Hustle Read online

  “Roll down your window. I’m fuckin’ boiling,” said Dustin. Terrence rolled it down. Dustin pulled off onto one of the abandoned fire roads.

  “What are you doing?” asked Terrence.

  Dustin slowed to a stop when the gravel road degraded into a two-track trail.

  “This fuckin’ gun is pokin’ me right in the back.” Dustin pulled the Glock from where it was wedged behind the small of his back. He pointed it at Terrence’s head and pulled the trigger.

  Dry click. No bullets.

  “You piece of shit,” said Terrence before Dustin clocked him in the temple with the butt of the Glock. Dustin hit him three more times and dropped the empty gun so he could use both hands on his throat.

  Terrence fought back the best he could, but Dustin gripped and squeezed, digging his thumbs in to crush his windpipe. Terrence lost consciousness.

  Dustin got out of the car, went around to the passenger side, and opened the door. Terrence’s body fell out easily. Dustin dragged him a few feet from the car and climbed on top of him. He twisted Terrence’s head around using all his strength, waited till he heard a crack, making sure he was dead.

  He dragged Terrence’s corpse back into the trees until the brush got too thick and he couldn’t pull him any farther. It was hard tugging that dead weight and Dustin was winded and sweating. Finally he let go and let the body drop. He twisted the head back around from its unnatural position and listened at the mouth carefully to make sure there was no breath. Then he walked back to the car, got in, fired the engine, and backed out of the trail.

  Before he hit the pavement though, Dustin reached into his jean-jacket and pulled his glass pipe from his pocket. “Thank God,” he said when he saw it still intact. He found his lighter, held the flame under the bowl and took a long, slow pull. He watched the yellow smoke curl in the bulb at the end and sucked it in. He then tilted the rearview down and watched as the thin smoke, now gray, exited his lungs. “This is gonna work,” he told his reflection.

  ***

  “Wait,” said Gabriel. They were at the top of the stairs. Bear was holding his left elbow and Donny was holding his right.

  “What? What is it?” said Bear.

  “I’ve forgotten something,” Gabriel said, “I’ll be right back.” He turned and went into the first bedroom on the right and shut the door.

  Bear and Donny stood looking at each other while they listened to the sounds of Gabriel rummaging through the empty room. They heard him saying, Damn it, and, Lord God. Bear waited another thirty seconds before opening the door.

  “Gabriel, let’s go. There’s no time to fuck around. We wanna get outta here.”

  “Just a minute,” said Gabriel He rummaged through the dressers. He pulled open each drawer and slammed it shut. Then, he did it again.

  “What the hell are you lookin’ for?”

  “He’s got it. He took it with him,” Gabriel said to himself.

  “Took what with him?” asked Donny.

  Gabriel looked at Donny with a crooked little smile. He looked wounded and absolutely distracted. “Let’s just go,” he said.

  When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Bear let go of Gabriel’s elbow and grabbed the unfinished Mimosa from the kitchen counter where he had found his cell phone. He gulped and looked at it, trying to remember if there was anything else in the house he’d touched. He took another slug and decided to take the glass with him.

  The front door was still open and as soon as they stepped through it they could see Big Rich splayed out in the driveway. Donny let go of Gabriel’s elbow now and ran toward his friend. It looked as though Dustin and Terrence had run over Rich’s legs in their hurry to escape. Rich lay twisted in the dirt, blue skin, blue lips, and a red, wet chest. Donny got down and leaned in close. He listened for breath, heard nothing, then put his head against Rich’s chest hoping to hear a beat. Nothing. Donny sat up—Rich’s blood covering the side of his face—and shook his head.

  Big Rich was dead.

  “Don’t look at him, kid. If he’s dead, he’s dead. You can’t do nothin’ for him. Help me get Thaxton into the car.”

  The three hurried down the driveway toward the spot where Bear had hidden the car. Gabriel tried to keep up but was hobbling with an exhausted gait. Bear took him again by the elbow and rushed him along till they reached his Toyota.

  Bear handed off Thaxton to the boy and Donny helped get him into the passenger seat. Before he got in, Gabriel turned his eyes back toward the house where his young friend lay dead in the gravel. He mumbled something about it being “all his fault.” Donny pushed him into the seat and strapped him in.

  Before they left, Bear pulled back up to the house, hopped out, and went around back to check on the other guy with the shoulder wound. He knew that Dustin and Terrence didn’t have enough time to go back and fetch him. He half expected the guy to be gone, or be waiting for him, ready to fight. He wasn’t. The guy was face down, dead on the lawn. He’d crawled halfway to the deck stairs and bled out. The grass around him was sticky and red. Bear nudged him with his boot. The guy was meat, heavy and lifeless. Bear headed back around to the car in front.

  Chapter 21

  Bear climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car. He looked over at his passengers. Both Donny in the back and Gabriel beside him were deep in throes, silent, mourning the loss of their friend. Each had their head against the window and were lost in thought.

  Bear broke the silence. “So, what’s it gonna be Thaxton? The hospital first? We can call the police from there.”

  “No,” said Gabriel, still staring out the window, “No police. Not now. I want to call Beatrice.”

  “Bean? What for?”

  “There are some documents I’ve stored at her apartment; I want her to bring them to me. I’ll call and we can meet her in the city.”

  Bear thought the old man might be in shock. “Are you nuts? We can’t leave a scene like this without calling the cops. They’ll end up charging us with somethin’.”

  Gabriel turned his head toward Bear. He cleared his throat. “Bear, we have to. I have another deed to the house in Beatrice’s possession, signed, notarized, and ready to go. I can transfer the possession of my home to her. If we can record that deed before Dustin records his, he won’t be able to get the house.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? What deed?”

  “That’s what the boy was doing. He had me up here to sign over my house to him.”

  “Listen, Gabe, none of that matters now. The kid fucked himself. There are bodies all over the place. We need to get to the cops and stop that little fuck before he gets too far.”

  “He’s not going far. I know him. He’s going to the San Francisco County Recorder’s office. He’ll be up all night waiting for them to open.”

  “No, I can’t do this. We have to go to the cops. If that’s what he’s doing, then let the cops pick him up there. No way can the deed be good if he pulled this kinda shit to get it signed, right?”

  Gabriel only said, “No police.”

  “Thaxton, think about what you’re sayin’. You gonna tell me that it’s okay to leave a crime scene as fucked up as this? You probably got fingerprints all over the house. They’re gonna come after you when they find the bodies.”

  “I don’t think so. I heard Terrence tell Dustin that they already had a clean-up crew ready. That’s what they said. They were going to clean the house, wipe it down, hide the victims. They’ve allowed for this, planned for it. I don’t want the police involved. I’ll worry about Dustin after we’ve recorded the other deed.”

  Bear gripped the steering wheel and pushed himself back into the seat. He let the car sit and idle while he thought about what to do. Finally he said, “Gabriel, what the fuck does that kid have on you? Why aren’t you doing the right thing here?”

  Gabriel ignored the question, “Let’s just call Beatrice and have her meet us at my office.”

  “No,” said Bear, “I
ain’t movin’ till you tell me what the fuck is goin’ on.”

  Bear listened to the short, frustrated breath that shot in and out of the old lawyer’s nose. Gabriel was wrestling with the truth, his conscience, and the result was audible.

  “Fine. Dustin has a tape, an old VCR tape. I think he has it with him. I need the tape back. Then we can let the chips fall where they may. But first, I need to have that tape.”

  “What’s on the tape, Gabe?”

  “Something that could ruin me—destroy everything I’ve built.”

  “What’s on the tape?” Bear repeated.

  “It could even land me in prison.”

  “Fuck, Gabriel, where do you think the shit here at this house is gonna land you? Leaving the scene, tampering, I don’t even know what. You got to get your head straight, man. This Dustin is a goddamned psychopath; he needs to be put away for good.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Bear, but I’m the attorney here. I’m the one qualified to hypothesize about the risks and results.” Gabriel was regaining some of his eloquence. “I’m grateful for your attempt to rescue me, but I have to examine the situation for all its potential. There are consequences greater than you can calculate.”

  “Attempt? Yeah, you’re fuckin’ welcome.” Bear reached into his jacket for a smoke, lit it, and said, “Bullshit. Total bullshit.”

  “Terrence said that the clean-up crew was on their way. I don’t want to be around when they get here.”

  “That also sounds like total bullshit. You need to clue me in, Thaxton, or this is gonna be one short fuckin’ ride.”

  Bear threw the Toyota into drive and the tires gave an abrupt squeal as he peeled out of the driveway.

  “Donny,” he said. The boy was near catatonic, staring out the window. “Put your seatbelt on. God forbid we break any laws.”

  They were winding down the asphalt road as fast as it would carry them. Each of their minds focused far ahead of the car, to the city, where their fates would thrust them into another confrontation—if not prison. Bear gripped the steering wheel so tight the tips of his knuckles appeared white. Gabriel kept his eyes straight ahead and both hands placed flatly on each knee. The gears of his mind churned away while he calculated possible outcomes of the day’s events. He tried to conjure ways to do damage control. Beads of sweat grew on his upper lip as he thought.

  Only Donny in the backseat was pulled back into the moment. The sadness and shock of seeing his friend blown away was quickly being quelled by the immediacy of his withdrawals. Nothing kept you in the moment quite like dope-sickness. He was cold and felt goose bumps rising on his skin. His stomach began to churn. After a fit of sneezes he leaned forward and said, “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

  “Hang in there, kid. We’ll be back to civilization soon.”

  A few more turns. The fading sunlight through the tall trees cast shadows across the windshield that appeared to Donny as a strobe-light, making him nauseated. The lack of sleep combined with the events of the day was making the sickness come on faster than usual.

  He leaned in between the front seats again. “I really gotta go.”

  “I’ll pull over,” said Bear. “You can piss on a tree.”

  “No, I need a bathroom. I gotta shit.”

  “You got to be kiddin’. After all this?”

  “I got to go,” repeated Donny.

  “The closest place I can think of is the shitter at that gas station we stopped at on the way up. Can you hold on that long? Pinch it up, man.”

  Donny flopped back into the rear. He began feeling his jacket pockets to make sure he had all his gear intact. Spoon, lighter, rig—there were two of them, good—and the dope, two small balloons tucked into the change pocket of his jeans. He didn’t think to grab Rich’s dope before they left. Stupid. He decided he’d shoot a whole balloon when he got to the gas station. He deserved it, he needed it. Even thinking about getting well, the dope in his pocket had a way of making the sickness recede. He was feeling better already, he just had to wait.

  He rocked back and forth a little in his seat until he saw Bear watching him in the rearview. He stopped moving. Letting his nervous hands fall to his sides, he touched the two cell phones on the seat beside him. Their importance seemed ridiculous to him now. He hated looking at them. He didn’t care about the plan, the movie, he only wanted to get high and figure a way to get out of this car, away from this day, the memory of it. He’d rather be back on the corner than in the situation he was right now.

  They eventually reached the main road and took a left on Highway One toward the city. The gas station was only a few more miles. Donny got ready.

  Before they’d even come to a complete stop Donny’s door was open. Bear coasted the car into the same spot as before, behind the dumpster and out of sight.

  Donny said, “Be right back.”

  Neither Bear nor Gabriel answered.

  Bear waited until the boy had shut the restroom door before telling Gabriel, “Alright, Thaxton, out with it. What the fuck is on that tape? I’m not driving another inch until you tell me what’s really going on. I wanna know why a man like you—a lawyer, a so-called officer of the court—would defy common sense, would break the fucking law—like we are—risk everything and put yourself, and me, further into the jackpot. What are you doing? What are we doing?”

  “Bear, I’m sorry, but …”

  Bear watched as the old lawyer tried to gain composure, to act like he had any credibility.

  “But you just need to trust me on this. It’s going to be okay.”

  “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “I know it sounds terrible, but, as your attorney, I assure you that your actions in helping me can be explained later. If you act on my advice, I can promise you that you will not jeopardize your freedom.”

  “What happens when it comes out? And it will. You think what happened back there will just go away?”

  “No, but I’m advising you that we have no choice, this is the only way we can hope to bring this murderous villain to justice. It is imperative that we meet him before he slips away.”

  “What makes you think he hasn’t slipped away already? You know what’s coming out of your mouth is bullshit. Anyone can understand that. The world is gonna wanna know why we didn’t go to the cops right away. I want to know, goddamn it. You need to tell me why the fuck I would follow you down this hole, Gabe. You need to spill, before I go any further. Otherwise you can just get the fuck out and me and the kid will drive to the nearest police station and deal with what comes.”

  Gabriel gripped his knees.

  “I mean it. Start talkin’ or start walkin’.”

  Gabriel sighed and glanced over at the closed restroom door.

  “Bear,” he said, his voice quiet now, “how much do you know about Mr. Dustin Walczak and his history?”

  “I know what I dug up on the Internet. I know about the killings, three of them. I know that you’re the one that sprung him.”

  “Yes, it was me who won his reversal. No small task either. It took years and some manipulation of the original evidence to secure his freedom.”

  “You tampered?”

  “Well, that’s one way of putting it.”

  Bear was astonished. He’d known Gabriel to be a man of the law, a wizard at bending it, but never breaking it. In all his experience with Thaxton, Spreckle, and White, never had the idea of doing something as outrageous as tampering ever even been broached.

  “Why? Why for him?”

  Gabriel’s eyes finally met Bear’s. “The tape. He’s always had it. I’ve known it and I’ve gone to great lengths to keep it hidden. The tape would be the end of me, I’d be ruined. My career, my family, even my freedom.”

  Bear had known Gabriel long enough to think there was nothing he couldn’t quash with his legal talents. He found it hard to believe that there could be something so threatening that would break a man like this.

  “What’s on it?’

>   “You know, there was a thread connecting those murders Dustin committed. A thread we kept hidden from discovery, hidden from the prosecution.” Gabriel paused now to see if Bear was following where this was heading. “That thread was me.”

  “You? How? What do you mean?”

  “I knew all three of those men. I didn’t know them well, but they were acquaintances. We were part of a social circle. I guess that’s what you’d call it. We saw each other at parties and other select events. We were a group of men who kept our secret lives obscured from our families. We were homosexuals, yes, but we were also family men—successful family men—who felt it was our duty to protect our loved ones from the truth. Every one of us felt that our success would be threatened if the truth about our sexuality came out. It sounds silly, I know, what with the way society views these things today, but, when you’re on the other side of the fence, it can be quite intimidating, I assure you.

  “This was during the late nineties; the dot-com boom was still in full swing. Many of our group had gone from being wealthy to super-wealthy. With our increasing fortunes, the importance of keeping our secret grew.”

  “So you knew ‘em. So what? What does that make for, a conflict of interest?”

  “There’s more to it than that. These parties we threw, they often, well not often, always had a sexual theme. They were designed as a sort of safe outlet for our more decadent desires. We would have entertainment provided, and the entertainment was usually younger men. The parties would be held at one of the member’s households when his family was out of town. The young men were to be provided by another member.” Gabriel cleared his throat and went on, “One such party took place at the home of Ronald Gower. You probably remember his name from the articles, he was victim number two. That night at Gower’s home, I was to be the one providing the entertainment. I’d done so before, but this time I’d thought of bringing an old friend of mine, someone new to that circle, a young man who’d just been released from prison. You see, years before I’d started up an improper relationship with a client. A foolish indiscretion, I know, but I’d always been attracted to what we used to call rough trade.”