him, but Jaquan put the pistol towards him. "You’ll be the next paraplegic."
And then everybody reached and grabbed their pistols.
Morris looked at that pistol and Jaquan, and he said, "Reconsider, I’m just helping you gather your things because you seem to be in a hurry."
Windy said toward Jaquan, "If you don’t want our courtesy…"
"Courtesy? You call this courtesy?"
"Hospitality."
"Your hospitality isn’t shit!"
After Me and Jaquan were riding away from the spot, Jaquan said, "We're we going?"
"You got anything in mind?"
First thing I though of were that hotel with Bree Dowel.
The streets were snowed, a good twelve inches deep on the curbs, and were three to four times deep near the residents, and not a sight of letting up. It looked like it were gonna be a blizzard. If you haven’t seen a blizzard, it’s ugly.
Me, I were wearing a pair of jeans and shirt, a bubble fur coat, and a pair of suede boots.
Jaquan were wearing a pair of jeans and shirt, a pair of boots and a trench coat, and a leather coat underneath the trench coat.
With the heater on and driving, it were cold and I were thinking of Bree. What a time I and Bree had. Bree were special to me in a short amount of time.
Bree was a freak.
My face grew stiff from the cold and my fingers were numb and my feet were cold also. Jaquan didn’t look too warm either. He were holding his hands to the vents too warm his hands.
"Jaquan, I think we better find us an abandoned hou
se or an empty apartment and set up the shop for a while, because they may be stirring about and right now we don’t need any surprises. We need to have an advantage."
"You really think so Mussolini?" Jaquan asked.
"Don’t it make sense to get out of sight for a while without a trace? Especially after the shootout, and Santini saying he don’t need our clientele any further. We’re suspects as of now."
"I am not the one to go running nor hiding from no one, Mussolini. Whatever beef there is, I’m usually wanting to get it done with and finished," Jaquan said politely.
"Jaquan, it’ll be better if we get the blood pumping and warm and prepare ourselves for the war."
Jaquan were silent, and then he said, "Yeah, we should prepare for the war."
That son of a bitch Santini seemed too nonchalant and at calmly ease. He were planning something and whatever it were, weren’t gonna be pretty.
At an abandoned apartment, I said towards Jaquan, "It’s shelter from the wind and cold."
At the abandoned apartment we unloaded a few gear and parked the ride at another corner. I stayed in the ride a moment and surveillance the area, then went on in after Jaquan approached the ride and said, "You going to stay out here?"
Inside the apartment were cold, and a fireplace. Jaquan had the fireplace kindling. Jaquan kindled the fire with some firewood and garbage that were around.
An abandoned apartment with a fireplace. Why nobody else didn’t stay in it and kindle a fire? I checked the entirety of the apartment to get familiar of the place.
Some furniture were in the apartment. In a bedroom, a bed, dresser drawer, few clothes, linens, and shoes. In another room, a folding bed, a lamp, linens, and canned goods. In the kitchen were a few chemicals. The living room, there were a sofa, a arm chair and a recliner.
Afterwards I and Jaquan were deciding what we should do. First we checked our guns, and oiled and cleaned them so they didn’t jam in the cold weather.
It’s best to be ready and prepared for the unexpected.
Shit were building and I and Jaquan best be ready for anything from the ground. Shit! And this wasn’t no Kansas or…
Jaquan and me took turns and stayed woke on shifts. While Jaquan slept, I stayed woke. Jaquan snored lowly. A few times he grumbled and rolled side to side cussing obscenities time to time.
Something startled me as I was kneeling on the floor peeping through the window outside toward the streets.
Jaquan were sleeping quietly now. I could hear his steady breathing.
I grabbed my pistol then eased from the floor and stood looking outward the window peering to the streets of the white expanse of the snow.
As I looked, something flopped in the snow, lunged a couple of paces, then flopped again. There were a muffled groan. Then silence.
For a long minute, I waited. There was no further sound, no movement, but something was out there, something that must be human.
I woke Jaquan.
"Jaquan," I whispered. "Jaquan, there’s something outside, somebody."
"What?"
"There’s someone walloping in the snow."
"I’m going to check it out. Stay inside and cover me, you hear me?"
"Wait. Lets go check the rear and make sure it’s not a trap. They maybe surrounding us."
We crouched at the doorways and were sure to stay shy of view of the windows and crawled through the apartment and peeping outside to see if anybody were out there waiting for us.
No one.
For a long minute, I waited. There was no further sound, no movement, but something was out there. I gripped the pistol tighter as Jaquan eased the door open and I stooped low to see and made an unsuspecting cautious move toward the figure.
It were human.
Kneeling, I caught him by the collar and rolled him over on his back. The face was indistinguishable in the vague reflected light of the snow. Taking him by the collar, I dragged him to the apartment.
"Jaquan! Jaquan! We got to get him inside! Come on and help me drag him in!"
Me and Jaquan dragged him in the doorway.
We stared down into the face of the injured man. It were Jarez. Jarez Claymount.
What were Jarez doing out in the snow? And most of all, why?
And finding Jarez in the cold snow were near where Me and Jaquan were laying low. And that at all didn’t seem coincidental. More of a statement. ‘We know where you’re at.’ And finding Blaricum were a warning and the taunting shit were not cool. Not cool at all.
While Jaquan built the fire, I peeled back Jarez’s clothes to see where he was hurt. He were shot twice in the back. And the two bullet holes were two inches apart. His clothing were stiff with frozen blood. And of one thing I was sure, the cold had saved his life causing the blood to coagulate, but I wasn’t giving him much chance.
Jaquan put his hand on my shoulder. "Pacino, you leave him to me. I done patched a few niggas. Some of them I ought of let died."
I got some gin, took a gulp, a swig. Gin can be death to a man who’s out on a cold night. The reason, when you’re driving on a cold night and you might decide to pull over and think you’re going to sleep it off, huh, you’ll go to sleep and wake up dead. You’ll be dead. And a man full of gin will freeze to death faster than a sober man, because the gin brings a temporary warmth, brings the heat to the surface of the skin, where it disappears into the cold air, and colder than before. On the other hand, a man who has come in out of the cold can take a drink to warm himself up - if he is not going out again.
After a few minutes Jarez began to mutter, and then his eyes opened. He looked up at Jaquan, stirred at him for several minutes, then turned his head and looked at me.
"Hello, Jarez. You just lie quiet," I said.
He seemed to relax, staring up into the darkness where the firelight flicked, then his eyes closed.
After a moment, they opened again.
"Jarez…who shot you? What happened?"
He looked puzzled. "Shot? I’ve been shot?"
His brow puckered in a frown and his lips seemed to feel of the words before he spoke them. "I thought…something hit me…something…I don’t know?"
Jaquan put a drink of gin towards his lips.
It were freezing cold outside, and the wind were blowing hard.
He were saying something about meeting somebody. Then he went unconscious.
Did you see Bohlen?" I asked.
"No," came the answer.
His eyes were opened, and there for a minute or two he looked at me and Jaquan and the fire.
"Who was it that shot you Jarez? Damn it Jarez! Don’t die on me! Snap out of it! What do you remember? Remember."
"I’m shot?" He spoke again in that puzzled way. "I thought somebody hit me from behind, but there was nobody around except…"
Jarez was about to pass out and die. I kept trying to keep him breathing. He died right there when Jaquan were trying to get the bullets out of him with a knife.
Clyde Orum was what he gasped, his last words.
Clyde Orum.
Somebody had shot Jarez Claymount in the back. Shot him at close range, somebody he knew but did not fear. It had been just the same with Aileen Enrique. And Clyde Orum’s name were mentioned before he died.
"Why, I haven’t heard that name in years, or thought about him."
"You know him Mussolini?"
"Yeah, Jaquan. Hate to say I do. Clyde Orum’s a hit man. The best, so they say. If Clyde were around, you damn well fucking believe somebody wanted you dead."
And that Izumi organization had been wiped out. Did that mean Clyde killed Hobes too?
Discouragement and depression settled on me. Clyde Orum were a hired hit man and he knew where to find you and how to get you when you least expected it.
I’d come here to set up shop, been accused of doing business with the traitors, wound up in a drive by, shoot out, men tried to help were dead, and the whole Hobes gang gone. Strangers were riding over the stre
ets killing folks without anybody knowing who they were, or even that it happened.
That was the thing that troubled me. It were all pretty sly. If we hadn’t found Jarez before he died, we might’ve been did too by Clyde.
I wasn’t going to let Clyde spook me at all. And Bree. Was Bree alive?
"Come daylight, we’ll have to get going," I said.
"It’s daylight now. It’s been daylight for a minute," Jaquan said.
It were daylight, and with the realization of it I got to my feet.
"Mount up Jaquan. We’ve got a ride to make."
And we packed our gear and stuffed our ride with the supplies that remained and leaving Jarez's body in the abandoned apartment.
In Jarez's pockets we found five dollars, and a letter.
See you in hell is what the letter read.
On the other side of the letter were written:
If you want Bree, the top of Hillcrest.
It wasn’t signed by anyone.
Whoever it were, were waiting for us.
When we had come riding up from the spot from Miles City and had left the Tongue, we had taken a path over Poker Jim Butte, and we’d seen a tumbled down apartment. Bree said it reminded her of some she’d seen in Ireland, it were at the top of Hillcrest.
And it was Hillcrest where a man had been robbed, who robbed him back, and they became jack men.
How you going to rob the robber?
This seemed like a set up from the very start. A fucking set up. And who were the bait?
Realizing now, Bree might not of been Dowel’s sister after all.
As we took the trail toward Poker Jim, I tried to study out what Jarez Claymount had said.
Claymount himself had not even realized he was shot, and he must not have realized how badly he were hurt. Fuck, he were in the damn freezing cold.
And the last thing he had said, Clyde Orum.
Cermain Oaks was an outlaw, and he operated in this city for years. He was said to have run with Clyde.
We rode around Hillcrest checking out the scene to see if anybody were laying waiting to ambush us, or if anybody were aiming at us in apartment windows with the beam on us. We didn’t see nobody out the ordinary.
I told Jaquan to ride around the block and then come after me, after then, in 15 minutes.
So Jaquan let me out at the corner of the block and I walked to the getup on Hillcrest and rapped on the door and there she were. Bree Dowel. She had a gun in her hand, and from the look in her eyes she wouldn’t have hesitated to use it.
She said, "Step inside."
And I bent my head to enter the low doorway. Inside you stepped down several inches to floor and there was standing room.
Across from the room lay Arnold Dowel on a bunk.
"Pacino. I’m glad you’re here." It was Roman Bohlen. He looked at me, and the expression in his eyes changed.
He gestured to indicate Bree. And she reached over and grabbed my collar and hurried me right across the room.
And as she did, Roman said, "Frisk him!"
"We knew you’d come meddling in our territory. We sent Bree here," pointing to Bree, "to occupy you and drive you away. Bree works for us. And Arnold too. We pulled the house from the ground too clear any evidence or trace."
"That was a little extreme wasn’t it?" I asked.
"Maybe, maybe not."
"We’re working on relocating and on a underground lab and drug distribution," said Roman Bohlen, and we happened to meet you, hopping we could exterminate some of the loop holes in our project. Though you persistently stuck around a little bit long and we had to find something, someway to get rid of you or either fill you in on what was going on. And some said another body might blow the lid off the whole project and you, there’d be a lot of catching up to do."
"So you decided too…"
"We decided to either fill you in, although that Jaquan of yours, we don’t know about him. We might need to pop him," said Roman. "He’s unstable."
Now all my life I’ve had a temper. Not that I ever got mad when I was fighting, but it could explode into real trouble from time to time.
I was mad, with a cold, ugly anger that shocked me and curious wonder that shocked me. And this didn’t make no damn sense.
My hands were shaking, my whole body was quivering with fury, and I fought myself into calmness to hear them out, there opinions and mine and were wanting more rage. At the same time that fury gripped me, another part of me seemed to be standing by in surprise that Arnold worked for Bohlen.
Suddenly I wanted answers, answers to how this were possible. And I wanted to hurt them, smash them, break them, tear their fucking limbs from limb to limb, shatter open their skulls, and show them what real hatred could be.
A saner part of me kept warning me, I’m surrounded an I have no chance, and what you see on TV, the single action hero, coming out on top, that was fucking TV, fucking Hollywood make believe.
"I knew you would come, Mussolini. I knew you would," Bree said. "I told Arnold you’d come."
All the while, I were standing there and they were filling me in on what were going on and if I chose to join them. I were thinking and I were watching for anyone coming our way, Jaquan. Jaquan, is my buddy; my pal; my ace boon coon. I'm not going to sale him out.
And at that moment, Roman asked, "Where is that Jaquan of yours? I’m surprise he didn’t come busting the fuck in here on a surprise attack."
My answer came out so quick.
"Jaquan's going to bust in here like Rambo!"
Now that I said that about Jaquan, Bohlen's eyes widened with a twisted smile.
"Arnold, go check outside and see if you see anybody around. Mainly that guy Jaquan."
Arnold followed instructions and went to go check outside.
I studied the building; the entrances and places to take cover.
Arnold. I talked about Arnold.
"So you mean to tell me Arnold endured the bullshit for years and years as part of a front, a decoy for your operation?" I asked.
He gave me a sharp look.
"You know Mussolini, living out here gives a man different standards. Education and position seem the most important things, but here, it is what it is, and not that a man should under estimate education and position, positioning the crew is an ideal necessity, and skills and tolerance. Arnold’s a tolerant man. Mussolini, you have what this crew needs. What it will always need."
"And what is that?" I asked.
"You have stamina, courage, and a strong sense of character."
I wasn’t surprised of anything anymore.
Bohlen looked up at me. He looked drawn and pale, and I knew he was taking a beating on this. He looked at me and said, "I’m giving you a great opportunity."
As he said those few words, shots were fired.
Moments later, the door opened and Arnold's body were being used as a shield by Jaquan as he opened fire on Bohlen and his crew.
"Jaquan," I said.
Jaquan were the nigga, if you were caught in a tight spot, you’ll just know he was there, doing the fuck what needed to be done.
Bree opened fire and tried to take cover. Jaquan shot her in the arm and the pistol flung towards me. I picked it up, took cover behind a crate, and shot at Bohlen as he dodged bullets seeking shelter.
Jaquan shot Bree till she died.
"Put that nigga in the snow and cover his fucking body and make sure he’s dead!" Bohlen said to his crew.
"The same way you did Jarez Claymount?" I spoke towards Bohlen.
"Precisely," Bohlen said.
"He got to us before he died."
There was not as so much a flicker in his eyes.
"You ordered Aileen Enrique killed."
"Now you’re putting the pieces together."
"Arnold took care of Jarez Claymount."
If Arnold knew anything at all of the deaths, he was better at hiding it than I would have of fucking believed. Arnold didn’t even seem dam
n capable of such. And here he was, and working for Bohlen.
"And Clyde, Enrique."
"And Clyde, Enrique."
"Where’s Clyde?"
"Clyde’s handling some business."
When Bohlen looked at me, there were no expression on his face, and his eyes flicked a flicker of impatience in his eyes.
"What do you say of my proposition?"
I chuckled. I shot at Bohlen. "The answer is no, I won't join your crooked clan. I'm going to kill you."
Bohlen laughed.
"Is that anything to laugh about?" I asked.
All my life I’d been fighting one way or other, and here and there I’d used my brains, such as they were. Mostly I’d just waded in swinging, and the thing that kept me winning, for I’d won ninety percent of my fights, was simply that I’d never been willing to realize when I was licked. A time or two it had seemed like it, only something kept me swinging and I’d finally won.
The thing a man has to realize is that it is never too late.
He swore. Then Bohlen said, "That’s a hell of a thing to say to a man. I think you’re a damn fool! I were expecting you to join us Mussolini. You’re a fucking fool. Now I’m going to give you something you’ve needed for a long time, a bullet in your fucking brain!"
A blast of gun fire roared the spot where Bohlen hid.
Bohlen slowly came full into sight. Jaquan had put a bullet in his torso. Blood spurred from Bohlen's mouth as he was smiling and walking toward me, with his gun gripped in his hand.
The room were mighty quiet now.
Bohlen lifted his pistol.
I looked him in the eyes and shot him dead.
There is something to be said for hatred under such circumstances.
Jaquan came into full view. As I neared him, a tear dripped from my eye. I walked toward Jaquan and I put a hand on his neck, and pulled him toward me, "Thanks."
At about that time, I struck my first streak of pay, paper, real paper. Big money.
I searched my pockets again and they were filled with more than a hundred thousand dollars. Me and Jaquan's each were. We had tooken Bohlen's weed supply and money.
It’s a mistake to think that a hungry man bolts his food. He does nothing of the such. His stomach has shrunk, and anyway, he wants to chew, to taste, to savor every bite.
He eats slowly, and that first time after he’s been a long time hungry, he can eat very little. This time I hadn’t been hungry really long, but it had been too long.
When I had eaten the sirloin steak, I rustled around and found a small piece of cut potatoes and took to it. I ate so eagerly that I knew I had found a great savoring taste to my taste buds.
Roman Bohlen, Bree and Arnold were dead.
Jaquan checked the cuts on my face, which was several and he said, "You carry a couple of scars."
After the restaurant, Me and Jaquan started off that night to the Inter Ocean Hotel.
What a man needs in this world, if he’s any kind of man, is somebody to do for, to take care of.
I had Jaquan and I never was going to be quite so alone again, no matter what happened.
I laid back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Everything inside me just seemed to let go.
I went to the window and got my cigar and smoked a couple of minutes then rubbed out the cigar again and went to bed.
I looked at Jaquan in the other bed next to me.
"What did you call it Jaquan? Put the pistol to them."
###
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends