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  Swinging the sights onto the next window, I waited, stilling my coke driven heart. A shadow moved behind a curtain and I fired. The bullet shattered the glass and flapped the curtain open long enough for me to see a tall man fall. I scanned the front of the ranch house but nothing moved. Dropping the rifle, I noticed Mikayla had disappeared.

  When I got to Gregor, his breath was shallow. Blood streaked his left arm and he was missing his two middle fingers. Ripping his shirt, I wrapped a tourniquet on his arm. The vest was pocked with lead. His eyes fought to focus.

  “I fucked her, boss.” His voice was a thin whisper.

  “I figured.”

  “I love her.”

  “I figured that, too.”

  His eyes drifted closed.

  It was time to end this shit.

  I stepped over the twisted bodies of the men Gregor had killed on the porch and kicked open the front door. A fat older man sat on the floor, holding a bleeding gut. He struggled to raise the pistol in his hand. I emptied the Beretta into him.

  From the back of the house, I heard the gurgled gasp of a man with a slit throat.

  Dropping the Beretta, I pulled the Jericho.45 and moved up the stairs. The landing led to a hall with doors on both sides. Red numbers had been painted on each door.

  Behind door number one, a naked man with a farmer’s tan crouched behind the bed. He was holding a naked girl in front of him. One fist held her hair, in the other was a pocket knife, pressed to her chest, ready to plunge.

  “Let me walk or I swear I’ll kill her.”

  The slug entered his left eye and sprayed his skull across the wall. Dumb fuck John. As he flopped down, I recognized the screaming girl.

  “Marina?”

  She was way past realizing who I was. She just kept staring at the dead man and shrieking.

  Doors two and three only held more panicked girls.

  Door four was empty.

  From downstairs, I heard a gunshot, only one. Odds were, Mikayla had ended it.

  Pulling open door five, I was met by the burst from an AK. The doorjamb beside me shattered, spraying splinters and plaster into my face. The pain was distant, dulled by the coke numb. Dropping to the floor, I aimed up. I had to shake my head to clear the blood from my eyes.

  Victor didn’t look so good, a cast covered one arm, a bandage was wrapped around his head and velcro held a brace to his leg. He should have stayed in the hospital. With his good arm, he tried to bring the AK down. Surprise flooded his face when my first slug caught his chest and pushed him into the wall. I’ll give him credit for balls, he still fought to get the rifle sighted in on me. I squeezed the trigger until the slide locked open.

  Stumbling down the hall, I found the only door without a number. I put my boot to it. On the bed, Anya lay motionless. The white haired old man sat in a chair beside her. The silver revolver in his hand was pointing at me. The hammer was back. I held the.44 low, from the hip. I might hit him, might hit her.

  “Look, my dear, your Galahad has breached the walls.” Anya’s limp form didn’t move when he spoke to her. “Shall we pull the triggers and see who walks out of this room?”

  “Why the fuck not.” I fired wide, his eyes looked surprised. He hadn’t expected me to actually do it.

  As the bullet ripped the wall above him he pulled the trigger. Flame leapt from his hand toward me. Pain burned in my chest where the bullet ripped at my flesh.

  I dove at the old man, landing before he could get a second shot off. Toppling body on body. The chair collapsed beneath our weight. I could feel the revolver pinned between us, he was struggling to pull the trigger. My fingers locked around his wrinkled neck. The fine bones in his throat broke with a sickening crackle. His body went slack, defeat filled his eyes. A spasm wracked his body as it fought for air that wouldn’t come. His eyes bugged, went bloodshot, and then he was gone. I rolled onto my back and waited for death to take me.

  Opening my eyes, a blurry Valkyrie kneeled over me. Valhalla couldn’t be far off.

  “What are you grinning about?”

  “Fuck, I thought I was dead.” It burned to speak.

  “You’re not that lucky.” It was one of the few times I’d seen Mikayla smile.

  “Is she dead?” Crawling to the bed, I looked down at Anya.

  “Drugged. Strong pulse.”

  Anya was so beautiful. I could see her on stage, that first time, so solid, so real. Now here we were. In the middle of all that blood and death. I knew now that I didn’t love her. Never had, really. What I fell for was the possibility of her and who I might be with her. I fell in love with my reflection in her eyes. Had she played me to get her sister back? Hell yes. But I went willingly. If Gregor survived, she would be with him, if he didn’t, she would find another. I had stepped too far off the map to ever be with a woman like her.

  Mikayla looked from the sleeping girl to me and said, “You and me, we plant trees we’ll never be allowed to enjoy the shade of.”

  “Ukrainian proverb?”

  “African.” She dropped a card on the dead old man and helped me to my feet. “Can you walk or do I have to carry you?”

  “Screw that noise.” The walls swam around me as I fumbled my way through the house, using the walls for balance. Mikayla took up the rear with Anya over her shoulder.

  Mikayla loaded Anya and Gregor into the back of a stolen Mercedes while I leaned on the porch. She was walking towards me when I heard the crack of a rifle. Blood blossomed on her chest. Her legs dropped from under her and she fell forward. She was dead before she hit the dirt. Standing up, I spread my arms wide and waited for the shot to come.

  Long seconds past.

  I dropped my arms.

  CHAPTER 21

  “Una mas cerveza?”

  “Why not.” I took the bottle from Adolpho and drank deep. Waves broke on the beach and out beyond the breakers, a school of dolphins danced under the clear blue sky. Jaquene, Adolpho’s son, danced along the wet sand playing tug-of-war with Angel. She had recovered much quicker than me, I had to be careful not to give her any spicy foods, but other than that she had returned to her normal, sloppy self.

  It had been six months since I had seen LA’s broken skyline, I didn’t miss the bitch, not much. The combination of beer and painkillers kept the ghosts at bay and allowed me some moments of peace.

  I was in the hospital when Peter’s story broke; the bastard used my name. I was famous for about fifteen minutes longer than I would have liked. On the upside, the notoriety kept the cops from digging too hard for evidence. And I got two hundred grand from some Hollywood slime ball for the movie rights. I used the cash to buy a small place down on the beach below Ensenada. With Mikayla’s death, the local pimp’s beef with me had ended. Business was business, I guess. Adolpho wept when he admitted it was he who told the hunter he had taken me to Tecate. His wife and kids had been on the line. I told him I would have done the same. It was a lie and he knew it. He and his son spend weekend days at my house, fishing, drinking beer and struggling through broken conversations. It feels right to be in a country without words. Few questions asked. No answers demanded.

  Mikayla was the lucky one. Her painful run finally hit its end. I still see her in the corner of my vision, moving through the shadows. Two Percodans chased by cold Mexican beer send her back into a dull fog of memory.

  Gregor lost his arm, but the tough son of a bitch pulled through. Last I heard, he and Anya had taken her little sister and moved to Bakersfield. I hoped their house had a pool.

  Piper called me in the hospital. She read the papers and said she understood why I had acted the way I did. But she didn’t want to see me. She said I brought too much bad shit with me.

  A British company bought Club Xtasy, I heard they made Doc the manager. And so it goes on. Little girls taking off their clothes for drunk men; all hoping for a transaction that won’t leave them with less than they came in with. Not one of them clear-eyed enough to see that the price paid is
never worth it.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-5d25eb-daa7-a34a-738f-3021-b5d6-fc1278

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  Document creation date: 16.02.2013

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  Stallings, Josh

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