Authors: Michael Hemmingson

Wild Turkey (12 page)

BOOK: Wild Turkey

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C
assandra informed me I snored, but made light of this. We both woke up well into the afternoon. She told me to order up some food while she showered. I ordered plenty, and we ate. She was surprised I didn’t order any booze and I told her I was thinking about quitting.

“I love alcohol too much to ever quit,” she said. “I just hope I don’t become an alcoholic.” With that, she poured herself a glass of Wild Turkey from what was left of the bottle we had last night.

We finally found
Boyd Urick in the first casino we walked into. “There he is.” Cassandra stopped me with a hand to my chest and pointed to a thin man with long hair and a goatee at a blackjack table. It was him all right.

“So what do we do now?” I said.

“We don’t want to cause a scene in here. We’ll wait for him to leave.”

We sat at the bar, where we could watch him. Cassandra had her usual Wild Turkey on the rocks, and I had a glass of water. Boyd was at the blackjack table for about half an hour; then got up and started toward the exit.

“He never stays put too long,” she said. “Come!”

Outside, she said, “Boydy-boyd, you bastard, stop there.”

He stopped. He turned. His jaw was agape.

“Cassy-cass,” he said.

“Shocked to see me?” She moved close to him, as if for a hug. He seemed to start to hug her, until he felt the .38 in his side. “This is a gun, Boyd,” she said, “you know about guns.”

“Where’d you get a gun, Cassy-cass?” he said, trying to act amused. I could see that he was scared.

“Where’s the money, Boydy-boyd?” she said.

He looked at me. “Who’s this guy? Another freak like your dear departed husband?”

“This is Philip Lansdale, he’s my neighbor,” she said.

“Hi, Boyd,” I said.

“Let’s take a bit of a stroll, eh, Boydy-boyd?” she said. We started walking.

“You didn’t pay the hit man,” she went on, “and now he wants to kill me.”

“I had a plan, Cassy-cass, I wasn’t going to fuck you over, I had a real good plan,” and he explained to her his scheme to double the money, just as she’d told me that was what he was up to.

“But it didn’t work, did it, Boydy-boyd? You didn’t win.”

“I was close, Cassy-cass.”

“I’ve heard it before, honey.”

“I was!”

“Too many times.”

“
But I can feel it this time
.” He sounded pathetic. I wanted to smack him around.

“How much is left?” she asked.

“About ten grand.”

“This is what we’ll do,” she said. “We’ll go get that ten grand. I’ll then get another ten from the bank, and you’ll get in touch with this hit man, and I’m going to pay him off.”

“Or what?” he said. “You’ll shoot me?”

“
Where’s
the money, Boydy-boyd?”

“In my motel room,” he said.

“What? You don’t have a place of your own?”

“I have a place,” he said, “but I doubt it’s safe. I’m sure Rook is looking for me, too.”

“Rook is the hit man?”

“Yeah.”

“You did his job, and now he’s mad.”

“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“You hired a cheaper hit man?”

“I thought Rook had done it,” he said. “Then Rook tells me he didn’t do it. I didn’t know who did it. ‘The wife hired someone else,’ he said.”

“No,” Cassandra said, “I didn’t.”

“Someone
offed your husband,” Boyd said.

Cassandra became very quiet.

We walked down the strip to the motel room. It was a few blocks away. It was a ratty, dirty-looking place. How could a man leave ten grand unattended? Either Boyd knew something I didn’t, or he was just stupid.

He opened the door and we went in.

“Well,” a deep voice said, “home at last. And with company. The
very
woman I wanted to see.”

Standing in the room was the large bald black man in the trench coat, holding the gun with a silencer, the same one he’d shot Bryan with. Also in the room was a platinum blonde with five-inch platforms, neon green stretch pants, and a bikini top barely covering her breasts. She also held a gun with a silencer. She was chewing gum.

She popped the gum, like a small gun shot.

“Y
ou must be Rook,” Cassandra said.

“That’s me,” he said. “Drop your piece.”

Cassandra didn’t.

“Do it, bitch!” the platinum blonde girl said, blowing a bubble and popping it.

“This is Lucy,” Rook said.

“Heya,” Lucy smiled. “Now
drop the gun,
cuntdrip.”

Cassandra let go of the .38.

“I was going to call you,” Boyd said, nervously looking at two canvas bags on the bed.

“Sure you were, you little fucking liar.” Rook aimed down and fired, shooting Boyd in the foot. Boyd screamed and fell, his foot spurting blood. “Now the game’s a-foot!” He roared with laughter, and so did Lucy.

I felt like I was going to be sick. The room started to spin. I told myself that this horrible thing wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. I was home, asleep and dreaming.

Rook turned the gun on Cassandra. “Where do you want it? Where would a bullet do you most good?”

“Look,” Cassandra said coolly, “it’s not my fault this turkey didn’t pay you the balance. I had no idea he took off with the money.”

“I was going to pay you, Rook!”
Boyd screamed.

“When?” said Rook. “When you damn well
pleased?”

“Today!”

“Sheeet.”

“Kill him,” Lucy said. “Just kill him. I don’t like him.” She popped her gum.

“Please don’t kill him,” Cassandra said.

I almost fell down, my head was so light. I leaned against the wall. Rook pointed his gun at me. He asked, “And just who the heck is this?”

“No one involved,” Cassandra told him, “he’s a friend.”

“I
know
you, friend,” he said to me.

I shook my head.

He stepped closer, examining my face. “I’ll
be
. The other day in San Diego. You were across the street, when I shot that fat old fart with the mouth.”

“He was—” I said, but then couldn’t speak.

“What is it? You here to avenge him? Nosy people come to messy ends,
friend.”

“He’s the friendly neighbor,” Boyd snickered.

“Shut the fuck up,” Lucy said, kicking Boyd in the chest. Boyd grunted, curling in on himself. “Rook, let’s kill him and get out of here,” Lucy said. She was impatient.

“I didn’t plan on there being company,” Rook said. “We now have three bodies to contend with.”

“Mr. Rook,” Cassandra said.

“It’s just ‘Rook,’ cunthole,” Lucy said.

Cassandra said, “There’s ten thousand here. I can get the other ten from my bank account in the morning. You’ll be paid, and I hope that you’ll accept my apology, and there will be no reason to go to such extremes.”

“That’s awfully nice of you,” Rook said, and he did seem touched. “It’s not that easy. Business protocol was fucked with, and it’s bad business just to let it go. You hire me, then you hire someone else. Baaaaad. Now, I was pleased to come in here and find exactly ten thousand and fifty-three dollars.” He opened one of the canvas bags, and grinned. “But lo and behold, much to my great stupefaction, look what else I found.” He opened the other bag, turned it upside down, and emptied the contents on the bed: several dozen bundles of twenties and hundreds. “Fifty grand, if I’m not mistaken.”

“It’s funny money,” Boyd said, his voice barely above a squeak.

“That’s what I thought. But funny money can be sold. So let’s say I take the ten g’s, and the fifty in funny g’s, kill the three of you, and we’ll call this misunderstanding settled.”

“That’s the Krabava’s money,” Boyd said, spit flying from his mouth, his foot still bleeding profusely on the carpet.

“What do I give a fuck about the Krabava syndicate?” Rook said. “I never worked for them, and I don’t expect them to ever hire me. Motherfucking Russians. Come in and take over, the Italians go over to Wall Street. This world is coming to an end.”

“I’m responsible for that money,” Boyd said, almost crying. “Do you know what they’ll
do
to me?”

“What? Kill you?” Rook laughed, pointed the gun, and shot Boyd in the middle of the eyes. The hole was neat. Boyd’s body fell back on the floor, and I didn’t doubt for a second that he was quite dead. “Now you don’t have to worry about them killing you, Boyd.”

“Oh, Boydy-boyd,” Cassandra said. She was doing a good job of maintaining, but I could see her skin start to crawl, her body start to shake.

“It was going to happen sooner or later,” Rook said. “Damn thing is, I kinda liked the little loser. He talked about you a lot, Cassandra Payne. You know what he told me. He said you have a dick.”

“He said she
used
to have a dick,” Lucy said.

“Oh yeah. Used to. Is that right? Did you used to be a chick with a dick?”

“That’s so per
verse
,” Lucy said, popping gum, “that’s so
unnatural.”

“Is it true,” Rook said, “or do I have to cop a feel?”

“Don’t you touch that thing!” Lucy shrieked.

“It’s true,” Cassandra said.

“I’ll be,” Rook said. “You know, I met you and didn’t know, I wouldn’t know. I’d say you’re a woman.”

“I am a woman,” Cassandra said.

“I’d
know,” Lucy said. “
I
can spot a transo anywhere anytime, post- or preop.”

“Listen to me, Rook,” Cassandra said. “There’s no reason to hurt me. You have your money. I had every intention of paying you off. I had no idea someone else did the hit. And there’s no reason to hurt Mr. Lansdale,” she added, looking at me, “he has nothing to do with this.”

“Can we kill them
now?
” Lucy said. “I
really
want to kill this former chick with a dick
now
.”

“Wait,” Rook said.

“Wait!”

“I’m having,” and he took a deep breath, “a moral dilemma.”

“Fuck
that! They both saw you kill Boyd, and him,” she said, pointing her gun at me, “he saw you off that guy in San Diego.”

“He’s not dead,” I said.

“Really,” Rook said, “he survived three close slugs?”

“He’s in the hospital.”

“Must be a tough old fart.”

“He is,” I said.

“Rook,” Lucy said.

“Quiet!”
he told her.

She pouted.

“I understand that Boyd screwed up and it wasn’t your fault,” Rook told Cassandra, “but do you understand my position?”

“Yes,” she said, “I do.”

“I don’t think so,” Rook said. “You’re just saying that. You’re just trying to butter me up.”

“I understand that you take your profession seriously,” Cassandra said, “and that any breach, no matter who is at fault, must be dealt with on all sides … the go-between, and the person who put out the contract. It sends a message: that you are not a man to be screwed with.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Lucy said.

“Maybe you do understand,” Rook said. “It hurts me when there’s no trust in me to get the job done.”

“I trusted what Boyd told me,” Cassandra said. “I’m sure you would’ve pulled off the job with excellence.”

“The way it was done, it was so messy and amateurish,” Rook said. “The cab driver. I would’ve
never
done that.”

Lucy looked like she was getting irritated. She put her gun to Cassandra’s temple. “Say so long to your brains, Ms. Postop.”

Rook took the gun from Lucy. “No.”

“Rook, you nuts?”

“I’m confused about what to do. I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah, your moral dilemma.”

Rook looked at Cassandra, then at me, then at Boyd’s dead body. He began to zip up the canvas bags of money.

“There’s only one thing to do,” he said, “take this to the Arbiter.”

“Oh, God,” Lucy moaned, “not him.”

“Yeah, I gotta. I just gotta.”

I wanted to be back home more than anything right now.

Cassandra and I
sat in the back of Rook’s black vintage Mustang. Lucy, in the passenger seat, turned to face us, gun in hand. She really looked like she wanted to shoot. The moment we’d gotten into the car, Rook had put a tape in the tape deck, and Creedence Clearwater Revival began their version of “Suzy-Q.” Rook had a good sound system, the bass throbbing, the guitar screeching, the drums pounding.

We drove out of the strip for about two miles, closing in on the desert. Rook pulled into what looked like an abandoned casino.

It was a
show, and we were the only four people in a theater that had at least two hundred seats. Big band music played, but there was no band, it was coming out of hidden speakers. Lights came on. The red curtains on the stage parted, and two strippers were on each side, left and right, in sequins and G-strings, feathered wigs and boas and glitter. They began to move sensually about the poles as the big-band music segued into an instrumental version of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.” A follow spot came onto an electric wheelchair. In the wheelchair was a white-haired man without legs; his skin was pale and he wore large, Elvis-like glasses and a blue, goldsequined jacket. He also held a black gavel in his hand. He didn’t have anything to pound the gavel on, he just waved it about. He took center stage as the women continued to dance and the music faded.

“I am the Arbiter,” said the man in the wheelchair with no legs. “Who has summoned this court into session?”

Rook stood, seemingly humble. “I have.”

“And who are you?”

“They call me Rook, sir.”

“Yes, Rook. You’ve been here several times before. What can I help you with?”

“Arbiter, I have a moral dilemma.”

“A quandary?”

“A real pickle.”

“Give it to me in a nutshell.”

Rook explained. “I was hired to take out a woman’s husband for thirty grand, this woman here,” indicating Cassandra, “although she used to not be a woman, but that’s a whole bird of a different color. I was given the down payment of ten grand, I planned out the job, I went to do it, only to discover that the target was already taken care of. Another player was in the game. I was never taken off the job, I was never informed—not only was my good name smeared, I wasn’t paid the balance, as was my right.

“I guess it wasn’t the woman’s fault, the cardplayer took off with the money, but I found them together in a motel room, along with this other man,” indicating me, “which complicates matters. I wasn’t sure what was going on. Were they all in cahoots? I killed the cardplayer for having cheated me.”

“As was your right,” said the Arbiter.

“I was going to kill the wife and the man, but I started to think … She had no idea I wasn’t paid. She seemed to have come to Vegas to right the wrong caused by the cardplayer. I was going to kill them, but …”

“You’re worried about karma?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is the woman, this wife?”

Lights flashed on us. I covered my eyes.

The man in the wheelchair pointed his gavel. “Are you the woman who made the contract?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said.

“Did you know Rook had not been paid the balance?”

“No. Not at first.”

“Why did you come to Las Vegas?”

“To find B—the cardplayer Rook mentioned. He stole the money. I wanted to get it back, and pay Rook. I was afraid Rook might come after me and kill me.”

“Which I did,” Rook said, “but she wasn’t home, and I shot someone else, but he was putting his nose in my business. Which could get me in danger. No bad karma there.”

“But you had no ill intentions to cheat Rook out of his money?” the Arbiter said.

“No,” Cassandra said.

“Rook, has the account been settled?” the Arbiter asked.

Rook said, “That’s the dilemma, sir. The cardplayer had half the money, which was ten grand. But he had fifty g’s in funny money, which is worth a good twenty or more.”

“Ah! So you come out better because of all this!”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, why kill these two?”

“Well, they witnessed me kill the cardplayer.”

“But it was in your right to kill the cardplayer for cheating you.”

BOOK: Wild Turkey

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