Macgregor, p.8
MacGregor, page 8
Just as his finger took up the pressure, Bonita gripped his arm, stopping him.
“We can’t do it, sweetie-pie,” she said. “Not now.”
Tampa frowned, easing back on the trigger. “Whaddya mean, we can’t do it now?” he demanded. “I got that sumbitch dead in my sights.”
Bonita sighed. “No way Mr. Novarro is gonna want us to shoot that guy right on the polo field,” she said. “Not in the middle of a match.”
“Why’n hell not? The boss’s cheatin’ like shit as it is. I’m just gonna help him a bit.”
“Trust me, baby,” Bonita said wearily. “We can’t shoot the asshole just yet.”
“You mean he’s gonna friggin’ luck out again?” Tampa complained.
“I’m afraid so, sweetie… We got no choice in the matter.”
“God damn it to hell,” Tampa fumed as he lowered the rifle. “Nobody, but friggin’ nobody, gives a damn about the workin’ man these days.”
* * *
At the start of the second half Mac managed to pass the ball to one of his teammates, then hold Novarro off while his side scored. Novarro quickly countered, beating Mac to the jump when the starter whistle blew then lofting the ball up off the ground and into the scorer’s chest. Mac’s teammate came off the horse and hit the ground hard. The ball came to a stop next to his head.
Without hesitating, Novarro lashed out with his mallet—barely missing the fallen man—sending the ball slamming over the goal line to once again tie up the score.
By now the crowd was on its feet, cheering and shouting for blood. Lupe couldn’t believe the reaction. It seemed more like a boxing match or, worse, pro wrestling, than a civilized polo competition.
She snorted. “This is the so-called sport of princes?”
“Well, you know how it is with royalty, dear,” Farah said. “After all, some claim Jack The Ripper was actually Queen Victoria’s grandson.”
Mac and Novarro continued their duel, unchecked by the officials, with Novarro using every dirty move in the black book of polo. Both sides managed to score two goals each, putting the match in a four-four tie as the final minutes ticked away.
Then, with the clock running out, Novarro cracked what might have been the winning goal toward the line. But it hit a divot and took a hop over the grass clod, giving Mac the split second he needed to get his pony around the ball. Whack! went his mallet, and the ball sailed out into the middle of the field. Men scrambled for it, and there was a mad melee; then it squirted out from the pack, and Mac rode down on it, driving it toward his enemy’s goal line.
Novarro saw him and charged in from the left, trying to cut him off. He was a heartbeat too slow-as he reached Mac’s side, the ball was already rolling toward the goal line, which was only a few yards away.
But just as Mac’s mallet gave the ball the coup de grace that put paid to the match, Novarro drove his animal into Mac’s horse. At the same time he hooked the pony’s leg with his mallet. Mac and his mount were sent tumbling over, the horse shrilling in fear.
Hooves flailed and Mac scrambled to get away. At the same time the crowd jumped to its feet to cheer the ball as it crossed the goal line and the clock ticked its final second and the end whistle blew.
Finally, Mac managed to get his animal under control and on its feet again. He stroked the pony, whispering soothing things to calm it. Now the crowd’s cheers were for the two of them when they realized what had happened and that man and horse were safe.
Novarro trotted over to Mac, who grinned up at him, mouth bloody.
“I’ve had my fill of you and your coincidences, MacGregor,” he said. “Avoid them in the future, if you please. I won’t like it. And I assure you our mutual friends won’t like it, either.”
Mac snorted. “Mutual friends,” he said. “Well, call them all out, Angel. We’ll have a fucking reunion party to end all reunion parties.”
Novarro wheeled his horse around and trotted away.
Lupe came running up and gave Mac a hug of congratulations. He winced. She backed off, concerned.
Mac laughed. “Don’t go away,” he said. “Just don’t squeeze so hard.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MAC SAT AS STRAIGHT as he could on the overstuffed couch while Lupe wound an Ace bandage around his ribs. He tensed as she hooked it into place, then relaxed and let her pull his T-shirt down over the bandage. He gave a relieved sigh and leaned back into the cushions.
“Just a couple of cracked ribs,” he said. “Not bad for having nearly half a ton of horseflesh roll over you.”
He popped open a bottle of aspirin, shook out a few then washed them down with a snifter of brandy.
“Brandy and aspirin,” Lupe said. “That was my father’s favorite cure.”
“Your father played polo?”
She shook her head. “Baseball… He was Castro’s favorite shortstop, a real go-for-broke kind of a guy, you know? But as he grew older, he got hurt more often. He used to dose himself with brandy and aspirin so he could sleep.”
“Did he ever play here in the States?”
“He got hurt too many times for that,” Lupe replied. “Castro and the other big bosses abandoned him. He and my mother sailed an inner tube to Key West.” She patted her flat belly. “I was still in her tummy then. My mom said I kicked so hard it scared the sharks away.” She laughed at the memory then turned serious. “My father parked cars at the stadium VIP lot,” she said. “That was the only job a busted-up ballplayer could get. And then I sort of followed in his tire tracks and started my own business."
“Which is where I came in,” Mac said.
She smiled. “Which is where you came in. How did you work that? I’ve always wondered.”
“I reasoned with them. Simple as that.”
“They didn’t seem reasonable types… Except for brute force-type reasoning.”
“I try to avoid violence whenever possible,” Mac said. “It’s better to use your head, see what favors you can call in. That sort of thing. The only time violence usually comes into it is if things have gone too far and are getting away from you too fast.
“In this case, when your brother called me it was early days yet. Plenty of time to think and help other people think.”
“So, you didn’t have to beat them up, or anything?” Lupe asked, sounding just a little disappointed. “They went away just because you said so?”
“There was a small altercation during my first visit with them,” Mac admitted. “I offered to pay the guy’s hospital bill, but his friends said it would be too much of an embarrassment and I should let it go.”
“This is getting really interesting,” Lupe said. “If you didn’t use violence or threats of violence, I suppose you warned them that you’d get the law on them.”
“Actually, I did them a favor.”
Lupe gaped. “You did what?”
He shrugged. “It was the easiest way,” he said. “Seemed that the main man of the group had parents who stretched their pension dollars with a vegetable and flower stall at weekend events around Boca.”
Lupe nodded. “I know the kind you mean. One of those farmers’ market deals.”
“Exactly. Except, the guy’s folks had made an enemy of somebody at city hall. Don’t ask why and how-I sure as hell didn’t. Long story short, their license was revoked. But, as it happens, the mayor is my cousin…”
Lupe started to laugh. “You mean you got the heat off them in return for getting the heat off me?”
“Yep.”
“Why, that’s almost…artistic,” Lupe said admiringly. “It goes full circle. Plus, now they owe you a favor, right?”
“That’s how it works,” Mac said, pleased that she saw the symmetry of his arrangement.
Lupe frowned. “Did this favor business have something to do with that bastard, Novarro?”
“It’s an insult to bastards to call him one,” Mac replied. “But, yes… the visit to the Boca Club… the nasty stuff at the polo match… it had everything to do with… well… what I do.”
“Tell me,” Lupe insisted.
And when he hesitated, she gently pulled him close, his head nestled on her bosom, and he told her. About Stormy. About Stormy’s missing granddaughter. And finally, about his suspicions regarding Novarro.
When he was done, he fell silent for a long, long time. Then Lupe heard his breathing quicken. He shifted uneasily,
Lupe thought it over. Then she noticed him shift as if he were hurting again.
She pushed him back on the cushion and found the brandy bottle.
“More?”
Mac reached for her. “I can think of a lot better sedative than that,” he said.
Lupe gave that throaty laugh and let him fold her into his arms. He jumped a little as her body bumped his ribs. She pulled back.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I can take it,” Mac said, pulling her back, and she fit like she’d been nesting there for years.
The little cocktail dress and lacy underthings seemed to vanish from her body and they made love on the couch for a long time. Then they moved into the bedroom and started all over again, leaving her cocktail dress in a silken puddle by the couch and a trail of Mac’s clothing on the floor.
* * *
Outside, six dark figures moved along the beach toward Mac’s house. Among them were Tampa and Bonita, but they were in the middle of the group, not leading it.
That job had been taken by a fierce-looking man with an Uzi. His name was Rico.
“When we cased the place earlier,” Tampa said, “it looked like you could get in from the sundeck. There’s sliding glass doors that side. Looked like a piece of cake.” He pointed to the stairs leading up to the deck. “Only thing is the stairs. They’re kinda rickety, but they don’t squeak none if you stay to the outside.”
“Don’t give a damn about no squeaky steps,” Rico said. “Don’t plan to give ‘em time to figure it out.”
Tampa shrugged.
“Whatever,” he said. Bonita poked him in the ribs, warning him to keep his cool.
Rico eyed him, as if waiting for some sort of protest, but when nothing more was said he turned and led the group to the stairs. He looked back at Tampa and Bonita.
“You two watch the back door,” he said.
Tampa started to get pissed. “What the hell for?” he demanded. “You tryin’ to cut us out of the kill bonus, Rico?”
Rico shrugged. “Senor Novarro don’t want no more fuckups,” he said.
Now it was Bonita’s turn to bristle.
“We’re not the fuckups,” she said. “This guy is a clever son of a bitch and Novarro should know it, seeing that he had his own ass kicked not long ago.”
“Just do what you’re told, okay?” Rico said.
Tampa and Bonita glared at him, but there was nothing they could do.
Rico fished a com unit from his pocket and keyed it. He whispered into it, “We’re on the move.”
There was a crackle from the speaker, and a voice replied from the front of the house. Rico nodded, satisfied his men were all in place. Then he pocketed the unit and led the others up to the deck.
Tampa snorted in disgust. Bonita gave him a sympathetic pat, and the two of them took up positions on either side of the deck.
“James Fuckin’ Bond Bullshit,” Tampa mumbled.
“I know, hon,” Bonita soothed. “I know.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ON THE SUNDECK, Rico used hand signals to send his men in different directions. Two slipped along either side of the house, another mounted the outside stairs that led to the rooftop deck.
Rico assigned himself to the sliding patio door that opened into the living room. He paused, listening. He could hear music playing faintly inside. He tested the door—gently putting pressure on the slide bar. No good. It was locked.
He peered inside, and saw the shadowy figures of Mac and Lupe making love in the bedroom. He watched for a few minutes, enjoying himself, then got out his tools and went to work on the lock. He was surprised at what a simple mechanism the guy had. This Mac guy was supposed to be some kind of a badass, but at his own home his locks were bullshit and he didn’t have any kind of an alarm system – not even a dog.
Personally, Rico favored dogs. At his house he had a big damned pit bull he kept mean and hungry so he didn’t give a shit about locks or alarm systems either. Guy busts into his house, he’s got to deal with the dog first, then Rico. And if Rico wasn’t home, what the fuck did he care happened to the dog? He had a deal with a dogfight guy out of Alabama. Animal got crippled a bit, Rico had a standing order for him and his friends. Bit-up dog made one helluva guard mutt, that’s for sure.
And Rico had a guaranteed method of making a dog his for life. Like he told his girlfriends: “Put a bag over they head so they can’t see shit. Then you beat the hell out of ‘em with a hammer. Take the bag off and the damned dog’ll love your ass forever ‘cause you saved they’s fuckin’ life.”
The reason he told this story to his girlfriends was that it had a dual purpose, and Rico was a man who believed in economy of thought, deed and motion.
He wriggled the little twisted piece of steel in the hole and the lock clicked open. He smiled, pleased with himself despite the simplicity of the lock, and reached to slide the door open.
Then he froze in pure, friggin’ horror, because staring right at him with big beady red eyes was the biggest motherfuckin’ spider in the whole motherfuckin’ world.
* * *
Marvez peered cautiously through the bedroom window. Rico’s numero uno bastardo felt his eyes grow to the size of coconut halves when he saw the naked couple making slow, dreamy love. His dick rose up like a cobra and what little IQ he possessed plunged to earthworm status as his eyes locked on the scene.
A beautiful stark naked woman was riding a man – whom he assumed was his quarry – like a cowgirl on a horse, her hips plunging and lifting, then plunging again. A joke he’d heard a couple of putas laughing over jumped into his head: “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
Marvez became so engrossed watching the lovers that for a time he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do. What he was here for. Shoot, maybe he’d wait a little bit a let the guy get it off. Not a bad way to die, huh? Then, with a start, he got it together. Rico would skin him for belt leather if he didn’t do his job. He pulled back his fist, which gripped a large flashlight. He was about to smash the flashlight through the window when he heard the phone suddenly ring.
The naked ride ceased and he saw the guy reflexively try to sit up under the woman. The guy yelped in pain at the effort and fell back, groaning a “Dammit.” Followed by a - “Jesus, that hurts.”
Marvez couldn’t help feel sorry for the guy. He heard the woman laugh at his plight, then gently eased herself off, showing Marvez an erotic vista that would make a Penthouse editor weep. For some reason she looked far away but, at the same time, very sharp and clear. Marvez pushed his face closer to see better.
Man, oh, man.
The guy groped for the phone, but he was still startlingly in must, which only made Rico’s dick get harder. Poor guy. The man groped for the phone, but only succeeded in knocking it off the hook. Marvez heard a loud, “Fuck.”
Marvez saw the woman grin at her lover’s plight, then slide off the bed to get the phone. Marvez bit off a groan of delight as new feminine vistas presented themselves. It was gonna be a damn shame to kill her, but, Jesus Christ, the pricks said no fucking witnesses.
He continued to marvel at how clear her image was, like a classy porno picture under a magnifying glass. But far away—not in-your-face close. Marvez appreciated such subtleties -so he watched some more.
* * *
Lupe said, “MacGregor’s residence.” Someone spoke to her and she nodded, then said, “Just a minute.” She handed the receiver to Mac, saying, “It’s the doctor.”
Mac’s libido instantly fell to earth. “Sorry doc,” he said into the phone. He listened, frowning, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Suddenly he realized what he was being told and shot up in bed, ignoring the pain.
“How is she?”
Lupe saw a fabulous smile spread across his face. A rare kind of a smile of happiness and thankful relief that made her glad she was there to see it.
“That’s fantastic, Doc… You’re a miracle worker. I owe you big time.” The doctor said something else. Mac laughed. “Yeah, Doc. You can put a favor from Addison MacGregor in your book instead of a bill. That’s how thankful I am. Any time, any place-just call.”
Hanging up, he turned to Lupe.
“Stormy’s going to make it,” he said. He looked up at the ceiling. “Thanks, God.”
He gave her a rueful look. “I don’t even know if I believe in the son of a bitch, but in my line of work, it’s best not to…take…”
They both heard a creaking sound at the bedroom window. Lupe started to turn toward the sound, but Mac caught her chin.
He leaned forward, as if to kiss her, but instead whispered, “Wait.”
Lupe waited.
* * *
Peering through a gap in Lupe’s midnight hair, Mac completed the thought....“… In my line of work, it’s best not to take chances.”
As he spoke, he eyes crept cautiously toward the bedroom window, where he’d caught the creaking sound and the faint blur of motion.
The reason he’d noticed it—other than years of experience being alert for such oddities—was the oval plastic magnifier he had slapped on his bedroom window. Similar magnifiers were scattered around the house—all fixed to key windows. Unless you were looking for them, they were unnoticeable from either side. There were other oddities spread through Mac’s house. He disdained ordinary security systems, because he was an expert at such things and he’d never met a security system he couldn’t beat. Why not assume intruders could do the same?
Then whatever had caught his attention at the window was gone. One thing was for certain, though, it sure as hell hadn’t been his imagination. He gestured to Lupe: act normal. She nodded, cool as could be.
