Fire Point (7 page)

23

Krank was woken by a woman screaming. In his world it wasn’t that unusual. There was always drama. He grabbed a pillow from under the head of the blonde six in bed next to him, and shoved it over his head. The blonde girl woke and made a grab to get it back. ‘Asshole!’

The screaming went on. It was coming from the hallway. It was a scream of anger, rather than fear. He wondered if it was MG. He had a habit of saying weird shit to girls, or asking them to do stuff that set them off. It was a running joke among the guys. Krank figured it was down to MG’s lost teenage years when girls had never even looked at him, never mind anything else. MG was a kid making up for lost time in a hurry. He only had to hear about some messed-up fetish and he got all one-track about trying it out. Which would have been fine if he didn’t then immediately spring it on some poor unsuspecting woman he’d just met.

Krank threw the pillow at the girl lying next to him. ‘Here!’ He got up from the bed, an early-morning erection tenting his boxers. He had to step over Loser, who was crashed out on the floor next to a redhead five. Redheads, by Krank’s estimation, were usually fives or below, though he had met some exceptions. The floor was a mess of clothes, red plastic Solo cups, half-empty glasses and beer bottles. He almost tripped over a glass ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts.

Through the window, he could see a fully clothed couple crashed out on a lounger next to the infinity pool that looked out over the Sunset Strip. MG raised his head from the lounger, looked at him, then turned over and went back to sleep.

Now Krank could hear Devon meekly trying to defend himself as Lauren tore him to shreds.

‘What are they doing here, Devon?’

This was followed by some mumbled effort at appeasement before Lauren started up again: ‘We discussed this. You are not to go anywhere near these losers. Hey, did you go out and meet them?’

Devon offered up some half-hearted denial.

‘You did, didn’t you? I knew it. You can’t be trusted on your own for one night.’

Krank tuned out, although he did get the sense that Lauren was busy waking one of the female guests none too gently to ask whether she had slept with her fiancée. He found his pants among the detritus on the floor, and pulled them on. He figured he wouldn’t waste the time required to find his socks. He grabbed the rest of what he could see and finished getting dressed.

Stepping out of the bedroom, Krank looked left. Lauren had a short, freckly brunette pinned against the wall. Her right hand was around the girl’s neck. Her left hand was pulled back and bunched into a fist.

‘Honey, no!’ shouted Devon, as he went to grab Lauren’s arm.

‘Don’t honey me, you asshole. To think I was back home with my mom so I could plan our wedding.’

‘Hey, Devon, great night, man. Thanks for inviting us over,’ said Krank, sliding past.

Devon and Lauren looked to him. The girl with the freckles took her chance and squirmed from Lauren’s grip. Lauren let her go and turned to Krank, hands on her hips, lips thinned to a razor’s edge, ready for war. His old buddy Devon wasn’t looking too happy either, thought Krank.

‘I knew you’d be involved,’ said Lauren, still staring at him. Her voice was calm, which worried Krank.

‘Lauren, you look great. Me and the guys are going to head now,’ said Krank. ‘Sorry if we caused any friction between you two. It was really my idea anyway. I talked Devon into it.’

‘He did. He totally did,’ said Devon, eager to grab hold of a lifeline.

‘Yeah, you’re leaving,’ shrieked Lauren, ‘because I’ve called the cops.’

Krank froze. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. Devon seemed to freeze too. Krank knew that, new man or not, Devon still had a taste for cocaine ‒ in fact, they’d had some lines last night. A bunch of cops from Hollywood Division marching all over his house hadn’t been in Devon’s plans for this morning.

Just then the doorbell rang. The chimes echoed through the house. They faded.

‘Why did you do that? Why did you do that, Lauren?’ Devon sounded exactly like the whiny child he’d been when Krank had first met him. Why did women do anything? thought Krank.
Because they’re crazy.

The doorbell rang again. No one moved, not even Lauren. Krank feared for what would happen if either Lauren or Devon opened the door to the two cops they could all now see on the small video intercom system mounted on the wall. Lauren must have left the gate open because they were already on the property. One was waiting for someone to answer the door while the other was already checking the side gate that led into the garden and pool area.

‘Lauren, we’re leaving, okay?’ said Krank. ‘Let me speak to them.’

24

Lock had slept fully clothed, his gun next to him, in one of the upstairs guest bedrooms. He’d fallen asleep as soon as he’d lain down, and woken, four hours later, without the need for an alarm. His ability to sleep and wake on cue was as important to someone in his line of work as shooting a gun or giving a bad guy the good news in a hand-to-hand situation.

He rubbed his eyes, then got up, pulled his washbag from the overnight case he always carried in the car and headed into the bathroom, taking his gun with him. He had a hot shower, thinking over the events of the previous day.
A day?
It already felt longer.

Lock rinsed off. He turned the shower handle and killed the water. As the pressure fell away from a blast to a drip, he heard someone beyond the bathroom door, walking around in the guest bedroom. He slid back the shower door and stepped out, realizing as he did so that he couldn’t see a towel.

He went to the bathroom door and cracked it open. Tarian stood there, a large white bath sheet in one hand. The shaken, uncertain Mrs Griffiths of the day before was gone. She was wearing a lilac silk dressing-gown that finished just above her knees, revealing a killer pair of legs. Her hair was up in a towel, accentuating the high cheekbones and plush red lips. Lock had always figured that the true mark of a woman’s beauty was seeing her without make-up. Tarian Griffiths was beautiful. There was no question.

She was holding the towel just out of his grasp. Something approaching a smile hovered on her lips. Normally game-playing like this from a client would have irritated Lock. Normally. He made a mental note that, once this gig was wrapped up, he really needed to find himself a girlfriend and start getting laid on a semi-regular basis.

‘Why don’t you throw it to me?’ he said finally.

Tarian smiled. Her eyes ran from the floor all the way up the edge of the door to Lock’s face. ‘Did you get some sleep?’ she asked, making no effort to either throw the towel or step closer.

Lock nodded. The top of her robe had slipped open a little to reveal her cleavage. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Thank you. You?’

A little of the self-assured Brentwood cougar seemed to leave her and he saw the sadness in her eyes that had been present the day before. ‘First time in weeks. I think it was knowing that you and Tyrone were here.’

‘That’s good,’ said Lock. He stretched his hand out a little further. ‘May I have that towel, Mrs Griffiths?’

‘Mrs Griffiths?’ she said. The way she said it seemed to suggest that the title amused her. ‘Not Tarian?’

‘The towel?’ said Lock.

She still didn’t move. From the corridor the sound of small feet came to him. Not so much a pitter-patter as a steady thump as the two younger kids made their presence in the house known. Tarian stepped toward him, and held out the towel. As he reached for it, she momentarily snatched it away, her eyes never leaving his.

‘Teddy and I are separating,’ she said, finally handing him the towel. ‘He would have moved out already only for this drama with Marcus. We thought that the kids were already upset enough. We’ve been sleeping in different beds for the last few months.’

Lock already knew that from his walk through the house. There was a camp bed set up in one of the vast walk-in closets in the master bedroom. Judging by the clothes, it was Teddy’s. He gripped the towel in his hand as the words kept tumbling out from between Tarian’s plump red lips.

‘It wouldn’t be cheating,’ she said.

Was she looking for affirmation that she was still attractive? If it was that simple she would have little problem finding someone younger than Lock for a casual hook-up. This area was full of handsome young actors waiting tables or providing personal training to women like Tarian. Not all of them were gay.

He doubted it was as simple as that. More likely her making a pass at him was tangled up in the nature of what he was doing. He was a literal protector. This was the equivalent of a male patient falling in love with an attractive young nurse. And yet? He was attracted to her. It was a raw, visceral attraction. The kind that had him standing behind the door with one hell of an erection. If they’d been alone in the house, he would have thrown her down on the bed and taken her right there and then. Ripped that goddamn robe right off her.

The children were screaming outside the door. It snapped Lock back to the present. He looked at Tarian as she stood there, vulnerable and expectant. He just about managed to remind himself that what she was proposing was one hell of a bad idea. ‘I’m here to keep everyone safe,’ he said. ‘That’s all. I have a firm policy about not getting involved with either clients or principals or anyone directly connected to them.’

Downstairs the doorbell chimed. Tarian turned away. She was still smiling. She must have sensed he hadn’t entirely meant what he’d just said.

‘Hey, Marcus is here! Marcus is here!’ shouted the boy.

His sister took up the chorus. ‘Marcus is here, Mommy!’

Lock closed the door on Tarian Griffiths and hastily dried off. With the towel still wrapped around his waist, he walked back into the bedroom and changed into the fresh clothes he kept in the case that lived in his car. He stepped out into the corridor, his SIG on his hip. This was one homecoming he didn’t want to miss.

25

From the photographs Lock had been shown, Marcus Griffiths wasn’t much to look at. In the flesh, he achieved the rare trick of being even less impressive. He stood about five feet seven, but the shadow of a post-adolescent stoop shaved off another inch. His hair managed to be both curly and lank. He stared down at the floor of the hallway, occasionally deigning to mutter a reply to the volley of questions coming at him from every direction. All Lock could think was that if, at that age, he had given off half the attitude Marcus did, his father would have slapped the shit out of him. Lock’s home had been warm, loving, but also a place of simple virtues such as saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, being respectful to your elders and generally behaving like a human being. Hormones had not been seen as a free pass for rudeness.

Ty was standing off to one side as Lock came down the stairs, while everyone apart from Teddy, who was framed in the kitchen doorway, smirking, fussed around the prodigal son. Marcus shot Lock a glance that settled somewhere between contempt and disdain. Lock could hardly pat the kid down but he did do a quick visual scan for a weapon. None that he could see. He walked into the kitchen. Teddy retreated with him. The housekeeper was busy making a mountain of food for breakfast.

‘Mind if I grab some coffee?’ Lock asked.

‘Rosa will get that for you,’ said Teddy. ‘Get me one too, Rosa,’ he added, doing that white-people thing of raising his voice, as if that would magically make the English language more discernible to a native Spanish speaker from south of the border.

The housekeeper poured two mugs and set out half-and-half and sugar on the kitchen island for them. She never said anything. She didn’t make eye contact. Lock didn’t blame her. In a nuthouse like this, keeping your head down was usually the best policy, especially when your pay check depended on it.

‘
Muchas gracias
,’ said Lock, taking the coffee with a smile that Rosa returned with a raise of her eyebrows that spoke volumes. They were both hired help, after all. He took a sip. The coffee tasted great. Freshly made. The expensive stuff, Blue Mountain from Jamaica.

Teddy hefted his mug to his mouth, and regarded Lock with bloodhound eyes. ‘Oh, boy, do I need this. And some painkillers. Probably a blood transfusion too.’

With a glance at the door, where Tarian was still fussing over Marcus, Lock asked, ‘He say anything about where he’s been?’

‘With friends,’ said Teddy.

‘Anything about the shooting?’

‘He’s not mentioned it, and I think Tarian is scared to. Case he freaks out. I asked him when he was last at his place and he said three days ago. I was going to say more but she cut me off. You must have seen that look she has, like she’s going to cut my goddamn balls off.’

Lock ignored the last part. Whining was never to be encouraged, particularly not when it came from a grown man who had likely contributed his part to the breakdown of his marriage. In Lock’s experience, despite what men would have their fellows believe, women didn’t start out as nags: they got that way because of the men they were married to. If they had started out like that, more fool the men who married them.

‘You want me and Tyrone to handle it?’

‘Boy, would you? That’d be great. He doesn’t listen to me. It’s like talking to a wall. I’m just the guy who pays all the bills around here.’

‘Leave it to us,’ said Lock, draining the rest of his coffee.