Bullets Are My Business (9781101616413) (7 page)

The brake lights glowed to life again and I heard the sound of the parking brake being set. There was a brief scuffling in the car before the doors opened and then slammed shut. I couldn't be certain, but it sounded like all four doors, which meant that there was a minimum of four guys getting out. I just hoped that it wasn't a clown car. Four guys was bad enough. I figured I had thirty seconds, tops, before they opened the trunk. I reached beneath the plywood that was covering the spare tire. My fingers felt around blindly, finally landing on something hard and metallic. A crowbar. I continued rummaging around and I gripped hold of a tire iron. As I pulled the crowbar and the tire iron up into the trunk, the back of my hand grazed a cold aerosol can of something. I pulled that up from the cavern beneath the wood, into the darkness of the trunk, arming myself like a Spartan warrior. The key hit the lock on the outside of the trunk. I froze. I could hear the guys bullshitting as they stood before the unopened trunk.

“Jerry, hurry up and finish pissing. We got a grave to dig. . . .” The latch on the trunk clicked free. Here we go. As the trunk opened, I thrust the crowbar forward and it caught the guy with the keys just off center of his stomach. I could feel it puncture the skin. I kept pushing until the guy stumbled backward. His face was twisted in agony. I released the crowbar and my fingers gripped the tire iron and the aerosol can as I launched myself from the trunk. The other guys didn't even have a chance to register the fate of their buddy or what was going on. Before my feet hit the ground, I cracked the closest guy in the head with the iron. I could feel his skull shatter on impact. I turned on my heels. The third man had pulled his gun. I brought the can up to shoulder level and let loose a spray from the aerosol container. The liquid hit him directly in the face. He squeezed his eyes shut. I dove behind the car just as he started pulling the trigger of his gun. I glanced at the bottle in my hand, thinking that I really had to get myself a can of WD-40. I could hear someone running back from the woods on the opposite side of the car.

“Tony?” I could hear the guy in the woods yelling. This must've been Jerry. Tony, in his blind fury, wheeled around and fired off three shots. There was a gurgled cry of surprise followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground. I certainly hoped that piss was the best one he ever had because it had just been his last. I poked my head around the bumper of the car. Tony was angrily wiping his eyes. His back was turned toward me. Just in front of me, I could see the butt of the gun poking out of the waistband of the guy whose skull I had crushed with the tire iron. Tony was still facing the trees. I had to be quick. I didn't have any other thoughts. I darted from behind the car.

“Tony! He's moving!”

I had thought that the guy with the keys was down for the count. I figured that he had bled out when I stabbed him with the crowbar. Looked like I was wrong. Tony spun around just as my fingers grabbed hold of the gun. I tossed myself over the guy's body just as Tony raised his hand and fired off a shot. It missed me by half an inch. The guy with the crushed skull took it in the chest. I pointed the gun at Tony and pulled the trigger. The bullet seemed to move in slow motion as it traveled from the gun. It arced gracefully across the landscape and caught Tony in the throat. He stood for a moment, not moving. Then his gun fell from his hand. He fell on top of it.

I turned my attention back to the only one besides me who was still breathing. The guy with the car keys. He was lying on his back a few feet away from me, writhing in pain. I aimed my gun and walked up to his side. As I drew closer, I could see blood running down his chin. I didn't think that I hit his stomach but I must've hit something vital. I placed the barrel of the gun at his temple and patted him down. I came up with bupkis. His sidearm could wait. I needed to find out information.

“Where's Campbell?”

“Fuck off.” He was trying to be a tough guy. I wasn't in the mood for this shit. Not right now. I stood and gave him a swift kick in the side. He let out a cry of pain and gave a wet cough as he reached out his blood-soaked hands to me, “You gotta take me to the hospital, man. I can't feel my legs.” I must've nicked his spine. I ignored his pleading and gripped the crowbar, giving it a push.

“Where is Campbell?”

Another scream of pain, followed by a wet cough and a deep rattling from his chest. He was going fast. I needed answers. I let go of the crowbar and grabbed him by his lapels. I slapped him around the face. I started to ask him again where Campbell was when I realized that it was too late to give him an inquisition. His body gave an all out shudder. He was dead.

I checked the other bodies. None of them were breathing. I slammed the trunk of the car, pulled the keys out of the lock, and made my way to the driver's-side door. On the front seat of the car was the driver's gun. I picked it up and put it in my shoulder holster. Next to that was his cell phone. I grabbed it as I slid into the driver's seat. I popped the key into the ignition and started the car before I hit the recent-calls button. “Da Boss” was the last number called. Subtle. I pressed the call button as I threw the car in gear and turned it around, driving back through the woods. As I hit the asphalt road a few seconds later, a voice came through the phone.

“Is it done?” It was Campbell.

“That all depends on what you mean by done, you son of a bitch.” My response was met by silence from the other end. I let him sweat for a moment before I continued, “I see that you weren't expecting to hear from me.”

Campbell cleared his throat. “I'll admit that this is quite the turn of events.” He paused momentarily. He was obviously trying to remain calm and collected. “You just took on four of my best employees.”

“It goes without saying that I'd hate to see what your worst look like.”

“You've impressed me once again, Levi,” Campbell told me. “Why don't you come down and see me. We'll talk.”

“We're done talking, you fuck,” I snarled. There was a lull on the phone. Campbell apparently had nothing more to say. I clenched the phone in my hand. “I'm coming and I'm gonna be gunning.” I hung up and pressed the pedal to the floor. I had no idea where I was, but thankfully the car had come fully equipped with GPS. I always thought it was a pretty useless feature, but tonight it was going to come in handy. Though I doubt that “Trying to find someone to kill?” would've been a good marketing campaign, it was definitely going to get me out of a tight spot tonight.

When I got to Campbell's office an hour later, I found it deserted. I sped to his house, but that was also empty. The only reason I could come up with was that he had shit a brick when he realized that I was coming for him. He had decided to go on the lam.

It didn't matter. I was going to find him eventually. No matter how long I had to look, I was going to find him.

And when I did, I was going to kill him.

About Four
A.M.,
I Guess

I can't open my eyes. My first thought is, I'm dead. I draw in a deep breath to reassure myself. The pain surges through my body like an electric current. I suppose that's a good sign. I wouldn't feel anything at all if I were dead. Whatever Becky gave me knocked me the fuck out. If it would've kept the pain at bay, it probably would've been more useful. I try with all my might and manage to open my eyes. It feels like I'm prying open a rusted trapdoor. It's nighttime. I can see the moon outside. What day is it?

I work on sitting up. I barely manage to get about two inches from the towel on the mattress. I grunt and continue trying. Jesus. If this is what getting old feels like, I hope I die soon. I make it to five inches. I'm almost up. I feel a hand on my chest, pushing me slowly back down.

“You need to rest,” comes a soothing, sleepy voice from my chair next to the bed. I figure that this is who the hand belongs to. “What do you need?”

My throat is dry. When I try to talk, it sounds the way sandpaper feels. “Water.”

Megan's fingers traipse across my chest as she stands from the chair. She moves toward the kitchen. I watch her walk in the moonlight. She's wearing one of my ratty old T-shirts. It clings to her hips as she walks. It's too bad I'm all racked up. I can think of a few things I'd much rather be doing right about now. I tear my eyes away from her before I get myself in trouble. She returns to the bed a moment later with a bottle of water and she kneels by my side and gently eases her hand behind my neck, bringing the bottle to my lips. I drink slowly, like a baby bird, because that's all she'll let me do. When she thinks I'm done, she eases my head back onto the pillow and puts the lid back on the water. She sets it on the floor beside the bed and starts to ease back to her position in the chair. I grab her by the wrist, lightly. She stops and looks down at me.

“You don't have to sit in the chair,” I tell her in my gravelly voice. “You're not a sentinel.” She hesitates for a moment and I let go of her hand. She starts to say something in response.

“Don't worry,” I say, cutting her off before she has a chance to speak. “I won't bite and I promise I won't get fresh.”

She gives a slight smile and crawls into bed next to me. She lays on her side. Her hand holds her head up as she watches me. She's silent. I'm not sure if she's waiting for me to say something.

“How long have I been out?” I ask, giving in to the pressure of her eyes upon me. It's the first thing that comes to mind.

She cranes her neck to look at the clock. “Thirteen hours.” Her voice sounds throaty. It's intoxicating. I want her to keep talking but she doesn't. She goes back to looking at me. I stare at the ceiling, trying to come up with something to say. I can't decide where to go from here. The silence is making me uncomfortable. At the same time, it's oddly serene. I need to break it and fast.

“You didn't have to stay here,” I tell her. I try to maneuver myself up to a sitting position. She gently pushes me back down again.

“I know I didn't.” The silence fills the room again. I decide to let it stay this time. I figure it'll go on like this until one of us falls asleep. I continue staring straight up at the crown molding. I can feel her eyes burning into me. It makes me uneasy. I try to let it slide, but it gets more and more disconcerting with each passing second.

“Why are you staring at me?” I ask, finally letting my irritation boil over. Looks like I was wrong about the silence.

“I want to know about you.”

I try to mask my surprise at her request. I fail miserably. “What?”

“I said, I want to know about you,” she tells me. “I want to know every little thing. Who are you? What are you all about? You're certainly a different person since the last time I saw you.”

Little does she know how wrong she actually is. I'm still the same person I ever was. Just a lost boy who found his way. Now I make a living at it. I decide not to delve into this with her. The last few days have been strange enough. I haven't been a target in a long time. I've never been ambushed where I live. I've almost always been the hunter, not the game. This is foreign territory. And even when I was a target, I knew who my assailants were and I knew why they were trying to take me out. This whole scenario is like having a blindfold superglued over my eyes. Frankly, I don't like it but, admittedly, I'm a little bit intrigued. I gotta start by figuring out the source of the mint green envelope. I start to sit up again and Megan gently places her hand on me to keep me at bay. Her hand is warm on my bare chest. Warm and soft. I want her to move it lower. Unfortunately, that'll lead to other things, and at this point, other things would probably leave me dead. One more reason I have to find Bruiser and cave his head in. He ruined what might have been a perfectly fantastic night. I clear my throat.

“You want to know me?” I ask, turning my head and feeling every single vertebra in my neck pop like the fourth of July. Megan's expression doesn't change but she nods. I move my face slowly toward hers. Her already sleepy eyes close even further. I can feel her warm breath on my face. She parts her lips and her tongue creeps out over them. I'm a fraction of an inch away from her soft, supple lips and I take a deep breath, inhaling that sultry, sweet smell of hers. I reach up and take her hand. Her eyelids flutter. I whisper, “That's too damn bad. I'm not in the mood.”

I take her hand off of my chest and set it down on the bed between us. She opens her eyes, and to my surprise, she doesn't look the least bit shocked. I smile at her and she gives me a half smile in return. I feel like I've been shortchanged.

“You know, Levi,” she breathes, and stretches out on the bed, arching her back and slowly moving her perfectly perky breasts up toward the ceiling. My T-shirt pulls tight over her chest, allowing me a teasing look at her covered nipples. It also pulls up from her hips toward her shoulders. It doesn't move up a lot, but it moves up enough for me to catch a glimpse of green underwear in the moonlight. I swallow to put my heart back in my chest. She lowers herself back to the bed before she continues, “When I was younger, I had quite the thing for you.” With that, she puts her head on her pillow. I raise an eyebrow. There's nothing at all that I can say to that. All I know is that I can see myself getting close to this girl. Real close. And in a real short time.

I gotta decide if I want to let that happen.

Too Damn Early

The sunlight manages to pierce through my eyelids. I just slept better than I have in a long while. I don't want to wake up now. I could sleep for days, but something in my brain tells me I have to get up. I blink my eyes. It takes a few seconds to adjust to the blinding light streaming in through the windows. God damn, I live for overcast days. I groan as I sit up. As I wince in pain, the previous day's events wash over me.

My head is where the pain hurts the worst. I'm not sure why, but it's throbbing something fierce. Maybe it's Luna's incessant meowing. She wants her breakfast. I kind of want to put her in a bag and drown her. That feeling fades fast when I see her pathetic look. She looks about the same as I feel. I wish that my biggest problem was that someone was sleeping too long and didn't get me my breakfast. I pull myself out of bed, solely so that she'll shut up. My arm still hurts and I can't put much weight on my leg. It's a pain in my ass, but, hell, I feel better than I did yesterday. In just a few days, I'll be good as new. As I pull Luna's cat food from the cabinet, I remind myself how lucky I am that both bullets only hit flesh. If they had hit something else, something more vital, my career would've been finished, and what with someone trying to kill me and all, this would be a very inappropriate time for that to go down.

I rub my temples as I walk the short distance across the kitchen to pour Luna's food into her dish, and I look around the apartment. Megan is gone. There's a note taped to the back of the door. I hobble over to it and take it off with my bandaged hand.

Levi—

Had to leave, will be back to check up on you. Becky left some pills on the counter.

—Megan

I turn around and see the pill bottle on the countertop. I have a feeling I know what's in the bottle, even before I read the label. Vicodin. I don't know where she got it, but Becky's a lifesaver. Ten times over.

I glance back at the note in my hand as I down two painkillers. Megan's a great girl. First time in a while I've had a woman in my apartment that I didn't stay up all night with. Unless you count Quill. I sure as hell don't. I'm going to have to have Megan stay over again so I can rectify that. I make my way to the refrigerator. When I open it up, Luna comes running. She'd been following me around the apartment but got bored when I picked up the note. I bend down and scratch her behind the ears. She moves from whining to purring like a speedboat. I can't help but smile. God, I wish women were this easy to please.

“I hope you didn't use up any of your lives yesterday,” I tell her as I pour her dry food into her dish. “I may have to borrow a couple if things keep up like this.” She seems to smile appreciatively at me. I spoon her wet food on top of the dry stuff and she starts chowing down. I wish I was as good at the duck-and-cover as she is. As she gobbles down her food, I pick up her water dish, and as I'm filling it in the sink, I let my mind wander. It starts off thinking about Megan arching her back last night, and when I start thinking about her panties, my wandering thoughts are hijacked by the color green. My memory flashes another shade of green, a mint green, falling from above me, and I can vividly recall a shadowy blur appear and disappear before my eyes, remember having something tossed into the car over my eye as I was laying outside in a state somewhere between the land of the living and land of the dead. I set Luna's water down beside her food and look for my phone. I find it on my green chair alongside my wallet and my switchblade. I pick it up and look at the Frankenstein stitching on the vomit colored armchair.

“I know how you feel,” I say as I pop open the phone and punch in Jacks's number. I continue staring at the chair, comparing and contrasting the two of us, as I wait for Jacks to answer his phone.

“Whaddaya want?” Jacks salutation is as inviting as ever. Doesn't really matter. I'm not in the mood for small talk anyway, so I get right to the point.

“When you pulled me out of the car yesterday, I had something on my face.”

Jacks sounds bored. “Yeah. So?”

“Where is it?”

I can hear Jacks rummaging around. “I think it's in the pocket of the jeans I was wearing yesterday,” he informs me. “Hold on.” He sets the phone down. I wait patiently. There's not much else I can do at this point. Somewhere downstairs Jacks utters a grunt of success before he picks up the phone again. “Yeah, I got it. Want me to bring it up?”

“Yeah.” I don't wait for his response. I hang up the phone and walk back to the kitchen. I take two cups down from the cupboard and pour myself and Jacks a drink. Gotta start somewhere. Two minutes later, Jacks is banging on the door. I pull it open and he hands me an envelope. Mint green. I hand him a glass in return and he nods his gratitude. He leans in the doorway as I tear open the envelope and pull out the note.

Now it looks like you need my help as well. Friday, ten, Gold Note.

Again, there's no signature. I hold it out to Jacks. “Looks like I got a date.” I light up a cigarette as Jacks reads the note and turns it over in his hands. He looks just as puzzled as I feel. He hands the note back to me and checks his watch.

“Friday is two days away,” he points out. This must be why Jacks is a cop. His power of observation.

I nod. “I'm aware of that.”

“Are you gonna go?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “I'm curious.” I turn away from Jacks and make my way to my chair. I ease myself into it with a slight sigh. Jacks stares at me.

“Are you sure you're up for it?” he asks.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Considering the fact that you almost got killed yesterday, I thought maybe you might play it low key for a little while,” Jacks explains.

“You sound like my mother.” Jacks narrows his eyes at me. I raise my hands. “I don't have the time to play it low key. As you just pointed out, someone tried to off me yesterday. Twice.” I take a drag off the cigarette.

“Speaking of which, what are you gonna do about this place?” Jacks asks. I raise my eyebrows. He motions around the apartment.

“I was thinking of getting some hanging plants,” I tell him. “Maybe a nice end table or an armoire for the corner.”

Jacks shakes his head. “You know what I mean, smart-ass,” he says through gritted teeth. “I'm assuming, just as you are, that someone wants you stone cold. Where are you gonna hole up?”

I look Jacks straight in the eye. “I'm staying right here. I'm not leaving this place and going on the run. Those sons of bitches know where to find me. Bring the dirty bastards on.”

Jacks clenches his jaw. “You got a fucking death wish?”

I shrug. “No, I just don't plan on taking any more shit.” Jacks stands up straight in the doorway. What does he want me to do? Go on the lam? I've seen what happens to guys on the lam. They survive for a little while, maybe they survive for a long while, but in the end, they always get caught and when they do, they get what's coming to them. I'm not gonna be one of those guys. I can tell he wants to argue some more, but he knows it's pointless. He moves on to another line of questioning.

“Did you fuck her?” he asks.

“Who?”

“That broad that was here last night with you,” Jacks says. “Meg.”

“What makes you think she stayed over?” I ask. I intentionally avoid his question solely because I know it'll drive him absolutely insane.

“Because I saw her leaving this morning as I was coming in,” he explains. I nod and turn my attention back to the letter. I can feel his eyes burning a hole into me.

“Well?” he asks.

I put the letter down again and stare at him stupidly. “Well what?”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

Jacks sighs exasperatedly. “Did you two get it on?”

“No, Jacks, we didn't consummate our new relationship,” I tell him. “In case you've forgotten, I was pretty banged up and drugged up last night. It wasn't exactly in the cards.”

Jacks scoffs. “That's no excuse.”

“I'm pretty sure it is,” I tell him. “I could barely move without wincing.”

“If I were in your shoes, I would've hit it,” he tells me. I open my mouth to argue with him, but I realize that an argument would just be a waste of time at this point. I could tell him that he wouldn't have had sex with a woman if he had just been shot and beaten, but in all honesty, I would probably be wrong. Jacks has done a lot more with a lot less.

“That's good to know,” I respond. Jacks nods.

“I'm going back downstairs, call me if you need anything.” He starts to exit and then turns around. “You better get on top of that broad if you're gonna do it. Otherwise, you should spread the wealth . . . with your downstairs neighbor.” With that, he turns and walks away. I get up from the chair and close the door behind him. I hobble to the futon and sit down. I gotta get some rest before Friday. I can't go the ball looking like a mess. I light up another cigarette as I reach beneath the futon and pull out my .45. I put my feet on the coffee table and hold the gun in my hand.

It'll give me a chance to clean my collection. The way things have been going, I get the feeling I'm going to need the whole arsenal.