twenty-two

La Salle Street was quiet. Not even a car sound, or the sound of people. A bit fucking unnerving. Seemed at first glance like any other quiet residential neighborhood you’d find in the Bay Area. But the security bars on all the first floor windows of every building told him how it really was. If what Shannon had said was true, then judging by the sun he had a couple hours before Karachi emerged from his coffin. Laughed at that thought. Jesus … dude. Get a grip.

Drove to the end of the block and did a U-turn. Parked. From where he was, he could see the building Shannon described. Reached under the seat and pulled out his gun. Didn’t need to check the clip like in the movies. He was on top of his shit enough to know that clip was fresh, clean, and full. There was only one building it could be. Except … problem was it was two stories. Top, or bottom? Top would be safer, so he decided to look upstairs first.

Walked down the street, not trying to be under the radar or anything. In this hood? Trying to be furtive or quiet would draw more attention. Just keep walking boldly. Like you have the right, or have a mission.

Got to the concrete stairs that led to the upper apartments. He just padded up them quietly, not needing to keep to the sides of the risers. Made virtually no sound, and he realized then that he was just about back to a hundred percent. He’d been the “go-to” guy when back in uniform to stalk upstairs in the dark or along some quiet corridor. Always had that ability to move quietly. Had lost it when he’d been tied to The Need, but now he was back to where he was, plus some years. Not bad for a quickly becoming old man, he thought as he moved up step-by-step, gun held low by his left side. Made it to the top and was confronted by a peeling, wood door. A door behind a rusty, metal security screen.

Fuck …

Now would be the time for a silencer. He hadn’t done a hot entry in years and years. And if he was wrong? And this wasn’t Karachi’s apartment? His mind raced over the possible outcomes. Well, in this hood it would be long-ass minutes before the police arrived. The other side of the coin could be he’d stumble in on some sort of drug dealer mess, get into a firefight, and die. Or, the place might contain some of God’s honest citizens and then he’d beg off quickly and get the fuck out of Dodge. But he just couldn’t believe that Shannon would’ve steered him wrong. Not the sound of her voice as she spoke. He was sure of that.

Fuck it …

He shot the knob on the screen door and it flew into bits, the door coming loose. He ripped it open and slammed the thin wood door with his shoulder. It shivered and splintered as it blasted inward. It was all flashes after that: a living room with only a couch and TV. A man there, leaping up. Gun already aiming at him.

Mallen fired on instinct. There was a gun pointed at him and he didn’t give a fuck at all if it was Karachi behind the trigger or Keanu Reeves. The first bullet chewed through Karachi’s wrist, and the gun dropped to the dark brown wall-to-wall carpet. The second bullet caught Karachi in the chest. As the man dropped to his knees, he reached with his other hand for the gun that had fallen to the floor. Like he wanted to take his adversary with him. Mallen charged forward and shoved his knee nice and clean into the man’s face. Mallen grabbed Karachi’s gun off the floor, then went and closed the door as the man writhed and bled on the floor, blood flowing from his wrist, chest, nose, and mouth. Mallen rolled him over onto his back. Based on the description, this was indeed Karachi, and thank fuck for that. Put the gun in the man’s eye.

“Karachi,” Mallen said. Not a question. A fact.

The man moaned. Mallen thought about what this fucker had done to Shannon. What his part in this whole goddamned thing probably was. Couldn’t help it: he swung the gun across the man’s already broken nose. Not that hard, but Karachi howled. Mallen put the barrel back in the man’s eye. Knew he had very little time. Either the police would get here, or this piece of shit would shuffle off to Hell.

“Karachi,” Mallen repeated, “you’re going to listen to questions and you give me answers. Real answers. And if I don’t believe that you’re giving real answers? Well, I don’t give a rat fuck and I’ll pull this trigger. But only after I shoot you in both hands, then your elbow, then your shoulders. You read me on this?”

There was a faint nod.

“Good. Now, about the Marston girl. Jessie. You took her.”

A shake of the head.

“You fucker, you know you did.”

Another shake of the head. “Killed the … guy … who … ”

… did. “Why? Where is Jessie Marston? Where?”

“Her … buyer. Buy … er … ” Karachi put his head back. Mallen banged it on the carpet a couple times to bring the man around.

“Who?” he hissed at Karachi, “Who the fuck is the buyer?”

Karachi was losing the time battle with the loss of blood. Looked up at Mallen. Then he grinned a toothy, bloody grin that would haunt Mallen the rest of his life.

And then he died.

Mallen looked around the room. No, he thought, there must be, must be a clue here.

Karachi’s place was a ratty two-bedroom. The kitchen was piled high with rotting pizza that had died in the boxes they were carried over in. He checked the cabinets, the fridge, and the oven. Nothing, not even drugs. Went to the bedrooms. The smaller one made him want to retch. It was obviously the one where Karachi had kept Shannon and what looked to be many other women over the years. Evidence of different-sized women’s clothing, of bloodstains all over the sheets and floor. Rotted and molding Chinese take-out boxes. McDonald’s wrappers. The pail in the corner stunk from where he stood in the doorway and it was all the way across the room. Now he was very glad he’d killed Karachi , even if the sick piece of shit had taken a clue along with him. Mallen would deal with it.

Checked the other bedroom. Obviously this was where Karachi spent his money. Man cave. Huge big-screen TV, complete with every game console and tons of games. Bed covered with satin sheets. Black. He checked the entire room for some hidden alcove, but found nothing. Moved to the closet. Karachi also had a thing for black leather coats and black army fatigues. A street warrior he probably thought himself.

It was in the closet that he found Karachi’s arsenal. At least six Glocks. A mini Uzi, with extra clips. A shotgun, sawed off. Tons of shells. A goddamn .44 magnum. All the serial numbers were filed off. He took the Uzi and clips. With the shit he’d seen since he’d gotten clean, he had the feeling it was better to be safe than sorry.

As he was closing the closet his eye caught something behind all the coats. Looked like just a crack in the plaster. He knelt down, and quickly pulled at that area of the wall. And goddamn if it didn’t come away to reveal a goddamn wall safe. Not a combo, not that high-end. Needed a key. Mallen bolted back to Karachi’s corpse. Found his keys. Ran back to the safe door. It was the fifth key he tried. The thick metal door opened. Inside were bundled dollars. Looked like twenties and fifties. But he didn’t pay that any mind. It was the book. A little black book. Underneath that was a flash drive very much like the one he’d found in Yates’s car out at the ocean. The man who’d been shot by Karachi. Now it was time to go. Decided to park the Uzi in his coat pocket, the clips in the other. Slipped his own Glock in his waistband and beat it out of there. Checked the outside first. It was as quiet as if nothing had gone down. Who the hell would want to get involved with a shooting? Not here, that’s for sure.

Walked calmly back to his truck and hopped in. Stashed the Uzi under the backseat. His own gun went under the front. The flash drive and black book went into the glove box. The truck engine kicked over and he was down the block before anyone would’ve even been able to get his license plate.