He smiled at me and tore the card, dropping the pieces on the floor. He said, “You’ve got all the time you’ll ever get with me. Leave, or I’ll let Carl have you.” Carl came off the wall and started toward me. I stood and thought about drawing my magnum, but wasn’t sure six rounds would be enough to stop the advancing Cro-Magnon.
There was a movement in the darkness behind Carl and I saw Hondo reach him. Carl came to a stop like a charging dog hitting the end of a chain. I couldn’t tell how Hondo was holding him, but Carl only struggled a little before shrugging his shoulders and stopping. Hondo made a quarter turn with Carl so he could see Frank and me. No one in the place was paying any attention.
Hondo said, “Figured I’d better stop old Too-Tall here before you did him some serious harm.”
Frank snorted and said, “Let him go. Carl, don’t worry about these two.” Hondo released his grip and Carl turned to look him up and down. He gave Hondo a slight nod and went to his wall. Hondo stood where he was, smiling and looking all mellow.
I turned my attention to Meadows. “We’re not looking for a pissing contest, Frank,” his eyebrows went up at the use of his first name, “We’re trying to locate someone who should be valuable to you. I’m having a hard time deciding why you don’t want that to happen.”
“You start messing with me, you’re going to get your balls handed to you on a plate.”
I rolled my eyes, “Frank, listen to me. I’m not messing with you. I’m going to find Bob Landman. Your cooperation might have made it easier, but we don’t need you to do this.”
He smiled and exhaled, “Maybe you’re right.” He took a step closer with his hand out as if to shake, but when I relaxed, Frank hopped to within an inch of me and shot his hand to my crotch. He was a powerful man, with forearms like a blacksmith and his grip on me took my breath away. His face was an inch from mine as he said, “Your cojones on a plate, you fuck with me.” He let go and stepped back, watching my reaction. Carl was still against the wall, and Hondo hadn’t moved.
I didn’t move either, partly because the pain was almost paralyzing me, but also because I was not going to let him see he’d gotten to me.
I crossed my arms on my chest, cocked one leg, and kept a blank face as I almost screamed like a girl when my scrotum adjusted. “You want to grab men like that, you better go to a gay bar and get a date. It doesn’t impress me.” I turned and walked toward the door. Hondo watched the two of them until I drew even. Carl pointed his hand at us with the thumb cocked and forefinger extended and mouthed “Bang,” as we walked out the door.
As soon as the door closed behind us, I sucked in a large breath of air, leaned against the wall and fought against throwing up.
“Good thing that didn’t hurt, huh?” Hondo said.
I stood up and walked toward my truck, taking small, slow steps that gradually increased in length as the ache left my stomach and settled low in the groin, like my pelvic bone
s were cradling a shovel full of hot coals. Hondo opened the door for me and I took two tries before making it into the seat. I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants before buckling on the seatbelt.
Hondo said, “Go on home. I’ll see you in the morning.”
As he turned to leave I asked, “Did you find anything at the house?”
“Yeah. Landman’s mountain bike was missing. That’s a three thousand dollar bike. You don’t just misplace one of those.”
I thought about that as I readjusted my position in the seat, all the while using my hands to cradle my swelling gonads. Powder monkey’s didn’t hold jars of nitro with any more care than I was holding my balls.
Hondo closed the driver’s door for me and said, “I’d put some ice on those tonight or you’re going to have the Lakers wanting to borrow them to shoot hoops.” He left as I started Shamu. My trip home was done at a blazing speed of forty miles an hour, and despite the pain, all I could think of was Bob Landman and his mountain bike.
**
The next morning Hondo came by and picked me up. As I walked to the Mercedes and got in he said, “Looks like you’re holding a cheeseburger between your legs when you walk.”
“Drive,” I said. He grinned and maneuvered us down Mulholland Drive, in and out of traffic as smooth as a skier in deep powder. We turned on Ventura, then took the Pacific Coast Highway all the way into Venice. The day was beautiful, with no haze in the air, everything in crisp focus, and the smell of the sea perfumed the morning.
We parked in the gym’s lot, which was already three-quarters full and went to the office. We sat in our chairs and talked things through. There was no real indication that Bob Landman had met with foul play, but Frank Meadows didn’t seem to care that Landman wasn’t around. Could be because his wife was playing choo-choo with the actor, but if it was, Frank could keep it hidden on his face. If not, then maybe Meadows was right, and Landman had gone off to find himself.
That left Bond...and Mickey. Both of them close to the actor, seeing and talking to him every day and suddenly, poof, he’s Twilight Zoned out of here without either one of them having a clue about it. That’s the part that bothered us. Hondo took the paper with Mickey’s number and while he dialed, I went into the storage room where I kept some clothes and changed into looser fitting pants. I left off the Haines, too.
Hondo hung up the phone as I walked back to my desk. He said, “You borrow those from MC Hammer?”
I sat down, “These are called relaxed-fit jeans. The latest thing.”
“Uh-huh,” Hondo grinned, then said, “Mickey said Landman used to ride his bike a lot on the trails into the Santa Monica Mountains. She said there’s one trail several blocks behind his house that was his favorite.”
“We should head up that way, then. Check it out.”
“It wouldn’t take much to fall into one of those canyons and not be found for a while. It’s rugged up there in places.”
“We’d better get some gear, a couple of bikes-”