Hustle Page 17

  Bear said, “Right.”

  Donny leaned in from the backseat and said, “What do we do?”

  Bear kept his eyes on Geary Street and admitted, “I don’t know. We take a look-see at the place, I guess, then we go in an get him.”

  “Get who?” asked Rich.

  “The old man, who do you think?” Bear was realizing that this kid was pretty fucked up.

  After another block, Rich added, “And our phones.”

  “Yes, your goddamn phones. What the hell is so important ‘bout those phones, anyway?”

  “I already told you,” Rich said.

  “I know, I know, I know. You got your baby’s pictures on there. What else?”

  When Rich didn’t answer, Bear looked into the rearview at Donny. He wasn’t talking either. “I’m just sayin’, it seems like a lot of trouble you guys are going to trying to get back a couple of phones.”

  “We got our reasons,” Rich said with a defensive tone.

  “What about Thaxton, aren’t you guys worried about him? When I met you at his house Friday, you said you were his friends.”

  Donny said, “We are. We want to know that he’s okay.” Donny waited a moment for Rich to chime in, when Rich didn’t, he punched the back of his seat, “Don’t we?”

  “Yeah, yeah, of course we do,” Rich croaked. “We wanna know if the old fucker is okay. He’s been very good to me, to us.”

  Bear let that one go. After a few more blocks of silence he hit the radio and turned it up. They rode along the streets of the city, out Geary, up Franklin, and toward the Golden Gate Bridge. They each lit a cigarette and Bear cracked the windows for air.

  Big Rich seemed to be deep in thought, nodding off, or already asleep when he suddenly asked Bear, “How come you’re going to all this trouble? Seems, like, if that guy is your lawyer, you already have to pay him. What’s he to you? Why are you puttin’ your ass on the line?”

  The question was tinged with challenge. They were getting off on the wrong foot. Bear was thinking they needed to at least feel like they were on the same side. Besides, it was a long, winding drive up there; he may as well pass the time with a story. He reached out and turned the radio back down.

  “Gabriel Thaxton helped me out a long time ago. He’s been lawyerin’ for me and my buddies for years, seen us through a lot of scrapes, but there was one time he really pulled my ass out of the fire. I kinda feel like I owe him.”

  “What happened?” asked Donny from the back.

  “Years ago, I was at a party. Well, wasn’t really a party, just some guys gettin’ together to do some business, but we were partyin’. Doing blow, drinkin’, you know. This was up north, real isolated spot. I was into some shady shit in those days and it was like a safe-house situation.” Bear paused and shook his head at his own memory. “Anyway, I used to run with some ruffian types.”

  “You? Nah,” said Big Rich.

  Unfazed by the sarcasm, Bear said, “I know, hard to believe, huh? Like I said, this place we were at was way out in the boondocks. I had a chemist friend of mine cooking a little go-fast in the shack in back.”

  “Nice,” said Rich, his interest perking up.

  “This was the real deal, too. Not that ephedrine shit you guys are gettin’ nowadays. The old-school biker meth made with the red phosphorous. Anyway, this guy Ramirez was up there for another reason, supposedly. We had a little weed crop out back and he was there gettin’ a sample for his old lady. She was in that business. So,” Bear paused to flick his cigarette out the window, “we were there most of the day, drinkin’, doing lines and shit, and this guy Ramirez is getting’ kinda snakey. Everybody else is good and relaxed, enjoying the day, and this fucker’s getting’ shifty, going into rooms he ain’t invited into. Snoopy, y’know?”

  The boys, both paying attention now, nodded.

  “So it gets to be dark, I’m fuckin’ tore up. Drunk from the whiskey and beers and numb from the coke, I’m not noticing this guy is sneaking around, digging through stuff and casing the place. Finally, it’s getting late, me and a few of the boys are sittin’ out by the fire and I notice this guy, Ramirez, is trying to get into the shed in back.”

  “The lab,” said Rich.

  “Right,” said Bear, “where we been cooking this shit. The guy is trying to rob me right under my nose. I see the guy rootin’ around in there and I get up to say, What the fuck? None of my so-called brothers seem to be backin’ me up. So I go to this Ramirez and I tell him what’s what, that I want him gone, I don’t want him coming ‘round no more and so on. He don’t wanna hear what I have to say. We end up in a square-off and this fucker swings at me. At me, at my own place. So we tussle, man-style. We’re rolling around and trading blows and, still, nobody’s jumping in. After a minute or two of this shit the guy breaks free from me, gets up and pulls a fucking piece on me. Now, nobody’s steppin’ in for sure. The guy’s got a goddamn pistol pointed right at my chest and you know what he says?

  “He says, ‘We’re here for the shit, Bear. We’re takin’ it with or without your permission.’ My permission? You know what that means, right? Give us your stash or we’re gonna shoot you. Well, I know what kinda guys these are, and, more importantly, they know what kinda guy I am. They know that if they take my shit, I’m coming after them hot, so I know that I’m as good as fucked. They’re gonna bury me no matter what I say.”

  “So what’d you do?” asked Donny.

  “I’ll tell you what I did; I reached out and grabbed this fucker’s gun. Right by the goddamn barrel. I twisted it to one side and yanked it out of his hand and punched that piece of shit in the face. He went down, but not out. He got off the ground and came running at me. So, I shot him. Right in the fuckin’ chest. One shot. Dead.”

  The boys were quiet, listening to the old biker recount the tale.

  “Self-defense, right? Open and shut. Guy brings a gun onto my property and tries to kill me. Then, I look down in my hand and, holy shit, the fuckin’ pistol is mine. Fucker stole my gun when he was in the house. I just shot the guy with my own damn gun.”

  “It’s still self-defense, though, right?” asked Donny.

  “You’d think so. But it would have been cleaner if the gun was the other guy’s. Now it gets a little more complicated. I think I got witnesses to back up my story; they, one by one, turn and run. Turns out this Ramirez is more connected to the big club than I realize. He’s got a brother who’s flyin’ the colors of the big club, you know who I mean. And he’s also got some other connections that come to light.

  “To make matters worse, the cops get there, they see all the other shit, the lab, the weed, another firearm or two, they book me for all kinds of shit. The prosecutor says it’s murder during the commission of a felony and, bam, that’s it, fucking capital case. One minute, I’m having beers and warming my toes in front of the fire, the next I’m on my way to San Quentin, death row.”

  “Shit, that’s so fucked,” said Big Rich. “What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you what happened. Gabriel Thaxton of Thaxton, Spreckle, and White, that’s what happened. I’d dealt with him once before and the guy did me right. It wasn’t cheap, but he did good work. So, I got a hold of him and he came right down and seen me. Right away, he believed me. I was still cuffed in the holding cell, looking guilty as hell. I know that all lawyers are supposed to believe their clients, that’s their job, I get that. But this Thaxton, I could tell, really had my back, right from the start. He’s got good instincts, that’s why he is who he is. There was no talk of pleadin’ out, taking any kind of deal, giving up nothin’. You gotta understand the cards were stacked against me, really stacked. I thought I didn’t have a chance in hell to beat this shit, and ol’ Gabriel, he just kept sayin’, ‘Don’t worry, I believe you’ and ‘we’re going to get you out of here. Free and clear.’ He meant it and he did it.” Bear took his eyes off the road and looked at his passengers before adding, “I guess, in a way, you could say I owe him my life.”r />
  Donny sat back in his seat and thought about this. What it must mean to have a friend like that. Someone who you could count on. Someone to save you. Donny knew that Big Rich was his friend, his good friend, but he also knew it was the drugs that drove Rich. He knew that, if shit got bad enough, Rich would abandon him. He knew he had no one in his life that would save him. Donny was alone. He looked at the back of Bear’s head while the biker drove and felt a terrible sensation of sadness overcome him. It swept over his pain from the previous night, it swept over the drugs he’d saturated himself with to quell that pain.

  ***

  Gabriel was still in the kitchen when the front door opened. He could hear Terrence making the same welcome pleasantries as when he had arrived at the house. Dustin’s back blocked Gabriel’s view of the entrance. He stood facing the doorway, as curious as Gabriel.

  They heard the heavy front door shut and a moment later a short, squat woman entered the kitchen with a large box under one arm, and a fabric briefcase under the other. The case looked worn. It had a faded floral design and the zipper was broken along the top. The woman flopped it onto the kitchen counter and said, “Sorry I’m late.”

  She had muddy, dark red hair with a few strands of grey woven in. There were sparse, thin dreadlocks in between the natural curls. She looked tired and, for whatever reason, Gabriel thought, she looked like a heavy smoker. Perhaps it was only because she was feigning being out of breath.

  “Late?” said Dustin. “That’s an understatement. It’s fuckin’ Sunday.”

  The woman ignored Dustin and pushed the big box from under her arm up onto the counter beside the floral briefcase. To Terrence she said, “Terry, honey, do you know how hard it is to find a VCR in Marin County these days? I had to drive all the way over to the East Bay and find a Walmart to get one. When’s the last time you were on the Richmond/San Rafael Bridge? That thing terrifies me. What the hell do we need this thing for?”

  Terrence, still playing host, said, “Thank you, so much. Diligent effort, indeed.” He moved beside her and took her elbow lightly. “Miranda, I don’t believe you’ve met my associates. Miranda, this is Dustin. He’s one of the interested parties here today, and behind him there is the famous Mr. Gabriel Thaxton.”

  The woman merely nodded at Dustin, but at hearing Gabriel’s name lit up and put out a hand to shake his. “Mr. Gabriel, well, I’ve certainly heard of you. Quite a big shot ‘round these parts. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I’ve been a great admirer of your work.”

  Gabriel took the hand and noticed each finger was outfitted with a large gaudy ring. Turquoise, jade, big fake rubies. The rings pinched and hurt his own fingers when they shook hands.

  “And, of course, you know Raphael,” said Terrence.

  She smiled at Raphael like they had an inside joke and said, “Of course. Raff, sweetie, could you fix me a cup up tea? Anything herbal, I do not need any caffeine, not after the day I’ve had.”

  Raphael smiled and sang, “Si, Senorita.”

  Gabriel could smell her perfumed funk from where he stood. It was a stale blend of flowers and must. Her hair was clumped and uncombed and the dark clothes that hung loosely on her tiny frame were covered with cat hair.

  “And, if you could, put in a dollop of that organic honey. I read an article last week about the store-bought stuff, and I swear, I’m never going to use it again. I’m thinking of getting my own hive. Y’know, do my thing for the pollinators of this world. They’re in decline, y’know. It’s all over the Internet. They need all the help they can get.”

  Dustin stood behind the short woman, feeling ignored, rolling his eyes. “Can we get this thing started?”

  Terrence said, “Dustin, there’s a TV in the second guest bedroom upstairs. Why don’t you go set up the VCR and I’ll help Miranda get settled in. Gabriel, would you like a cup of tea?”

  Gabriel shook his head while he watched Dustin grab the box with the VCR and run up the stairs two at a time.

  “Mimosa, coffee, water, anything?”

  “No, thank you,” Gabriel said, but Raphael poured him a coffee anyway. He looked again at the woman. He wondered if this was indeed the person they had been waiting on, what role she could possibly play in whatever they had planned. She was almost a caricature. An aging hippie, right down to her overpriced Birkenstocks. A thought flashed through Gabriel’s mind that she might be a witch, one of those Wiccan, earth-goddess types, but the papers peeking out from that floral valise were not spells. They looked like files, legal papers stuffed into manila folders.

  “Raphael, is that one of your frittatas I smell?” She smiled and Gabriel saw that her teeth were yellow and stained.

  “Still warm,” said Raphael, proud that she noticed, “You like me to fix you a plate?”

  “What kind of eggs? I hope not those cruel little Safeway ones. I will not eat those little tortured orbs. I can’t stand to think where they came from.”

  “Organic, free-range, of course. We only buy organic,” Raphael lied. “Parmesan, fresh spinach, ham, a little parsley …”

  “Ham? Oh no, I couldn’t. You know I don’t eat meat. Good Lord, neither should you two. Don’t you know that meat ages you? Your body works so hard to beak it down that it deprives itself of other vital needs. It has to absorb all those antibiotics and hormones. It sits in your stomach for weeks, months even. It’s an abuse to the human body. Not to mention what the poor pig went through. I gave up pork when I was still a teen. I think one slice of bacon might kill me now.”

  “Okay, suit yourself,” said Raphael, trying not to sound as disappointed as he looked. The frittata sat unsliced on the kitchen counter.

  “Now,” said Miranda, “before we get started, I just want to do a little clarification about what forms we’re going to be using and which ones need to get recorded.”

  Terrence interrupted her. “Miranda, please, you just got here. Let’s have our tea, relax a few minutes before we get started.”

  “Relax? I thought you said I was late. Your little friend there is acting like he’s about to miss the last bus to happy-town. I thought you all were in a hurry to get this thing done.”

  Before Gabriel could inquire as to what that thing was, Terrence said with his rich and silvery tone, “Please, you’re here now. That’s all that matters. Let us just enjoy the morning and then we’ll get down to business.”

  Gabriel looked at the clock. It was well past one o’clock. They’d slept through the morning and he was beginning to wish he’d stayed in bed.

  They arranged themselves on opposite sides of the kitchen counter. They sat, perched on the tall chairs, Gabriel and Raphael on one side and Miranda and Terrence on the other. Gabriel sipped at his two drinks in front of him—first the coffee, then the Mimosa—knowing the combination would probably upset his stomach, and tried to follow the conversation. The chat turned, as Gabriel guessed it almost always did with this Miranda, to politics. He was uninterested, though, in the small talk. He was thinking of what fate his hosts had planned for him.

  Miranda argued the side of the far left—big surprise—and Terrence took the side of the moderate left. Raphael sat silent with nothing to add and, at one point, even put a hand on Gabriel’s knee. After a few more minutes of the mindless banter, Dustin came down the stairs from the guest room and called to Gabriel.

  “Hey, Gabriel, it’s time.”

  The political talk stopped instantly. The other three at the counter looked at Gabriel as if they were on pause, soundlessly excusing him before they continued.

  Dustin’s serious tone was ominous and suddenly Gabriel felt like he didn’t want to leave the kitchen conversation so soon. He started to feel like maybe a slice of Raphael’s frittata sounded quite tasty, perhaps another Mimosa was in order.

  Dustin, this time with his teeth clenched, said, “Let’s go, Gabe, I ain’t got all day.”

  Gabriel, not wanting Dustin’s anger to flare, hopped off the tall stool and, securing his rob
e, padded after him in his borrowed slippers. He followed him up the stairs and down the hall to the empty guest bedroom. Inside, the curtains were closed and it was dark. The only light came from a TV that sat playing the infinite static of no signal.

  Chapter 18

  After they’d crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, both the boys had fallen asleep. Bear drove Highway One in silence, preferring to concentrate on what lay ahead of him instead of distracting himself with his usual classic rock. The road began to wind as they got further into Marin County. Bear started taking the curves and corners faster than he needed to. He enjoyed hearing Rich’s oblivious head bounce against the window with its dead little thump. He checked the rearview. In the backseat, Donny sat with his head straight back on the seat, his jaw hanging, a light snore whistling out of his nose.

  When the road straightened and they reached the town of Stinson Beach, Bear pulled off the highway into a gas station. He drove around the back of the building and positioned the car beside a dumpster. He cut the engine and the sudden disappearance of its steady vibration woke the two boys up.

  “Where are we?” croaked Rich.

  “Stinson Beach.”

  “It stinks.”

  “That’s the dumpster.”

  “It stinks like rotten fish,” said Donny from the back.

  “Oh,” said Bear, “then that would be the ocean. I mean, it is called Stinson Beach. Must be low-tide.”

  Bear got out of the car and walked around to the trunk and unlocked it. He took the blanket from the wheel-well and looked at his weapon cache. First, he took his hunting knife and stuck it back into his right boot; then, checking that the safety on the Walther .380 was on, he stuck the gun between his belt and the small of his back. He took two clips and placed them into his jacket pockets, one on each side. He felt weighed down now, encumbered with metal. He picked up the .38, wondering where to put it, and decided it was fine to stick under the driver’s seat. He returned to the car with the revolver in his hand and settled in behind the wheel.