The Jook

Chapter 11

"We got it," the note from Wilma read. "Meet me at The Townhouse, 9:30 tonight."

I'd been out running the hills. I wondered if that asshole Fahrar was watching my house and had seen the messenger come by. The note was in a big envelope, so maybe that fuck would think I was being served with a new suit or something. Maybe he'd found out that I'd put the crib on the auction block this morning, short on bread like I was.

Even though the job was coming up, I needed cash to cover living expenses. My NFL pension was nothing 'cause I had borrowed heavily against it, and the house note was just too big a nut each goddamn month. I didn't see anything for selling my ring, and Terri had got her lawyer daddy to get an injunction on me so now they were going after what was left in my bank account. What a fuckin' fool I was to have sent her money like Weems was gonna let me play and I was gonna be able to make regular payments.

There were envelopes in the mailbox and one was from Terri. There was a letter in there on pink paper and photos of her and the baby. She'd put on weight but was still into wearing them form-fitting dresses over her packed ass. The kid looked cool, though. He had his mother's wide eyes and a cute kinda mohawk look. She'd insisted on naming him Cody 'cause that's the name her favorite TV star, Kathie Lee Gifford, had given one of her kids. I tried telling her that any black kid named Cody was gonna have a hard row to hoe, but she didn't listen.

I sat there, his picture in one hand, the note from Wilma in the other. I picked up the phone and called.

"Is Terri there?" I asked after some man said hello.

"Who's this?" The dude put bass in his voice.

"The father of her baby"

"Yeah, so?"

"So put her on the phone if she's there."

"Yo, man, you don't call over here and bark orders, you ain't my daddy"

"And you don't own the phone you're talkin' on, chump. Put Terri on the line."

"She ain't here." The sissy hung up on me.

No matter. I figured he'd tell Terri I called 'cause he'd want to show off to her about how he'd put me in my place. Then she'd call back, and I knew I could sweet talk her into getting her father to back off. But even so, it was only a delayed hit. The fucked-up truth was the house was too big a drain on my income. Particularly since I didn't have an income.

With that in mind, I'd gone over to a real estate office on the Strip and talked with a chick who said she'd start things in motion.

"Making some changes? Wish to go upmarket?" She must have been pushing sixty, but she worked out, so the young outfit she was wearing looked okay on her. The dye job on her hair wasn't as good as Ysanya's, and I had to catch myself from thinking about what color her snatch was.

"Something like that."

One of the dudes in the office, a cat in suspenders, recognized me, and that got her more excited about how she could move the property Seems like my past was the only thing of value I had going. She got the paperwork underway and said she'd be by tomorrow to take a look at the house.

"I'm done, Mr. Raines," my cleaning woman Adrianna said, packing up her bucket of brushes.

"Thanks." I gave her some dough and a tip too.

"Thank you," she said, looking at the money. "Everything okay with you now?"

"Like butter, baby."

She smiled. I hadn't told her this was probably the last time she'd be cleaning up this house, at least for me.

I showered and messed around with this and that, mostly chillin' and listening to some CDs. I didn't have any new stuff, but last year's cuts did me fine. I went over to The Townhouse on La Tijera at the right time. As usual, the place was bumping with booty house music, and the babes to go with it. I found the two of them at one of those tall circle-type tables you stand around.

Nap's chest was out 'cause he was feeling proud. "Ysanya called with the number yesterday, Zee."

"I back-traced it through a contact I have in the phone company It's a stationary phone and not a cellular," Wilma said. "I have the address in Ridgecrest."

I was going to ask who her contact in the phone company was. Probably some middle management dude who had his nose wide open for her. I shouldn't have been dwelling on it, but I was. "Now what?"

A waitress came over. "Can I get you something, sir?"

I gave her my order and she slipped off.

"Stadanko and Chekka have a meeting coming up there," Wilma said.

"How do you know that?"

"He's made plans to fly down to Miami for an owners' meeting this Tuesday." She tasted her drink. "The meeting is only scheduled for two days, but he doesn't get back for a week."

"Maybe he's got something on the side he's gonna see about tightening up," I said, not understanding why Wilma was so sure Stadanko and his thug cousin had this chat planned.

Wilma leaned closer to us over the table. "Look, here's the deal. Chekka came by the office yesterday. I was there for a meeting on the broadcast rights for cable and Fox. Anyway, he's hitting on me"

"He do that on the regular?"

The waitress came back with my whisky. I paid her, counting out ones. She went away.

"Relax," Nap laughed.

"Rudy says he wants me to meet him in Palm Springs on Sunday."

"Like I asked, this a new thing he's got for you?" A chick in platforms bumped against me and mumbled something, then stepped off with her girlfriends.

"He's always sniffing after money or pussy, Zelmont. He's hit on every girl in that office." She drank her drank, eyeing me over the rim of the glass.

"This is about third and goal, Zee," Nap reminded me.

He was right, but that didn't change what I wanted to know. "So you two are on your way to Palm Springs and grinnin' watermelon grins."

Wilma made a sound with her tongue. I strung him along, Zelmont. Yes, he's tried to get his hands up my dress once or twice, and that's it, understand? But it was important that I teased him a little to find out what I could." She knocked off half her drink. "Like you haven't played anyone, right?"

I let that go by. "So?"

"So Rudy hints he's got big things doing and has to be at the hideaway that's what he called it at a certain time because he and Stadanko have some business to take care of. He likes to hear himself talk and make himself look important."

She leaned back. "Stadanko comes around the corner we were talking outside of the conference room and Rudy shuts up.

He's full of himself, but he ain't crazy I don't say anything and the two of them march off.''

''So me and Zee get up there now?" Nap asked.

"No, it should be me and Zelmont," she answered.

I looked at Nap. "Why?"

"Because there might be some computer files to hack into. Can either of you do that?"

Nap and me didn't have jack to say.

"Okay, then, we go up early tomorrow morning. I have to be in New York to finish these broadcast negotiations on Friday, and I know the haggling will take me over to the following week. So once I get back, I don't want to raise any speculation should I then turn around and go out of town again. The season is almost on us, and I'll need to account for my time."

I was about to say something when some dude came over and tried to join our set. "Man, you is the bomb, home." He was pushing past me, shoving a drink toward Nap's face. "'Member that game where you knocked the shit out of Brett Farve and the ball flew up and you snatched it back down and went on in for the touchdown?"

Nap put his eyebrows up. "Sure do, I"

"Yeah he shook a finger all excited at Nap, "and that time you blew past Drake and White and got the one-hand tackle on Young? It must have been 20 below."

"He's your number one fan, Nap." Wilma winked.

The dude didn't take the hint. "You got that right, baby Ain't nothing about football I don't know, and certainly ain't nothing about the big man here I ain't up on. Like that Super Bowl game where he got six unassisted tackles."

The same Super Bowl where I made my spin and a half and caught the game-winning pass. I knew he was gonna slobber all over me any second.

"Let me buy you a drink." He got all in front of me, leaning on the table like he owned the joint.

"I'm cool, my man. Me and my friends are discussing some business, okay?" Nap said calmly. "How about I catch you a little later?"

"Aw man," the fool cackled like one of them sisters in a bingo game. He moved closer, splashing some of his drink on my sleeve but not noticing. "You ain't gonna high hand me like that, is you? Got my girl over there I want you to meet."

I looked over to where he was jerking his Jheri juice head. The chick he was pointing to had a big ass, a tight dress, and a bad weave you could tell was gank even in this light. "Nap, sign a napkin for this boy and send him on his way."

He put his drunk eyes on me. "Who the fuck is you, his motherfuckin' secretary?" He jabbed me in the chest with two fingers. "You ain't nobody but a hanger-on, ain't that right?"

"Yeah, that's right." I was getting real hot so I wasn't breathing right.

"Then skip your ass over to Office Depot and get a pad of paper for him to sign."

I was about to jack the chump when Nap put his arm around the dude. "Look here, brah, let's go over and meet your fine lady friend."

He looked up at Nap like he was a kid about to ride a merry-go-round for the first time. "Oh, that's great, man, great."

Nap took him away.

Wilma touched my hand. "We have to be circumspect from here on out, Zelmont. No untoward business that will give Fahrar an excuse to jam you or any of us up."

I was barely paying attention to what she said. I couldn't believe that gin-soaked punk didn't recognize me. I just couldn't believe it.

The drive up to Ridgecrest took over three hours, me at the wheel of the Explorer. Wilma wasn't much for rap so it was a steady diet of the CDs she'd brought along. Her taste was okay, but along with stuff like classic Led Zeppelin she had a weird-ass album by some band called the Squirrel Nut Zippers. Their music was like listening to old radio recordings, and I was glad when she slipped on Otis Redding.

"I can't remember the last time I was in the Mojave Desert," Wilma said. The sun was now up and we had the windows half cracked. The cool morning air felt good on my skin, and it smelled sweet outside. I usually didn't notice shit like that, but riding along with Wilma half-dozing on the seat beside me it seemed natural. Almost made me forget we had a job to do.

On the side of the road were those tall spiky trees with white flowers at the top. "What do you call those again?" I asked.

She didn't have to look. "Joshua trees, baby."

Ridgecrest was much more built up than I had expected. If I didn't know where we were, I might have thought it was some part of the Valley, except it looked cleanlike Disneyland does 'cause they always got them squares walking around with their brooms and dustbins on a pole picking up trash and horseshit. And every night they're scrubbing down the streets and scraping up gum before it turns black from being stepped on constantly.

"Can we stop and get breakfast?" she said.

"How many black people they got up here, Wilma?"

She turned her head at me. "We're not going to get jumped."

"We don't need to call attention to ourselves."

"Yeah, one of these old boys might recognize you. I guess we better find the cabin."

Maybe she was just saying that to make me feel better, but it did. I was starting to sweat so I rolled up the windows and put on the air conditioner. We drove, using the map Wilma had drawn after she got the address for the cabin. The houses we passed were out of a Spielberg movie about the 'burbs, the lawns very green and no cracks in the sidewalks.

Eventually we were back in the countryside again. "Do you know where we are?" I checked the gas gauge. Off to the right were some mountains that had shaved-off tops and funny angles. "What the hell are those called?"

"The Trona Pinnacles, I believe," Wilma answered. "Part of the charm of this area. And yes," she said, studying her handmade map, "I do have an idea of where we are. We should be heading towards Indian Wells.''

We passed the turnoff we were supposed to take, but Wilma caught it and we doubled back. I drove downhill through all kinds of shrubs on a gravel road barely wide enough for my truck. We hooked right and came upon a lot of bamboo set in front of a stone wall. In the middle was a large, showy iron gate.

"This is the place," Wilma said.

I stopped and turned off the ignition. "Let's scope this out first."

"It doesn't look like there's anyone here. Let's drive in," she said, pointing toward the gate.

"I think it'd be better if we go in on foot."

"So you can bust a move?"

"We should be careful, Wilma." A jack rabbit scooted past us, then back into the greenery.

She looked like she was gonna argue but let it go. "Fine."

We got out and stretched. She got her purse from the car, then we walked up to the gate. Wilma unlatched it and it swung open. I was surprised it was unlocked. Inside there was a mess of plants and the same weird, stick-like cactus that grew on either side of the roadway we'd come in on. Wilma was already marching past me and up towards where the cabin must be. I grabbed her arm.

"We ain't in that big a rush, are we?"

"Why? There's nobody here."

"How do you know?"

"They only use this place for their meetings." She took off again.

"But you said he kept his files here too. Otherwise what are we doing here?"

"You're right. Better safe than sorry." She slowed down, waiting for me to catch up.

We went up the walk, different kinds of plants and cactus and yellow and purple flowers all around us. Any second, I just knew a bad breath Rottweiler with nasty teeth was gonna come running out of nowhere and snack on my leg.

In a few more ticks, we were facing the cabin. Well, it was about as much a cabin as a classic Jaguar is just a car. The joint was big, two stories and a deck, with a triangle for a roof. There was as much glass as there was wood and stone to the place. A satellite dish was on one part of the roof, and some other kind of antenna was sticking up beside that. It looked like a small radio tower.

"How the hell are we gonna get inside this place? He's got to have this thing rigged with fancy burglar alarms. I know we're in the middle of zero, but Stadanko ain't no clown." How come her or Nap didn't bring that up before?

Wilma had her hands on her hips. "Do me a favor, Zelmont. Check around on the side over there, okay? I think there's some kind of work shed."

"Your boy Rudy tell you that?"

She came up and put her arms around my waist. "When I back-traced the address from the phone number, I checked out the property specs. There's an additional piece of property listed, all right?" We kissed, and she grinded against me. I went off to do like she asked.

Coming around a corner of the cabin I found a box of a place with some plants and cactus grown up around it. As I walked I noticed a door in the side of the building. I could also see the area behind the house. There was a nice-ass pool and deck chairs laid out, and I went to check it out. The pool was done in the shape of a football, with a large painting of one on the bottom. Good thing I was staring at the design 'cause I caught the reflection moving behind me and whipped around just in time.

"Trace I said as I tackled the cornfed chump. That caught him by surprise and together we fell back on some of the chairs, scattering them all over the place. I landed a blow on him but he was buffed so it didn't do much damage. His knee came up and I twisted to get away from being groined.

We were holding onto each other, struggling to stand up. "Defiler," he growled, his dog teeth clamped together. He hit me across the face and I'm not too proud to say the faggot hurt me. Motherfuckah was strong. But I'd been knocked around by the dirty boys in my day and knew how to hang with some serious pain.

"That's all you got, bitch?" I went low and sunk one into his middle, then immediately followed with an elbow to his jaw. That got some respect. We circled each other hunched over, hands out like a couple beefheads on the WWF.

"How do you want me to hurt you, Raines?" The flaming cross on his cheek twitched. It seemed bigger than what I remembered.

I lunged but he was ready. He caught me dead on the side of my face, dazing me. I fell against some kind of statue of a chick with four arms and a snake crawling around her. It tumbled over but didn't break. Off balance, Trace rammed a fist into my side, making stars pop behind my eyes. Fuck. I sank down to one knee.

"You're going to be my woman, Raines." He kicked me in the shoulder, knocking me over. I tried to focus my sight, and from the angle I was at I could see some tools leaning against the shed. Knowing he was going to kick me again, I rolled to one side. My shoulder still burned like a mother. I got up and ran for the shed. I could yell for Wilma, but what good would that do? Plus, what kind of man would I be if I did?

"Come on, Zelmont, I want to play," the big punk laughed. "Don't go home yet, your mama will let you stay out a little longer."

I dove through the plants, cutting myself on cactus thorns and what all. I scrambled up faster than I had in any drill I'd ever done and was about to latch onto a handle of a shovel when a fist socked me hard in the kidney. I fell against the shed, damn near crying from the pain. Hands grabbed me and turned me around. It was another Internal Truth Squad sack of shit. His cross had a purple kind of flame dancing from it. He hauled me out of the shrubs and dumped me on the deck like I was wet clothes.

Trace, standing next to his God-fearing pal, looked down at me with a sick smile. "Meet one of my good friends, Zelmont. Randy, meet Zelmont."

I was trying to rise when Randy said, "Mr. Raines," and hit me across the back of my head, knocking my face back into the ground. Trace stepped closer.

"What business do you have out here, Zelmont?" He put his hands in his pockets, relaxed, enjoying seeing me crawling like a prison sissy at his feet.

I looked up. "Your sister asked me up here 'cause she wanted some new dick to suck 'sides yours." That got me a heel aimed at my mouth like I hoped. I grabbed his foot, and with all I had I lifted and shoved him backward. Trace went over. Randy was already on me and had his iron-hard arms around my chest from behind. He had a knee in my back and was pulling the top of my body towards him. I felt like I was going to pass out.

"I like dark meat, Mr. Raines." He started biting the mess that was my face and I screamed, the blood warm against my sweaty skin. I got a hand behind me and latched onto his johnson. I squeezed it like I was trying to get the last drop out of a toothpaste tube.

"Oh Lord, grant me strength," Randy cried, his jaw letting go of my face. Trace was running forward. I shifted, the pressure from Randy's knee having let up some. We fell over, Trace getting tangled up too. This was worse than games where I was half doped on painkillers and my hip was doing weird tricks in the socket. But fuck it, this was no game.

I had my hand on flesh and bone. It was a neck. It was Randy's neck, and I was squeezing it like I was wringing out a rag. Punches were landing on me and I didn't care. Trace had his arms around my waist, trying to pull me loose. But I wasn't going to let go, ever. I got a foot under Trace's jaw, using his solid body to wedge myself against him and Randy. I got my elbow up, then came down hard with it, ramming Trace's partner in the Adam's apple.

Trace yanked me clear. I slid into the statue. I got up, operating only on reflex. Randy was on his feet, gulping hard, his eyes bugged out at me.

"Curse of Ham," he wheezed, coming at me like Lon Chaney in one of those old Wolfman movies. Trace moved at me from the side. Just then one of Randy's bug eyes came flying from his head. His body kept stumbling forward and landed hard on the statue, breaking it into sharp chunks.

Both of us stared at him and then at each other. I looked past Trace to see Wilma standing at the edge of the pool. She had a gun in her hand, and obviously knew how to use the thing. Trace rammed past me, jumping into the bushes and plants.

"Get him," Wilma yelled.

I was already moving. I ran past the shed, catching something out of the corner of my eye in the way I spotted a lineman angling at me. The shovel was missing. My face hurt like hell from Randy's chewing and my body was stinging from all the blows, but I kept going. If Trace got away, I knew it wouldn't be good. No good at all. I got to a clearing. All around were them Joshua trees Wilma had told me about. I stopped, waiting and listening. Why run? Trace would want to finish the fight.

"I thought you was gonna make me put my hand in your back pocket. You ain't punkin' out, are you, homeboy?"

I crept up near a part of the trees and heard him moving somewhere nearby, hidden from me. I went into the trees, ducking low and moving as quiet as I could. My hip started to act up but there was nothing I could do. I had to show Wilma I could take care of business. Off to my left, in front of where I was, I heard him moving again. He was trying to figure out where I was too.

I started to move in a circle, and a plant cracked behind me. I froze, crouching down. Trace stopped too, listening for me. I took off again, moving like a dog on my hands and feet. The hip was grinding in the socket and I wanted to rest. At any moment I knew I was going to run out of gas, my second wind all played out.

There, to the right, I told myself. I shot forward, bumping against a tree. Trace turned and swung the shovel down at me and I dove out of the way. The side of the shovel sunk into the tree, and he yanked on it to get it loose. I was already up, absolute fear blocking the pain. I latched on to Trace and headbutted him under his jaw. He stumbled back, letting go of the shovel.

He'd almost got the thing free. I grabbed the handle and pulled it out. I swung it, tripping him up as he tried to run off. My second swing caught him straight in his face, knocking the fool back to the ground. He was still awake so I hit him again, this time dead in the nose. He went over on his side, his face hidden behind a sheet of blood.

I leaned over, holding myself up with the shovel where I'd put it into the ground. My lips tasted salty and I stayed like that for a while, getting myself together. "Wilma," I shouted as I walked into the clearing. I was so goddamn tired. I shouted some more and she finally trotted over.

"Keep your voice down, there are other properties around here."

"Like they didn't hear that gunshot?"

"People are always target practicing out in the country."

"You got an answer for everything, don't you?" I said as I dragged Trace by his heels into the clearing. I sat down.

Wilma stood over Trace, a concerned look on her face. I knew it wasn't 'cause I'd broken his nose and he looked like shit. She was wondering like me what Weems' right-hand man was doing here, and what that meant in terms of the holier-than-thou commissioner's involvement.

"Well, he's breathing, that means he can answer questions."

"You should have been a cop with that kinda attitude."

Wilma bent down and slapped Trace on the side of his face with her pistol. It was a good-sized gun. Pistols weren't my thing, but it was clear homegirl knew something about them.

Trace's eyes fluttered like I'd seen players do after getting their head rung.

"Why did Weems send you?" She stood back, the gun on him.

"You have broken a commandment," he said.

"Let me worry about my soul." She waved the gun, a shiny automatic of some kind. "You need to focus on the issue at hand, Trace."

He grinned. "And who is he that will harm you if ye be followers of that which is good?"

I shook the end of the shovel in front of him. "How 'bout I bust you upside the head again and see if that harms your Biblespoutin' ass?"

"The defiler can never know the ways of the righteous."

Wilma kicked him in the leg. "Cut the sanctimonious crap. How much does Weems know about Stadanko? Or were you and your dead pal up here on some kind of fishing expedition?"

Trace lifted his large shoulders and let them come back down. "I am but a vessel. Thou therefore endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ."

I sank the handle of the shovel hard into his gut. He didn't flinch much, only sneered at me. ''He's just going to keep this bullshit up. We're wasting time."

Wilma put on her lawyer face. She walked in small circles as she talked. "It doesn't seem likely Weems would send these two to hide out and wait around for Stadanko and the rest to get here this weekend." She had one hand on her hip, the gun loose at her side in the other.

"Maybe they came here to look for the files like us."

"That's more delicate work than I'd send Trace to do."

"That why you didn't want me and Nap doing it?"

She came over to me, touching my wound. "Now, baby."

Trace made a move and I hit him with the business end of the shovel. The bastard hit the deck, his hands out before him. I kicked him in the side and this time he felt it. He held his ribs.

"Your day is fast approaching, defiler."

Wilma pointed the gun at him. Much as I didn't like the asshole, killing somebody like that made me jumpy. I guess it shouldn't have, but it did. "You're gonna dust him? That's two goddamn bodies we gotta deal with, Wilma."

"This is so he'll behave." She jerked the gun. "Give him the shovel."

"Are you"

"Please, baby," she said sweetly, "I know what I'm doing."

I didn't dig it that I wasn't in control, didn't know the rules for this kind of play Wilma did, or at least that gun and what she did with it made it seem so. I threw the shovel over to Trace. He was on his feet again, rubbing his ribs, sizing me up for another rumble.

"You're going to bury your friend." Wilma got an angle on him for a good, clean shot.

He touched his flaming cross. "I will not."

Wilma shot past his head, the bullet sinking into the wall of the shed in a puff of plaster.

Me and Trace stood there with our mouths open. She didn't say anything else and Trace picked up the shovel. We walked over to the area behind the shed where there were Joshua trees and cactus and other shit I couldn't name. We stopped at a patch of earth and Wilma pointed at the ground. Trace got a funny look on his face and I tensed. But he got busy digging.

He didn't talk, didn't take off his coat. He kept working, stopping now and then to get his breath. Eventually he'd dug a hole big enough for Randy. The space wasn't too long but was deep.

"Put down the shovel and let's get your boyfriend."

"You will be punished." He was breathing heavy, sweat pouring off him like buckets of water. His suit was dirty and wet.

"No, that's not going to happen," Wilma said.

Me and Trace carried Randy's corpse to its makeshift grave.

"Zelmont, search the body just in case they found anything."

I did. The only thing I found was a pocket edition of the New Testament and two pens. Then we dumped the body in the pit.

The dead man was tall so his body didn't really fit lengthwise. He laid there, his knees bent like he was resting, his eyes open and focused on nothing. It gave me the goddamn willies.

Again without a word, Trace got busy, filling the hole with the dirt he'd just dug out. When he was finished, he broke off two small branches from a Joshua tree. He fastened them together with his shoelaces to make a cross and stuck it over the place Randy's head was. He bowed his own head and mumbled a prayer. All the while I didn't take my eyes off him. I was waiting for him to try and get slick.

"And now, Mary Magdalene?" he said.

She came up on him, the gun level. Trace was gonna get to see Jesus faster than he might want to, his cap pealed in the bargain. Wilma then patted him down thoroughly and looked like she was enjoying it. Trace acted like he wasn't. "Now get in the car you came in and go back to Los Angeles. Tell Weems what happened, don't spare the details, you hear?"

Trace finally took off his coat. He put it over his arm and went off, walking directly through the bushes and all.

"Uh, what the fuck are you doing?" I pointed after him.

Wilma was walking toward the shed. "What can Weems do, Zelmont? He sent those two up here for something, but it's definitely off the books, right?" She tried the door of the shed but it was locked.

"Yeah," I said, not really sure what she meant. I stepped up and leaned on the door.

"We have to make it seem like we were never here," she said.

"I know." The door caved in after a few knocks with my shoulder. It wasn't too busted up, so it would look pretty normal when we shut it back, I figured.

Wilma went inside the room. Sunlight came in through the dirty windows. She found a switch and put on the light, "Weems is up to something," she said, sensing I was still confused about her sending Trace off like she did. "If he reports Randy's death, then he has to explain what those two were doing here. And he doesn't want that."

After a few seconds, I said, "Stadanko can't call the law 'cause they're after him, and big-stick-up-his-ass Weems can't 'cause his slippery shit will come out."

Wilma was looking around. "Exactly. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Very"

Inside the place was what you'd expect to find in a tool shed. There was a power drill, a rake, a push broom, and a big table with those little drawers built in to a long rack above it. A vise was lying on the table next to all kinds of parts. Standing there I felt kinda sad. It was like the workplace I'd always imagined my dad would have had when I was a kid. Like we'd be together in it while Moms cooked dinner, working on a model car. Or he'd be showing me how to fix a faucet family shit like that.

"Damn," I said quietly.

Wilma wasn't paying attention. She was looking around very carefully. If she picked something up she was sure to place it back just where it had been. I did the same.

''Wouldn't his records be in the house?" I opened a big roll-away toolbox. The thing was filled with shiny socket wrenches and all kinds of stuff. None of them look liked they'd ever been used.

I know how his mind works, Zelmont. He thinks he's much more clever than he really is."

I worked on trying to figure out what she meant as I searched around. We kept it up for an hour but didn't turn up zip.

"We have to check the house," I said, leaving out "and then book." I didn't want Wilma to think I was scared, but hanging around in a house we broke into with a fresh corpse buried in the yard was not my idea of a good time.

"I already checked it. There's a safe in the master bedroom. Weems must have given Trace the combination because its door was laying open. But they must not have found the files inside."

"When'd you find that out?"

"When I went to see how I might get in the house I saw that the alarm had been turned off. I knew something was up so I got out my Sig." She nodded her head at the gun, which was on a stool. I went through the house slowly. When I was in the master bedroom, I heard you going at it with the Hardy Boys."

"So they came outside when they heard us coming up?"

"Or," she snapped her fingers, "there was some reason for them to be searching outside."

I followed her out and we stood there next to the shed. She had her hand up to block the glare of the sun as she scanned the area. "What would make them go outside?" she mumbled.

"Maybe we can find what it is up in the bedroom."

She winked at me and we walked into the cabin through the back door. Upstairs, Stadanko's bedroom was outfitted like I figured the big show-off would have it. There was a bearskin with the head on it on the floor. The bed looked like it had been handmade from logs. There were Indian-type rugs tacked on the raw wood walls. At the foot of the bed was a long black lacquer box about the size of two hope chests put one on top of another. Some kind of stereo unit, I figured. He even had deer horns tacked over the bathroom door. I cracked up. "This is some shit right out of Bonanza. Stadanko ain't never been hunting in his life."

I was standing over the spot where the safe was sunk into the floor. The rug had been thrown back and a section of the floor removed, revealing it. Inside the safe were a lot of packets of greenbacks and some other stuff. I crouched down to help myself.

"We're not here for that," Wilma said sharply. "You need to keep your mind focused."

As broke as I was, I knew she was right. From where I was squatting I could see through the sliding glass door and the railing of the balcony. Beyond that was the plants, shrubs, and the shed. There was also an opening off to the right between a bunch of green. Trace probably had good eyesight like mine. I saw what he must have seen. Standing up, the gap in the plants and leaves wasn't that noticeable.

"Come on."

"What?"

"Come on." I was already heading for the door. Back outside we went through the greenery in the direction I saw from upstairs. The bite Randy had given me had stopped hurting and it almost seemed like it happened a long time ago. Almost. We got to the place I'd been looking at.

"What in the hell?" Wilma said.

It was a pumpkin patch. The funny thing was, the area was surrounded by a high fence of barbed wire.

"To keep out coyotes?" Wilma touched the fence.

"It's damn near seven-feet high," I said. "That's a pretty big goddamn coyote to keep out." There was a gate in the fence, and it had a heavy lock on it. "I bet he would have put an alarm on except the rabbits and other animals around here would keep setting it off."

She wrinkled up her face. "What are you getting at?"

"I know a little something about Stadanko too." I walked around the outside of the patch. "See that pumpkin over there? Ain't there a crack going around the top?" I pointed to the one I meant.

"I don't see anything."

"I do." I went back and got the ladder from the shed. Then I leaned it on a tree near the patch. From the top of the ladder I dove over the fence into the patch, coming up in a roll. We couldn't cut the wire, as that would have tipped our hand to Stadanko.

"How are you going to get back over?" Wilma stood by the barbed wire, a smart-ass look on her lips.

"You'll see." I touched the pumpkin I'd been looking at. "It's plastic."

"No shit," she said.

I kicked at a few. "Most of these are real, though."

I opened up the bogus pumpkin. Inside were some computer disks. Bingo. I took them out. "Won't he check on these when he has his meeting this weekend?" I asked.

"We'll put some disks from the house in there. He has a computer and plenty of blanks in a box. He might look inside the pumpkin, but I'm betting he won't take them out to check them."

That sounded right to me. I found more disks in two other fake pumpkins hidden with the real ones. She got some same-colored disks from the house and I stuck them in the pumpkins.

"Now how are you going to get out?" Wilma put her hands on her hips, a little smile on her lips as she blew me a kiss. "You're so smart."

"Take the ladder and turn it sideways between the barbed wire." I pointed to where I meant.

She brought the ladder over and we got it jammed in place. That created enough room for me to ease through the opening.

"Shit." The barbs had caught me as I went through the gap. A chunk of meat was ripped from my back. I fell to the ground, beat.

We got the ladder back to the shed and Wilma took me inside again. She had me take off my shirt and told me to lay on Stadanko's bed. What the fuck. I did, and she dabbed at the wound with something on a washcloth she'd gotten from the bathroom. As she took care of me I was looking at this dresser off to the side. On it were a bunch of videotapes.

"Stadanko's some kind of movie nut," I said.

"Oh, he's a nut all right." Wilma got on the bed beside me. She grabbed a remote off the dresser and pressed a button. I heard something whine and turned to see a TV rising out of what I thought had been a stereo unit. She got one of the tapes and put it in a slot on top of the TV.

On screen was a homemade video of some women spanking each other, giggling, and snorting coke. One of them was even doing another with a jet black strap-on dildo. Wilma was watching, fascinated. I was getting turned on knowing she was getting turned on. In one scene Chekka was running around naked in a cowboy hat chasing the chick with the dildo. I could hear Stadanko hollering at him in that language of theirs. Stadanko would put the video camera down now and then and join in.

"This is what happens after they talk business," Wilma said. She unbuttoned her shirt, rubbing her own nipples.

Pretty soon me and Wilma were getting busy on the bed, the partyers on the tape whooping and having a great time too. Sometime later, laying on my back staring at the ceiling, it crossed my mind to ask myself how it was she knew what was on the tapes. Was it just a guess, based on what she'd heard about Stadanko? Or was there some other reason?

At some point, Wilma had put in another tape and it was playing as we laid on the bed. She had a leg over my lower body, and she was asleep. I shifted and looked at the action on the tape. This one involved some light S & M, with Stadanko getting his jollies by being spanked with a long flat paddle with holes in it. This big ice blonde was doing him. She was dressed in thigh-high boots, leather mini skirt, and a cap like I'd seen the German officers wearing in a Hogan's Heroes rerun. She was definitely enjoying her work, and so was Stadanko. The boy was almost crying he dug the pain so much.

I laid back down, my eyes getting heavy too. The sounds on the tape were my lullaby "Faster, faster, goddammit," I suddenly heard a voice say. A voice I knew. I shot up, almost waking Wilma. On the TV, Davida was getting banged by Rudy Chekka. She was spread eagle on a couch, her arms and legs tied apart with thick white ropes. Rudy was working hard, sweating and grunting like the animal he was. It didn't help my mood that Davida was really digging it. The ice blonde stood on the side, whacking Chekka's butt with a whip. But she wasn't doing it too hard. I watched the whole goddamn tape, not tired anymore at all.