Down at the Twist and Shout Ch. 02

Justine pulled the covers up over the pair of them, and, with his sleep-warmth baking into her, fell asleep in her Johnny-Bear's arms.

*

Life gradually settled down into a normal pattern for Johnny and Justine over the next few weeks; Carlo's nuisance visits had stopped, and Justine was finally able to unwind and enjoy the life she was sharing with Johnny. The fact they both kept the same unsociable schedule meant they were never out of sync, even if they lived their lives shifted 12 hours away from most of their neighbors; it no longer seemed weird to be having dinner at ten in the morning, or that they hardly ever saw their neighbors at all except sometimes when they were coming in just as the neighbors were leaving to start their work-day. That they'd be making dinner while their neighbors were having breakfast and going to their nine-to-five lives never really seemed odd to the two of them; they had each other, and that was all they wanted.

As time wore on and Carlo and his pettiness gradually slipped from their minds, Johnny and Justy began to relax; as far as they were concerned, Carlo was over, and they could move on. At least, Justine believed it was so; Johnny wasn't so certain; in his estimation, Carlo wasn't the kind of man to accept things were so just because someone had told him so, but, as time wore on and nothing came along to cause even a small ripple in their happiness, he too began to let his guard down.

That was exactly what Carlo was waiting for; he'd kept a close watch on them, becoming very familiar with their routines, what time either came in from work, who was in the loft at any given time, and, most importantly, the times when Justine was alone, and for how long; he'd bided his time, and now it was time to take what was his.

Finally, early one Monday morning, his chance came. After a night of relatively uneventful chaperoning of his latest celebrity client, Johnny had swung by Justine's location to surprise her with an early pickup, to find her looking tired and drawn; obviously she'd not had as easy a night as him. As he hugged her, he saw how tired she was; she needed sleep, she was so exhausted he'd had to carry her back up to the loft, not that she was any great burden, and left her dozing on the couch while he ran back down to the lobby and across the street to Tonino's to pick up a couple of hot pastrami on rye and one of Tonino's special mocha vanilla lattés, Justine's favorite morning treat, and a java for him.

Johnny was just about to order at the counter when his cell bleated. He looked at the caller ID and saw it was Jerome calling. When he answered, Jerome asked him if he could swing by, he needed to give him some additional details on that night's assignment, he was sorry for the short notice, but he had to leave that afternoon for Philadelphia, so Johnny needed to come by now.

Johnny climbed into his unremarkable, apparently beat-up old Blazer and headed uptown to the offices of Baxter-Harkoff, sure in the knowledge that Justine wouldn't even notice he was gone; she'd fallen asleep almost the second he'd laid her down on the couch.

*

When Johnny's Blazer had disappeared into the morning traffic, Carlo stepped out of the shadows from where he'd been watching him leave; the traffic had teeth that Monday morning, so Carlo could be reasonably sure the big hick would be gone most of the morning. A second figure stepped out of the shadows, grinning in anticipation at Carlo; if he'd been a little less dazzled with his own brilliance he'd have seen and understood the way his accomplice, Gina, smiled; as meaningless and deadly as a shark, no trace of humor touching her cold, calculating eyes.

But Carlo wasn't perceptive enough to see Gina for what she was; in his mind, he and Gina were together, the perfect fit, she adored him, of that he was sure, and now they were going to take what was his, and start a new life together far from all this, from that worthless wife of his, and, more importantly, from the people he owed so much money to. In his eyes, Gina was everything Justine wasn't; she was the woman he deserved, and this was the way to keep her.

With thoughts like these ringing in his head, he smiled triumphantly at Gina, and nodded to her; now was the time he took his payback. Watching the traffic carefully, just in case Johnny's old Blazer suddenly reappeared for some reason, he and Gina slipped into the deserted lobby of the loft complex, confident that they were in the clear, and would be long-gone before anyone even knew they'd been here.

But other eyes were watching, too; already the jungle drums were spreading the word; Fat Carlo was up to something, and it smelled like money...

*

Justine woke slowly, disoriented for a moment, before realizing she was still on the couch. Why had Johnny left her there...? More to the point, where was he? The loft fairly throbbed with emptiness. Justine glanced at her watch; she'd been asleep only a few minutes, what had woken her? As if in answer, there came a knock at the door.

In her half-dazed, still partially asleep state, Justine swung her legs wearily off the couch and padded across the floor in her sock feet, caution deserting her in her tiredness, and opened the loft door. She caught a glimpse of a redheaded woman with a sharp, malicious face grinning at her before a bony fist smacked into her eye; Justine saw stars, and as she staggered backwards, her head ringing from the blow, another punch caught her square on the point of her jaw, she tasted brass as more stars burst in her head in a sudden blaze of pain, and blackness swamped her.

Carlo saw the fine gold chain around Justine's neck, probably a gift from that swamp-hopper brother of hers, and so he yanked it off her, snapping it, but not before he'd seen the key fly off it. Gina also saw it, and pounced on Justine's inert body, tearing her shirt open to find the key again. It was the key to the safe, of that Carlo was sure, else why keep it so close? Gina handed it to him, and grinned, a wolfish glimmer of greed in her eyes.

"Let's go get our money and get out of here, baby," she wheedled seductively, and Carlo grinned back at her, mentally rubbing his hands in glee at the thought of all that money within his reach at last, not hearing the thinly-veiled contempt in her voice in his elation at finally getting his payoff.

*

Three hours later, his business with Jerome taken care of, Johnny ambled along the hall with two coffees and two of Tonino's superb hot pastrami on rye sandwiches, his mind occupied with thoughts of waking Justine with her favorite snack before having a long, lazy day in bed with her, when he saw the door to the loft ajar. Immediately his cop-senses stood up and shrieked; Justine was alone, and as far as he knew, still asleep; she never left the door ajar and unattended, Carlo had a habit of showing-up out of the blue, so she always kept the security-chain on and the door double-locked if she was alone.

Johnny silently placed the drinks carrier and brown bag on the floor and cat-footed along the corridor, carefully avoiding the one squeaky plank in the polished hardwood floor, and cautiously peered around the doorjamb; his heart leaped into his mouth at the sight of Justine crumpled a few feet inside the loft.

Johnny listened carefully to ensure whoever had done this wasn't still inside the loft, then ghosted through the door and carefully scooped the unconscious girl off the floor. He laid her down on the couch and checked her breathing, before feeling at her neck for her pulse, while his heart raged at the swollen black eye and vivid purple bruise on the side of her jaw; whoever had done this was long-gone, if the advanced state of her bruising was anything to go by, but when he hit her he knew exactly what he was doing to put her out-cold for as long as possible. While he was making her comfortable he glanced into the sleeping area and saw the safe door open, the bundles of hundreds gone, almost $200,000 in all, and papers scattered and trampled on the floor.

Johnny knew instantly who'd done this, who'd want to do something like this; it didn't take a genius to connect the dots here and spell out 'Carlo', and for this day's work, Johnny promised himself, he was going to bait Carlo on a hook and drag him behind a pirogue along every bayou he knew and let him take his chances with the gators; maybe he'd cut him a little first, just to give the gators a blood-trail to follow...

Johnny went to the freezer and collected a handful of ice-cubes in a clean towel, which he placed gently on Justine's eye. The cold shocked her awake and her hands came up in an instinctive warding-off gesture.

"Hey, hey, it me, Minou, shh, y'all take it easy, I got to get this here swellin' down..." he murmured, and Justine grinned, despite her pain, at his overdone bayou accent.

"Who done this baby-girl, who hurt you?" His big, gentle hand held the improvised ice pack on her face, alternately dabbing at her eye and the nasty purple bruise on the left side of her chin.

"Was it that...was it Carlo?" he probed gently , and gazed at her in surprise when she shook her head.

"It was a woman, I didn't really see her face properly; someone was at the door, I opened it, and she smacked me in the eye, and hit me again, and that's all I know. Redheaded, she was a redhead, thin, but that's all I remember."

"Was Carlo with her?" probed Johnny, and Justine shook her head.

"There was someone behind her I think, but I dunno; it all happened so fast, I can't really..."

Johnny nodded, carefully schooling his features; he was in no doubt who was behind this, and why. As he dabbed the makeshift ice-pack on Justine's bruised face, he made a vow to return the favour, with interest, just as soon as he caught up with that pudgy little prick. So intent was he on easing his sister's pain that he forgot the loft door was still open, and was caught completely off guard when a strange voice spoke.

"Well now, ain't this a lovely sight, eh boys? So nice of you, you must be a real gentleman, looking after that little girl so nicely and all... don't make any sudden moves, big guy, I don't want to hurt anyone, 'specially not that pretty little thing there..."

Johnny turned slowly, to see four large, thick-necked thugs, the kind found in any of the more questionable saloons on the Lower East-Side, flanking a slim, elegant figure with a dark blue Burberry trench coat draped over his shoulders like a cape. He was wearing sharp, sharkskin suit, a candy-stripe pastel pink and blue shirt with a contrasting white collar as rigid and perfect as porcelain, set-off with a pale blue, impeccably knotted watered-silk necktie. The newcomer was medium height, with short, dark hair gelled into spikes, and a soul-patch under his lip. He looked like a movie hood, and Johnny wondered abstractly for one second if he'd been watching too many wise-guy movies, because he was certainly trying to look like one.

"Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doin' in my home?" drawled Johnny, watching the five intruders carefully.

The suit snapped his fingers and one of his gorillas took the trench coat from his shoulders while he took a Partaga from his inside pocket and waited while another hulking thug clipped and lit it for him. He blew a thin plume of smoke out, tainting the air with the smell of Cuban tobacco, smiling with enjoyment before locking gazes with Johnny.

"A...mutual acquaintance of ours owes my family a large sum of money; we heard he had access to funds to repay us. He is overdue repaying us, the loan and the vig, and, I'm sorry to say, it is a sizable sum. We also heard his wife had enough money to repay what he borrowed and did not repay on time, and so I have come here, on behalf of my family, to collect our money. But what do I find? Our bird has flown, he has taken our money, and so you, Senhora, you must find a way to repay us; your husband's debt is your debt, and my brothers have grown tired of waiting. Now where is our money?"

The air of dapper elegance was gone; now he was menacing, and Justine quailed at the expression on his face. Johnny stepped in front of her.

"Look you, whatever Carlo owed you's between him and you; t'ain't nuthin' to do with us, so whyn't you-all haul ass outta here afore I get mad?"

The hood's eyes narrowed with anger.

"If I leave, she comes with me; one way or another, that fat fuck's going to repay what he owes; he took our money, so his wife's going to work it off for us."

He flicked a lickerish glance over Justine as she cowered on the couch, and leered at Johnny, a triumphant smirk on his face as he licked his lips.

"She's a pretty one; she's gonna be really popular, I think I might even try her out myself first, just to see- "

Before he'd even finished speaking, Johnny went off like a hand-grenade, enraged beyond reason at what that little dog's dick planned for his Justine. Moving with the blurred speed of a striking rattlesnake, his hand speared into the man's throat, stiff fingers crushing his larynx. The dapper hood dropped to his knees, strangling, his eyes wide with the knowledge of his own death, while his cohorts stood frozen, unnerved by Johnny's reaction and blinding speed.

They didn't stay frozen for long; the first one to reach into his jacket staggered back, his nose broken by the downward hammer-blow of Johnny's fist. Johnny followed up with the heel of his hand in a vicious uppercut, with all his strength, straight to the bridge of the man's nose, driving the splintered bone into his brain. He dropped without a sound, dead before he hit the floor.

Two of the lumbering gorillas tried to rush him; one got a back-elbow under his chin that slammed his teeth together and scrambled his brains, and as he staggered back, Johnny spun around, grabbed the other man by the back of his head, and slammed their heads together. Blood spouted with the force of the impact, and both thugs sagged to the floor, their lights switched off and their skulls most likely fractured with the crushing force of the impact.

The fourth thug, slower on the uptake than his three friends, finally lumbered into action, but it was already too late; he tried to grab Johnny around the neck in a clumsy wrestling hold, but Johnny had been rough-house wrestling down home all his life, and refining his skills in the course of his work, and he easily ducked out of the hold, spun the goon around and yanked him closer even as he head-butted him between the eyes; as the man staggered, dazed, Johnny kicked him in the crotch as hard as he could; the thug screamed and clutched himself as he sank to his knees. A crashing kick to his jaw, like a soccer player taking a penalty, sent him to join his sleeping buddies.

Justine stared in shock at the carnage; she'd always known Johnny could look after himself, but five men? No wonder no-one would cross him...

Johnny stood, breathing heavily, letting the rage and killing fury drain away; he looked up to see Justine's wide, frightened eyes and cursed himself; he'd never wanted her to see that, what the hell must she think of him? He started to speak, but Justine bounced off the couch, skirting the bodies on the floor to hug him tightly around the waist.

"Justy, I..." he began, but she grabbed his lips and held them together, her favorite trick when she wanted him to shut up.

"It's OK, Johnny B, you were protecting me, it's OK, really; they came here to take everything from us, they were going to take me, and they would have hurt you. I know why, it's all because of what Carlo did; I know he must have been behind what happened to me, I can see all the money in the safe's gone, he took it, and now those people say I have to pay them back what he owes them. What are we going to do, Johnny? Please tell me we're going to be OK; I don't want them to come back, but they will, won't they? What are we going to do?"

Johnny gently disengaged her arms from around her waist.

"Baby-girl, the money in the safe don't matter; it gone now, an' we never gonna get it back, but it don' matter, you got lots more comin'. Right now, just siddown, lean back, don' jar your head none, I need to make a couple calls, we get this cleaned-up, then we go see some people, OK? Now husha, I gotta talk to a man 'bout some carpets..."

Johnny made a call that made no sense to Justine, only hearing his side of the conversation; something about two carpets and three rugs, full cleaning service, standard rate, ten each for two carpets and five each for three rugs, with an extra ten for cleanup. Justine listened in bewilderment; there were dead and seriously injured men scattered around the loft, and Johnny was more concerned about making deals with some carpet cleaning company?

He finished his calls and smiled at her.

"Get your stuff packed, baby, stuff y'all really need; we got to get out o' here real soon; some people comin' by gonna take care this mess, then we gotta disappear for a while; them boys' friends are gonna be lookin' for evens, so shake your tail, Minou. Move it, I ain't jokin'!"

Justine was packing a pair of large flight-bags when there came a knock on the door. Johnny answered cautiously, and a bunch of men with hard, forgettable faces, dressed in 'ACME Carpet & Rug Cleaning Services' coveralls carried in a pile of rolled-up carpets and rugs. Justine watched in horror as they began tightly wrapping the two bodies in Saran Wrap and rolling them up inside the carpets, while the three unconscious men were gagged, zip-cuffed and duct-taped, and wrapped in the rugs; then, all the rolled-up carpets and rugs were strapped tight with steel banding. Now she suddenly understood Johnny's cryptic conversation as the 'workmen' carried their burdens into the service elevator.

Justine looked out to the street, where a large 'ACME Carpet & Rug' panel van was waiting, and she watched the men casually dump the rolled up carpets, whistling as they did, kicking and rolling them into the very front of the van, while a couple of the men rolled-up and Saran-wrapped the bloodstained rug then swabbed and mopped down the loft floor and outside corridor, before putting down an old, but clean rug where the old one had been. Justine smelled bleach and looked inquiringly at Johnny.

"Just in case, baby; any forensic people got reason to come up here, the bleach gonna confuse things if they use Luminol or UV lights to look for blood," he grinned wryly; "Sometimes, bein' Lawman come in useful..."

Justine chewed her lip, something she did when she was worried or confused as they rode the elevator down to the lobby.

"Johnny, who are those men, where are they taking those...rugs and stuff, and how do you know them? Tell me the truth, Johnny B, I'm not a little kid; how the hell do you know people like that?"

Johnny grinned as he tossed their cases into the back of his innocent-looking Blazer.

"Baby, I work in a...special kinda world, and you get to know people, sometimes they ask you for favors, an' sometimes you ask for one in return; 'quid pro quo' they call it; I needed a 'cleaner', someone who owes me knows a man who knows a man, they sent them, they'll pay them, I'll pay it back through someone else, that's all I need to know; favor repaid, an' no paper trail; that's how my world works. No-one talks, an' no-one knows nuthin'; it's safer that way. Now, you ready to go? I ain't runnin' back up to the loft an' leaving you out here alone, so you forgot it, it's gone, you got that?"

Justine nodded.

"Let's just get the hell out of here before more of those pigs come back; the way that little dick was looking at me..."

*

Two hours later, in a small, anonymous office building behind a ramshackle gas station in Rochdale, Jerome Barker steepled his fingers on the table as he looked searchingly at Johnny.