Chapter 25 "Johnny"

My histrionics were short-lived. I began to formulate an idea that began as an itch in the back of my brain. This wasn't as hopeless and terrible as I had originally and selfishly thought. There were still a few outs. Wiping my eyes and gingerly tapping on my bruised forehead, I looked across the room at my phone. I gathered up my stuff, looked at the number from my pager and dialed Johnny.

"What?!"

"Johnny?"

He belched as a reply.

"Can I come over?"

"Yeah, man! I thought you guys were coming over yesterday!"

"Sweet. I'll be there in a bit."

I checked outside again. The Shabby Detective was still there smoking in his nondescript police cruiser. I prepared to jump through my shower window again.

...

“That's the shittiest story I ever heard," Johnny sighed and got up from a papasan chair in the corner of his living room. He was wearing a short kimono robe and boxer shorts. His bare white legs strode across the room purposefully to the small table that had a decanter and ice set up. He put a few more fingers of Glenlivet in his glass and swirled it around. "You are right about one thing. You have to go check out this cult before you blow town. Might find out something that's useful. Might be able to give the cops something other than you."

I nodded. "Nelson's cult may be the key to this whole thing. It's at 9 tonight."

"Really, dude? Jaime, from Kitty Mistress? She's hot but not as hot as that singer!" His eyebrows went up and down, leering while subconsciously pumping his pelvis. It didn't surprise me when Johnny knew exactly who the bass player from Kitty Mistress was. He knew just about everyone in Denver in some way.

"What's with the scotch, Johnny?" I regarded my own glass with a little disdain. He just looked at me, grinned broadly and shrugged rather grandiosely. Johnny was a pretty boy. Not in the way that you'd call effeminate but pretty. He was youthful looking and well featured. He looked like Billy Cruddup, or Jim Kaviezel, or maybe a little like Tom Cruise from Top Gun with his short cropped haircut. His smile was infectious and dirty, with small flat pearly white square teeth. His smile made you want to think dirty thoughts.

Johnny lived in a house in Washington Park with two other dudes. Will, was in a band, and Demetrius was a black dude, he was a rapper, neither of them ever seemed to have any money and they were always fucked up. Currently, they were playing video games in Demetrius' bedroom. Johnny had the run of the upstairs dining room and front room of their charming little bungalow on York St. I was sitting on the couch watching him pace back and forth in his Kimono.

Johnny was agitated. After he got the gist of most of my story, he instructed Will to move his car and to move mine into the carriage house style garage on the south end of the house and to close the barn doors. Will shrugged and did it while catching my keys as he walked out the door. Apparently the boys at 461 S York St. weren't too adverse to harboring friends on the run. I was grateful. Will came back in and asked me if I wanted to sell my car. I told him I'd get back to him on that, and wondered where he'd find the money.

Pacing the dining room, Johnny laughed. "You serious? He had a dick the size of a Dustbuster?! In width, or length?"

"Both!" I choked on my scotch.

We both laughed.

Will came out of the bedroom with an empty Gatorade bottle. "Shut up assholes. You guys are being way TOOOOO LOUD!" He had a sly grin on his face. Will was a big lumbering dude that could have been a brother of mine because we both looked Irish and gorilla-ish. He had a head that looked too small for his body with a chinstrap beard and short dirty blonde hair. He wasn't fat, but he wasn't skinny either.

"Fuck off, Will," Johnny said. Will walked up and put his arm around Johnny.

"Scotch me, dude," Will said and held up his Gatorade bottle.

"Fuck you, get a proper glass," Johnny said with a little malice in his voice.

You never knew when Johnny was going to switch on, but when he did, he was an evil pirate of a man. A little violent, a little disturbing, yet always entertaining. We used to call him One-Eyed-Johnny. I sensed the scotch was doing a number on him. I glugged at mine, anticipating another interesting night.

Will just narrowed his eyes at him, looked over at me and said, "You see what I put up with?" And he slouched into the kitchen in bare feet, wife beater and Chongler shorts.

"How did Faith look?"

"Oh, Johnny, dude, cracked out as usual. I don't understand your infatuation there, buddy. Dade would freak if you ever got near that mess. Don't even."

He was already dismissing me by waving his hands in the air and pacing faster. Will was done crashing around in the kitchen and reemerged with a cocktail glass. "What's it like to fight a naked man?" Johnny asked honestly.

"HELLA DISTURBING, YO!"

Will looked at me in amazement. His giant eyebrows were pegged to his hairline. "Dude, you fought a naked man?"

"Yeah.".

"How Greek of you," Johnny interjected, in an English accent. "His new little girlfriend decided to get one last 'pop' from her ex. (When Johnny popped his cheek it made a sound like a wine bottle uncorking...I winced when he did it.) She's the bassist Betty Page lookin’ bitch from Kitty Mistress."

Will's face contorted and he fell to his knees. He kept holding the glass up to Johnny while he covered his mouth and let out a not-so-secretive stifled laugh. Johnny relented and took his glass over to the decanter and went to work.

Will yelled hysterically and flopped on the floor, pointing at me and now was fully laughing. "OOOOOHHHH SHIT! Jaime?! No shit?! Jaime?! AHHHH HAHAHAHAHAHAH! Did he do that to your head, bro?! AHHHH HAHAHAHAHHA!? Jazzy strikes again!"

I was rubbing the bridge of my nose and part of my silly looking egg shaped forehead bruise when Johnny came over and dribbled another snort of scotch into my glass. "So you know these two, Will," I asked politely but was glaring two holes into his head.

"Yep," He looked at me and composed himself and got up from the floor. Johnny handed him his scotch. Will took me in for a second and sort of sensed that he was being an ass and then said, "So you fought Jazzy, naked?" He had taken on a more empathic tone and nervously took a hit of scotch. "Yeah. I know Jazzy and Jaime. I went to college with Jazzy. He was my roommate." Then he laughed again, "What'd he do to your head? Hit you with his cock?"

"So you've seen it?" I muttered.

"I've heard stories," Will nodded.

"You went up to Greeley too, right? How come I never ran into you assholes?"

"Dunno, man. Jazzy got arrested for those Bronco riots. You had to be there, man."

"I was, I got tear gassed."

"We all did, bro. You remember the mad cow riots?" Will asked.

"Oh shit yes."

"That was Jazzy."

"Really? How did we never meet? …You remember the Greeley Vampire?"

"Heh. Yep. How bout the hostage crisis? With the sniper?" I nodded and laughed. Then Will asked me, "Ever heard of the Ft. Collins Ninja?"

"Yeah."

"I know that guy."

"Yeah?" I scoffed. "I'd for sure like to meet him"

Will shrugged, "It's possible, great story." He sighed, "So what happened with Jazzy?"

"I walked in on them, he threw a punch, forehead," I pointed to my goose egg. "I threw him, broke a closet. Jaime was just sitting there, mortified."

"She's a psycho," Will said. "As a matter of fact, I thought that they were patching things up last time I saw them. Did you sleep with her?"

Johnny said, "The story is much more complex than just that, Will." I nodded in agreement and glanced over at my two duffle bags which were sitting next to the front door.

Will arched an eyebrow at me and shrugged a little, "Bitches, bro."

"Bitches," I said. I hoisted my glass to him and we both took a tug. He turned around and lumbered back into Demetrius' room.

"Here's the thing," Johnny said. "This is a zero-sum situation. You're already going to cut bait. You don't have much to lose. You gotta go to this thing and see what the cult is all about. You may get it quick, you may not, but don't linger here. I'd much rather have you in town, because if you ever decide to use me again for one of your capers, I'm in, you know that."

He was referring to a little con job I had set up with him where we purposefully skimmed credit card numbers from repeat customers at different retail stores in the Cherry Creek area. We had nearly twenty accomplices that knew Johnny. They all took one or two targeted credit card numbers each. We placed phone orders. We also set up a robbery from a willing accomplice that nabbed nearly all of the same credit card numbers that we skimmed. Every one of the customers that we targeted went to the same place everyday. We nabbed the card unit from a Starbucks worker that worked at a store in the same neighborhood of all the rest of these stores.

We made it obvious and it looked as if the theft of the unit recalled all the credit card info and we were sophisticated hacker types, but really we had got the numbers the old fashioned way. The Starbucks worker was Johnny himself. It was brilliant. Net money after we fenced all the shit we bought was about four-thousand dollars each, the accomplices got anywhere from 100 to 500 dollars and were so loyal to Johnny that it was going to go without a hitch, except things got violent.

Johnny was exceptionally fucked up one night as we tried to sell some jewelry to a shady guy in Five Points. He decided he wanted to keep Johnny as collateral as I got the rest of the shit. That got weird and Johnny ended up hitting the guy in the head with an iron. He yelled at me, "RUN!" So we did. I decided Johnny was not the best partner in crime, but a valued connection since he apparently knew everyone.

He was right, though, confirming my suspicions. I needed to see what this cult was all about. It may be nothing; it may be coincidence the Gruesome Buddha had a chevron headband. It may be something to go on. It didn't take long for the cops to find me, I, most likely, am suspect number one.

"OK. I'm going. I have to see."

"That's my boy," Johnny said. "You may wanna roll around in a different car."

"Yep."

"You got a few hours. Cab?"

"Cab," I said.

"Scotch?"

"Yep. Scotch me." He poured me another and leered at me.