You Only Live Once Page 4

  He yelled back to Sancho. “Don’t follow in a straight line. Run in a zig zag. You’ll be much harder to hit.”

  An elderly woman walking her terrier stopped next to the shrub so her little black dog could lift his leg. She took half a step back when she saw James peering out at her from behind the bush. He put his finger to his lips. Her dog growled and James lunged out from the shrub and darted across the yard, running in a serpentine fashion, ducking behind trees and bushes as he made his way up the street.

  Sancho offered the startled lady an apology and sheepishly followed after Flynn, not hiding behind anything, feeling like a fool.

  A kid on a skateboard stopped and watched as James ducked behind a row of low bushes. Sancho sighed, walked over, and peered over the bushes at him.

  “Down! Get down!” James commanded. “Do you want them to see you?”

  Sancho reluctantly squatted down as James crawled as fast as he could across the front yard of 1543 Samoa Lane and disappeared around the side of the house. Sancho sighed, stood, and saw the boy staring at him. Sancho felt like an ass. He also felt like he should have taken that warehouse job at Costco instead of the orderly job at the hospital. I could have driven a forklift, he thought. I could have moved boxes and stocked shelves. I could have gotten huge discounts on tube socks and tires and giant boxes of Frosted Flakes. Instead I had to be a humanitarian and help motherfucking nutcases.

  Flynn climbed a crumbling cinderblock wall and noticed the next-door neighbor, an elderly Korean man, watering his tea roses. The man stared at Flynn and his dusty tuxedo. Flynn offered him a smile and a quick nod before adeptly avoiding the rusty barbed wire atop the wall and dropping down into the backyard below. James Flynn crouched in the weeds, listening, looking, and carefully scanning the ratty backyard. A truck engine rested next to broken lawn chairs, a plastic trashcan, and a rusty lawnmower. Flynn slowly rose to his feet and approached a back door in need of paint. He couldn’t help but notice it had the largest doggie door he’d ever seen. As the thought crossed his mind, he heard the rumbling, rhythmical sound of thundering footsteps. A massive Rottweiler exploded through the doggie door, growling, barking, snarling; its eyes crazy with bloodlust, its teeth bared and flecked with foam.

  Flynn didn’t move a muscle. He held his ground and locked eyes with the savage canine. They both stood stock still and glared at each other. Flynn didn’t show an iota of fear. In fact, he exhibited so much self-assurance and power the dog quickly lost confidence in its viciousness. The angry growl grew less intense. Soon the dog wasn’t making any sound at all. The murderous fury in its eyes transmogrified into confusion and then uncertainty and finally anxiety.

  “That’s right, my friend,” said Flynn. “I’m the alpha dog here.” The dog backed away, lowering his massive head. “Sit!” barked James and the dog sat his ass down pronto. “Down!” The dog hit the dirt and rolled over on his back, offering Flynn his neck. James rubbed his belly. “Good boy. That’s a good boy!” Flynn stepped over him, ducked his head, and crawled through the giant doggie door.

  Sancho stood in the front yard and stared at the house, wondering what the hell Flynn was doing in there. Gathering his nerve, he moved across the yard, and snuck around the side where he found an elderly Korean man holding a hose, watering some roses.

  “Hey,” Sancho said. “Did you see a guy in a tuxedo come through here?”

  The old man pointed to the cinderblock wall topped with barbed wire. “He go over there.”

  “Great,” Sancho mumbled. He grabbed the top of the wall and pulled himself up, his feet scrabbling against the cinderblock. He grunted and strained and finally clambered up. Looking down into the yard, he saw no sign of Flynn. He stood unsteadily and lifted one leg up over the wire. His pants caught on a barb. Sancho tried to pull it free and immediately lost his balance. A ripping sound preceded him hitting the ground with a painful thump. The warm breeze caressed the skin on his left butt cheek. Dazed, he clambered to his feet. Pain radiated through his shoulder and neck as he glanced down at his torn, coffee-stained trousers.

  “I call police,” the Korean man said from the other side of the wall.

  Sancho shouted to him. “The police? Why?”

  “They coming now.”

  “Oh, great!” Sancho said sarcastically. “Good! Perfect! Thank you!”

  Sancho hurried for the house, searching for Flynn. “Hey! James! Come on, man! We gotta jam!” As he looked through a dirty window, a low growl made the hairs on his arms stand up. Turning, he found himself face to face with a snarling, one hundred and twenty-pound Rottweiler. Terrified, Sancho stumbled back, tripping over the rusted lawnmower, hitting the ground hard. The Rottweiler bared his huge teeth and—

  “Down!” ordered Flynn. The Rottweiler immediately dropped to its belly. Flynn stood on the back stoop, a smirk on his face and an Oakland Raider duffel bag in his hand. “I see you’ve met my little friend.” James approached the cowering dog and the Rottweiler tried to get even lower, whimpering pathetically. Sancho was astonished. “Remember, Sancho, hiding inside every big dog is a little dog.”

  Faint sirens filled the air and the dog howled along with them in unison. Sancho realized that James Flynn was already running, leaping, gracefully vaulting over the fence. Sancho hurried after, catching himself on the barbed wire once more as he clambered over, this time ripping his shirt.

  The elderly Korean man, still watering his roses, smiled at Sancho as he limped forward into the front yard. “James! Wait for me, man!” The sirens were louder now and Sancho was in a panic. “James!”

  The Mustang screamed up next to him, squealing to a stop. Flynn was behind the wheel, a playful smile on his face. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready to what?

  “Jam.”

  A police car came screeching around a corner as Sancho dove in the Mustang’s open rear window. Flynn hit the gas and the Ford roared forward, right for the front of the police car. The surprised cop swerved, just missing the front bumper of the muscle car. Sancho managed to get his partly bare ass inside the backseat an instant before the two cars sideswiped each other. Sancho winced as metal scraped metal. The old lady walking her terrier watched as the Mustang skidded around the corner, smoke rising off the burning rubber.

  Flynn appeared perfectly calm as he kept the pedal to the metal, propelling the roaring Mustang up the once peaceful suburban street.

  “That’s it,” Sancho yelled. “That’s enough! You pull over, man! You pull the hell over!”

  Flynn glanced into the rear-view mirror and said, “I don’t think so.”

  Sancho looked back. The cops were right on their bumper. “Holy shit! They’re gonna fuckin’ put us away!”

  “They aren’t the police,” Flynn said. “They were obviously watching the house. In fact, I’m pretty sure they were expecting us.”

  Sancho noticed that Flynn now held a Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum revolver. He flicked the cylinder open to make sure it was loaded and then flicked his wrist again, snapping it shut.

  “Where the fuck did you get that?”

  “From whoever kidnapped Dulcie. He left it in her living room.”

  Sancho reached for the gun just as Flynn cut a hard left. The Mustang fishtailed, flinging Sancho sideways, his head hitting the door. Dazed, pissed, Sancho sat back up just as Flynn cut a hard right, flinging Sancho into the other rear passenger door. “Ow! Jesus!”

  “You may want to put on your seat belt.”

  Furious, Sancho grabbed for the gun and tried to wrench it out of Flynn’s hand. “Gimme that goddamn...” The gun boomed. A bullet blew right by Sancho’s surprised face, punching through the rear window of his Mustang, shattering the windshield of the police car in pursuit.

  The cop driving was blinded by a million shatter lines. He slammed down his brake and the patrol car squealed to a stop, skidding sideways. The driver’s partner looked petrified.

  Sancho stared in stunned silence at the crippled police ca
r receding in the distance. He looked at the smoking gun in his hand. “Madre,” he said, dropping it on the seat.

  “Next time you want to borrow the gun,” said Flynn. “Try asking for it.” Sancho closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

  Flynn made a left onto La Tuna Canyon Road and took the narrow, semi-rural route west towards the San Fernando Valley. They passed horse ranches and sprawling homes built into the hillside. It was as if they left Los Angeles behind and were now roaring down a country road in Arkansas.

  After ten minutes, they reached the industrial area known as Sun Valley, full of junk yards, gravel pits, and manufacturing plants. It was an abrupt change of locale from residential to commercial. They passed cinderblock walls covered with graffiti, chain link fences topped with barbed wire, and auto graveyards piled high with rusty car bodies. Five minutes later they cruised through North Hollywood, heading south on Laurel Canyon Boulevard.

  Flynn glanced at Sancho in the rear-view mirror. “I found a few clues as to what may have happened to Dulcie. Have you looked inside the duffel bag?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Sure you do.”

  Sancho leaned over the front seat and unzipped the battered Oakland Raider’s bag to find it packed with cash. Bundles of C-notes wrapped in rubber bands. “Jesus Christ,” Sancho murmured.

  “There was a message on the answering machine for someone named Mike.”

  “Man, this isn’t our business.”

  “Inviting him to a pub called Tiny’s for some sort of rendezvous.”

  They heard sirens again and Sancho looked back to see another police car on their ass. “Son of a bitch! They musta put an APB out! Jesus Christ!”

  “Don’t worry.” Flynn put the pedal to the metal. “I’ll lose them.”

  Chapter Seven

  The shrill wail of the police siren made Sancho’s head vibrate like a tuning fork. “Just pull over, man! Just pull the fuck over!”

  Flynn watched the pursuing police car in his rear-view mirror. It tried to pull around him, but Flynn put the Mustang in its path. The cruiser had to swerve and drop back.

  Flynn made a hard right, bumping up over the curb, nearly taking out a mailbox before roaring off down a perpendicular street. He hit a dip and the car bottomed out, shooting sparks. Flynn floored it and made another hard right. He swerved around cars and SUV’s and pickups, barely avoiding collision after collision—his face surprisingly calm. Sancho, however, was sure he was about to die. The police sirens could be heard howling in the distance when Flynn inexplicably began to slow down.

  Sancho sighed. “Thank God.”

  Flynn cut from the left lane into the right, slowing down even more before abruptly squealing into the drive-thru line of an El Pollo Loco. A pickup truck pulled in line behind them and a moment later two patrol cars came roaring around the corner, sirens screaming, lights flashing, speeding right by the El Pollo Loco and on down the block, where they swerved through an intersection and continued on into the distance.

  James Flynn smiled at a mystified Sancho. “Hungry?”

  “Not really.” Sancho was sweaty and pale and a little queasy.

  “Have some lunch. On me.” Flynn grabbed one of the bundles of c-notes and pulled a single bill out from under the rubber band.

  “Man, have you heard a single word I’ve said?”

  “Actually, Sancho, I haven’t missed a syllable.”

  “I’m not hungry, okay! I feel sick, all right! You want to take my car, take it! Fuck it! You can have it! I’m done with you! I am through!” Sancho opened the car door.

  “I only came here because of you,” Flynn said.

  “I told you! I’m not hungry!!”

  “Yes, but this is the El Pollo Loco on Vineland.”

  “So?”

  “Where the lovely young lady you’ve been pining for is employed.”

  Sancho looked flabbergasted as Flynn pulled up to the drive-thru menu. A female voice floated over the speaker, “Can I help you?”

  Flynn addressed the microphone in the menu board. “Indeed, you can. I’m looking for Alyssa.”

  “That’s me,” the perky voice replied.

  “Excellent. I’d like to order a Chicken Caesar burrito and a Dr. Pepper for myself and for my friend…” Flynn looked at a furious Sancho, who energetically shook his head no. “A Classic Chicken Burrito and a Coca Cola. Can I also get a Chicken Quesadilla?”

  “Of course. That’ll be nine fifty-two at the window.”

  “Thank you, Alyssa, you’ve been very helpful.” Flynn pulled forward and they waited behind a Ford Explorer.

  Sancho boiled over with anger and embarrassment. “I’m getting out of here, man.”

  “Yes, of course. If you want to chicken out, that’s your prerogative. But Sancho, isn’t this the opportunity you’ve been waiting for? The woman of your dreams is less than fifteen feet away. All you have to do is pose a question.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “If you try and you fail, you’ll feel like a fool for a day or two, but if you don’t try at all, you’ll feel like a fool forever. You’ll always regret that you didn’t have the courage to ask a simple question. And from now until the day you die, you will always wonder what could have been.”

  The Explorer pulled away and Flynn cruised up to the window. Alyssa was slender and petite with huge brown eyes and a sunny smile. She was so breathtakingly beautiful that Sancho couldn’t bear to look at her. Instead, he stared straight ahead, his face slowly turning red. Flynn offered Alyssa a warm smile as she said, “That’ll be nine fifty-two, please.”

  Flynn offered her the C-note. “Why don’t you keep the change?”

  She looked at it with surprise. “I can’t do that, sir. We can’t accept anything larger than a twenty. I’m sorry.”

  Flynn turned to Sancho. “Do you have any cash?” Sancho sighed and pulled out his wallet, fishing out a ten. Flynn whispered, “Here’s your chance.”

  Sancho looked mortified. He glanced at Alyssa for an instant before staring straight ahead again.

  “Sir?” Alyssa repeated. “It’s nine fifty-two.”

  Flynn handed her the ten and as she made change, he whispered, “Sancho...”

  “Shut up.”

  “Look at her.”

  “No!”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Sancho whispered.

  Alyssa handed Flynn the change, two drinks and a plastic bag full of food, which Flynn passed over to Sancho. “You can do this.”

  “Let’s just get the fuck out of here,” Sancho pleaded.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Dude...”

  “No.”

  “There’s people behind us, man.”

  “Can I get you anything else,” Alyssa asked. Flynn didn’t answer her, he just stared at Sancho. “Sir?”

  Sancho looked at Flynn pleadingly, but Flynn continued to stare at him. “You can do this,” Flynn whispered.

  Sancho nervously glanced up at Alyssa. She smiled at him. There was an awkward, pregnant pause. The truck behind them beeped. James turned and gave the driver a look that shut him right the hell up.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Alyssa asked again.

  “Actually, my friend Sancho here would like to ask you something.”

  “Hi,” Sancho mumbled. He opened his mouth to continue his rap, but nothing else came out.

  “Hi,” Alyssa said gently.

  “I was just wondering,” Sancho finally stammered, “If—if—if…you know…I was thinking that maybe…sometime…if you have time…you might want to…possibly…maybe…you know…go out…or…something…sometime.”

  Alyssa grinned, “I’ve seen you before, right?”

  Sancho nodded, smiling shyly. “Yeah.”

  “You’re a regular.”

  “Yeah.”

  Flynn whispered to Sancho, “How about this Friday?”

  “You free
Friday?”

  “I work on Friday,” she said. Sancho kept that smile plastered desperately to his face. His eyes, however, couldn’t hide his disappointment. But then she said, “How about Saturday?”

  “Saturday’s good.”

  Alyssa wrote her number on a takeout menu and handed it to Flynn who handed it to Sancho with a grin. “Call me.”

  “Definitely.” Sancho beamed like an idiot.

  Flynn smiled at Alyssa and hit the gas, pulling away. Sancho stared in amazement at the phone number in his hand. “Son of a bitch,” Sancho whispered.

  “Indeed.”

  Sancho grinned and pumped his fist into the air, punching the ceiling of the car. “Did you see that?”

  “I saw.” Flynn made a right.

  “She didn’t hesitate or nothing.”

  “She was captivated by your confidence.”

  “What do you think I should do? Take her to a movie?”

  “Take her somewhere you can have a conversation. You need to get to know each other. It’s all part of the dance.” Flynn pulled over to the curb behind a UPS truck, reached into the El Pollo Loco bag, unwrapped his Chicken Caesar Burrito, and took a big bite.

  “You don’t think she was trying to get rid of me?”

  “If she wasn’t interested, she would have said so,” Flynn said with a mouthful.

  Sancho pulled out his burrito and started to eat. They munched in silence for a few minutes. Sancho looked at Flynn, sipping on his Dr. Pepper. “So, are you ready to go back to the hospital?”

  “Hospital?”

  “Headquarters. Whatever.”

  “Sancho, I’m not sure you understand the gravity of our situation.”

  “Dude, I’m not sure you do…”

  “N and Miss Honeywell are missing, possibly dead. Q has been kidnapped. Dulcie is in grave danger.” Flynn crumpled up his burrito wrapper and took another sip of Dr. Pepper before pulling back into traffic.

  “James, listen, man, I know that’s how it seems, but—”