Friday, July 17, 2009

C4 AND CLAYMORE

Stabbed to death. There was one more article about the Nerd’s killing. They said he was stabbed to death at the park. Rodeo did to the Nerd what the Nerd tried to do to me with the dagger. I keep the knife in my backpack now. Can’t give it up, but I don’t want to be caught by the cops with it in my pants, like I’m the killer still hungry for more. Couldn’t find any more news about the Nerd. It was already old news for everyone else but me and Rodeo and Mrs. Nerd and Jasmine. I’m sure the cops are still interested, too.

That’s why it was a big risk walking into that restaurant in Santa Monica. Super fancy place, with a bar downstairs and probably tables up top. Another place Jasmine told me Rodeo had a piece of. I strutted in like I belonged. Never underestimate a little swagger. The hair- gelled guys and big blonde girls all looked at me like I was someone. I am someone, motherfuckers. I’m Trey, the guy who hopped a train to Los Angeles and messed this town up.

The barmaid came by and liked what she saw, but that’s her job, right?

“What can I get you?”

“Pickup truck with a full tank of gas, redwood two by fours and a bag of concrete.”

She must have heard it all, didn’t even blink. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Get the hell out of this city and build a house.”

“Sounds nice. Call me when you hook up the plumbing.”

I’ll call Tokyo first. “Plumbing? Hadn’t planned on that.”

“I’ll bring you some extra napkins to draw the blueprints. What are you drinking?”

“Drinking blood tonight. I want Rodeo.”

Now she blinked. Then glanced at the bartender, a burly fucker who looked like he could crack a telephone pole in half over his knee.

I smiled to make her feel better, but it didn’t work. “Not looking for trouble, sugar. Looking for Rodeo. Is he here?”

“No.” She wasn’t lying. She was relieved.

“Give him a message. Tell him that the guy he tried to kill is looking for him.”

She kind of stammered, “I can remember that,” then studied my face, like trying to memorize it.

“No doubt.” But I wasn’t done fucking with Rodeo. “And tell him that I planted a wad of C4 around the gas line to the kitchen of this restaurant. And there are claymore mines pointed toward all the exits. Can you remember that?”

Her eyes went bigger than dinner plates. She put her tray down and glanced around like the whole place was ready to go to hell any second. “You serious?”

I leaned close and whispered, “Finger’s on the trigger.” Then I turned and walked toward the front door. Super fucking ice cold.

The barmaid ran to the bar yelling, “Todd! Todd!” and things started getting electric so I booked faster and ran out to the street and across traffic and didn’t stop until all I heard was the sirens.

Didn’t see anything in the online news about it today, but people’ll be talking. Were you there? Did you run out with everyone else? Or did you see the cop cars and the flashing lights from the street? Sorry if the false alarm fucked up your evening. I was just taking a bite out of Rodeo’s business. Hope it hit him hard. Would’ve been cheaper to pay me in the first place. He’s learning that now and will pay with good cash when the time comes. Soon.

Until then, I can snipe at him and come back to the comfort of this college. Nice around here. School’s out for summer and there are only a few people wandering around the campus. Dedicated types that can’t get enough learning, I guess.

Funny, I couldn’t jump out of school fast enough. Barely graduated high school and that was it for me. No JC, no Washington State. Am I going to stand in the rain while the football team gets all the glory? Hell no. Sold weed to the football players, went to some of their parties, but never thought I was college material. I learn it from doing. That’s how I got good pouring concrete for fence posts. And who ever got a girl off from things he read in a book? Gotta learn on the job to develop the real skills.

But college could’ve taught me different ways of making money than selling weed and picking up someone else’s dead drop.

No chance of getting that education now. But I can almost see myself here. Hanging out and talking trash in class and doing a little reading and a lot of spanking. These kids have it good. Probably have electricity and running water where they live. I still have the empty condo and it’s a step up from the bushes or roof tops. I guess I fit in enough around this college. No one looks at me like I’m a raccoon that came in the cat door.

Almost makes me want to stay. I could call up Tokyo and I’m sure she’d know what I could do to fit in better around here. We could hit up some keggers together and she could read my term papers. Nice and simple. Safe. Getting a grade couldn’t be worse than having someone try to kill you.