The wake-up

37

"I can't do it." Vlad ran a hand across a rack of brightly colored shirts, the hangers going clickety-clack under his fingers. "I can't."

"Come on, it's not like you haven't done this kind of thing before," said Clark. "This is your function, man, the fucking prime directive."

"Arturo is my friend."

"Your friend sold us out," said Missy. It was the day after Thorpe had surprised her at Fashion Island, and she was ready to get started, but all Vlad wanted to do was make excuses, and Cecil giving her that "I told you so" face, which made her want to kick him. As soon as this thing with Arturo was settled, she was going to ship Cecil back to live with their uncle. He could see how well that attitude worked at the filling station.

They were standing in the salesroom of the Huntington Beach Camp Riddenhauer, the smallest store in the CR chain, ostensibly managed by Vlad. Located in a failing minimall on Warner Boulevard, it'd had almost no foot traffic since the used-CD shop next door had closed five months ago, but it still maintained an air of imminent success. The shelves were fully stocked, carrying the complete CR line of jackets, shorts, shirts, sandals, tanks, and tees. Surf posters covered the interior walls-tiny surfers riding mountainous blue waves, and black-and-white blowups of classic Hawaiian postcards from the 1930s and 1940s, beefy kahunas staring into the camera, their longboards planted in the sand behind them. Reggae music pounded out of the speakers, but they were the only ones there to hear it. Only 5:00 p.m., but, as usual, Vlad had sent the staff home for the day. Every few weeks, a step van would come and take most of the merchandise away to an incinerator, then come back and refill the store with fresh designs. It wasn't Clark's fault if the public had no taste.

"Arturo was the one who decided not to go after Guillermo," Clark explained to Vlad. "He sold Frank down the river, and he didn't ask for my okay. You don't think that's suspicious?"

"Arturo hates Frank," said Vlad. "I don't understand it, but he does."

"Don't forget, Arturo needs money big-time," Cecil piped up. "I heard him bitching to Vlad about all the cash he lost in the stock market, going on and on about how he wasn't never going to be able to retire now. Bitch, bitch, bitch. Arturo probably didn't even know I was in the room. Nobody pays any attention to Cecil. Cecil is just part of the furniture. Put your foot up on Cecil's face and get comfortable."

"Talking about yourself in the third person is the first sign of insanity," Clark said to him. "One word, dude… lithium. Make the molecule your friend."

Cecil had a nasty answer, but he kept it to himself. Instead, he held a geometric Aborigine-print shirt against his chest for Missy to see. "How do I look?"

"Go jiggle the handle of the toilet," said Missy. "Somebody left it running."

Cecil threw the shirt down, stomped off to the rest room.

"It was Arturo didn't think I was doing my job," Clark said to Vlad. " 'Too much surf, not enough turf,' that's what he said." He glanced at Missy. "He's not the only one who thought I was backing off, but he was the only one who tried to fuck us over."

There was a wind roaring through Vlad's head, a static storm, but he could hear every word they said.

"Arturo was the only one who didn't respond to my e-mail yesterday," said Missy. "The only one. When I finally got him on the phone, he said his PDA was shot. No idea how it happened." She jabbed a finger at Vlad. "You know what happened. We all know what happened. Frank talked to Guillermo, then Guillermo tried to send Arturo an e-mail and crashed his PDA. Arturo is the inside man. What more do you need?"

Vlad didn't move. No one could tell that he was even breathing. "I believe you," he said at last. It sounded soft as a surrender. "What Arturo did was wrong, very wrong… but I can't take his life."

"What, you expect me to do it?" said Clark.

"I'll do it," said Cecil, back from the rest room.

Missy and Clark laughed, and even Vlad smiled.

"What's so funny?" demanded Cecil.

"Seriously, man, thanks for the offer," said Clark, "but killing Arturo… it's not like running down a little old lady."

Cecil just stood there. His red hair looked like it was about to catch on fire.

Vlad stared at his hands, turning them over as though they didn't belong to him. He wiggled his fingers. In just the last day, his cuticles had turned black. He hadn't noticed until now.

"I can call Frank," Missy said to Vlad. "He'll do it if you won't. He's not scared."

"Fuck Frank," said Clark. "Arturo's got that coyote radar-Frank gets anywhere near him, Arturo is going to come out guns blazing. But you… he trusts you, Vlad."

"Frank is very focused, very well trained. You can tell just by looking at him," said Vlad. "That's why he was able to get away from Guillermo. A man like Frank-"

"Damn it, Vlad, will you just shut up?" said Clark. "I'm trying to give you a compliment."

"Arturo always lets me talk," said Vlad. "He doesn't yell at me, except sometimes when I eat fatty foods that he would like to eat himself. I don't blame Arturo for being angry. My metabolism isn't fair. It's not my fault, but it's not fair."

"You understand what the hell he's talking about?" Clark said to Missy.

Missy smiled at Vlad. "I know you and Arturo are friends, but we're your friends, too, aren't we?"

Vlad shook his head. "Not really."

"We pay you plenty, don't we?" said Clark. "Arturo ever give you a dime?"

"I don't need a dime."

"You're missing the fucking point," shouted Clark.

"I'm here," said Cecil, talking to himself. "I'm ready, willing, and able, but does anybody ask Cecil to do the job? No way, Jose."

"I told Arturo we're having our weekly meeting here tomorrow," Clark said to Vlad, "so get yourself prepared. Six o'clock. While Missy goes over the financials, Cecil will bring in Diet Coke or Diet Pepsi, or whatever diet crap Arturo is drinking these days, and when he reaches for the glass, you sidle over and put a bullet in his head. One shot should do it. We'll double-bag Arturo, then stuff him into one of the containers of excess clothes. Next morning, the truck comes and takes the load to the incinerator." He grinned. "No muss, no fuss, no bother."

"Sure, let Cecil bring the drinks like Jeeves the butler," muttered Cecil.

"Why don't you give Arturo another chance?" asked Vlad.

"You got to be shitting me," said Clark.

"Maybe if you give him a chance, Arturo will turn on Guillermo," said Vlad, looking around. "Arturo just needs to be appreciated more. Told that he's doing a good job. He worries all the time. Maybe if you were nicer to him, he wouldn't worry so much."

Missy stared at him, wondering what she would have to do, how high they would have to rise, before she and Clark would be dealing with a better-quality person. The loyal ones, like Vlad and Cecil, were pea brains. Arturo was smart, but greedy, and untrustworthy. All of the time she and Clark had put into the business, all their talent and hard work, and here they were, surrounded by weaklings and Benedict Arnolds. She had to ask herself, Really, what would it take? "Vlad, honey," she said evenly, "I don't think Arturo sold us out because he was worried."

"If you were nicer to him, Arturo might switch back," said Vlad. "Then, instead of Guillermo having Arturo on the inside of us, we would have Arturo on the inside of him. Please, Clark? Arturo deserves another chance."

"He deserves to be burned up and have his ashes dumped in a landfill." Clark scowled. "Maybe I have been too easygoing, but that's about to change. Just be here tomorrow, Vlad, and be ready to do your job. Smile, dude. Tomorrow's the first day of the rest of your life."