“Same old same old. Rotting corpses torturing me from the grave.”
“Anyone I know?”
That question is so loaded, if it were a gun, it would have blown off half my skull. I look at him and keep my gaze measured but the bile of hatred rises up in my throat and makes me cough.
“You worry too much.” He smiles.
“What’s the word on Hartman?”
“I have some good news and some good news. The good news is that we’ve confirmed Mr. Bendini is our mark. The other good news is that it appears Hartman wasn’t working directly for Bendini.”
“Customer?”
“Looks that way.”
“How you like the intel?”
“I’m buying it. Got it from a great source—Hartman’s real homosexual lover.”
“I thought that was just part of your cover story.”
“It was. Just dumb luck that it’s true. Guy told us Hartman’s connected with a mob family upstate. They paid a guy off to get him placed there, then whacked the guy after Hartman was hired. I guess they wanted to babysit their golden goose and didn’t have much confidence in Bendini’s people.”
“Explains the fact that he’s a pro.”
“Yeah. I guess he was some military contractor type before this. Shooting ragheads that get too close to oil wells and whatnot. Dumbass probably didn’t know what hit him when he met you.”
“Bendini’s paranoia has to be at an all-time high,” I muse, relieved that the fucking Mickey Spillane bullshit is over and I can concentrate on my real job.
“That’s why we had to take care of this very well.”
“What’re you selling the street?”
“Murder-suicide,” Bob says with pride. “Married closet homo whacks Hartman because he’s scared. Hartman has been threatening to out him so he can work the guy for money, et cetera.”
“But when he sees Hartman dead it’s too much for him. So he swallows the gun because swallowing is what got him into this mess in the first place. Two dead cowboys roll down Brokeback Mountain. Cops can’t wait to get ’em off the books,” I say absently. “Sounds pretty clean.”
“Squeaky. Bendini will buy it. Too weird not to.”
“So how you think he made me?” I call attention to the elephant in the room.
“He was a pro. Takes one to know one.”
“What now?” I inquire very gently.
“What now is we’re prepping your execution scenario as we speak. You’ll be able to take care of business in a couple of days. You up for a wild west show?”
“My spurs are jingling and jangling.”
* * *
When I walk out into the morning sun, the glow of my reprieve is quickly snuffed out by the realization of what I have to do about Alice. I don’t want to do it, but this is insect culture, and one of us will eventually have to be eaten to restore order. She may not be suspicious of Hartman’s death, but sooner or later something will throw my scent her way and Bob will end up killing us both. So later that day I call Alice and tell her I want to have dinner with her on Friday night. Just the two of us. I tell her I’ve been missing her and I really need some alone time with her. I can almost feel the heat from her blushing cheeks. I can hear the excitement in her voice. She’s in love with me and she thinks I’m in love with her. She trusts me. And I’m going to take her life.
United States Department of Justice
Federal Bureau of Investigation
* * *
Washington, D.C. 20535
ALL INFORMATION HEREIN IS CLASSIFIED
SURVEILLANCE TRANSCRIPT: AUDIO RECORDING—INFRARED LASER MIC (150M)
Location: Alice (censored) Residence/Bedroom, East Village, Manhattan
Subjects: John Lago and Alice (censored).
KNOCK ON THE FRONT DOOR. SOUND OF ALICE UNLOCKING DOOR AND OPENING IT, DOOR CHAIN CATCHES.
Alice:
Who is it?!
Lago:
John.
Alice:
What’s the password?”
LAGO IS OUT OF BREATH, VOICE SOUNDS AGITATED.
Lago:
Just let me in, okay?
Alice:
Not until you turn that frown upside down.
SOUND OF DOOR BEING FORCED OPEN AND CHAIN SNAPPING.
Alice:
John, what the hell are you doing!?
SEVERAL UNIDENTIFIED PEOPLE YELL, “SURPRISE!”
Lago:
What the fuck?!
Alice:
Happy birthday you crazy motherfucker!
Lago:
How did you know it was my . . .
ALICE’S RESPONSE UNINTELLIGIBLE. VOICES AROUND HER GET LOUDER. THEY ARE WISHING LAGO A HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
Alice:
Human Resources.
Lago:
What did you say?
Alice:
Human Resources gave me your birth date!
Lago:
I think I need a drink.
Alice:
Mr. Grumpy Pants is ready to be a birthday boy! Someone get this man an adult beverage before he kills us all!
KATE, A FEMALE PARTY GUEST, APPROACHES LAGO.
Kate:
Hey, you want a hit of this?
Lago:
Sure.
LAGO COUGHS FOR SEVERAL SECONDS.
Lago:
Whoa. Thank you.
Kate:
It’s Indica.
Lago:
I can tell by the sledgehammer effect.
Kate:
Are you okay? That was quite an entrance.
Lago:
Tough day at the office.
Kate:
So, what do you do?
Lago:
Aren’t you a lawyer too?
Kate:
No, my husband’s a lawyer at the firm. Kate.
Lago:
John.
Kate:
You’re not a lawyer, are you?
Lago:
Why do you ask it like that?
Kate:
No offense. It’s just that you don’t look like a lawyer.
Lago:
What do I look like?
Kate:
Forget it. I don’t want to say something I’ll regret. My husband says I’m always doing that. I’m an artist and I can’t keep my mouth shut about my observations. It’s kind of compulsive really.
Lago:
I want to hear it. I won’t make you regret it.
Kate:
See, that does not sound like a lawyer to me. Lawyers don’t have balls. Well, here goes. I think you are a dangerous man.
LAGO LAUGHS.
Lago:
I’m an intern at the firm. How’s that for dangerous?
Kate:
Wait. You’re an intern, so forgive me for asking, but do you get paid or do you work for free?
Lago:
I do it for the love of the game.
Kate:
Holy shit. You work for free.
Lago:
For now, yes.
Kate:
That is dangerous in Manhattan.
Lago:
Yeah, I’m murdering my savings.
TWO-HOUR LAPSE IN RECORDING. RF INTERFERENCE. SUBJECTS LAGO AND ALICE HAVE RELOCATED TO ROOFTOP.
Alice:
You’re so quiet.
Lago:
Must be the weed. Got me thinking too much. I hate that.
Alice:
What’re you thinking about?
Lago:
I had a good time tonight but I feel . . . weird.
Alice:
I’m sorry I surprised you. Some people hate that.
Lago:
No, it’s not that. The funny thing is that I had completely forgotten it was my birthday.
Alice:
How does someone forget their own birthday?
Lago:
Growing up it was never special. No one has ever done something like this for me.
br />
Alice:
No one ever threw you a birthday party?
Lago:
No.
Alice:
Seriously?
Lago:
Yeah.
Alice:
That’s awful. You poor thing.
Lago:
I’m not looking for pity. I just want you to understand that this whole thing with you is . . . difficult.
Alice:
I know. You looked like you wanted to strangle me when you came to the door.
Lago:
Sorry . . . again. I didn’t mean to break the chain like that.
Alice:
What was up with you?
Lago:
I was really . . . angry.
Alice:
Was it something at work?
Lago:
Yeah. Pressure’s getting to me, I guess. Just a shitty day.
Alice:
But it turned out great.
Lago:
Yeah.
LONG PAUSE.
Alice:
Hey, do you want your birthday present now?
Lago:
Sure.
Alice:
Okay but first you have to answer a question. Cool?
Lago:
I guess . . .
Alice:
Good. If you could find your father, would you?
Lago:
What does that have to do with—?
Alice:
Just answer the question. You’ll see in a minute.
Lago:
I want to find him more than anything. If it’s to beat the fuck out of him for being an asshole and abandoning me, fine. If it’s to get to know him because he’s a decent guy, great. But even if it were just to know ABOUT him, I would accept that too. I just need to know where I come from. For better or worse. Then maybe I can just let it go and move on.
Alice:
I’m going to help you find him.
Lago:
How?
Alice:
I have a contact at the Mormon Church. They’re experts at helping adopted kids track down their biological parents. It’s kind of a religious mandate for them. They think it’s important for people to be connected to their blood in whatever way possible. Her name is Dorothy and she wants to meet you.
Lago:
Wow.
Alice:
Good present, right?
Lago:
Really good. Thank you, Alice.
Alice:
Good. I’ll set it up. Now let’s get back to the party. I think it’s time for the spanking machine.
Lago:
Why are you so good to me, Alice?
Alice:
You don’t know?
Lago:
No.
Alice:
Because I love you, dumbass.
—END TRANSCRIPT—
16
* * *
ASAHFP
Saturday morning. Sitting in my new apartment. It’s a shit hole. Bob’s revenge for me losing my cover on the last one. Just got home from Alice’s house. I did not kill her. I was fully prepared to do it. There are some unsolved murder cases in her neighborhood—mostly young women. I was going to follow the pattern: strangulation, rosary in the victim’s mouth, some Old Testament verse about harlots written in lipstick on the wall. Fairly contrived, but then again, we’re talking about a serial killer—God’s own sexually transmitted disease. There’s nothing more despicable than an overgrown pervert mental patient fuck face who kills people for no real reason.
In fact, it was in thinking about the whole serial killer thing that I decided not to do it. In the end, Alice is not my target and I am not in the business of killing people other than my target. Bob has no problem with that, collateral damage and all. I do. Always have. Alice may be a federal agent, but she’s still just a bystander and she isn’t pointing a gun at me yet. Don’t get me wrong. I’m probably taking the biggest risk of my career and potentially my life by allowing her to continue to breathe. I guess it goes to show you that even a reptile like me has to have standards.
Plus, I now have an endgame, and she can’t possibly interfere with it. Actually, I have her to thank for it. On my way to her apartment, I was thinking about one of my favorite movies, Scarface, and it occurred to me that I could whack Bendini much in the same way Tony Montana gets whacked in the end of that movie—a cartel-style, balls-out assault.
So, after she was asleep, courtesy of Ambien and a couple gallons of champagne, I loaded up a new and improved Russian Mafia password crack program and took a long look at the case files on her laptop. Mostly, I was looking for routine surveillance reports from Bendini’s home. Thanks to the FBI, I now have detailed schematics of his home and grounds, along with comprehensive data on his security systems and security patrol staff. I even know how many guard dogs he has and what breeds. If I knew any more about how Bendini moves, I would have to be Bendini himself. Knowing all of this, I can hit him cartel style and still stay within Bob’s program.
I ran it by Bob and he gave me his blessing. In fact, he loves the idea, because his clients are starting to get extremely cranky with him. And when those types of clients get cranky, you run the risk of getting whacked yourself. So I’m calling it operation ASAHFP—As Soon As Humanly Fucking Possible—and I’m already deep into preparations. It feels good to prep this hit because I need to clear my head and keep my eyes on the prize. This shit will all be a distant memory when I’m down in Brazil getting a new face—preferably one that looks a lot like 1968 Clint Eastwood if I find the right surgeon. But first I need to find a way to take out a dozen armed security guards—most of whom are former Navy SEALs and Special Forces operators, get past what is certain to be a bank-style security system, and whack the motherfucker before the sun comes up. Details.
United States Department of Justice
Federal Bureau of Investigation
* * *
Washington, D.C. 20535
ALL INFORMATION HEREIN IS CLASSIFIED
SURVEILLANCE TRANSCRIPT: AUDIO RECORDING—MOBILE PARABOLIC REFLECTOR MIC
Location: Laurel Place Restaurant, Cobble Hill, Brooklyn
Subjects: John Lago, Alice (censored), and Dorothy (censored).
Lago:
Nice to meet you, Dorothy.
Dorothy:
Pleasure to meet you, John. I’ve heard a lot about you.
Lago:
All bad, right, Dorothy?
Dorothy:
You two make such a handsome couple. Maybe you should think about . . . you know . . . marriage. Start a family of your own?
Lago:
Don’t they say lawyers shouldn’t breed?
Dorothy:
Oh, John, you’re a real hoot.
Alice:
Yeah, John, a hoot.
Lago:
I’m here all week. Try the veal.
Dorothy:
Okay, well let’s talk about what I found when I researched your genealogy, John.
Lago:
I apologize in advance for exposing you to such misery.
Dorothy:
Not to worry. We’re all loved equally by the Lord, no matter what our past holds. Speaking of which . . .
SOUND OF PAPERS SHUFFLING.
Dorothy:
I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I was able to follow a potential lead based on your partial birth records. Obviously, your mother died before she was able to name you. So you would have been listed as John Doe. And, since we know that you were born prematurely, you would have been placed in the neonatal intensive care unit for several weeks. So I searched for babies born around the time you were born that fit these criteria. Luckily, there was only one male child born prematurely and orphaned at that time. I presumed that was you, so I used that information to find the person I believe might have been your mother.
Lago:
Holy shit.
Dorothy:
r /> Do you want to know her name?
Lago:
I’m not, uh, I’m not sure.
Alice:
John, you wanted to know where you came from. She’s part of that.
Lago:
Okay.
Dorothy:
Her name was Penny (censored).
Lago:
A bad penny always turns up.
LAGO LAUGHS.
Lago:
Sorry.
Dorothy:
She was only twenty-three. Poor thing was already clinically dead when they delivered you by emergency C-section. I’m getting the police report to see if her assailant—
Lago:
If my father killed her?
Alice:
Easy, John.