LITMIR.BIZ

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is a corner unit; he’ll have to run to the middle of the building to get away.” Slick leaves few stones unturned.

      Jim takes the file and looks back at Slick. “Did you get the Kid a gun?”

      Rollie responds like Conrad isn’t present. “Conrad’s been practicing with a .45, but that’s too much weapon. Giving him a .40 cal like yours, but can’t carry it until his permit comes in from the state. Stay between him and III Will.”

      “Damn,” Jim responds. “You’re taking all the fun out of this collar. Let’s go, Kid, time to bust your cherry.”

      CHAPTER FIVE

      The Collar

      JIM PULLS THE GTO into a side street less than a block from the apartment building and parks. The area is devoid of foot traffic, not unusual for this rough part of town. Jim is animated, talking and moving his hands at the same time. “This job is part actor... part bulldog.” Jim relays knowing Conrad hasn’t a clue what he’s stepping into.

      He gets out, motioning for Conrad to follow. At the back of the car, Jim reaches into the trunk retrieving a box. Conrad isn’t sure what the box has to do surrounding a P.I.’s job, but a smile erupts when Jim takes out a long-haired wig and a PacBell tee shirt. He puts the shirt on and fits the wig over his ears.

      “What’s that for?” A puzzled Conrad asks.

      “The acting part,” Jim confirms. “Deception keeps anyone in the building from recognizing me.”

      “You got something for me?” Conrad inquires.

      Jim turns his face at an angle like the African Grey ‘Drug Lord.’ “Who would recognize you? I’ve been roaming these streets for six years building a reputation.”

      “A bad-ass reputation.” Conrad adds.

      “A reputation none-the-less. You, on the other hand, have been picking up a phone dialed by a bird.” Jim rubs Conrad’s head making him recognize the fun in the exchange. “Let’s go get the big Samoan...make some money today.”

      Jim pulls a utility belt from the trunk and straps it on his waist completing the phone company make-over.

      Walking toward the complex, Jim lowers his voice. “All kidding aside, follow my lead... everything will be fine.” Jim encourages. “I’ve done this many times...all these characters pretty much do the same thing when cornered... rollover...give up. It doesn’t matter how big they are.”

      The two men find a side door gaining entrance. A climb up three flights of stairs reveals no one stirring, Jim stands for a moment on the landing before opening the door to the third floor. His weapon is pulled from a leather pocket on the tool belt and a bullet inserted into the firing chamber. An uneasy Conrad looks like he swallowed Drug Lord and Slick Rollie caught him.

      “This will be over in a few minutes....it’s not the Little Big Horn.” Jim explains hoping to give Conrad a comfort zone. Both go through the door and walk the hallway. An older black lady carrying groceries watches twenty feet down the hall quickly disappearing into her apartment.

      Trouble is not far away. Jim walks past her closed door to the end of the hallway and leans an ear against 354 and listens. A police car siren goes off in the street outside quickly fading away. It does little for Conrad’s confidence, but completely ignored by Jim. He freezes Conrad even tighter by knocking on the door. No answer comes from the apartment but a television heard in the background confirms someone is home. Jim bangs again.

      After a few seconds of nervous silence, Jim yells into the door. “PacBell, need to check your phone.”

      Only silence finds its way to the hallway behind the door and Conrad thinks it’s going to be over. After one more knock, Jim screams PacBell then pounds the door.

      A deep voice finally responds from the other side. “Phone is fine, get lost asshole.”

      Jim steps back and kicks the door. It doesn’t budge. A second kick gets the same results, he looks at Conrad.

      “Could use some help.” Jim implores.

      The two kick the door simultaneously breaking the lock and pushing the door open six inches. A chain holds it. Jim lowers his shoulder and smashes through, pistol drawn. A run into the apartment reveals an open door to the bathroom, but no Samoan. Jim cautiously enters the bedroom and notices an open window. Conrad goes to the window and looks down at a thirty foot drop to the parking lot below. Jim pulls up a bedspread finding no one under the bed. The closet is checked but the big Samoan is nowhere to be found. A look into the closet ceiling reveals a trapdoor half open and a chair below it. Jim motions to Conrad.

      “Go into the crawl space...make noise so Aleki hears you coming.” Jim directs.

      Conrad looks at the trapdoor with trepidation.

      Jim knows they must act fast. “He won’t come back this way if he realizes you’re there. Damn it, just make some noise.” Conrad climbs up to the trapdoor in the ceiling while Jim hurriedly leaves the apartment. After a run down the hallway, Jim spots a janitor’s closet. A placed ear against the door reveals Aleki climbing down from the ceiling.

      Jim stands back yelling at the door. “Aleki, I know you’re there...might as well come out hands up.”

      A shot is fired from inside the closet flying through the door a foot from Jim’s head. He ducks low to the floor glad luck stood close by.

      In a calm voice to no one, Jim summarizes. “I guess that’s a no?” He looks around the hallway checking the options.

      A voice inside the closet interrupts. “Fuck you... ain’t going back to prison.”

      Movement inside the closet is heard and Jim goes into a semi-panic realizing the Samoan wouldn’t hesitate to kill Conrad if he retraced his steps.

      “No use backing up in the crawl space, I’ve got Steven Segal waiting on you.” Jim bluffs.

      The Samoan answers the bluff. “Why don’t you come get me?”

      “I’m calling S.W.A.T., be here in a minute to shoot your ass.” A second bluff not swallowed by Aleki.

      “Bullshit, bounty hunter....you don’t cash me in that way.” The Samoan is a veteran of the business and figures Jim didn’t have a warrant and isn’t the law.

      “I never get the dumb ones.” Jim whispers to no one listening.

      A deep breath and desperate thought helps make a risky decision. The law has probably been called, only a few minutes remain to collect his bounty. Jim pulls a can of teargas from the leather holster and fits a large plastic straw. He leans against the wall next to the door placing the straw in the middle of the keyhole.

      The teargas is sprayed into the closet and the Samoan starts moving feeling the effects noted by a series of coughs. Two bullets jump out the door in rapid succession from the Samoan’s gun as more teargas fills the closet.

      Jim is hoping the Samoan comes this way and doesn’t back up on Conrad. An electric stungun is drawn from the tool belt and he lays on the floor thinking the Samoan can’t take much more. Another shot whizzes through the door and behind it the giant Samoan crashes out waving the gun and wiping the stinging gas from his eyes. He turns to Jim wildly waving the pistol squeezing off a final shot.

      Jim points the stungun at Aleki’s chest and fires. The Samoan falls to the floor shaking, the voltage running over his body. Jim pulls out a pair of handcuffs locking onto the hands of the unconscious Samoan. A door opens and an older man pokes his head out watching from a room down the hall.

      In the P.l. trade, you need to keep witnesses to a minimum giving details to the law, so Jim intimidates anyone viewing the incident when possible. He looks at the man delivering a message. “He didn’t pay his phone bill, you current?”

      The man slams the door. A woman’s loud scream comes from the adjoining apartment followed

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