THIRTEEN

 

Adam hit the ground rolling. He stopped in front of the Mustang and took a quick body inventory to see if he had been shot. Relieved to find nothing more than sore elbows and a scratched forehead, he crawled the rest of the way to his car.

A helicopter flew overhead, passed a slow searchlight over the neighborhood. Always there, a part of the night in Los Angeles, although they never seemed to find anything.

Once inside the Lexus, Adam locked his door. His hands and arms shivered with fear. Sweat broke out over his body with stinging suddenness. He was furious with himself for coming. He should have said no to Rain and stayed with it, but no, he’d caved, believed her scary little story about going to the police. He clenched his hands into fists, made the trembling stop.

A group of partiers rushed out the front door and headed for their cars. Among them, Adam saw Carter and Rain. He opened his door, got out and waved at them. “Hey! Come on! We’re going!” He got back in, slammed the door, locked it again, reached over and unlocked the passenger door.

Carter fell in. His face sparkled with sweat. “Son of a bitch!” he said in a jagged voice. “Honest-to-God gunfire!”

Rain got in with no hurry and left the door open as she said, “I think Monty wants to talk to you, Adam.”

“I don’t care if Monty wants to crown me king of Denmark, we’re getting the hell out of here.” He started the car. “Close your door, Rain.”

“No. You have to talk to Monty.”

“What do you mean, I have to talk to him?”

Rain turned and smiled at Carter. “Could you let us speak privately for a minute.”

“And get outta the car? You’re funny.”

She sighed, leaned close to Adam and breathed, “Monty’s gonna help us.”

“What?” Adam shouted.

She nodded at his door and said, “C’mon, let’s step out. Just for a second.”

Adam did not want to, but did, anyway. They went to the front of the car. The engine idled as they whispered to each other in the headlight beams.

“What do you mean, he’s gonna help us?” he asked, trying to contain his anger.

“I mean that’s what he does! He’s done it before, lotsa times. And he’ll give us a discount because he’s my friend.”

Adam pointed at the house and asked, “That buffoon in there is a hit man?”

Rain continued as if he had not spoken. “Monty, uh...I don’t know, he’s got some fuckin’ thing for me. Normally, I’d be down with that because I think Monty’s hot, but he fucks guys, too, and I don’t fuck people who can’t make up their fuckin’ minds. I mean, you gotta have some kinda standards, right?”

Adam stepped very close to her, neck muscles taut. “Have you been fucked out of your mind? You’re telling me that guy is going to kill your mother for you?”

“He’s going to kill both our parents. For us.”

“Oh, no, don’t give me that us shit. If that guy’s involved, you can count me out.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“I know all I need to know. Jesus, we’d be lucky if we got caught. We’d probably all end up dead. I wouldn’t let that guy change the oil in my car, Rain, and I’m sure as hell not—”

“Hey, you guys, wait for me!”

Adam and Rain turned toward the voice. Monty rushed toward them wearing a long tan coat that flapped around his legs like a cape. It was a cool night, but not that cool. Adam did not like the look of it.

Rain said, “You gonna tell him that?”

“Ran outta vodka,” Monty said as he jumped into the car, taking Rain’s seat.

Rain got into the backseat with Carter.

The engine continued to idle as Adam stood beside the car, staring at the steering wheel. He wanted to go home, and intended to make that his only goal from that moment on.

“You comin’?” Monty said. “You want me to drive? I know this fuckin’ neighborhood upside-down.”

Adam threw himself behind the wheel and pulled the door closed. “Where are we going?” he asked as he drove away from the house.

“Liquor store,” Monty said.

Adam turned right, then right again. “I saw one coming in, just a couple blocks up here.”

“No, that store closes at, uh, eleven. Gotta go to another one. Make a left up here.”

“Across that traffic? Uh-uh. I’ll take the long way.” He turned right, got into the left-turn lane at the next light and made a legal U-turn. Went back the way he had come.

Adam glanced in the rearview and saw Rain on Carter like a hungry predator, kissing him as Carter’s surprised struggles weakened, finally stopped.

Monty laughed. “Hey, they look pretty fuckin’ occupied, huh?”

Adam felt sick to his stomach.

“Rainy says you gotta job. Hasn’t told me shit, though, so I don’t know if I wanna fuckin’ do it or not. Somethin’ about your parents. You wanna fill me in, Adam?”

Monty turned on the radio and found a rap station, turned it up so loud it caused Adam’s ears actual physical pain. He expected them to start bleeding any second. He was afraid to protest this time, let it pass. He had to shout to be heard. “I, uh...I think Rain might have been a little hasty.”

“Little pasties? What?”

“Uh...I think she spoke too soon. We haven’t decided on our plans yet.”

“Oh. Well, fuck.” Monty shook his head slowly. His knees bobbed and he slapped his thighs to the music as he spoke. “You gonna do your fuckin’ parents, you gotta have somebody like me, dude. You get tagged with somethin’ like that, man, you’re fucked. You need somebody’s got no fuckin’ connection to the family.”

“You’re a friend of Rain’s.”

“Nah, that’s no fuckin’ problem. Her mom, your dad, none of ’em ever fuckin’ met me. Don’t know me from shit. Hey, does your dad fly?”

“Huh?”

“Your dad, does a have a fuckin’ plane?”

“Oh, no. No plane, no jet.”

“How about a boat? Your parents gotta fuckin’ yacht, or somethin’?”

“A yacht and a fishing boat. Why?”

“That’s always a great fuckin’ way to get ridda more than one at a time.”

“What? You mean, like...sinking it? Blowing it up?”

“Why the fuck not? Yachts explode all the time.”

“They do? Where do yachts explode all the time?”

“Ever watch TV, dude? Cable? C’mon, man, that kinda shit’s goin’ on alla fuckin’ time.”

“Uh, what reason would a yacht have for exploding in real life? I mean, a yacht that’s not on TV.”

“Fuckin’ explosives, dude! That’s what I do, I go plant the explosives in the fuckin’ yacht, they go out on the fuckin’ yacht, the fuckin’ yacht blows into a billion fuckin’ pieces. Problem solved.”

“Yeah, I can see how that would work,” Adam said with a nod. Thought, This asshole would blow himself up in his car.

“No connections, no traces. I’m thinkin’ in your case, it’s the way to go.”

“You think?”

“From what little I fuckin’ know about it.”

“How long you been doing this kind of work, Monty?”

“‘Bout eight months now.”

This is a nightmare, Adam thought as he asked, “Get much business?”

“Oh, yeah, fuck yeah. And I do it all. Shoot ’em, blow ’em up. Fuck, I even strangled one. Ha! But that’s a long fuckin’ story. I’ll tell ya sometime.”

“Well, like I said, Rain and I haven’t decided how we want to handle this. Or if we even want to do it.”

“That last part’s bullshit!” Rain shouted from the backseat.

Adam ignored her. “I hope you don’t mind, but I think it’ll be a while before we can—”

“Take the next left,” Monty said, pointing.

After turning, Adam said, “I mean, we can’t make a commitment to anything right now.”

“A fuckin’ commitment? The fuck’re you talking about, we gettin’ married? Take this right up here.”

“I mean, we haven’t decided anything yet. So we won’t be needing your—”

“Here, to the left, this is the fuckin’ place, dude.”

“—services.”

On the roof of a liquor store on the left corner, a giant neon clown held a bouquet of flashing balloons. At the clown’s impossibly long feet, a bright sign read, CIRCUS LIQUORS. Adam parked just outside the door.

“Good, it’s not fuckin’ busy,” Monty said. He turned to Adam and flashed an Opie smile. “C’mon in, dude. Leave the engine on.”

“Huh? Oh, no, I’ll wait out—”

“C’mon!” Monty shouted as he got out.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Adam complained. He looked over his shoulder. Rain’s head bobbed on Carter’s lap, while he slumped in the seat. Carter saw him through heavy-lidded eyes and shrugged helplessly.

“Fuck, you comin’?” Monty called.

“Gettin’ close,” Carter replied with a lazy laugh.

Adam got out of the car, threw the door closed and jumped onto the sidewalk that surrounded the store. Monty fumbled with a floppy piece of orange cloth.

“Figured I better bring one for me ’cause the cops know my face,” Monty said, putting his hand on Adam’s back. He pulled the glass door open and pushed Adam into the store, saying, “But Rainy says you’re fuckin’ clean as shit.”

“Clean? What kind of clea—” Adam turned as Monty slipped an orange ski mask over his head with one hand and pulled a large black-and-silver gun from his right coat pocket with the other.

“C’mon, bro.”

“What?” Adam felt light-headed, close to passing out. Everything slowed, including his heart. Even the rap beat coming from the Lexus outside slowed to a lazy thump.

Not really, Adam thought. Nothing’s really slowing down. This is just my nervous system preparing me to die.

Monty turned, aimed his gun at the closest front corner above them, where a black surveillance camera looked down over the entire store. Fired two quick shots before the camera popped into two pieces and dangled by a cord.

Adam’s muscles tensed more with each shot. His body frozen, inside he was a terrified, screaming pit of chaotic flashing images, familiar voices gibbering over one another. Voices from his past—mostly his mother’s, talking over itself repeatedly—warning him about the Wrong Crowd and Bad Neighborhoods and the Danger of Guns. Not a single voice mentioned anything at all about what to do to keep from getting his guts blown out during a liquor store holdup.

“Back up, back up!” Monty shouted at the middle-aged Korean man behind the counter. “Turn the fuck around and face the cigars! Put your fuckin’ hands up on the racks! Do it, motherfucker!” Satisfied with the man’s position, Monty looked back and said, “Hey, come hold this motherfucker for me.”

Adam stood frozen about eight feet behind Monty, near the door. Couldn’t even blink as he stared at Monty’s gun, pointed at the back of the man’s head. Monty was saying something, but Adam was underwater, at the bottom of the pool, Monty’s voice an indecipherable groan making its way down to him.

“Goddamnit, I said come hold this guy, you wanna get us fuckin’ killed?”

Adam broke the surface of the water and suddenly everything fell back into place. Sounds and smells icily clear, time moving at its normal speed again.

“Oh, shit,” Monty said. He still held his gun on the cashier as he looked over his shoulder at Adam with wide-eyed realization. “Shit, man, Rainy said you was cool! And you don’t got any fuckin’ metal? That’s fucked up, dude!” He stuffed his left hand into his coat pocket, glaring. Not so much like Opie Taylor anymore.

The Korean man began his turn, knees bending, head ducking. Monty took another gun from the coat pocket, and flung it at Adam. It spun through the air, a deadly boomerang, growing larger fast in Adam’s eyes. He swiped at it with both hands, but it slammed into his chest and knocked him back against the door. He caught it there, awkwardly, nearly dropped it once.

“Hey, fuckmeat!” Monty shouted at the cashier. He fired his gun, but too late. The man had disappeared beneath the counter.

Adam was still holding the gun between two palms like a mentally handicapped child when he heard the chuh-chunk of a shotgun being racked. The man popped up from behind the counter, leveled the sawed-off barrel at Monty and fired.

I should go now, Adam thought.

The sound of the shotgun lingered heavily in the air as Monty dropped to the floor, and suddenly blood was spattered everywhere. On the floor, the counter, the racks and shelves. On Adam’s shoes. It dribbled warmly down the back of his right hand. Something about the way Monty had hit the floor convinced Adam he was dead. He pushed back and opened the door.

The Korean man shouted furiously in his native tongue as he turned the shotgun on Adam.