California Fire and Life (46 page)

A very good night, and some very good boo.

He feels a small twinge of anxiety. Lev hasn’t returned yet, to report that the problem of the sister is no more. Nicky does another hit and lets the problem fly from his mind. What Lev sets out to kill, Lev kills. He’ll be back soon.

So Nicky’s having a
very
good night. He has the whole thing working for him, Tratchev dead, a big payday coming up on the morrow and life is way cool. He shuts his eyes and stretches out, and then feels something round against his toes.

He’s like annoyed, because he has
told
Michael not to kick his soccer ball around the pool and the Jacuzzi.

Nicky goes to pick the ball up and screams.

Falls backward against the side of the Jacuzzi and cowers there.

And just stares at Lev’s severed head bobbing up and down in the bubbling water.

Nicky’s going fetal when Dani gets there.

Dani plucks Lev’s head up by the hair and just howls in pain.

There’s a ribbon around Lev’s neck.

Something written on it, but even if they weren’t so freaked they couldn’t read it.

It’s written in Vietnamese.

Nicky runs into the house.

To Mother’s room.

Her door is ajar and he can see the flickering silver light of the television.

He opens the door without knocking.

“Mother—”

A man sits on the bed watching television. He casually swings his silenced pistol in Nicky’s direction.

“Hello, Daz,” Karpotsov says. “I’m sorry—it’s Nicky now, isn’t it?”

“Colonel.”

“It’s General now,” Karpotsov says.

Nicky is like
freaking
, but Nicky stays cool.

“Congratulations,” he says.

“Thanks,” Karpotsov says. “Is this HBO?”

“Cinemax.”

“I like it.”

“I’m glad,” Nicky says.

“Well,” Karpotsov says, “congratulations, Nicky. I understand that you have quite the deal in the works. Well done, your country is proud. You were going to cut us in, weren’t you, Nicky? Or did you think I was dead?”

“I had hopes in that direction,” Nicky says. “Where is my mother?”

“She’ll be staying with us for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Well, let me put it this way,” Karpotsov says. “We want our fucking money.”

Dude.

We want our piece.

Of California Fire and Life.

The sun comes up enough to make out shapes.

That early-morning hour when everything is in shades of gray.

Jack starts up the ravine that cuts into the bluff. He climbs until he comes to the old fence. Ducks under it, just the way he did when he was a kid, and he’s in the old trailer park.

Very weird,
very
strange being here knowing it belongs to Nicky Vale. That Nicky’s planning on turning it into a tract of condos and town houses. That he killed his wife by way of raising the capital.

Jack picks his way through the eucalyptus and pine trees. He walks past old trailer pads and then a Dumpster.

He opens the lid of the Dumpster, shines the light in and jumps back.

Two charred, cracked skulls.

Exploded from the inside out by intense heat.

Tommy Do and Vince Tranh.

Jack closes the lid.

Moves on toward the old, decrepit rec hall he used to run around in. When he was eight it was a fort. When he was ten it was a rock ’n’ roll hall. When he was fifteen it was make-out heaven.

The old hall is in bad shape. Some boards ripped out, shingles stripped, but the two wide old doors are still intact.

And there’s a shiny new padlock on them.

A combination lock.

Jack finds a rock and smashes the hasp.

The door swings open like it’s been an exhausting effort to stay shut.

First thing Jack sees is the bed.

He pulls up a dustcover and there it is.

The Robert Adam four-poster canopied bed with the castle on top. Incredibly beautiful with its silk and fabrics and intricately carved coat of arms. The video didn’t do it justice.

The freaking room is filled with furniture. All draped in cloth dustcovers, they look like monuments, like ghosts. Jack goes around turning back the covers.

The George III writing desk, the Hepplewhite chair, the Matthias Lock rococo console table.

“It’s all here,” Jack says to himself.

The mahogany armless chairs, the silent valet, the Kent mirror, the side table, the gilt chairs, the card table—Jack’s looking at it but what he sees in his mind is Pamela Vale walking him through. Like she’s there in the old rec hall pointing to each piece as Nicky holds the camera.

This is one of our real treasures. A rare bombé-based red-lacquered and japanned bureau-cabinet from about 1730. It has clawed and hairy paw feet. Also, serpentine-shaped corners with attenuated acanthus leaves. A very rare piece
.

It’s all here.

Nicky’s precious furniture. Over half a million dollars’ worth.

Times two. Once for the insurance settlement, twice when he sells it again.

It’s more than that, though. It’s his identity, his ego, his freaking shifting cloud.

What he killed his wife to hold on to.

His wife, the two Vietnamese kids, George Scollins, God only knows who else. For a pile of old wood.
For a bunch of fucking things
. Even though he stood to make $50 million and it would have been safer to burn this stuff, Nicky couldn’t stand to do it.

And now it’s going to cost him fifty mil.

And his claim.

And everything else, if Jack has his way.

Dawn at Mother Russia’s.

Very
happy place.

Nicky pours himself a cup of coffee and sits trembling on a stool at the kitchen counter.

Two million in cash.

And a big piece of Nicky’s deal.

Is what Karpotsov wants to release Mother.

“Or we’ll start burning her,” Karpotsov said. “We’ll send you some of the charred pieces. First a finger, then we’ll start getting serious. Then it’s a hand, then a foot. When we’re fresh out of Mother, we’ll grab the kids and start on them. You tried to fuck us, Nicky. You owe us money. Serious money that you stole from your country.”

“My country doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Then from
us,”
Karpotsov said.

“KGB doesn’t exist anymore, either,” Nicky said. “All there is left of my country is a dipso-buffoon and the mob.”

“Nicky,” Karpotsov said, shaking his head. “Don’t you get it? We
are
the mob. The mob is us.
Organizatsiya
. One and the same. We’ve come to an understanding. And the only reason that I don’t chop your mother into little pieces and feed them to you before blowing your brains out is that you’re a profitable little motherfucker. A thief’s thief, and you’re going to start stealing for us again, Nicky. Two million dollars in good faith money. Or we start burning her. That’s your old technique, isn’t it, Nicky? From Afghanistan? Didn’t you like to burn people?”

“I’ll get the money for you!”

“You’d better.” Karpotsov got off the bed. “Well, I’d like to see the end of the movie but I’m sure you have things to arrange. Like, later, dude.”

He got up and left.

Nicky had a
very
restful night.

Closing his eyes, he saw Lev’s dome bobbing up and down in the water. Opening his eyes, he saw them taking a torch and—

He spent most of the night pacing the house.

Now, this morning, Nicky loses it. “They came into the house
where my children sleep
and took my
mother
!
”

Slams his hand on the kitchen counter.

Temper, temper, he tells himself.

Temper will do you no good.

Think it through.

Karpotsov is a reality that must be dealt with and dealt with quickly.

Or Mother is dead and the children are next.

He calls the number Karpotsov gave him.

“I have an offer to make,” Nicky says.

“I hope it’s a good one.”

“It’s a very good one.”

A piece of the biggest insurance company on the West Coast.

“A good faith payment,” Karpotsov says. “Today.”

“You’ll get it,” Nicky says. “I have money coming in this morning.”

So it’s all right, he tells himself. It’s cool. Tratchev is dead. Azmekian is dead. Gordon is dead. Two Crosses is out, KGB is in, that’s all. A simple swap. Money coming in. Money to ransom Mother. Everything will be all right—

The phone rings.

Jack starts reading off the inventory. Finishes off the last item, then says, “Yup, it’s all here.”

Nicky says, “Where are you?! If you have my furniture, where is it?”

“I thought your furniture was burned up in the fire,” Jack says. “Of course, if you’d like to
withdraw
that claim …”

“You don’t know—”

“If you now say that your furniture’s been stolen, I suggest you call the police right away.”

“—who you’re—”

“Or submit a claim on the theft,” Jack says. “It shouldn’t be too hard. I think we already have the inventory.”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

“Porfirio Guzman,” Jack says.

“What?”

“That name ring a faint bell with you?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jack says. “You had him killed twelve years ago. I understand that’s a long time to remember a little thing like that.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, I have a million bucks’ worth of stuff which is also enough evidence to connect you to the arson and your wife’s murder,” Jack says. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

Silence for a second. Then Nicky says, “I’m prepared to be reasonable.”

“I’m not.”

“One hundred thousand dollars,” Nicky says. “Cash.”

“That’s cheap, Nicky. I’m surprised at you.”

“One-fifty.”

“Nickel and dime.”

“Two hundred thousand,” Nicky says.

“No.”

“Make your offer.”

“Drop your lawsuit,” Jack says.

“Would that do it for you?”

“No,” Jack says. “Drop your claim.”

“If I had the furniture back …”

“You can get it back …”

“Good.”

“After you confess that you burned the house and killed your wife.”

Long sigh from Nicky.

“We can still make a deal,” he says.

“I already told you,” Jack says.

I don’t do deals.

Nicky says, “I’ll be coming for you.”

Jack says, “Bring your lunch.”

And hangs up.

Nicky slams his hand on the counter.

He feels someone behind him.

Little Michael is standing there.

“Is Grandma gone?” he asks.

“Yes,” Nicky says. “But—”

“Is she all burned up, too?” Michael asks. “Like Mommy?”

Nicky freaks.

The sun starts burning off the marine layer.

So the world is coming clear and sharp as Jack steps out of the old rec hall.

He checks the load in Teddy’s pistol.

Six shots left.

Should be enough.

When they come, they’ll come through the old gate. He’ll hear it creak open and then he’ll hear their steps. Nicky won’t come alone. He’ll have his hitters.

Enough to take me out.

But not before I kill him.

Jack slips the pistol in his waistband and waits.

Letty del Rio checks the load in her weapon and slips it back into the holster.

This is a tricky operation with one hand.

Trickier still to drive, but she’s going to do it.

Show up at Nicky’s door like a bad-news Avon lady.

Ding-dong.

She finesses her coffee cup to the floor below her feet and starts the engine. Wondering where the hell Jack is. Why didn’t he show up?

Never mind.

Time to go see Nicky.

Ding-dong.

The gate creaks open.

Jack hears it scrape against the ground.

One set of footsteps coming up the path.

Let it be Nicky, Jack thinks.

He holds the pistol at his side.

Pulls the hammer back and raises the gun.

Gets a whiff of something in the wind.

The smell of a burning cigarette.

Goddamn.

He tucks the pistol back under his shirt.

God
damn
, Billy.

They stand there not looking at each other for a minute or so.

Jack had forgotten how beautiful the view was from up here. The palm trees, the bougainvillea and jacaranda, the wide stretch of white beach that sweeps up to the big rock at Dana Head.

Has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world.

Worth saving.

Worth killing for.

“It ain’t too late,” Billy says.

“For what?”

“For you to walk away,” Billy says. “Forget about what you seen here.”

Jack nods.

“It’s too late,” he says. “How long have you been on their payroll?”

“A long time.”

“Since the Atlas Warehouse?”

Billy nods. “Nobody was supposed to die. Just a price buildup and a sale to the insurance company.”

“Why, Billy?”

“Money,” Billy says. “You bust your ass for this company for dog bones while the agents make the big money and the underwriters take payoffs and the judges take bribes and the lawyers rake it in, and we old dogs are just supposed to roll over for the table scraps? The hell with that.”

“You set me up,” Jack says. “You gave them my files, you tipped them off to every move. You jerked me like I was on a leash. You knew everything to do, everything to say to keep me pushing. You let me walk deeper and deeper into the trap, Billy, and you didn’t say a word.”

“I had no choice, Jack,” Billy says. “I had no goddamn choice.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

“So make a good one for yourself,” Billy says. “I’m here to offer you a deal, Jack. You can still get on the boat.”

“With you and Nicky?”

Billy laughs, “You still don’t get it, Jack. It ain’t Nicky. It’s Mahogany Row. All the VPs and the president. They all got shares.”

Jack feels like the world is spinning.

“Shares in what?”