Hustle Page 7
“I’m afraid,” said Donny, “that some of these things, these tricks, ain’t never gonna leave my head. I’ll have a girlfriend, be far away from here, from the city, have a job, all the shit a normal person has, and …”
“And what?”
“And it’ll still be there, stuck in my head. The cocks, the ass-fucking, the faces, the smells, goddamn it.” He turned his head away from Rich, “The weird shit.”
“You mean, you’re afraid you’re gonna miss it? Well, don’t worry, Donny. You can always come back down here and get off with some of the freaks. They ain’t going nowhere.”
Rich was trying to be funny, but Donny was serious. He got it, whistle in the dark, sure, but he knew he was scarring his own psyche. He’d never be able to get that normal life. Who was he kidding? You don’t come back from this.
Rich interrupted his thoughts, “How far are we?”
They’d reached the top of the hill now. The fog had cleared there and they were above it, standing in the moist air with the crisp black sky above them.
“I dunno, six, eight blocks maybe.”
Rich dropped his cigarette butt on the sidewalk and stepped on it. “Well, stop feeling sorry for yourself. You think you’re the only one who wants to stop sucking dicks? Fuck, man, I got a kid. I got a girl up in Oregon who still loves me, thinks I’m coming home to her.” Big Rich stopped and look down the hill. The lights inside the houses of the comfortably rich residents of the Marina glowed warm, soft, and smudged by the mist. Beyond that, the Bay lie dark and quiet somewhere out there under a blanket of fog. “It’s time to toughen up. This is our chance to get off that fucking corner. C’mon.”
Chapter 8
Bear climbed into the front seat of his Toyota feeling cramped in the little car. He started the engine and turned on the radio, flipping from station to station while the Toyota warmed up. When he found a song he liked, he put the car in drive and pulled away from his house.
The Golden Gate Bridge was wrapped in fog. He couldn’t see more than fifty yards ahead. He took it easy, keeping an eye in the rearview for police; they loved to stop speeders on the bridge. Bear paid his six-dollar toll and sped up into The City. He wondered if he should try Thaxton again. He wiggled his cell out of the inside of his jacket and scrolled down to Thaxton’s name. The phone rang and rang.
He was just hitting the curve onto Lombard Street when he saw the red and blue lights behind him. S.F.P.D.
“Shit.”
He found a place to pull over as the cop put on his blinding white searchlight. Bear watched the officer get out of the car slowly and deliberately. The cop was young, white, and all business. Bear hated the dicks who worked the Marina District. They were all assholes.
“Asshole,” he said under his breath.
The cop tapped on the window and Bear rolled it down and smiled.
“License and registration, please.”
Bear began to fish the registration out of the glove box. It was stuffed like a trash can. Receipts, napkins, and old parking tickets fell onto the floor.
“Let’s start with just the license, okay?” The cop acted annoyed and impatient while he waited for Bear to wiggle the wallet out from under his considerable girth. “Take the license out of the wallet, please.”
Bear did and handed it to him.
The cop looked at the picture on the license, then at Bear, then back at the license, then again at Bear. “Mr. Mayfield, do you know why I pulled you over this evening?”
“I don’t think I could have been speeding.”
“Mr. Mayfield, is this your current address?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t talk on the cell phone while you’re behind the wheel.”
“Well, I actually wasn’t talking.”
The cop leaned into the window of the car. “I’d like to settle that. May I see your cell phone, sir?”
“My cell phone? What for?”
“Mr. Mayfield, have you been drinking?”
Bear handed the cell phone over. The cop smiled and hit the phone button.
“Ten-forty-seven. Outgoing call to … Gabriel Thaxton. Mr. Mayfield, it’s presently Ten-fifty, are you going to try to …” The cop stopped and wrinkled his nose. “Gabriel Thaxton? The Gabriel Thaxton? The attorney?”
Bear hesitated for a moment before answering. He wasn’t sure which way this was going to go. “Yeah. The one and only.”
“What are you doing calling Gabriel Thaxton at eleven o’clock at night?”
“It was only ten-forty-seven.”
“Step out of the car, sir.”
Bear did. The cop pointed to the space between the cruiser and Bear’s Toyota and said, “Wait right here,” and started walking back to the cop car.
Bear said, “Officer?”
The cop turned.
“My phone?”
The cop handed back the cell, kept the driver’s license, and turned back toward the car to run Bear for priors. Bear stood and waited. With the white spotlight blinding him, he couldn’t even make out if the cop’s partner in the passenger seat was a male or a female. Probably couldn’t tell if the other cop was right in front of him either, thought Bear.
Bear stood there waiting. He checked the time on his phone. Ten-fifty-nine. He kept waiting. Eleven-oh-six. Taking their sweet time. Bear readied himself for a sobriety test, a vehicle search, and questioning, maybe even an arrest. The cop climbed back out of the cruiser and walked up to Bear. He handed Bear back his license.
“Just for the record,” said the cop. “I think your friend is a piece of shit.”
The cop spun on his heel and walked back to his car and climbed in. They pulled out into traffic, making a little squeak with their tires, leaving Bear standing behind his car on Lombard Street.
“Thank you, officer,” said Bear to himself.
***
“You remember which house it is?”
“Fuck, yeah. It’s the fucking castle,” said Big Rich. “Now, where is it?”
“What street is this? Jackson? It’s still a block down. I texted you the address, remember?”
“I don’t need it, I remember the place. How could I forget it?”
“You think he’s gonna flip out, us showing up like this?”
“Who cares? He should answer his phone.”
“What if his wife answers the door?”Donny asked.
“Then we ask for Mr. Thaxton. Way I see it, if she’s there, it’ll make him that much more anxious to make a deal.”
“What if she won’t get him, tells us to fuck off?”
“She won’t answer the door. She’ll probably be on her fat ass watching cooking shows. Probably be like, ‘Gabe! Get the goddamn door!’”
“How do you know she’s fat, did he tell you?”
“Donny, fuck, what’s with all the questions? You scared? You can’t look scared. We need to make him believe this shit.”
“I just wanna be ready.”
“We are ready. We got the movie to show him. That’s it. That’s all we need. Now, c’mon, let’s go.”
Donny followed his friend down the sidewalk from Jackson to Pacific Street. They both saw the big looming dark stone house ahead of them. Backlit by the light of the city, it was only a shadow.
The boys walked the rest of the block without speaking, each concealing their fear. When they reached the cobblestone drive, Donny walked softly, almost tiptoeing, trying not to make a sound. They walked around the Bentley and up toward the entrance.
“Shit, we’re not breakin’ in. Stop being such a chicken-shit, c’mon.”
Big Rich reached the front door first. He looked at the huge iron door-knocker, not sure how to use it.
Donny said, “That’s just for show. Ring the bell, there.”
“I know, I know,” said Rich, reaching out and pressing the small glowing buzzer. A grand chime sounded inside. They waited. Nothing, not a sound.
“You think he’s home?” asked Donny.
The door finally opened. There stood Dustin, shirtless, in jeans, and holding a .45 automatic. A big, black Glock .45. It was pointed at Big Rich’s face.
Dustin said, “Who the fuck are you?”
Big Rich was startled, but not too startled to say, “Who the fuck are you?” right back.
Dustin reached out with the .45 and poked Rich square in the eye. “Get in here.”
Chapter 9
Bear circled the block looking for a place to park. He needed somewhere close in case he had to run out of there, or bring Dustin with him. Each time he went past Thaxton’s place he checked to see if there were lights on. There were none, but the old man’s car was still in the driveway. He hoped that Gabriel wasn’t in there. He’d told him in no uncertain terms that he should be gone by eleven o’clock. Why was his car still in the driveway?
On his fourth tour of the block, he found a spot just up the hill toward Jackson Street; a tough little hike for a man of his size and age if he needed to get out of there in a hurry. He loaded up his pockets with the tools he brought. The stun-gun, the rubber gloves, extra cigarettes. His plan was to go in tough, scare the kid. He decided to leave his leather gloves. It was a bit of overkill since he already had the surgical ones. Besides, they were practically new and he didn’t want to ruin them with Dustin’s blood. As an afterthought, he climbed out and opened up his trunk and took a sheathed six-inch Buck knife and tucked it into his right boot.
He started down the hill to Gabriel’s mansion. He tried to remember the last time he was here. It was for a luncheon, a sort of victory party after an acquittal five—no, maybe seven—years ago. He was pretty well smashed and didn’t remember much about the place other than it was too big for the old man and his wife. He remembered he had some friends there, guys from the local club. He recalled doing blow in an upstairs bathroom with some paralegal who Thaxton had since fired. And he seemed to recall being ushered out the door early by Thaxton himself. That was probably the last victory celebration the old man had at home—with his clients anyway.
Bear was on the level sidewalk across the street from the place now, looking, listening, trying to see if there were any signs of life. There were none, not at Thaxton’s place, and not at the neighbor’s either. The whole block was silent. Bear shook a Camel loose from his pack, lit it, and waited.
***
“Sit down, both of you, right there.” Dustin stood in front of them with the gun still in his hand. Rich and Donny sat down on a long, brown leather couch. The room was dim, the only light spilling over from the kitchen. They sat in silence while Dustin looked them over. It gave them a chance, too, to see who their captor was.
Dustin stood in front of them, bare-chested, his eagle swastika tattoo standing out boldly on his pale skin. He was ugly, his face tight, his upper lip screwed into a sneer that made him appear as though he were sniffing something foul. Thirty more seconds crawled by before he said, “Just answer me one thing. Who are you and what the fuck are you doing here?”
Donny and Rich looked at each other.
“That’s two things,” said Big Rich.
Dustin’s eyes lit up with a glare, “Who the fuck are you?”
“We’re here to see Gabriel,” said Rich
“We’re here to see Gabriel,” Dustin repeated in a high sing-song tone. There was another moment of silence before he did it again. “We’re here to see Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.”
The boys looked at each other again.
“That’s not what I asked. The question was, who are you? What’re your names?”
The boys didn’t say anything.
“Okay, I’m just gonna call you two Dumbfuck and Shithole. How’s that? Dumbfuck,” he said to Donny, “you got a wallet? A cell phone?”
Donny shook his head.
Dustin walked over and stuck his gun into Donny’s left eye and pushed. Donny felt the steel pressing against his eyeball, beginning to dislodge it. Dustin said, “Get up.” Donny got up. Dustin tugged the boy’s jacket by the shoulder, spun him around, and took the wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He dropped it on the coffee table in front of him.
“Now you, Shithole,” he said to Big Rich.
Rich pulled his wallet out without getting up and tossed it beside Donny’s.
Rich said, “Maybe we should be asking who you are?”
“Who I am?” Dustin’s voice picked up a notch, “Who I am? I’m the Grand Emperor of Doom, that’s who I am. I’m the goddamn Ambassador of Pain, that’s who I am. What the fuck are two little shits like you doing breaking into my house?”
Donny spoke up, “We weren’t breaking in, we rang the bell.”
“No, little man, you were breaking in. And that’s how the cops’ll see when they find you dead on the fucking floor.” Dustin sneered and showed his teeth. They appeared to be bluish grey, rotting points.
“We rang the bell; we only came to visit our friend.”
“Your friend?” Dustin’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Your friend, huh? What would an old man like him be doing with friends like you?” Dustin stepped close to Donny again, pointing the gun directly in his face. Donny could smell him, his funk. He could see his shiny skin, blotchy and picked over. He stared straight ahead at the swastika on Dustin’s chest.
“You guys have all the answers, huh? A couple of …” Dustin searched for the word, “… chatterboxes. That’s what you are. Stopping by for a social visit? At eleven o’clock at night?”
Big Rich changed his approach. “We’re clients.”
“Clients? You’re clients of Gabriel Thaxton? What the fuck do you pay him with … bubblegum? Blowjobs? You’re fucking liars is what you are. Candy-ass liars.” Dustin was working himself up, getting angry. “Where are your cell phones?”
Big Rich didn’t want to give up his cell. It was the whole game, and the game wasn’t over. “Where is Mr. Thaxton?”
“I told you little shits, this is my house. There is no Gabriel Thaxton here. Now give me your cells.” He reached over and poked Rich in the forehead hard with the barrel of the gun. It left a red circle like a third eye. “Now.”
Reluctantly, the boys pulled their cell phones from their jackets and placed them on the coffee table with their wallets. Dustin nodded, looking at the cells, wondering what to do next.
“We know he’s here, his car’s outside,” said Big Rich.
“You don’t know anything …” Dustin tried to remember what name he called Rich. “… Shithole. If you knew anything you wouldn’t be here with my gun in your face. You don’t know shit.”
“You gonna call the cops?” asked Donny.
“Shut up,” was the only response he got. Dustin was thinking.
Rich spoke to Donny, “If he was gonna call the cops, he woulda done it by now.”
Dustin ignored the comment and said, “Don’t fucking move. Either of you move and I’ll shoot you dead. I fucking mean it.” He racked the gun and the bullet that was already in the chamber spat out onto the floor. Dustin looked down at the cartridge, “I just wanted you to know that I’m ready for you, peckerwood. Stay right there where you’re sitting and don’t move a muscle.”
Dustin went into the kitchen and started rummaging around for something. The boys could hear him violently pulling out drawers. The drawers fell to the floor and their contents crashed loudly on the marble-tiled floor.
Big Rich whispered to Donny, “This guy is fuckin’ gacked.”
“I know, I can tell,” said Donny quietly, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the doorway of the kitchen.
“You think we can take him?”
“Fuck, no. He’s a fucking nut.”
Rich looked at his cell phone on the table in front of him. He wanted to grab it and run. “You think he’s got Gabriel?”
“I don’t fucking know,” said Donny. He wanted
his friend to shut up. He wanted the chance to get out of this house alive.
“Let’s break for it,” said Rich.
“No way, he’ll shoot us. We’ll never make it.”
Dustin’s voice cried out from the kitchen, “Shut the fuck up out there.” There was another loud crash of utensils hitting the floor.
“Ready?” said Rich, and without anymore warning, he grabbed his wallet and his cell phone and sprinted toward the door. Donny had no choice but to follow suit. He, too, grabbed his stuff from the coffee table and moved as quickly as he could behind his friend, knowing it would be his own back Dustin’s gun would be targeting.
Bear was in the driveway now, he was sure that he’d heard something, but the lights were still off. It seemed like there was nobody home at all. Perhaps that noise was a cat on a garbage can in back. He moved toward the huge oak front door as quietly as possible, just in case.
As he reached out to open the door, he heard footsteps rapidly beating toward the entrance. Before he could reach the handle on the door, the thing swung open. The first thing he saw was a young, white face. Bear pulled back his fist and punched.
It would have been a hard blow if the target was stationary, but with it moving toward his fist, the impact was multiplied. The face, and the body attached to it, dropped to the floor. Bear looked down and saw that he didn’t recognize the unconscious boy at his feet. He also saw another stranger, stuck motionless, like a child in a game of freeze-tag, and beyond that—he saw a gun.
The barrel of the .45 was pointed directly at him. Behind it, grasping the gun with both hands, was Derek “Dustin” Walczak. Bear recognized him instantly, even with his face obscured by the pistol, even with his left eye clamped shut so he could take aim, even shirtless and out of his orange jumpsuit that he wore in the mug-shot. It was definitely Dustin. He’d dropped the wrong kid.