The weather report declared a bright, hot day ahead with temperatures rising to a balmy 82 degree, with a forty percent chance of light rain later in the week.
Wearing a thin bathrobe and a pair of slippers Nino arrived at the front door of his home with two goals in his mind. One: Pick up that morning’s LA Times from the driveway. Two: Fire up his garden sprinklers. Never mind each burst of water from those sprinklers was water stolen from others. No other way you could turn a desert into a sculptured green lawn.
Never mind that Niño’s entire life was stolen from others.
As Nino bent to pick up the paper, Danny emerged from the recess behind the front door. He was standing right near Nino’s face when he turned around.
The two men stood face to face, eye to eye. Neither of them blinked.
“I know you?” asked Nino, paper in hand and confusion on his face.
“We talked once. On the phone,” said Danny.
“Yeah? What did we talk about?” he asked again.
“Things that matter. Like how once a man makes a deal he keeps to it.”
“Sorry don’t remember you,” said Nino as he started making his way back to his home.
“I am not surprised.”
Then came a muffled sound of a gun being fired. What followed was the appearance of a perfect round hole on Nino’s forehead, right between his eyes. Nino staggered back against the partially opened front door, pushing it open. His legs remained on the porch. His upper body fell inside his house. A slipper fell off revealing his thick as planks toe nails.
The sound of a radio issuing early morning traffic reports emerged from the house. Danny set a box of pizza with its large pepperoni, double cheese, and no anchovies on Nino’s chest.
The pizza smelled good.
Nino didn’t.
***
He rode to his new local habitation in Bob’s old Ford F-150. A small hotel by the name of Blue Velvet. It had weekly rates and was located on a secluded spot. Also, had a generous expanse of a parking lot with major access to most major interstates and arterial roads.
As he settled in he poured half a bottle of Buchanan’s in a glass and let his mind wander to the sounds around him. Traffic passing by, sounds of TV from rooms close by, spin, bang, slides and clatter of skateboards in the parking lot. A favorite pass time for neighborhood kids apparently. Pipes banged in the walls whenever neighboring roomers roused and took to showers or toilets.
The ringing phone caught him off guard. He picked it up after the first ring. Also, wondered who, if anybody knew where he lived.
“I hear it’s done,” the caller said.
“Done as it’ll get,” Danny replied.
“His family?”
“Everyone was asleep, but him.”
“Yeah. Well, Nino never slept much himself. I told him it was a bad conscience working its bony fingers up into him. He claimed he didn’t have one.”
A moment’s silence fell between the two men.
The voice on the other end continued, “You didn’t ask how I knew where you were.”
“Tape across the bottom of the door. You replaced it, but it never quite re-adheres,” explained Danny.
“So you knew I’d be calling.”
“Sooner rather than later, I assumed—given the circumstances,” he answered.
“Kind of pitiful, aren’t we, the two of us? All this high technology swarming about us and here we are still relying on a piece of Scotch tape.”
“One tool’s much like another, long as it gets the job done.”
“Yeah, I know something about that. Been something of a tool myself, all my life,” admitted the man.
Danny said nothing.
He added, “Fuck it. Your job’s done, right? Nino’s dead. What’s left on the plate? You see any reason this should go on?”
“It doesn’t have to,” replied Danny.
“Got plans for tonight?”
“Nothing I can’t ignore.”
“Okay. So here’s what I’m thinking. We get together; have a few drinks, maybe dinner after.”
“We could do that, sure,” agreed Danny.
“You know Warszawa? Polish joint, corner of Santa Monica and Lincoln Boulevards?”
It was one of the ugliest streets in a city of many, many ugly streets.
“I can find it.”
“Unless you insist on pizza,” he said with a chuckle.
“Funny.”
“Yeah. It was, actually. All those food coupons. Place—Warszawa, you got that, right?” the man on continued, “It shares its parking lot with a carpet store, but no problem, there’s plenty of room. Around, what? Seven? Eight? What works for you?”
“Seven’s good,” replied Danny.
“It’s a small place, no bar or anything like that where you can wait. I’ll go on in, get us a table.”
“Sounds good,” Danny confirmed.
“I think its time we met.”
Putting the phone to rest, Danny poured another couple of inches of Buchanan’s. Close to noon now, he guessed, most of the city’s good folk itching to bail on job and duty and escape to lunch or a small park somewhere. Call home, see how the kids are, place a bet with the bookie, set up a meet with the mistress. The motel was deserted. When housekeeping knocked at the door, he said he was fine, didn’t need service today.
Reckoned if all went well, he could return home after tonight’s meeting.
***
YOU ARE READING
Driver
ActionWhen a professional getaway driver finds out that he has been set up on a dangerous mission by a ruthless gang member he takes it upon himself to even the score and seek revenge.
