The sting of Pierre’s rebuke lingered in Genny’s mind and on her cheek. A subliminal fear, an unconscious anxiety, gripped her whenever she heard his voice or saw his face. Today, sitting in the car with him, was no different.
She had dreaded Saturday’s arrival all week. For some reason he hadn’t explained yet, he told her to meet him Friday afternoon at the park where the festival would occur. Jorge would be there as well. Just the three of them as far as she knew. The thought that this might have been her last day on the earth played at the edges of her mind, but with all manner of self-deluded rationalization, she managed to repress the notion. A temporary sense of relief washed over her when another group of people appeared in the clearing by the gazebo. She laughed in spite of herself.
“What are you laughing at?” Pierre said. “I hope eet eez not my new earring. My dear departed grandmother sewed eet for me out of the entrails of her favorite cat.”
“It’s beautiful,” Genny lied, reaching out to stroke a dangling lobe. “No, I was thinking about the word gazebo.” A second lie. “That’s a strange word if you think about it. Kind of rhymes with kazoo, which is bizarre on its own account.”
“No, eet doesn’t,” Pierre stated. “Other than zee zee, there eez no association between gazebo and kazoo.”
“Or amoeba for that matter,” Genny continued as if Pierre had not spoken. “Then there’s bejeebers, peek-a-boo, fuzzy brow, elbow, …”
“None of those are close. I do not theenk you know what a rhyme eez.”
“… placebo, spaseeba, magenta …”
“I’ll geeve you zee first one.”
“… Horatio …”
“Let us move on.” His grinding jaws created ridges in his cheek muscles.
“… garbonzo …”
“Stop already! I’ve had enough of your shenaneegans.”
The timbre of his voice gave Genny pause. “Winnebago?”
Pierre growled and changed the subject. “I have brought you here for a special assignment, one that will help prove your loyalty to me.”
Genny’s face fell. Her eyes kept looking straight ahead. “Are you still mad about what happened earlier this week?”
“Mad? No,” Pierre said in a way that indicated the opposite. “Why would I be mad? I am not one to hold a grudge. Am I Jorge?”
Jorge scoffed. “Of course not, jefe. I have never known you to hold a grudge or act out in anger for any reason. You’re like the Joseph Stalin of self-control and magnanimity. The Mao Zedong of not ripping off fingernails. Cool as a cucumber. Pleasant as a pickle. That’s you.”
“You see?” Pierre told Genny. “You have nothing to fear except fear itself, just like Ted Bundy says.”
“Ted Bundy is dead,” Genny corrected.
“Eef you say so,” Pierre said. “Anyway, back to zee matter at hand. I have a special assignment for you. Eet’s quite seemple actually. You see that person over there.” He pointed through the windshield.
“The brown fellow with the cheerful red bandana?”
“Zat eez him.”
“You need something from him?”
Pierre reached into the center console, pulled out another red bandana, and gave it to her. It felt heavy in her hands.
“Go ahead. Unwrap eet.”
Genny did. The cold gray of the barrel stared at her. The curved trigger had the makings of a deadly comma.
“I want you to geeve eet to heem real good,” he said.
Relief swept over her. “Ohhh. For a second there, I figured you wanted me to … ah, never mind.” She laughed at herself. “Of course, I can give it to him. Is it a present? Don’t you think it would be better coming from you directly? I guess that doesn’t matter either. I think he’ll appreciate it. It looks just like the one his friend there has.”
“No, no, Genny,” Pierre said, his eyebrows furrowing in vexation. “Don’t geeve eet to heem. Let heem have eet.” He made pointing motions with his finger and pew, pew sounds with his mouth.
“That’s what I said. I’m going to take it to him and let him have it. He must be a really good friend of yours to get such an elegant gift.”
Now, Pierre’s lips puckered. “I do not theenk you are understanding me. I want you to take heem out.”
“So, give him the gift and take him out.” Genny pondered long enough to make a decision but not long enough for Pierre to interject. “I guess I could do that. He is kind of cute. What is it, his birthday or something?”
“Not his birthday. His deathday.”
“How do you know he’s going to … oh.” Genny paused. She looked into Pierre’s eyes to see if he was joking. There was no punchline there. “I … I can’t do that, Pierre. Why would you even ask me?” Her hand instinctually felt for the door handle.
“I am not asking you,” Pierre said. “I am telling you.”
“I can’t shoot him,” Genny said.
“The gun eez not going to go over there and shoot him itself.”
“But he might die.”
“Zat eez zee idea.”
She handed the gun to him. He pushed it back towards her.
“I can’t,” Genny said. “Besides, it’s illegal for me to touch a gun. I don’t even have a license.”
“Oh, silly Genny. Zees eez California. Eet eez only undocumented if you are a law-abiding citizen. Now take eet.”
“I can’t.”
“I eenseest.”
“I must insist more.”
“Take it,” Pierre said, losing his accent and his patience. “Or else Jorge here will be giving it to you, if you catch my meaning.”
“I do,” Genny said.
“Jefe,” Jorge said.
“What is it?” Pierre asked.
“You’re not Korean?” Jorge thought. “Uh, well …,” he said, pausing as he realized there was a good reason Pierre had kept his true identity a secret. A reason which might create a few 9mm holes in his skull if spoken out loud. “I was … um …”
“Speet eet out,” Pierre said, the Korean drawl returning as quickly as it had left.
“It’s nothing. I was simply thinking about how much I enjoy working for you.”
“Zat eez awfully sweet,” Pierre said. “And I enjoy working weeth you too.” He glanced into the rearview mirror and smiled. “I suppose I can call off your beating.”
“Huh?” Jorge said as his disposition changed from contentment to confusion.
“Nothing,” Pierre said. “Just a matter of some meesing funds from the petty cash drawer.” He turned to his right. “You see, Genny. I am quite zee reasonable man. Genny?”
An empty seat and an open door returned Pierre’s greeting.
“She must have gone to do her job,” Pierre said.
“I don’t think so, jefe,” Jorge said. “The gun is on the seat.” He watched the foul mood cloud Pierre’s face. “Don’t worry, jefe. She couldn’t have gotten far, and there’s no way she’ll make it back to town. It’s twelve miles by foot and fifteen as the sparrow zigzags.”
“You better be right, Jorge. But seence she’s not here, I guess the job falls to you.”
Genny was less than a mile away when a loud crack split the silence. Her feet started to hit the pavement even faster. By the time she made it over the ridge and down the back side, the heat had begun to sear her lungs, forcing her to stop to catch her breath. She bent over, hands on knees, her chest heaving as it tried to expel the ash which thickened the air.
Three men huddled around a hole in the pavement turned to watch. Genny thought she recognized one of them from a meeting, thought she saw him mouth some words and head inside a nearby café. A conspiracy formed in her mind. He knew what had happened. He must have known. The word was already out on the street. Pierre had eyes all over the city waiting for her to pass by.
She took off again, paranoia driving her forward. Every casual glance became a network of spies. Every car that slowed down was a potential abduction. Zigging and zagging like the sparrow, she made her way through the neighborhoods and barrios and les quartiers of Little America, Pequeño Mexico, and Petit Paris respectively. Only when she reached Ho Chi Minh Jr.’s Pho Phactory did she rest. A short gentleman in a food stained t-shirt, smoking a cigarette, walked up to her.
“Are you OK, blonde girl?” His accent reminded Genny of her medical school advisor’s voice, just with a little less salt and a little more pepper.
“I … I’m fine,” she blurted out between gulps of smogified oxygen.
“Can I get you something?”
“Sure. I’d love some water.”
The man disappeared for a minute and returned with an unopened bottle. Genny drank it in one gulp. Another minute later and a successful Heimlich maneuver, the bottle popped out of her throat.
“You must the unscrew cap first,” Ho Jr. said.
“Yes, yes. Of course.” After appropriate drinking etiquette had been observed, she wiped her lips and handed the bottle back. “Thank you, sir.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “Maybe someday you can return the favor.”
“I doubt it,” Genny called over her shoulder.
Immediately, the worry returned. She wanted to return home, but she knew that would be the first place they looked for her. A list of places formed in her mind.
“The hotel off of Slauson where those extremely friendly women congregate on the street corner? Too fancy. Besides I got no money on me.”
“Homeless shelter then? That’s really for the homeless. Now, if they had an escape the gang violence shelter, I could stay there. Come to think of it, I’m not sure why they don’t have one of those on every block. I guess that’s a moot point.”
“Canada? Of course. Canada! I hear everyone’s friendly and tolerant. It’s not too far. I mean if Forrest Gump could do it. Ah, drat! They’ll never let me across the border. My passport has expired, and my beaver skin running hat is in the wash. Today of all days!”
“Country? Country! He’ll help me. He’ll know exactly what to do.” Her heart smiled. But soon her vena cava formed a frown. “He would have helped me if … if I hadn’t treated him the way I did.”
Guilt flooded her ventricles and caused an arrythmia. Fortunately, a pair of wooly caterpillars were strolling down the sidewalk at that very moment. Rubbing them together and placing them on her chest in the correct places, the released static charge got the ol’ ticker working like new.
“Why did I ignore him when he most needed me?” she continued. “Locked up in a cage with nothing but his wits and fists of bronze to help him survive. Showering all alone as the suds and water drip off his bemuscled shoulders. Now, toweling himself dry, perhaps one cheek peeking out the back.” She held a hand to her face out of modesty. “And I left him there because of my pettiness. Because I was so concerned about my own feelings I forgot he had some too. Sure, he might have killed a bunch of people, but that’s not a reason to give up on him.”
She removed her hand. A dry, yellow jumpsuit covered his frame from neck to ankle.
“Dang it!” she said.
Remorse, or the footlong meatball sub she had for lunch, set her heart to aching.
“It’s too late, isn’t it? I’m all alone in this crazy, evil world. Surrounded by a thousand gang members with steely knives waiting to plunge them into my fine, milky flesh. My delicate, white, crème fraîche flesh. No one will save me. No security force exists that could protect me from those who wish to do me harm.”
“Why don’t you go to the sheriff’s department?” a peppery voice called out. Ho Chi continued to jog in place behind her. The cigarette dangled a little lower on his lips.
“The sheriff’s department,” she said. “That’s a fantastic idea.”
“Yeah, it is,” Ho Chi said. “And by the way, you owe me two.” A clump of ashes fell to the ground as he turned back to the Phactory.
“Never gonna happen,” Genny muttered under her breath.
Ho Chi spun around but continued to jog backwards. “Go straight ahead three blocks. Take a left, then another quick right. You can’t miss it. It’s the cement building with the statue of the Ten Commandments being removed and replaced with a replica of the Hollywood sign.”
“Thanks again,” Genny said. “Great. Now I do owe him,” she thought.
“No problem,” Ho Chi said.
He turned back without looking and stepped in front of a box truck from Fluffy’s Pillows. A loud thud and screeching of brakes was followed by the unmistakable sound of a ghost being given up.
“Phew! That was close,” she thought as she danced down the street debt free.
Following Ho Chi’s directions to the letter, she arrived at the sheriff’s department before the first warbled notes of the ambulance rang out. The receptionist, a Ms. Tania Palmer, directed her to the waiting room. A handful of chewed fingernails later, a blond-haired, blond-eyed, silver-badged man came out to get her.
“Genny Haverford?” he asked.
Genny nodded.
“Have we met before?”
“I believe we have,” she said. “On the beach, at a crime scene.”
He made as if he was searching his mind. “You look familiar but I can’t quite place it. No matter. I’m sure it’ll come to me sooner or later.” He thought for another moment or two. “No, still not coming. Tell you what, let’s go to my office and sort this all out.”
He led her to a windowless room near the back of the station.
“Please, have a seat,” he said, offering her a padded chair across the desk from his own. “My name is Deputy Jones, if I didn’t mention that the last time we met, and I’ll be taking your information.”
Genny glanced at the badge. Shiny, recently polished, the number 4668 emblazoned along the bottom. Her lips went back to the where her fingernails used to be.
“Looks like you’ve finished your own,” Deputy Jones said. “Would you like to borrow mine?” He held out his fingers.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m trying to quit.”
“Suit yourself. Now, how can I help you today?”
“I almost witnessed a murder.” The words blurted out like that watery stuff on the first squeeze of a mustard bottle.
“I see,” the deputy said.
“And who was almost murdered?”
“I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t know the man.”
“Well, could you tell me who almost did the murdering?”
“Me,” she said.
The deputy raised his eyebrows and picked up a notepad. “There seems to be a lot more to this story that you’re not telling me. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
After a quick jaunt through the book of Genesis as well as the deputy’s impatient encouragement to move forward a bit in time, Genny told him the tale of Pierre, the gun, and the plan to kill a rival gang member. She didn’t stray from the narrative at all, except for the part where she described how much less lethal trucks would be if they were made out of pillows. When she finished, the deputy put down the notepad and gave her a stare as if he didn’t know whether or not to believe her. The uncomfortable silence reached level yellow (Genny peed herself a little) before Deputy Jones spoke up.
“That’ll be all,” he said as he handed her a card. “If you can think of anything else that might be useful, give me a call at this number.”
“Is that it?” Genny asked. “Didn’t you hear the part about how Pierre wants to kill me?”
He nodded. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it.” He gave her his best ‘Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it’ smile. “Is there a place I can reach you today? I figure we’ll have this guy off the street before the sun pokes a hole through the smog.”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ll probably wander around for a while. I don’t think it’s safe to go back to my apartment. Although, I do have a hair appointment this afternoon. You could give me a call there.”
“Will do,” he said.
“Don’t you want to know where it is?”
“Uh … of course. Why don’t you write it down here?” he said, offering her the notepad.
Genny’s fingers worked furiously to get the information to him. Her tongue hung out the side of her mouth in an effort to help.
“Thank you,” the deputy said.
“No, thank you,” she replied.
“No. Thank you.”
“Nooooo. Thank YOU.”
“Goodbye, Genny. We’ll be in touch.”
He listened to the sound of her footsteps until they faded down the corridor. He took a short breath and dialed.
“Who eez eet?” the voice on the other end said.
“You know who,” the deputy replied. “We have a problem.”
“Eez eet a Genny problem?”
“Yep.”
“What are we going to do about eet?”
“I’ll let you know. Give me a call in an hour if you don’t hear from me.”
“Weel do. Click.”
Silence.
“Are you still on the line?” the deputy asked.
“Yes. How deed you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
“OK.” Click.
The deputy’s fingers dialed another number. His tongue flopped uselessly by his gums. The phone on the other end rang four times.
“Yeah,” the voice said.
“The plan didn’t work as expected,” Deputy Jones said.
“I heard,” the voice replied. “Our mutual friend ….”
A series of deep, dry coughs, like that of a man whose lungs no longer had the desire to work, interrupted the sentence. Deputy Jones waited for the coughing spell to end.
“Our mutual friend,” the voice continued, “let me know thirty minutes ago. He figured she might be headed your way. That’s why I gave Tania a call. Told her to pass the target’s case to you.”
“You let Tania in? Don’t you know she could tie us together?”
“She’s a wannabe actress. I’ll just give her a role in my new picture. You’ll never hear a peep out of her.” Another coughing spell. “So, did you get any useful information out of the target?”
“I got her location this afternoon,” the deputy said. “Do you want me to take care of it?”
“No. Let me give him a call. See what he wants to do.”
“You’re going to let Pierre handle this? He’s borderline incompetent, and he certainly never went to Harvard.”
“No, no, my jealous friend. Not Pierre. Him.”
“Oh. Got it.”
“Good. Don’t do anything until you hear from me.”
“I won’t,” the deputy said and returned the phone to its hook.
He waited for a good, long while, lost in thought, before he decided to make one last call. A dry cough rang out from the other end.
“Mr. Ivel?” Deputy Jones said. “Are you still on the line?”
“You never said goodbye.”
“Right. Goodbye.”
The phone went dead. Deputy Jones pressed the phone reset button and waited to make sure he got a dial tone. His fingers skimmed lightly over the numbers. A few rings later and an unknown voice answered.
“Fluffy’s Pillows. How may I direct your call?”
“I’ve got a fantastic idea for your trucks,” the deputy said. “With whom may I speak?”