Filled my lungs. Largo walks down the sidewalk and over to where I stand. We wait between both cars. I say.
You got a spot? Good one?
He smiles.
Great spot. Clean line of sight and indoors.
Indoors?
Largo juts his chin towards a motel window above us. It was perfect. Ideal view of the club parking lot.
I smile and nod.
Let's get our stuff inside.
We grab our cases and equipment. The motel is more functional than clean - just like a motel. I drop my case in the room. I suppose in West Hollywood they get lots of guys sharing a room. Largo opens the curtain and pulls across the net. He puts the long case with the rifle on top of the bed. We won't be sleeping in it. The plan is to get hold of this kid and take him away from here. That is my goal. I am focused, fearless. It's never that simple. With someone like Yama calling all the shots it feels bad. I like watching Largo rig up the set. It's serious kit. I like him having my back. I like it that when this is over I can go back to Chicago.
I understand there are many things I do not like. I don't consider upsides. If I take care of the downsides, upsides are all that's left. I normally dwell on downsides. Consider each angle. Each detail. There is no time here. Angles and details are all I have. They have to fall in line and maybe, just maybe, there will be an upside to this shit.
The sky is amber waiting for the sun to close it's account for the day. Largo clips and slots steel against steel. He slides a small tripod onto a table reserved for coffee or a lite lunch. He clamps the tool down and the rifle into another slot. Slams in a magazine hard and eyes the scope. I tell him.
I'm going down to walk through.
He keeps his eye to the scope and revolves the rifle towards the nets.
Sure, let's get together in fifteen and talk it over.
Good.
I leave Largo alone with his weapon.
DUNE
The first star of the twilight appears. The moon is white, white, neon even though it's not even dark. Amber fades as the blue black pulls over the sky. I wander onto the lot toward the club called Dune aware that Largo is above watching over me. I make a couple of hand signals that he taught me. He learned them in the Marines. The Fucking Corp. I could see Largo being a big pain in the ass in The Corp. He told me he liked it. Went to Vietnam. Killed lots of gooks and I reckon if I showed him a map of the world right now he couldn't point out where 'Nam even was.
I cross the street and onto the lot of the club up to the entrance. The doors fly open. I freeze. A black guy drags eight chrome poles out into the sandy salty air. He plants them in a cluster. Closes the door and turns to me.
We closed.
What time do you open?
You a member?
A member of a night club?
It's pretty exclusive.
Looks pretty run down.
He smiles.
In this town, this place is smokin' hot. Anyways I gots to get this rail up, the place opens up around 9. A line starts here in 15 or 20 minutes.
He grabs the first pole, paces then drops it like a traffic cone. Ignores me. Goes back inside. Comes back with a bunch of red ropes. He paces with the other chrome poles and connects them with the ropes until his corridor, his runway, is ready for the red carpet crowd.
I leave him. I walk around the building checking the exits and side streets. I walk a block down and back up. Lights are bright now. Vertical bulb arrangements made like blinking arrows tell me there is liquor inside the stores. I go into one of the joints opposite the club, grab a bottle of JD, when I fold out the twenty and singles slowly over the check out counter I check the security monitor fed by the camera outside. The monochrome is pitiful, as is the range. It won't catch a thing happening over at Dune. I thank the Asian store clerk and take the bag back to the Super 8. The street is busy. A Harley D and another fake cocksucker blares past with a young chick riding pillion. Maybe it's jealousy on my part. Fuck that. The moon is white as bone but
You got a spot? Good one?
He smiles.
Great spot. Clean line of sight and indoors.
Indoors?
Largo juts his chin towards a motel window above us. It was perfect. Ideal view of the club parking lot.
I smile and nod.
Let's get our stuff inside.
We grab our cases and equipment. The motel is more functional than clean - just like a motel. I drop my case in the room. I suppose in West Hollywood they get lots of guys sharing a room. Largo opens the curtain and pulls across the net. He puts the long case with the rifle on top of the bed. We won't be sleeping in it. The plan is to get hold of this kid and take him away from here. That is my goal. I am focused, fearless. It's never that simple. With someone like Yama calling all the shots it feels bad. I like watching Largo rig up the set. It's serious kit. I like him having my back. I like it that when this is over I can go back to Chicago.
I understand there are many things I do not like. I don't consider upsides. If I take care of the downsides, upsides are all that's left. I normally dwell on downsides. Consider each angle. Each detail. There is no time here. Angles and details are all I have. They have to fall in line and maybe, just maybe, there will be an upside to this shit.
The sky is amber waiting for the sun to close it's account for the day. Largo clips and slots steel against steel. He slides a small tripod onto a table reserved for coffee or a lite lunch. He clamps the tool down and the rifle into another slot. Slams in a magazine hard and eyes the scope. I tell him.
I'm going down to walk through.
He keeps his eye to the scope and revolves the rifle towards the nets.
Sure, let's get together in fifteen and talk it over.
Good.
I leave Largo alone with his weapon.
DUNE
The first star of the twilight appears. The moon is white, white, neon even though it's not even dark. Amber fades as the blue black pulls over the sky. I wander onto the lot toward the club called Dune aware that Largo is above watching over me. I make a couple of hand signals that he taught me. He learned them in the Marines. The Fucking Corp. I could see Largo being a big pain in the ass in The Corp. He told me he liked it. Went to Vietnam. Killed lots of gooks and I reckon if I showed him a map of the world right now he couldn't point out where 'Nam even was.
I cross the street and onto the lot of the club up to the entrance. The doors fly open. I freeze. A black guy drags eight chrome poles out into the sandy salty air. He plants them in a cluster. Closes the door and turns to me.
We closed.
What time do you open?
You a member?
A member of a night club?
It's pretty exclusive.
Looks pretty run down.
He smiles.
In this town, this place is smokin' hot. Anyways I gots to get this rail up, the place opens up around 9. A line starts here in 15 or 20 minutes.
He grabs the first pole, paces then drops it like a traffic cone. Ignores me. Goes back inside. Comes back with a bunch of red ropes. He paces with the other chrome poles and connects them with the ropes until his corridor, his runway, is ready for the red carpet crowd.
I leave him. I walk around the building checking the exits and side streets. I walk a block down and back up. Lights are bright now. Vertical bulb arrangements made like blinking arrows tell me there is liquor inside the stores. I go into one of the joints opposite the club, grab a bottle of JD, when I fold out the twenty and singles slowly over the check out counter I check the security monitor fed by the camera outside. The monochrome is pitiful, as is the range. It won't catch a thing happening over at Dune. I thank the Asian store clerk and take the bag back to the Super 8. The street is busy. A Harley D and another fake cocksucker blares past with a young chick riding pillion. Maybe it's jealousy on my part. Fuck that. The moon is white as bone but
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