Part 35 (1/2)
”So does Mickey. Hey, where you going?”
”Lynwood.”
”Hot date?”
”Yeah, with a pretty-boy strongarm cop.”
”I'll tell Touch--he'll be jealous.”
Adrenaline-rain peaked it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Lynwood--wind, rain--streets running crisscross and diagonal. Dark--hard to see; Aviation and Hibiscus--that pay phone on the corner.
Tombstone laughs--Jack's call reprised: ”He kicked natural or got snuffed by somebody else? Come on, let me redeem myself. Say Welles Noonan for that same ten?”
Stucco pads--quasi slums; empty bungalow courts. Spindrift--the 4900 block--I skimmed numbers.
24, 38, 74. 4980: a two-deck stucco dive, abandoned.
One light on-downstairs left, the door open.
I walked up.
An empty living room--cobwebs, dusty floor--Schoolboy Johnny standing there calm.
No jacket, empty holster--trust me.
Trust s.h.i.+t--watch his hands.
”Are you grieving for Junior, Johnny?”
”What do you know about Stemmons and me?”
”I know he made you for the fur heist. I know that other stuff doesn't count.”
”Other stuff” made him blink. Ten feet apart--watch his hands.
”He had evidence on you, too. He felt terrible things for certain people, and he collected evidence on them to even things out.”
”We can work out a deal. I don't care about the fur job.”
”You don't know the half”--eye flickers craaaazy.
Footsteps behind me.
My hands pinned/my mouth cupped--smothered/my sleeves rolled up/stabbed.
Walking air--tunnel vision--peripheral gra.s.s. Tingles/flutters up my groin/toasty warm.
Side doorways, shoes, trouser legs flapping.
Elbow dipped, shoes on concrete, right turn-- A door opened--warm air, light. Mirrored walls, herringbone patterns up close. Somebody stretched me p.r.o.ne.
Light overhead--snowflake blurry.
_Whir, click/click_--cylinder noise, like a camera. Sliding on my knees-- white wax paper under me.
Propped up.
Tape strips on my eyes--slapped sticky blind.
Somebody hit me.
Somebody poked me.
Somebody burned me-hot/cold sizzles on my neck.
Not so tingly/toasty warm--no flutters up my groin.
Somebody pulled the tape off--sticky red blood in my eyes.
Cylinder _click-clicks_.
Propped up on white wax paper. Something in my right hand, heavy and s.h.i.+ny: MY souvenir j.a.p sword.
Shoved, focused in: Johnny Duhamel naked, holding MY gun.
Burned: hot/cold--my neck, my hands.
Burned raw--Johnny kneeling, gla.s.sy eyes, taunting me.
Burned--steam in my face-Johnny taunting me-blue slant eyes.
Get him, cut him--wild swings, misses.