City of the Lost Read Free Page B

blows out a lungful of smoke.
    “My dad went senile,” he says. “We had to stick him in a home. He couldn’t remember who anybody was, shit himself every day. You ever have to deal with that kind of thing?”
    “Never met my dad.”
    “That’s gotta suck.”
    “Is this going somewhere?”
    “Simon’s not gonna live forever. Eventually, he’ll do something stupid, and the whole thing’s gonna come crashing round his ears. What then?”
    “This a hypothetical?”
    “What? Oh, calm down. I’m not trying to fuck him over. He’s as much my meal ticket as he is yours. I’m just wondering what happens when he finally screws up. Or gets old and kicks. The man’s sixty-five, for chrissake.”
    I toss my cigarette, grind it out with a heel. He’s right. Simon is getting old. He’s got no kids, no family I’ve ever heard of. What happens when he finally goes? It’s not like I’m getting a pension off him.
    “Simon’s not senile.”
    “No, he was just telling us some dead mob boss from the fifties has come back from the grave to drive Julio crazy enough to commit suicide. I mean, I’m not saying Julio was exactly stable, but—What? Don’t look at me like that. You’re crazy, too.”
    “I just do what I’m told.”
    “Yeah,” he says. “You just do what you’re told. You’re just a useful tool, right? See, that’s the difference between you and me. You like taking orders. It frees you up from the heavy thinking.”
    I light a fresh Marlboro, blow smoke into the chill air. From where I’m standing I can just barely see a sliver of the ocean down across the lights of PCH.
    “I ever tell you I don’t like you much?” I ask.
    “Good thing we’re both professionals, then, huh?”
    I’ve got a good fifty pounds on Danny. I could make him eat the sidewalk without breaking a sweat. But that’d just piss off Simon. Might be worth it, though.
    Danny gets this worried look on his face when I don’t say anything. Like he knows what I’m thinking. I don’t want to be around this sonofabitch any more than I need to, so I drop the half finished cigarette, grind it out with my heel, head to my car.
    “Hey,” he says as I get in. “That senile crack? I was just joking. Don’t need to tell Simon that. Right?”
    I smile at him, say nothing, and pull out of the driveway. Let him chew on that for a while.
    I don’t give a fuck about what he says about Simon. He’s probably right. The thing that’s bothering me is what he said about Julio. About me.
    Of course Julio was a little bit crazy. You can’t stick a guy in a trunk and run him through a junkyard compactor if you’re not a little bit off.
    But Julio wasn’t the kind of crazy that kills himself. Suicide’s something you do to other people.
    And what the fuck was that about being a useful tool? Fuck him. I’m not the one fetching Simon’s drinks. The fuck does Danny think he is? I’ve never liked the guy, now I know why.
    Sure, what I do is easier. Follow orders. Do what you’re told. But I’m not a goddamn robot. I do this because I’m good at it. I like the work. I can handle anything that gets thrown at me.
    But then, so could Julio.
    I push the thought aside, head up PCH with the windows down. Cold air blows in the smell of the ocean. My knee aches past the Advil, so I chew up a couple more and swallow them dry. My stomach will pay for it later.
    I call Giavetti’s hotel on my cell, confirm he’s still checked in. I’ll have this sewn up before morning. Head over the hill to Du-par’s for pancakes after.
    I hang a right on Topanga, begin the long, curvy wind through the canyon to the 101. My cell phone chirps. I fumble it out of my jacket. It’s Mariel, Julio’s wife. Like I need this right now.
    “Yeah.”
    “I just got home,” Mariel says. “You called.”
    “Have the police called you yet?”
    “Police?” she asks, wariness creeping into her voice. “Is Julio with you?”
    “No,” I say, not sure how to proceed.