bitch”, ’n’ I says, “What the fuck happened, man? She get hit by one of these assholes you tellin’ me about?” ’n’ he laughs ’n’ he says, “No, she got herself teached a good lesson”.’
Michael uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.
‘So I says, “What the fuck is that all about? She got a lesson about what?” and this dumb fuck he says, “Bitch tried to hold out on me, bitch tried to hold out on me for fifty bucks she got off some rich asshole from uptown so I had to teach her a lesson, right?” and he started laughing.’
Michael shook his head and frowned.
‘I was shocked, man, I can tell you without any problem. This asshole beats the living crap outta this poor girl for the sake of fifty bucks. Never seemed to occur to him that she wasn’t gonna be entertainin’ anyone with her face all smashed up. Never thought to occur to him how much money he would lose with her out of business ’n’ all. And that’s the kinda thing I see every day down here. Basic lack of respect for the value of human life. It’s like they’s all lost their own self-respect and dignity, and sometimes it can’t help but stick in my craw.’
Michael put his empty cup on the table.
‘So things is a little different down here, and though we didn’t wanna have you involved with any of this kinda shit I’m afraid that you’re gonna come across it whether you look for it or not.’
‘So what d’you want me to do?’ I asked.
‘A bit of this, a bit of that. Angelo told me something about the kind of work you were doing for Fabio Calligaris, and we figured we could always use a little help in that quarter, you know what I mean?’
I nodded; I knew what Michael Cova meant. ‘So is there something specific?’
Michael smiled. ‘Well, that little story I told ya just then, I didn’t tell ya just for the sake o’ shootin’ the breeze and passin’ the time of day. I told you because the guy, the hitter, you know? The one who slapped the girl around?’
I nodded; I knew what was coming.
‘Well, seems she’s not the only one who’s been holdin’ out on fifty bucks here and fifty bucks there. Seems he’s as guilty as any of those girls of his, and we need you to go down and have a few words with him, sort of words he will thoroughly understand and never have the chance to repeat.’
‘You want him clipped?’
Michael looked surprised, and then he started laughing. ‘Shit, Angelo was right about you. You don’t fuck around, do you?’
I shrugged. ‘What’s the point? You want him clipped then say you want him clipped. We’ll save all the nice things about the weather and whatever the fuck else for sometime when I come over to yours for a barbecue.’
Michael dropped the friendly face. I heard it hit the floor of the narrow diner near the Santa Ana Freeway.
‘Sure, so we want him clipped. You can handle that?’
‘Consider it done. Any particular
Michael frowned. ‘Whaddya mean?’
‘There’s as many different ways to clip someone as there are different people. Sometimes it needs to be fast and quiet, like the guy disappears for a holiday and never comes back, other times it’s because someone needs an example made to anyone else who might have the same idea-’
Michael brightened up. ‘That’s the baby. You got it there. We want him done like he’s an example to any of the other smalltime lowlife scumbags who might be getting the wrong idea about who they’re working for.’
‘When?’ I asked.
‘When what?’
‘When d’you want him done?’
Michael shook his head. ‘Today?’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Today’s as good as any other. What’s the address?’
Michael gave me the address, a house on Miramar and Third near the Harbor Freeway.
I rose from my chair.
‘Now?’ he said, seeming surprised.
‘Any reason not to?’
Michael shook his head. ‘S’pose not. Why the hurry?’
‘I gotta pregnant wife back home… said I wouldn’t be out late.’
Michael laughed suddenly, coarsely. He looked at me like he expected me to start laughing as well. I didn’t.
‘You’re serious,’ he said.
I nodded.
‘Okay. Fair’s fair. You gotta do what you gotta do.’
‘Not a problem,’ I said, ‘You want me to call you and let you know when I’m finished?’
‘Sure, Ernesto, you call me.’
‘You gonna be here?’
Michael shook his head. ‘I’ll be home more than likely.’
‘Gimme your number.’
He gave me his number and I wrote it down alongside the address he gave me. I looked at the address and the number until I was certain I would remember them, and then I lit the piece of paper and let it burn in the ashtray.
‘And the guy’s name?’
‘Clarence Hill,’ he said. ‘Buttfuck’s name is Clarence Hill.’
I took a route avoiding the main freeways – Spring down to Fourth, along Fourth and beneath the Harbor Freeway to Beaudry, and there on the corner of Miramar and Third I found the place.
I backed up and parked the car two blocks south, got out and walked back on foot. By that time it was early evening, the sun was down and the lights inside told me where the girls were working.
I went up the front steps and knocked on the door, knocked three times before it was opened, and when I stepped inside, the smell of the place assaulted my nostrils violently.
‘You want?’ some ugly rash-faced Hispanic asked.
‘Need to see Clarence,’ I said.
The Hispanic frowned. ‘Whassup wit’ you? You gotta cold or somethin’? Don’t be comin’ down here infectin’ everyone wit’ no goddamned influenza.’
‘I ain’t got influenza,’ I said. ‘I ain’t gonna breathe through my nose… this place stinks like no place I ever been before,’ which was not true, because as soon as I had walked inside the door I was reminded of some late night, staggering through the doorway of the house where I had lived with Ruben Cienfuegos so many years before.
The Hispanic made a sneering noise, and said, ‘What you want wit’ Clarence?’
‘I got to see him,’ I said, ‘I gotta deliver something from Michael.’
The Hispanic smiled broadly. ‘Shee-it, why in the fuckin’ hell you not say you was here from Michael? I know Michael, me an’ Michael we go ways back and then some more. Me an’ Michael sometimes just sit down and have a beer, make some face-time, you know?’
I nodded. I smiled, I could imagine that Michael Cova sitting down and having beer with the Hispanic was as likely as me shooting the breeze with Capone.
‘So where is he?’
The Hispanic nodded towards the stairs. ‘Up on the first, third door on the left, but for fuck’s sake knock on the door ’fore you go in ’cause he’s more than likely getting his hardware polished if you know what I mean.’
I shook my head, but I smiled for the Hispanic. Clarence wasn’t only beating the crap out of the trade, he was stealing from the cookie jar as well.
I went up quickly and quietly, along the upper hallway until I reached the door. I knocked once, heard a voice inside, and I went in.
Clarence Hill was a fat fuck useless sack of nothing worthwhile. He sat back in a deep armchair dressed in nothing but shorts and a filthy tee-shirt. In his right hand he held a TV remote, in his left a can of beer. On the floor ahead of him were three more empty cans.
‘Yo!’ he said. ‘Think maybe you’re in the wrong room, mister.’
