Acts Of Desperation pdf p9 - If My Thought-Dreams Could Be ... · Acts Of Desperation — Tim Dodge Visit for more information His sole reply was the grinding sound of his tires on

Acts Of Desperation by

Tim Dodge

Part 9

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CHAPTER 14 It was dusk when I arrived at the job site. Cars passed me going the opposite way, as the workers headed out for the night. I was the only one making the left turn into what would be the parking lot for the office building they were erecting. For now, it was still just gravel and dirt. Clouds of dust shot up to leave a nice coat of grime on my car.

The maroon pick-up sat by itself on the edge of the lot. I wondered if this was a little bit of vanity on Moss’s part. Some people park in out-of-the-way spots or take up two spaces on purpose, just so no one can park near their vehicle and possibly scratch it. If that was Moss’s thought process, it was a joke because that truck wasn’t close to mint condition. It wasn’t a piece of junk; it just looked like it had been used like, well, a pick-up truck.

I stopped my car in a spot several yards from the truck and got out. Men walking to their cars ignored me in their hurry to get out of there. I walked over to the truck and waited there while I examined the construction site. It was going to be a sprawling three-story office building. They had completed the white, glassy exterior, so Moss must have been finishing a project on the inside.

I didn’t have to wait too long for my man to show up. He trudged out of the structure and up the small incline toward his truck. When he saw me standing in front of it, he came to a complete stop and glared at me. “I suggest you move,” he said.

“I suggest we talk,” I replied.

He began to walk again, coming close to me. “You are one stupid man,” he said. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t stay the fuck away, and here you are back for more. You got a death wish?”

“No. You and I have a subject of mutual interest, and I thought you might want to discuss it.”

He snickered and shook his head. “And just what would that subject be?”

“Allison Littell.”

His cold smile vanished, and for a microsecond I saw something like confusion and fear in his eyes. It was gone in a moment, and he snapped, “Don’t know the lady.”

“Knew. Not present tense. Knew. And don’t bullshit me. I know you worked for her.”

He put his hands in his jacket pockets. I wondered what he might have in there. The guy had attacked me twice already, and I had no doubt he’d do it again. “Afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.” I pressed on. “Do you know who killed her?”

“I don’t know her. Why the hell would I know why somebody killed her?” His voice had a slight edge to it.

“Was she horning in on someone else’s business?”

- 2 - Acts Of Desperation — Tim Dodge

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“Get the fuck away from my car.”

I didn’t move an inch. “You had something to do with it, didn’t you?”

“Get the fuck away, or swear to God, I’ll run you over.” He had his keys out, and he swung them in a menacing circle.

“Who was the hit man?”

Now he got in my face. A couple of guys coming off the site stared at us, but Moss didn’t seem to care. “You are messing with some shit you can’t handle,” he snarled. “Again. You just don’t learn.”

“There are at least ten potential witnesses behind you right now,” I replied. “Go ahead. Try something.”

His voice lowered to a raspy near-whisper. “I was dead serious about what would happen to your little girlfriend if you didn’t back off. I think she’d be surprised at just how little you care about her virtue.”

Fighting to keep calm, I said, “That little bitch and I are through. She’s not my girlfriend.”

Again came the cold laugh. “Sure she’s not. You’re a piss-poor liar.”

“Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, I will.” I got a strong whiff of his stale breath. “She and I will have a nice, long talk.”

At that moment, I knew that I would kill him. I didn’t know when or where or how, but he was going to die. I shifted back to the subject at hand. “I was with Allison Littell when she was killed. The shooter came after me and I fried him in the swimming pool. Who was he?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He was a little guy,” I said. “Kind of short for a hit man, don’t you think?”

He shoots, he scores. Moss’s eyes widened. “Motherfucker,” he growled. Spit flew from his mouth onto my jacket. “You’re dead. You and little Jenna, and it ain’t gonna be pleasant.”

“Did you order the hit?”

“Fuck off!” He gave me a shove, and I stumbled backward. This gave him an opening for the truck. He ripped open the door and hopped in behind the wheel. “You and me aren’t done yet,” he snapped as he started the engine. “Not by a long shot. This isn’t the time or the place, – “ he glanced at the half-dozen guys still in the lot watching the little scene unfold, “ – but I’ll find you, and then we’ll end this discussion for good.”

“You think her people aren’t going to retaliate?” I shot back. “You bit off a whole lot more than you can chew, Moss. I think you just realized how much trouble you’re in.”



His sole reply was the grinding sound of his tires on the gravel as he stomped on the accelerator and roared out of the lot. I watched him go, repressing the smile that was fighting to show on my face. Step one -- check; now, onto step two.

As I suspected, Jenna’s car was in the parking lot at the bar. Her work schedule hadn’t changed since our break-up. At that early hour on a weeknight, the dinner crowd was filling the place to have large helpings of over-seasoned barbeque. Moss wouldn’t try anything with so many people there. If he were going to make a move, it would be at closing time.

I drove around the lot once and left without stopping.

It was dark and I needed something to eat. Stopping at the McDonalds I’d been to the other night didn’t seem like a good idea. Too many appearances there might cause the employees to remember my face. I cruised up the busy boulevard, passing the shops and restaurants that line every main drag in every city. Olive Garden, KFC, Blockbuster, Target, Barnes & Noble; I could’ve been anywhere in the country. I made a sharp right turn into a burger place and parked next to a muddy SUV on the side opposite the entrance.

My stomach was growling, but I had some business to take care of first. I dialed my cell phone and got a busy signal. Two minutes later, I tried again with the same result. Another two minutes, another busy signal. I shoved the phone in my pocket and went inside for a delicious meal of trans fat with a large side order of sodium.

Fifteen minutes later, celebrating the feel of cholesterol building up in my arteries, I got back in my car and dialed again. This time the phone on the other end rang. The stuffy voice answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Greg?”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s Ray Davis. I, uh, did a job for you last week.”

“I thought I told you not to call this number,” he growled.

Somehow, I was becoming accustomed to speaking with surly people. “Yeah, well, in light of recent events, I thought we should talk.”

He paused. I wondered what that meant – was he thinking about what I said, or was he distracted by something on TV? At last, he said, “What recent events?”

Jesus, I thought, do I have to play this game with everybody? “The murder of Allison Littell,” I said.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Bad shit.”



“Yes, bad shit,” I said. “And I have a feeling about who might be involved.”

I could almost feel him perk up through the phone. “That would be good information to have,” he said. “And how exactly is it that you know this?”

“It’s too long to go into on the phone. We need to meet.”

He paused again. A harassed-looking woman with three little kids in tow walked out of the restaurant and herded them toward a minivan in one of the good spots right next to the building. I watched her fumble with her purse for her keys while she tried to hold the hand of the youngest child.

“All right,” he said in a voice that conveyed a real lack of enthusiasm for the idea. The perkiness seemed to vanish as fast as it appeared. “You got a story to tell, I can listen. But you better not be bullshittin’ me.”

“No bullshit,” I said. “I don’t know the whole story, but what I know is setting off alarm bells. You want me to come out there?”

“No,” he barked. No hesitation there, I thought. “I’m not at the office you went to. Whoever did Allison is smart enough to find that place.” He gave me the name and address of a bar.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He hung up without saying another word.

An hour later, I was finishing both my story and my second beer. Greg had not been all warm and fuzzy when he greeted me at the bar, but at least he didn’t fart at me this time. I took that as a sign of acceptance, if not trust. We grabbed a small table far from the bar, next to a display of University of North Carolina basketball memorabilia.

“So,” he said, shouting somewhat over a song by some alternative band blaring from the sound system, “she didn’t act nervous or bitchy or anything like that?”

“No,” I said. “I mean, no more than usual. The lady was used to getting things her way.”

He gave a sardonic chuckle. “That’s for sure,” he said. “But she didn’t seem worried about someone taking her out?”

I shook my head. “Not that I could see. Like I said, she kept asking about my brother and why didn’t I ask her for money and all that.”

“That why you got in the car with her? To shake her down for money?”

“She asked me to get in the car. No,” I amended, “she told me to get in the car. I didn’t know if she had another job for me or what.”

He snorted. “You thought she wanted a roll with you.”

I blushed and cursed myself for it. “Maybe. She made a show of making her skirt ride up.”



“Shit,” he spat, “I’ve seen her do that a thousand times. It’s how she makes sure she has your attention. Don’t mean she’s gonna go for your zipper.”

“Well, I never got the chance to find out.” I took a final swallow of the beer.

“So, you think this guy Moss had her killed?”

I glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to listen. For a guy in a sensitive line of work, Greg had a big mouth in such a public place. Satisfied that no one cared what we were talking about, I looked back at him. “You want to keep that a little quieter, please?”

He scowled at me and belched.

I took that as a signal to continue. “Moss is a twerp. He doesn’t have the balls to order a pizza, let alone to order a murder. Do you know him?”

“I know who he is. Don’t know him personally.”

“Moss didn’t have her killed, but I’m certain that whoever he works for did. Moss double-crossed her.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “I’m trying to figure that out.”

“How do you know Moss even worked for her?” he asked.

“He had her phone number written down in a notebook in his trailer.”

He gave me a suspicious look. “And how do you know that?”

I shrugged. “I might have found the notebook in there.”

A pause. “And why were you visiting Moss’s trailer?”

“He has – or had – something I need.”

“Did you find it?”

I shook my head. His eyes were narrowed, like he was appraising me the way someone examines a used car, trying to figure out whether it was a good deal or a piece of junk. “Moss wasn’t home at the time, was he?”

“No,” I replied. A smile began to cross my face. I fought it back.

He considered this for a minute. I waited and thought about how good the onion rings the big black guy a few tables down was eating smelled. Although I was still full from my burger and fries, the thought of ordering some crossed my mind.



He pulled out his phone and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He disappeared, and I sat at the table and watched the people filling up the bar. There were a lot of couples, most of them young and infatuated with each other. A guy with a marine-style haircut stood at the bar with a very hot-looking blonde in tight jeans. Because he had one hand on her ass, I guessed that she was his girlfriend. She didn’t seem to mind in the least. I missed Jenna.

I had the sudden urge to call her, to hear her voice, but I fought it off. She didn’t want to hear from me, and I didn’t think I could take hearing her say again that we were through. Anyway, I would have to contact her soon for her own protection, and I knew she wouldn’t like that. She wanted to believe that she could protect herself. No doubt, she could, at least from some things. Not from this, though. Not from Hank Moss and whoever it was he was working for.

Greg came back to the table, sliding his phone clip onto his belt, and sat down. “What’re you looking for from Moss?” he asked.

No report on his phone conversation. Just the abrupt question. “What?” I asked.

“You said he has something you need. What is it?”

I couldn’t think of a good reason to lie or a decent lie to tell him, so I told him the truth. His face was impassive. When I finished, all he said was, “That’s a lot of coin.”

“No shit. And he’s got it tied up in coke.”

“Coke can turn into cash.”

Now it was my turn to get suspicious. “What’re you sayin’?”

“I’m sayin’ that Moss don’t want to snort all that stuff. Well, maybe he does, but he wants the money more. He’s gonna sell it. You got to get your hands on the proceeds before he pays off his boss.”

“Yeah. Easier said than done. You want another beer?”

“No, and neither do you,” he snapped.

“I don’t.” It was half question, half statement.

“You’ve got work to do,” he said. No trace of a smile. His eyes bore into me like he was trying to stare me down. “You’ve got a big job and you need to get off your ass and get to work.”

“And what job would that be?”

He leaned in. “Getting the money from Moss. Finding out what he knows about Allison’s death. Then givin’ the little fuck what he deserves.”

I looked around to see if anyone else was hearing this, then looked back at him. “Are you saying – “



“Grow a goddamn pair of balls!” he barked at me. “This little fuck stole your money and had something to do with killin’ my boss, leaving me with shit. He’s got it comin’. If he didn’t want to risk payback, he shouldn’t have gotten into the game. Now, are you going to do this job or what?”

I didn’t know what to say. I knew that I had wanted to kill Moss when he threatened Jenna. This was different. This was real. I had to stay cool, though. “What do I get to keep out of this?”

“You get your money back and you achieve some justice. You’ll also get our protection from any retribution.”

“The kind of protection Allison had?”

“Allison got careless. She thought she was immortal. Turns out she bleeds just like everyone else. No,” he said, “you’ll be protected. You have no idea of the people who’ll be watchin’ your back.”

I sat there, listening to the thumping music, watching the marine move his hand further down his girl’s ass, smelling the onion rings. The smell made me feel queasy. I was out of my league. This total stranger was telling me to do something I couldn’t imagine.

But Moss had the money Ronnie needed. Moss had fired a gun at me, assaulted me, and threatened me. Moss had threatened to rape and kill Jenna.

“Tell me the plan,” I said.



CHAPTER 15 I shivered as I stood waiting in the shadows by Moss’s trailer. The late autumn wind rattled the branches of bare trees and tossed loose pieces of trash down the road. For an hour, I had waited there for my boy to come home. It was boring, it was cold, and I was scared out of my mind. Who the hell was I to be mixed up in something like this? I was just Ray Davis, a regular guy, trying to help out his family. This wasn’t me.

The urge to sprint out of there took hold several times that hour. However, to quote that great American philosopher Dana Carvey, that wouldn’t be prudent. I was in bed with people who wouldn’t care for the idea of me jumping out.

I got a couple of false alarms before the real thing arrived. Headlights drew near, lighting up the Home Depot mailboxes and gravel driveways of the trailer park. I took long, slow breaths as I tried to forget that someone could end up dead in the next five minutes, and that someone could be me.

The truck rolled to a stop, the headlights went out and the engine silenced. I heard the car door open and feet landing on the gravel. Moss was getting out. I stepped out from my hiding spot and called him. “Hey, Moss.”

He whipped around. Because of the dark, I couldn’t see his face well, but I thought I’d caught him by surprise. He muttered a curse and shook his head in disgust.

“We didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation earlier,” I said.

“You don’t fuckin’ learn,” he growled. “I’m going to have to teach you the hard way.” He took a step toward me.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” I asked, trying to sound flippant.

“Oh, no,” he cooed. “This is supposed to scare you.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. I couldn’t tell if he was going for a gun, a knife, or what.

Lucky for me, he couldn’t, either. Instead, he fumbled around, cursing. I got the feeling that he was pretty drunk. The odds were shifting in my favor.

After a moment, he gave up searching for his weapon. With a howl of rage, he lunged at me. I ducked out of the way and he stumbled. Now that he was very close, I could smell whiskey and cigarette smoke on him, confirming my suspicions about his sobriety. I backed away from the trailer. “Christ, take it easy,” I said. “I just came here to talk.”

“I’m done talkin’ to you, you little pissant.” He staggered around to face me again. Now I could see his face well; he was indeed drunk. “You’re goin’ down.”

I shot a nervous look over his shoulder. Nothing was visible in the inky blackness behind him. His eyes blazed with fury as he moved on me again. Despite his intoxicated state, he was quick. Within seconds, he was close enough that I could see little crumbs of food in his moustache and smell the



whiskey on his breath. He aimed a punch with his right hand at my head, but I bobbed out of the way. This was getting out of hand.

I pushed at him, but he didn’t move. I’d forgotten how strong he was. He looked like a geek, and he was a drunk and a cokehead, but he still had some solid muscle on him. With a contemptuous chuckle, he swung one leg behind me and kicked my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard and felt my wind rush out. As I struggled for air, I saw Moss lean over, his hand squeezing the knife.

I couldn’t breathe and I was in blind panic. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go down. I wanted to jump up and run, but without air in my lungs it was impossible. Moss grunted and pointed his weapon at my throat. My mind began to swim. I couldn’t believe that I was going to die like that. Not being all that brave in the face of death, I shut my eyes tight.

A calm voice said, “Drop the knife.”

I opened my eyes. Moss was standing over me straight up. Greg stood behind him. Relief washed over me, and I almost wet myself.

Moss was still holding the knife, and Greg said, “This is a .357 Magnum I’ve got pointed at your thick skull. If you don’t want your brains splattered all over Davis here, I suggest you put down the goddamn knife.”

This time, Moss did as instructed. The knife slipped from his hand and landed on the grass with a soft thud, like he’d dropped a screwdriver or something. My legs regained some of their function, and I pushed myself away and stood up. Once on my feet, I could see that Greg had the gun pressed against Moss’s head behind the right ear. Two guys I’d never seen before were behind Greg. They were both large – like, in the 300-pound range. They could have played offensive line for the Panthers. One’s nose was a little bent, like it had been broken once. The other had no apparent distinguishing characteristics. Both wore ski caps, both held guns of their own, and both looked mean as hell.

Greg looked at me. “Good work, Davis.”

I gave a weak nod in response, then swallowed and said, “Where the hell were you guys?”

“Where we needed to be.” He walked around in front of Moss and spoke again to him. “I think you’re going to come for a ride with us.”

Moss looked a little white, and I don’t think it was just the poor light that made him look that way. He was sober enough to be scared and still drunk enough to ask, “What the fuck is this about?”

“Do as you’re told, keep your mouth shut, and you’ll live long enough to find out,” Greg snapped. Keeping his eyes and his gun on Moss, he said, “Travis, frisk him.”

The guy with the crooked nose holstered his gun and stepped forward. He patted Moss down from behind. Moss winced, and I wondered if he was hiding another weapon, but Travis finished his search and shook his head.

“Okay,” Greg said. “Move and keep quiet. If you so much as squeak, I will kill you. Understand?”



Moss nodded and drew in a shaky breath.

Greg looked at me. “Davis, you’re coming with us.”

I wasn’t surprised at that instruction, and I wasn’t going to argue with a man packing a Magnum, but the prospect didn’t thrill me. Not that I was going to let him know that. “Yeah,” I said, trying to sound collected.

Greg waved his gun at Moss. “Move,” he hissed. “And remember – not a sound.”

Moss did as he was told. We walked behind the trailer and up the small incline in the back. We had to push through a lot of wild brush, and it clawed at my jeans. A cat or a squirrel or something moved off to my right. I was so jumpy from my latest near-death experience that I flinched. One of Greg’s goons shot me a look, but I tried to ignore him. I had a right to be on edge. Since arriving in this state, I’d been in mortal peril an awful lot. A crazy fat woman had opened fire on me with a shotgun, Moss had shot out my tires in a parking garage, I’d had a close call with the Kentucky fried sniper, and Moss had just tried to cut my throat. I speak from experience when I say that all this is bad for one’s nerves.

We reached the top of the incline. I was surprised to find that we were behind a small shopping center. I’d had no idea anything like this was near there. “Go that way,” Greg ordered, pointing with his gun to the left. Moss led the way with Greg’s gun poking at his back. The goons and I followed right behind.

We took a path around the end of the shopping center and entered a large parking lot in front of a supermarket. It was one of those massive 24-hour stores, and a few scattered shoppers were entering and exiting. A skinny black guy was collecting the shopping carts left in the lot and pushing them back through the sliding glass doors. I noticed a large display of Christmas decorations on the other side of the doors. It was December, well into the holiday selling season, but the display still looked out of place.

Greg guided us to a beat-up looking Buick parked near the end of one row. I thought about asking how I was going to retrieve my car, which I’d parked on the highway near the entrance to the trailer park. However, Greg seemed to be a little short on patience, and I hate to annoy someone who’s carrying a small cannon in his right hand. I decided to worry about my car later.



Credits

Author: Tim Dodge

Cover Photo: *knock knock* by Tobias Weber, www.flickr.com/photos/cijmyjune

Cover Layout & Lettering: Evan Dodge

Podcast Theme Music: Subway 2007 by Beatnik Turtle, www.beatnikturtle.com and www.thesongoftheday.com

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Acts Of Desperation pdf p9 - If My Thought-Dreams Could Be ... · Acts Of Desperation — Tim Dodge Visit for more information His sole reply was the grinding sound of his tires on