Fun and Games - Duane Swierczynski [31]
Hardie took a few more quick steps, trying to project the most nonthreatening and peaceable version of himself. Hands out—look, see, no weapons.
The woman remained perfectly still, as if she’d fallen asleep and was completely unaware of the bleeding, trembling man barreling toward her. Not like this kind of thing happens every day in L.A. Or does it?
She continued her conversation. Hardie caught the tail end of it:
“… you know me. I like constant updates. Hang on a second.”
Finally Hardie caught her attention, because she turned her head slowly to face him. It was impossible to read her reaction behind her sunglasses. She said calmly:
“Let me get back to you.”
The woman wiggled a little until she’d propped herself up on her elbows. Her breasts hung full and wide from her tight, athletic frame.
“Uh, miss… please don’t panic. I need you to call the police. It’s an emergency.”
“Hi, Charlie,” the woman said.
10
No, no, I sock ’em in the jaw and yell pop goes the weasel.
—Samuel L. Jackson, The Long Kiss Goodnight
HARDIE STOPPED moving. Dropped his hands. Felt a rush of blood to his head.
“Gotta say, I’m a little surprised to see you up and moving around,” the woman said. “But I guess that was a miscalculation, splitting the dose between two grown men. Usually we load those things with enough for just one. Have to make a note for next time, I suppose.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Hardie asked.
“Interesting you didn’t run for it. In fact, you came down here to borrow a phone and call for help. You probably consider yourself the hero type. So if I tell you to just walk away and pretend like none of this happened, you couldn’t, am I right? You just couldn’t. It would run counter to your very DNA.”
Hardie stared at her.
“Well, don’t be rude,” the woman said. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
Hardie could think of nothing to say to that, other than:
“You have very nice tits.”
The woman smiled.
“You like them?”
“Anybody would like them.”
“You probably don’t think they’re real.” She let a fake sigh escape her lips and threw her head back wearily. “Nobody thinks they’re real.”
Hardie shook his head, something approximating a confused smile on his face.
“I honestly don’t think I’m the best judge of what’s real and not real. What happened to your eye?”
“Let’s not talk about my body parts, okay? Let’s talk about our situation. Usually, my inclination is to throw money at the problem. It’s easy, clean, and has been proven to truly motivate people. But I don’t think I can bribe you. Sure, you might go along with it, buy yourself some time. Or maybe you think, worst-case scenario, you can always track me down and seek your revenge later. Because that’s what tough guys do. Still, even if I believed you’d take the bribe and keep your mouth shut, it’s a loose end, and I’m not in the business of loose ends.”
Hardie said, “What about the dead delivery dude in a plastic bag? Was he another loose end?”
The woman smiled. “That’s a sad story, actually. He used to be a comic-book artist, but he had trouble making ends meet. He joined the delivery service a few months ago. About a half hour from now, he’ll be found in North Hollywood, bullet through his brain, victim of a carjacking.”
“That is really sad.”
The woman lowered her head slightly. “Would it help if I told you the woman up in that house—the one you think you’re protecting—deserves to die?”
“What girl?”
The woman smiled.
“What girl. Good one, Charlie. But believe me, she’s pretty fucking far from innocent and deserves everything she’s got coming. If you knew what she did, you might even help us. Hold her down while we finish her off.”
Hardie had one of his usual take-stock-of-your-current-situation moments and realized he was standing