Wicked Break

Twenty-seven

The perspiration on my back glued my T-shirt to my seat as Carter and I drove to Biddly’s.

“Think they’ll try to beat us to Moreno?” I asked.

Carter shrugged. “Maybe, but probably not. They’ll have to come up with a story about what happened first. They aren’t gonna just tell him we took them down without a fight. On their street.” He shook his head. “They’ll just wait and hope Moreno kills us.”

“Well, that makes me feel better.”

“I’m like a living, breathing Hallmark card.”

“Just like.”

We turned left on Euclid. Half-empty strip malls lined the street, the traffic whizzing by them as if they didn’t exist.

“Moreno won’t be alone,” I said.

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Probably won’t be as easy to shake as the teenyboppers.”

He pulled out the guns he’d taken off of Rudy and Reg. “But, gosh. We have all these.”

I glanced at them. “Yeah, those should do the trick.”

They were old, small pistols that resembled cap guns and were capable of doing about that much damage unless you had them stuck in someone’s ear. I didn’t think we’d be able to get that close to Deacon Moreno.

“You wanna dump these?” Carter asked.

I shook my head. “Not yet. Put them in the glove box. We’ll toss them later.”

He opened the box, slid them in, and shut the flap.

He tucked his own gun into the back of his waistband. “If Moreno was involved in the thing in front of the Dune, and I think we just learned he was, he’s not gonna be surprised to see you.” He paused. “If they set up that hit in Mission Beach and missed, they’ve probably been doing a little checking up on you.”

I leaned forward, peeling the back of my shirt from the seat and letting Carter’s observation settle into my gut like a sucker punch. It didn’t feel good.

“So let’s just ask him your questions,” Carter said. “If we don’t get the answers, we leave and figure out another way.”

“Simple enough,” I said, pulling the Jeep to the curb and knowing this was going to be anything but simple.

Biddly’s was an old-time liquor store. A giant neon marquee hung over the street, the yellow and orange bulbs looking dim and faded in the daylight. A small parking lot separated the sign from the store by about a hundred feet, a rectangular building with bars on the windows that didn’t hide the signs of the beer distributors. A pay phone and two newspaper bins stood to the right of the entrance. Just to the right of those was a metal sign proclaiming NO LOITERING. Sitting below the sign were three black guys in beach chairs, all in a row.

I got out of the Jeep and walked around to the sidewalk, next to Carter. The guy on the right end pulled out a cell phone, hit a button, stood up, and walked into the store.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Carter said, staring at the two remaining guys.

“What?”

He blinked once, as if he were trying to confirm what he was seeing. I looked at the two in the chairs. They hadn’t moved.

“What?” I repeated.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Tell you later.”

“Okay,” I said, puzzled.

Neither of the men stood up as we approached, just watched us as we moved closer. The one on the left was about six feet tall, thick with muscle. A thin scar ran across the bridge of his nose, white against his dark skin. Thin braids dangled from underneath a skintight black skullcap. Long arms extended from a dirty wife-beater tank and denim shorts covered most of his stretched-out legs, Nike running shoes on his feet. A plastic straw worked its way back and forth between his lips.

At first glance, he seemed barely awake. But even though his eyes were only half open, I could see the pupils working back and forth in sync with the straw. Then his eyes shifted to Carter and stayed there.

The one on the right chuckled softly. “Well, well. Mr. Private Eye Man.”

His acknowledgment of who I was didn’t surprise me because I knew he was Moreno the second I saw his eyes. They were the same amber color as his sister’s. Maybe a year or two older than his sister. His braids were similar to the other guy’s, just fatter and shorter, with nothing else on his head. He was wearing a bright yellow Ralph Lauren button-down, tan slacks, and stark white Adidas high-tops. An expensive-looking watch hugged his wrist and an even more expensive gold chain hung off his neck.

But he didn’t look worried.

“Moreno, right?” I said.

“Mr. Moreno to you,” he said with more amusement than malice.

“Got some questions for you.”

The door to the store opened and the kid who had gone in when we’d arrived stepped out. He looked at Moreno, gave a quick nod, and went back inside the store.

Moreno turned back at me and tilted his head to the side. “I’m not taking questions today.”

“What day, then?”

“Not really sure.”

He laughed at his own joke. The guy on the left just kept chewing the straw and staring at Carter. Carter held his gaze.

“You know Linc Pluto?” I asked anyway.

Moreno arched an eyebrow. “Nope.”

“I think you do.”

“Well, then you think wrong, white boy.”

“Sometimes,” I said. “But not this time. Met a guy who says you know him.”

“Oh, yeah?” he said, raising both eyebrows. “Who’s this guy that says I know Linc Pluto?” He smiled again. “Or whatever you said his name was.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I don’t care about the guns. I just wanna know about Pluto.”

“Goodie-goodie for you,” Moreno said, then laughed to himself again.

“Pluto work for you?”

He sat up a little in his chair and motioned to the guy next to him. “This here is Wesley. He handles all of our human resources shit.” He grinned. “Whyn’t you ask him?”

I looked at Wesley. “Pluto work for Moreno?”

Wesley ignored me, pulled the straw out of his mouth, and pointed it at Carter. “How’s your jaw?”

“Fine,” Carter said, his voice flat. “How’re your ribs?”

“Fine.” Wesley put the straw back in his mouth and started back to work on it.

They both tried to give off the feeling that their dialogue was casual, harmless. It seemed anything but that to me.

“Damn,” Moreno said, looking back to me. “I guess human resources is closed today.”

My irritation grew with his arrogance, but there wasn’t much I could do. We were on his turf and I had to be careful. I couldn’t just throw him to the street like I had Carlos.

“Maybe I should just go back and ask Rudy and Reg,” I said.

The grin on Moreno’s face flickered down for a moment, but he caught himself quickly and tried to stay nonchalant.

“They’re probably still lying in the street where we left them,” I said. “Urine stains will be embarrassing when they stand up.” I paused. “They promised us you’d be here, and damn if they weren’t right.”

The grin dissolved slowly this time and Moreno didn’t bother trying to stop it. “That right?” He tilted his head to the side again. “I think it’s time for you and the Great White Hope next to you to go.”

“I’m not done yet,” I said.

“Yes, you are,” a voice said behind me.

Carter and I both turned. The guy matched Carter’s height of six-nine and probably outweighed Carter by a hundred pounds. His skin was a deep black and wraparound shades hid his eyes on his boulderlike head. The white golf shirt and navy pants were funny attire for a guy aiming a TEC-9 machine gun at us.

A dark blue Ford Excursion with blacked-out windows and rims that shone like new money was idling quietly at the curb in front of my Jeep. The rear passenger door was open.

“Later, fellas,” Moreno said, then laughed to himself one more time.

“Wizard’s waiting,” the huge man said.

I turned to Carter.

“Wizard’s waiting,” Carter said, and I thought I detected a small spark of excitement in his voice.

As we walked to the Excursion, I could find nothing exciting about going to meet Wizard Matellion.