The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark) Page 11

  “How are you going to get them here from New York so fast?”

  “Uh...” Tony hesitated. “Your jet?”

  Max's brows furled. “I thought I told you to sell that.”

  Tony said placatingly, “I did. I sold it to Faust Air-Share, of which Faust Marketing is the sole owner. F.A.S leases out corporate jets by the hour.”

  Max uselessly waved his hand, irritated for some reason he couldn't name. “Okay, I don't care how, I just need them ASAP.”

  Max told Mike his plan, and with nothing else to do, the two turned on the tube and surfed from the broken bed. As they were watching, there was another knocking at the door, and when Mike went to look through the peephole, there was another camera crew and another vacuous looking female reporter. Mike told them that there would be no interviews and to go away or they would call the cops on the reporters for harassment. After lying back on the broken bed again, Mike said to Max, “I really am sorry Max. I really didn't think it would be a big deal.”

  Max just growled, “Shut up and watch the movie.”

  This repeated for a little over two hours, with new reporters and crew showing up, knocking on the door, and giving their pitch. The two friends just stopped answering the door at all. About a half hour after that another knock came. This one was loud and insistent like many of the others, but it was accompanied by, “Open up! This is the police!”

  Mike, looking concerned, glanced at Max and prepared to get up and open the door.

  Max just shook his head. “Old trick. Just more reporters.”

  Mike looked a bit troubled, as Max increased the volume of the television.

  The pounding started came again, this time harder, “Mr. Faust, open this door!”

  Mike was starting to look worried, so Max shouted out. “Go away! I'm not giving any interviews!”

  There was no response for a moment, then the door was noisily and violently subdued. It exploded open, smacked against the wall, and slammed back shut before bouncing open again, revealing Chief Wayne's bulk filling the door. He looked a trifle upset. Standing straight, he was an even six foot tall, and his hair was cut flat as though the Chief had walked underneath a hedge trimmer held at exactly six feet one. In Max's estimation, the police chief was roughly six feet wide as well—three feet of meaty body with a foot and a half of bicep on either side. In Max's further estimation the police chief was also extremely scary. Underneath Wayne's flattop, his pronounced brow ridge, and bushy gray eyebrows, were nested steel-blue marbles that were normal eye size, but looked small, surrounded as they were by Wayne's wide, chiseled face. It was a face designed for anger. The scowl that rode it right now looked exceptionally comfortable.

  Max jumped out of the bed with a little shriek. He tried to smooth out his rumpled appearance as he stammered out, “Sheriff! I'm, I'm... I thought you were another reporter!”

  Wayne advanced on Max like a tidal wave and loomed under Max's own six feet four inches. “Of course, because that's what 'This is the police' means, you little twerp.” Max didn't have time to wonder that, even though he topped the lawman by several inches, when the cop called him “little,” it seemed unquestionably true. “And I ain't no damn sheriff! I'm the Chief of Police here.”

  “Yes, yes, sir,” said Max.

  “Now what the hell do you think this place is, a circus? Why the hell do I get a call from the manager of this fine establishment when I am just sitting down to dinner with the missus? Where do you get off disturbin' my peace like this?” Max tried to respond, but Wayne obviously felt that the questions were rhetorical. “You damn rock stars think you're gods. Think the world turns around you, come down to my town and turn it into a joke. Well, I'm not having it, ya hear?”

  “But, it wasn't me! I didn't ask those reporters to come here!”

  “Hey, back off, Sheriff!” said Mike, coming around the bed to rescue Max.

  The Chief turned to look at Mike. His heavy brows were raised in surprise like two rampant fuzzy caterpillars. It had obviously been a long time since anyone had stood up to him. He scowled at Mike like he was a road kill possum that he had just scraped off his feet. “I just told you, I ain't no dumb-shit, teeth in their mouth, holier than thou sheriff! Just who the hell are you?”

  Mike stopped a couple feet away from Wayne, uncowed. “I'm his friend, and” – he pointed to the now open door at the several faces and cameras peering in at them highlighted by the flashing lights of a police cruiser in the parking lot— “none of this is his fault! These vultures just swooped down on us. They're the ones you need to be yelling at.” As if to emphasize that fact, there was a flash from behind the sheriff as one of the several reporters snapped a picture. That apparently was the signal and the race was on to see who could blind the three in the room with the most flashes.

  The Chief turned around on his legs, because his torso was too thick to turn, and bellowed out the door. “Lootenant! I told you to keep those weasels out of here.”

  A small voice could barely be heard over the crowds outside, “Sorry sir! There's too many of them!”

  “That's what you've got a badge and a club for, Lootenant!”

  “Yes, sir.” The three heard a thonk as a club connected with something, followed immediately by a yelp.

  From behind the wall of reporters trying to squeeze into the doorway, they heard, “Ow! Police brutality! Jackson, get a picture of this, I'm being accosted by the law!”

  The Lootenant's voice could be heard saying quickly, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!”

  All the cameramen in the door turned around to get pictures of the terrible beating being administered by the brutal policeman. At least, it looked like that's what they were hoping for.

  Chief Wayne scrubbed his face with one of his shovel-sized hands, and Max could tell he was working up to some sort of explosion that Max honestly didn't want to be near. He was saved from that explosion by another one out in the parking lot. There were several loud echoing cracks followed panicked screaming and something about guns and ninjas.

  ***

  The Chief growled like a rabid dog. “What the hell now? No one shoots guns in my town but me!” He quickly stomped out of the room and bowled through the reporters like a fifteen-pound ball through fake plaster pins. Pieces of equipment and whole bodies flew willy-nilly.

  Max and Mike looked at each other and ran to the door. They watched the Chief's retreating back through the hole left in his strike zone. On either side of the hole, there was a plethora of tumbled and tangled reporters and cameramen. Beyond the Chief, there were more cracks of what was, presumably, a large caliber gun.

  A panic spread through the crowd when someone yelled, “They're coming this way!” Most of the reporters and their crew who could get to their feet ran away, some screaming. A couple of the more intrepid ones headed against the flow, towards the gunfire.

  Max said, “Jes...” He caught himself again. “I mean, what the hell?” He stepped through the door and looked out into the now nearly empty parking lot to see something that would have been more at home in a spaghetti western than in rural Mississippi. Chief Wayne was pointing what seemed to be a tiny gun in his oversized meat mittens at six men in black suits. Each of the six seemed to have been poured from the same mold that Max would have sworn was broken after it was used to make the chief.

  For their part, five of the snappily dressed cavemen had much larger guns pointed back at the Chief. The sixth had a shotgun carried negligently in one hand, pointed at the sky. Wayne was bellowing out various rapid-fire combinations of, “Put the guns down!” “Hands on your heads!” “Now!” “You are all under arrest!”

  Max just knew he was going to watch the Chief get gunned down. The man was an idiot going up against those odds. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the sound of bullets tearing through flesh. When the sound didn't come, Max opened up one eye a bit to see four of the men lowering their weapons. A fifth man with a Dirty Harry-sized handgun w
as still targeting the Chief. The sixth one with the shotgun growled, “Drop it, Nunzio. We're not here to start a war.”

  Nunzio looked disappointed, but in one smooth moved, he holstered his gun beneath his jacket and assumed a parade rest position—legs spread and hands clasped behind his back.

  Chief Wayne didn't seem at all surprised or relieved that the men had actually stood down. He yelled out, “Ain't that real nice. All of you, on the ground! Now!”

  The sixth man said, “Officer, please, there has been a misunderstanding. We weren't trying to hurt anyone, we were just trying to clear out the crowd for our client. He was quite frightened and concerned for his welfare.”

  Max briefly wondered if one of the cameramen still recording the scene had hired these Neanderthals. Then he realized that these must be the bodyguards that Tony had promised. Max didn't recognize any of them. He hid his eyes with a hand. “Fuck.”

  Max and Mike took in the unlikely scene of six beefy men dropping their guns, kneeling, and putting their hands behind their heads. Who knew what sort of shit would fly from this particular fan? Mike said, “Jesus Max, I'm sorry man.”

  The Chief bellowed out, “Lootenant! Get your skinny ass out here and cuff 'em!”

  Lieutenant Jacobs sat up weakly from where he had been thrown by the Chief's passage. It looked like one of the flying reporters had taken him down hard. He pushed himself off the ground and staggered over to the kneeling men. As he made his way unsteadily he said, “Uh, sorry sir, but I've only got the one pair of cuffs.” The Chief growled something under his breath and then stalked over to the sixth gunman, the one with the shotgun, and started talking to him. Max couldn't hear what was being said, but he had a bad feeling when the man on the ground lazily pointed in Max's direction.

  The Chief turned, fixed Max with a baleful glare, and then growled to the lieutenant, “Keep your gun on these men. If they move, shoot 'em!” Even though he was the only one currently holding a gun, Jason looked distinctly nervous. Meanwhile, the Chief came back at Max; a beefy, angry, boomerang.

  When he was still several feet away, Wayne pointed one ham-hock at Max. “Faust! Remember what I told you two weeks ago?”

  Eyes wide, Max nodded fearfully.

  “Well, I am a man of my word, and now I am going to crush you like a bug. Who the hell do you think you are, bringing these thugs into my town and having them shooting up the place, disturbin’ my peace?”

  “Well… uh...”

  “Shut up! When I want you to talk, I'll ask you a question.”

  Max shut up and wasn't even tempted to point out the obvious.

  “Down on the ground, Faust. Put your hands behind your head.”

  Max did as he was told and soon he was sporting an uncomfortable pair of gleaming silver handcuffs. He couldn't help but feel a bit persecuted. Six armed goons in the parking lot, and he was the one with the handcuffs. The Chief yanked him up by one arm, causing the cuffs to dig into his wrists in a flash of pain. He started dragging Max, sideways and stumbling, to the silently flashing patrol car sitting in the parking lot past a cameraman moaning over his broken equipment.

  At this point, a new car pulled into the parking lot. It was a long, black limo. It stopped behind the six kneeling gunmen and Chief Wayne released Max. “Ah hell. Just what I need.”

  At this point, an elegantly dressed black driver, in a dazzling white suite, came around the near side of the car and opened up the back door. Out of the open door emerged another large man. It was immediately obvious, from his shape and the way he needed the help of the driver to stand, that this man's girth did not come from muscle. When he stood, it was even more apparent. He was made approximately like a melon walking around on short legs. Preceded by his magnificent belly, the man walked regally around the six men kneeling on the ground. He gave them a curious glance and then focused on Max and the Chief.

  His voice was a deep, rich, baritone with a singsong southern cadence and accent. “Chief Wayne! What seems to be the problem here?”

  Max could feel the tension radiating off of the policeman standing next to him. Wayne said to the newcomer, “Mayor, I have everything under control, sir. We were just going to run these hooligans to the station for carrying illegal weapons, threatening an officer of the law, discharging firearms within the city limits, and generally disturbing my peace.”

  The man walked up till he was face to chest with Max and the Chief. A nearly chewable, eye watering, cloud of cologne presaged his arrival. He gave Max a huge, toothy smile. “I do apologize, Mr. Faust, for this poor example of our southern hospitality.” He looked sharply up at Wayne. “Why do you have this man locked up like a common criminal? He should be our honored guest. This here is the famous Maxwell Faust.”

  Max didn't want to correct the Mayor, either, who currently seemed to be on his side. He could be Maxwell, instead of Maximilian, if it would get him out of this. It was his given name after all.

  Wayne growled, “I know who he is Mayor. He is a trouble making northerner who thinks he can come down here and do whatever he hell he pleases in my town.”

  The mayor looked at him and narrowed his eyes. “This here is my town Chief Wayne, and you had better have a good reason for treating this man so poorly.”

  “Sir, he had those six gunmen of his shoot into a crowd of reporters earlier this evening, causing a scene of panic and mayhem. He has also been arrested twice for speeding and drunk and disorderly conduct. He is a reprobate of the lowest sort.”

  “Chief, did anyone die?”

  “No, sir.”

  The Mayor turned his attention to Max. “Mr. Faust, is there any truth to these heinous allegations?”

  Max shook his head urgently. “No sir! I didn't ask these men to do anything. I have never even met them. I didn't ask the reporters here either, they just found me. They showed up and made it impossible to get out of our room without being accosted.”

  The Mayor shook his head. “Bad business all around. Chief Wayne, what were those dangerous looking fellows doing shootin' up the place?”

  Wayne said, “They are employees of Faust here, sir! He hired them to come down and rough up the crowd, to scare them off.”

  When the Mayor looked back at Max with arched brows inviting comment, Max said, “Okay, when the mob of reporters had us penned in, I did ask my money manager to send out some bodyguards, but I didn't know they were going to open fire! I never told them to do that! Like I said, I've never even met them before.”

  The Mayor rotated around to look at the six men, who were much more interested in what Max, the Chief, and the Mayor were doing than the man who was nervously pointing a gun at them. The Mayor looked back at Max. “Is that a fact?” He turned to Chief Wayne. “You see, Chief? This here is all just a big misunderstandin' brought about by an excess of enthusiasm on the part of everyone here.” The Mayor rotated and gave a big smile to one of the more persistent cameramen who had crept up on them behind his camera. The Mayor opened his arms wide. “We here in this town love the media and welcome them, one and all!” The flash of the camera illuminated the Mayor's million-dollar smile.

  He dropped his smile, turned back to the Chief, and said heartily, “Chief Wayne, please release this man and his bodyguards. I'm sure that they are all sorry for what they've done and are feeling properly contritious.”

  The loud grinding of the Chief's teeth, as he roughly grabbed Max's wrists and took off the cuffs, led Max to wonder about the state of said teeth. Max looked down at the Chief's face while he did it. It was bright red with suppressed anger. Max took a quick step away, in case the Chief exploded and sent shrapnel flying everywhere.

  The Mayor beamed. “Thank you, Chief! I knew we could work this out like proper southern gentlemen.” He rotated like a small planet and addressed the Lieutenant. “Jason, let those fine gentlemen stand up, check to make sure that they all have the proper paperwork for carrying those weapons, and then let them go if everything is in order.”

&
nbsp; Jason looked uncertainly at the Chief, who just grimaced and got into his squad car. The car tilted with his weight and the door squealed its pain as he slammed it shut.

  The Mayor turned his sunbeam smile on Max. “Now that that unpleasant little misunderstandin' is behind us, Mr. Faust, I was wondering if you would do me the honor of attending a small dinner at my humble abode?”

  Max, who would rather chew off his own pinky than go to a dinner with the mayor, summoned up an expression that was almost a smile. “Yes sir, I'd be delighted.”

  The Mayor's answering smile nearly reached his ears, and he said, “Excellent, son! You will be my guest of honor. It's this Friday night. I hope it will fit into your, undoubtedly full and rewardin', social calendar?”

  Max wasn't thinking and blew it when he said automatically, “Yes, sir.”

  “Excellent, we will show you our best southern hospitality! The Missus does so love a dinner party. Seven o'clock sharp, bring a friend and there's no need to 'Yes sir' me, Mr. Faust. But, here I am getting ahead of myself, I deeply apalagize, for completely forgettin' my manners.” He extended his pudgy hand. “Ah am Alowishus Ulysses S. Grant Abercrombie of the Baton Rouge Abercrombies, Mayor of this fine town, and I am at your service, sir. My friends call me Big Al, and I'm sure we will be great friends, Mr. Faust.” When Max took the offered hand, the Mayor grabbed it in a vice grip and pumped it vigorously.

  Max was a little dazzled by the mayor's enthusiasm, but he didn't miss Big Al's not so subtle hint. “I'm pleased to meet you, sir. Please, call me Max.”

  That obviously made Big Al's day. “Why thank you kindly, sir! ‘Tis an honor to be on a first name basis with a man of your august personage! Please call me Big Al.”

  The mayor turned and called to Jason. “Jason, please be expeditious in your verifiyin' and then we can all take our leave and let Max get some rest, he is looking a bit flushed from all the excitement tonight, and I am sure he would like nothing better than to put this little kerpuffle behind him!”

  The mayor turned back to Max. “I bid you good day, sir!”