Private (Private 1)

Chapter 41

SCYLLA’S LUXURY APARTMENT was on Burton Way. His building was one of four high-end residences in a row, each about six stories tall.

Jason’s place was on the top floor, with a wraparound terrace. It had a wide view of the hills. He had never had real friends, but the apartment helped to get him superficial ones and even dates.

Jason stood on the terrace now and watched the city lights merge seamlessly with the city sky and the whole of the universe. The view was the shits, but for once, its beauty failed to engage his sense of awe.

He went back inside, turned on the TV, watched the Boston Celtics get pounded by the Lakers. He didn’t give a damn who won the stupid game so adored by men without any imagination or flair in their humdrum lives.

Jason had a lot on his mind, but he was so high on painkillers, he doubted his ability to reason. He’d have to explain to his coworkers about the tape across his nose, the black eyes, his arm bandaged. He wondered what he was going to say, how he would spin it.

Meanwhile, Morbid was coming over to talk to him about a second chance. They’d texted back and forth, Morbid explaining to Scylla how embarrassed he was, since he was the one who’d recruited him.

There was an unspecified threat, but clearly an offer of redemption. As a favor to Scylla, Morbid had convinced Steem to agree to an unscheduled night on the town so that Scylla could erase the black mark against him.

Morbid had told him that they had a pretty little pigeon already picked out, and Scylla would have to take care of her this very night.

“So soon?” Jason had said.

“You have a problem with it?” Morbid asked.

“No. Tonight’s good.”

The doorbell rang, and Jason got up off the sofa. He hobbled to the foyer and pressed the intercom button.

“It’s me,” said Morbid. “And Steem.”

“Come on up.”

He was going to kill another girl—only this time it didn’t seem like such fun and games.

Chapter 42

SCYLLA OPENED HIS front door, and Steemcleena entered, Morbid right behind him. They seemed purposeful and serious, and Jason got the feeling that the two of them had been longtime buddies, maybe even outside

the game. Actually, it was cool that they were letting him in at all.

“How’s the nose?” Morbid asked, taking a leather lounge chair, sprawling in it, as Steem looked over the bookshelves.

“It’s okay. You guys want a beer?” Jason asked.

“Not for me, thanks. Nice place, Scylla. The view is great from here,” Steem said as he headed toward the sliding door that led out to the terrace.

“Let me get that,” Jason said, limping after him. He unlatched the door and pulled it open. “It’s the shits—like a thirty-mile view,” he said.

Steemcleena whistled. “Hey, Morbid. You should see this. Come out here, man. It’s like a movie. Cinematic.”

Jason moved aside the metal bistro chairs so that all three of them could line up at the terrace wall and share Los Angeles.

Steemcleena said to Jason, “See that?” He pointed to a van across the street, the one with the Comcast logo. “That’s redemption for you, partner. Tonight’s ride. You believe you’re getting a second chance?”

“Sure I do,” said Scylla.

“Well, you’re not, asshole. You’re tonight’s pigeon.”

Steemcleena bent quickly. He grabbed Scylla by the knees. At the same time, Morbid pushed his shoulders so that Jason was lying across the wall, head and chest over the sheer cliff of the terrace. Below him was sixty feet of air.

“Don’t,” Jason cried out. “Please, just put me down. Please?”