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 The rough-and-tumble new thriller by the national best-selling author | |||||||||||
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(read or print)  "No offense," the plumber began. Munch sighed. Why did people always feel the need to warn you beforethey said something stupid? She looked up from the carburetor shewas working on and gave the man in the stained overalls her fullattention."But don't you think that working on cars is kinda, I don't know,unfeminine?"She lifted out the float assembly on the quadrajet. "Yeah, I worryabout it all the way to the bank. What kind of gas do you burn inthis thing?""Whatever," he said. "Why?"She shined her droplight into the float chamber. "You're full ofshit here." She kept her face straight, knowing the double entendrewould be lost on this Neanderthal. It was 1977, for God's sake.Didn't he realize that barefoot and pregnant went out with thesixties? "This is going to take at least a half a day," she said."In fact, it would be better if you left it overnight." She lookedover his shoulder and spotted Happy Jack, the owner of Happy Jack'sAuto Repair. "Hey, Jack. You wanna write this guy up? He needs acarb overhaul."Jack grabbed a clipboard and headed their way. "You got a visitor,"he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Her boss's expressiontold her that he didn't approve. She followed his gaze andunderstood why.Munch's visitor leaned against the fender of a blue Chevy pickup.The truck was fairly new: a '74 model, perhaps even a '75. Sleazewas doing well, it seemed.His mother had named him Jonathan Garillo, but on the street he wasknown as "Sleaze John." The last time she'd seen Sleaze was when hewas driving for Sunshine Yellow Cab out of Venice. That was a yearago--in another life. Driving a cab had been just the vehicle forSleaze's other various vocations: pulling cons on tourists, rippingoff dopers trying to score, running numbers for bookies unwiseenough to trust him."Thanks, Jack," she said, climbing down from the milk crate shestood on when she worked on trucks. "This won't takelong."Leaving Jack to write up the plumber, Munch made her way over towhere Sleaze waited. The truck's idle stumbled as she drew closer.The bearded stranger in the passenger seat glanced at her brieflyand then looked away. She stuck her grease rag in her back pocketand approached them warily."What do you want?" she said."What happened to hello?" he asked."Hello. What do you want?""You got a light?" A Cheshire cat grin stretched his full lips. Hewas clean-shaven and a brunette this week, which complemented hiseven white teeth and thickly lashed eyes. There was a time when shehad thought him quite the fox.She pulled out her lighter, automatically reaching for the pack ofCamels in her shirt pocket.With her lighter in his hand, he pointed to her cigarettes and,almost as an afterthought, asked her for a smoke.Same old Sleaze. She shook her head, wondering what this visit wouldcost her.He lit both their smokes and exhaled a "Thanks."She caught his hand before her lighter disappeared into hispocket."What are you doing here?" she asked."I've missed you.""Sleaze--" She glanced at the man riding shotgun, noting his longsleeves and dark sunglasses. A faded blue jail tattoo crossed theman's left jugular vein. She recognized the insignia of the AryanBrotherhood: a pair of jagged lightning bolts that formed theletters SS. The man crossed his arms over his chest and rocked backand forth.The truck's idle stuttered again and then resumed an even pace."Hear that?" Sleaze asked. "What do you think thatis?""If you want work done, you're going to have to leave it. I'm backedup right now," she said, aware of Jack hovering protectively justout of earshot."I'm in kind of a hurry, too," he said. He looked around, thendropped his voice. "Actually, I'm in a little bit of ajam."Munch noticed that the gas cap of the truck was painted blue. Shereached out and touched it. The surface was tacky. She leaned in theopen window and saw the ignition wires dangling under the dash,their insulation stripped and two of them twisted together. Thepassenger moved a hand to his cheek and kept it there. The gesturewas fine with her; she didn't want to remember him either. Shepulled the rag from her back pocket and carefully wiped off all thesurfaces she remembered touching."I don't want any part of this. I could get revoked for just talkingto you.""Since when did you pay attention to court orders?" heasked."Since I got a year suspended. I've changed, Sleaze. Don't mess thisup for me."He appraised her from under half-closed lids. "Yeah, I heard you gotreligion. I'm real proud of you. Are you happy?""Yes, of course." The words came out too quickly.He raised an eyebrow, making him look a little like Clark Gable. Hadhe picked up the defensiveness in her tone?."You look really good. I was going to say something."She snorted. "Spare me. You want to do something nice for me? Justget out of my life." She kicked the tire of the truck. "And takethis with you.""Hey, don't be like that. We've got too much history.""Forget it. It's like you said. History. What happened and whatdidn't happen was . . . for the best. Neither one of us wanted to bedragging a kid around." She looked at his face to confirm that thiswas the truth, but she couldn't read him."Aren't we at least friends?" he asked."I never had friends, Sleaze, just using partners." She lookedpointedly at his travel companion."So that's it, huh? The rest of us are just shit on your shoes?" Histone and expression were accusatory, like she was some sort oftraitor to the cause. But there was no cause, she thought angrily,just a bunch of loaded assholes trying to justify theirexistence."I'm just trying to tell you that I've got something good goinghere," she said. "I don't want to mess it up.""I'm not looking to mess you up.""I have a disease, John. I have to be careful.""What are you talking--disease?""I'm in remission from alcoholism and drug addiction. I can't bearound anyone still using."How could she make him understand? She wasn't sure herself. She wasspouting program dogma at him, all the tools of defense she hadlearned. Maybe it would be easier if he just got mad ather."And that's how you want it?" he asked."That's the way it has to be.""What about Deb?" he asked. "And Boogie? I thought he was your aceboon coon.""I haven't heard from them in almost a year. I don't even know wherethey are.""They're up in Canyonville.""Where's that?""Oregon. Pretty country if you don't mind rain."This news made her pause. "She made it, huh?" Moving to the countryhad been their mutual dream. The country was a place for freshstarts, cleaner living, a good place to raise Boogie. "You got anumber for her?"Sleaze reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet. "Just a sec.You got a pen?"She handed him her pen. He walked over to the counter and picked upseveral of the shop's business cards. Behind her, Jackfrowned.Sleaze flipped one of the cards over, wrote the word "Snakepit" andcopied down a number from his wallet with an Oregon area code. "Shedoesn't have a phone at her house," he said, "but you can usuallyreach her here.""Snakepit?""It's a bar in Canyonville.""Is she doing all right?""She's got an ol' man.""There's a surprise." Deb always had an old man. She always fellpassionately in love for life with each of them and cried bucketswhen they left. Munch envied her that--her depth ofpassion."He's an asshole," Sleaze added.Her face twisted in a wry smile. They were always assholes,especially after Deb was done with them."I did some business with him," Sleaze said. "He tried to get overon me.""Uh-huh." She didn't need to ask for any particulars. Nothing hesaid or she asked would move the conversation any closer to thetruth. Sleaze had a way of explaining things that neatly sidesteppedany culpability on his part. The other guy was always wrong andusually a step too slow. "I have to get back to work. Just tell mewhat you want, Sleaze."He glanced back nervously at his companion in the truck. "Like Isaid, I'm in a little bit of a jam. Nothing serious. It should blowover soon.""And I'm supposed to do what?" she asked."I just wanted to see you," he said, watching traffic as if he werewaiting for something. "It's been so long." He reached over andtouched her cheek. "Too long."She pulled back. It was time to end this exchange.He wasn't the first to come around from her old life. She'd found asimple formula for getting rid of the others: her ex-using partnerswho had somehow managed to sniff her out, sensing some prosperitynot their own that might be available for leeching. They'd come toher with hard-luck stories, told with sorrowful faces and sinceretones. Maybe they thought getting clean and sober had somehowaffected her memory. That she wouldn't spot their games since shewas no longer on the pitching side. She had learned that it waseasier to indulge them: listen to their bullshit and agree about theunfairness of the world. Then she'd loan them money--sometimes atwenty (she'd gone as high as fifty)--and they would promise to payher back as soon as they "got on their feet." The ones who owed hernever came back. The money she "lent" was a small price to pay toensure that they wouldn't return."How much would it take to get out of this jam?" she asked, reachingfor her wallet. She carried her wallet in her back pocket, like aman would. Maybe the plumber was right. She looked over in hisdirection and found Jack watching her. He tapped his watch. "I'vegot to get back to work," she said.Sleaze saw her go for her wallet. He probably wasn't even aware thathe had licked his lips. "I've got a kid," he said, "a littlegirl."She felt a lightning bolt streak between her gut and heart. Healways knew how to find the soft spots. Hadn't he been the one whotaught her how to isolate the mark and single out thevulnerabilities? She tried to think if there were any way he couldknow about the scarring within her body, how it had rendered herinfertile. She had spoken of it at meetings, so it wasn't exactlyprivileged information. But the meetings that she attended were herein the San Fernando Valley. Had he somehow heard?."Good for you," she said. "Who's the mother?""Karen.""That broad who worked at the phone company?" Another mark, Munchremembered. Karen was always good for a twenty that Sleaze wouldcollect on her lunch break while Munch waited in the front passengerseat of the taxi with the meter off."Yeah, that's the one."She felt an uncomfortable flash of heat shoot up the back of herneck. It was time to play "Name That Emotion." Emotions were a newthing, another dubious gift of sobriety. Before, they'd never beenan issue. Before, if anyone had cared to ask at any given time howMunch was feeling or what she was feeling, she would have had onlytwo possible answers: good or sick. Sobriety opened up a whole newrange.Those first few months, her sponsor, Ruby, had driven her crazyasking her how she was, what was she feeling. Finally Munch had toldher: She was pissed off. Then Ruby had patiently explained thatanger wasn't an emotion. It was a reaction. Get past the anger, Rubysaid. It was a shield, a coat of armor.Munch looked at Sleaze. He had a kid. He and Karen had a kid. Howdid that make her feel? She didn't have to think toolong.Ruby said that one day maybe Munch might adopt. That was another ofthose nebulous in-the-future things that Ruby was always promising.Like getting married one day. Munch told her that yeah, that mighthappen, but first she needed a date."So what do you want from me?" she asked."I want you to meet my kid," he said."What about Karen?""Karen's dead. She OD'd." His eyes clouded. If she didn't knowbetter, she'd think he really felt bad. This realization annoyedher. More jealousy? she wondered."I've been staying in Venice," he said. "You're going to laugh whenI tell you where." He held up an oval rubber key fob with the number6 stamped on it. A single door key dangled from the stainless steelring."What? Back at the Flats? Many happy memories there.""There's a few, you can't say there isn't. The truth is I haven'tbeen home in a few days.""Too hot?" she asked.He grinned that infuriatingI-know-I've-been-bad-but-I'd-probably-do-it-again grin at her. Shehad to fight herself to not respond with a smile of her own. How didhe get his eyes to twinkle like that?."So who's watching this kid of yours now?" she asked."A neighbor.""Does this kid have a name?" She felt herself being sucked into hisbullshit. Forget the kid's name, she told herself, forget misplacedloyalties to old running partners. She wasn't a part of that worldanymore. The war was over. She had surrendered."Asia.""Asia?" she echoed, shaking her head. What kind of name was that?She turned to step away from him. She had work to do. She didn'tneed this shit.He followed her as she walked back to the Cadillac she'd beenworking on, the one with the leaking water pump. She was consciousof her walk and how it didn't wiggle. Steel-toed boots didn't lendthemselves to sexy walking."Actually," he said. "There is one other thing.""I'm sure there is." She squeezed her arms around the radiatorshroud of the Cadillac to get to the four bolts that held the fanon. She knew she would pay for this action later. Soap and waterwouldn't completely wash out the bits of fiberglass that would embedin her arms. She'd be itching for days.Sleaze leaned over a fender, ingratiating himself under thehood."I just need you to take the baby over to my sister's and pick up afew things at the apartment. Mostly just the baby's stuff--clothes,her car seat, a couple toys."She paused, feeling that tug between two worlds, and thought aboutVenice Beach--the place that used to be home. Nostalgia filled heras she remembered all the old haunts: the boardwalk, the circle,Hooker Hill, Sunshine Cab. There was a time when she knew who shewas and what she was about. Think harder, she told herself, thinkabout the misery attached to that old life--the running, theconstant fear, the hopelessness."I don't go to Venice," she said."I'm not asking you to stay there," he said. "Just a quick pit stop.You'll be in and out in two minutes.""What about your sister? Have Lisa go to Venice.""I'm kind of overextended with her," he said."You mean she's fed up with your bullshit.""No," he said. "The thing is, there's these guys--""Don't tell me any more. I don't want to know."She put her cigarette between her teeth to free her hands as sheworked the ratchet. Smoke filled her eyes and she squinted, feelingher face scowl. She stopped working and threw away thebutt."But you'll come?" he asked, dangling the key.She looked at him for a long minute, framing a reply."You're my only hope," he said."Don't do me like that. I'm not anyone's only hope. I didn't getsober to keep digging losers out of holes. Whatever you've gottenyourself into, that's your problem. I can't get into any ofthat.""You've changed.""That's what I've been trying to tell you.""You didn't use to be so cold."She wanted to say that wasn't it. She was anything but cold. All herusing career she had wound her feelings into a hard knot and storedthem in a place deep inside her. A place so dark and barren thatnothing and no one could get to them. She had hoped that eventuallyall that was vulnerable would shrivel and die, free her from thepain of life. But it hadn't gone like that. Now that she was goingto live, she had to tread carefully.
The fender lifted slightly when he stood. Through the reflection ofthe Caddy's windshield, she watched him climb into the cab of thetruck and then shake his head like he was disappointed. He saidsomething to his passenger and the other guy nodded and saidsomething back. | | |||||||||
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First Look at the Crime is available on MysteryNet.com: The Online Mystery Network. Copyright © 1999 Newfront Productions, Inc. and HarperCollins Publishers | |||||||||||
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