Lola: Chapter Ten
Two cars take off from Moreno’s mansion. The first car is larger than large, a para military vehicle sweeping through the city streets of Los Angeles. It carries Walters, Marco and two other tough looking guys who’ve had their noses broken a few times and look like they’ve had their noses broken a few times. But you should’ve seen the other guy.
The second car follows from some distance behind. It’s not that nice of a car, more function than style, a blue Honda with over two hundred thousand miles on the speedometer and a large dent on the passenger’s side. Even though she has most of her memories back, Lola has no idea where that dent came from.
Luckily, following a Humvee is a lot easier than following any type of normal car. Lola doesn’t need any special skills for this as they snake their way down the winding canyon and into the Valley where Lola’s house is.
It’s funny, Lola thinks, as she follows this giant white Humvee that sticks out like a shining sun driving down Vanu Nuys Blvd, is he really taking them to my house? Why would he do that? He had his chance a few hours ago and he let me go, why would he take them there now?
The caravan of two cars makes its way to Lola’s neighborhood. A small enclave in the San Fernando Valley of a few suburban-lite streets with two-bedroom one story houses lining those streets. Lola’s house is only a couple of more blocks ahead. She is sad in a way. Once they reach her house there’s no chance of her ever going back there again. She isn’t even sure she wants to go back. All those memories she barely remembers. There was a freedom when all of that was lost to her. A freedom from her past failures, from her ex-husband and her relationship with a family she doesn’t get along with. A freedom from her workaday life at a series of jobs she was no more successful with than her family relationships. Lola didn’t think she would miss any of that, but now that her house is about to be taken from her violently, she feels wistful about what she can no longer have.
As Lola is having these feelings of remorse and nostalgia, Walters intervenes and tells stooge number one who is driving the Hummer to take a right when he shouldn’t take a right, at least not if he was heading to Lola’s house. The giant blinding white sun of the Humvee turns onto Magnolia Lane and starts creeping slowly from house to house. Lola’s house is still a couple of streets over. She eases her car into the end of the block, far enough away from the Hummer for the stooges and the goons not to notice her in their rearview mirror.
Walters’ face is pressed against the closed window counting off the small houses, looking for something. Marco next to him is getting impatient.
Walters tells them to stop in front of a white craftsman the same size and look as pretty much every other house on the block. It has a gated fence around the back, one can see that from the front and there’s a sign in the yard that’s partially covered by a bush. Walters thinks he can make out the word ‘beware’ on the sign.
“This is it.” Walters says. The Hummer stops.
The lights in the house are off.
“I’ll see if anybody’s there.” Marco says and starts to move.
“She’s not going to answer if some goon rings the doorbell. I told her to be careful.” Walters does his best to stop him.
Marco thinks. It’s not easy for him.
“She knows my face. She trusts me.” Walters says.
Marco keeps thinking. He may not be the smartest goon in Roxanne’s stable but he is smart enough to know Walters is going to try to trick him, but the asshole Walters is right, she’s more likely to answer if he’s the one at the door.
“Alright, fucker, have it your way.” Marco gives in.
The blue Honda is still at the end of the block, very far back. The fact Lola was never spotted wasn’t so much because she had any special talents in tailing another vehicle, as it was that Marco and his two stooges had been so focused on Walters it never occurred to them they might be followed by somebody else
Marco, Walters and the stooges exit the Humvee.
“I should be the one to ring the doorbell.” Walters says.
Marco is even more suspicious now. He knows Walters has a plan, he just can’t figure out what it is. And to be fair, Walters does have a plan. Just not a very good one. Walter’s plan which he came up with on the ride down the canyon and into the valley may not be the best plan in the world, but with six pairs of eyes and at least three guns on him, his options are limited. Walters feels like he could take Marco one on one, but that still leaves two guns and four eyes. Walters isn’t faster than a speeding bullet, so even if he managed to take out Marco and one stooge, there would still be the other standing to plug him before he could do anything.
That is obviously a problem. A distraction would help. And Walters is praying for that distraction, so he can disarm Marco, focus on stooge two and then, well, stooge three is still a trouble spot for this plan. Sometimes, you just need to act and hope or hope and act, the order doesn’t really matter, but sometimes that is all you can do in these types of situations, knowing there’s little chance of getting out of it alive but maybe you’ll be able to take two of these suckers with you. Or maybe fortune will smile on the bold and a bullet will miss or a stooge will panic and somehow you survive the scrape. Of course, even if he survives the initial encounter, he’ll probably be shot in the back as he’s running away.
Better not to think of these things at all. Better just hope and act. Or act and hope. It doesn’t matter. We’re at the door now.
Walters and his three friends reach the red door of the white house. Walters looks at the chipped white paint of the fence on the side of the house, hoping for a good reason for that fence and hoping that good reason isn’t a cat. Cats don’t’ need fences like that but dogs surely do. Big dogs. He never got a good look at that sign hidden by the bush, but if he had to guess there’s the word ‘dog’ on it somewhere after the word beware.
I really hope that dog is home right now.
Walters’ finger goes to the doorbell and he readies himself, Marco at his side, the other two stooges behind. One of them has a gun sticking into Walter’s left rib, this stooge thinks it’s a good message to send, to keep Walters tight on his leash, but for Walters it’s better this way, he knows where that gun is, so he will know how to neutralize it. Marco’s beside him, so he might be able to neutralize him as well with the distraction. Walters tries to sneak a look back to see exactly where the third stooge is standing but like he found out earlier in the day, the corners of his eyes don’t work as well as they used to.
I’ll deal with him after the first two.
The doorbell rings.
Woof! Woof! The jaws of a large rottweiler appear in the side window barking with menace.
Walters spins, taking control of the gun sticking in his ribs. He re-aims it behind to stooge three, the wild card. He’s lucky, it fires into the stooge’s chest, knocking him to the ground, this is going better than Walters could’ve hoped. Still holding on to stooge two’s arm and gun for dear life, Walters keeps spinning, in one sweeping motion he kicks the gun out of Marco’s hand as it fires. The loud shot goes off and with another kick Marco is on the ground.
During that second kick, stooge two extricates his arm from Walters’ embrace, sans gun, which flies to the ground and scatters across the front stoop. He throws a punch at Walters. Walters elbows him in the sternum. And then a kick, another kick, Walters legs are on fire today, stooge two is knocked a few steps back. This isn’t pretty but Walters it still alive.
Marco reaches for his gun and for a second time, Walters gets there just in time. It fires into the ground again. Marco and Walters struggle over the gun. Both trying to gain the upper hand, using their strength to gain control. They’re tight in a clinch. Another shot fires. Into the pavement this time. It ricochets into the side of the house. The rottweiler is still going crazy, barking at the top of its lungs. It might jump through the window to join the action.
Stooge two has found a gun, maybe it’s his, maybe it’s the other stooge’s gun, it doesn’t matter, it will do enough damage. Stooge two has to aim carefully so he doesn’t shoot his boss by accident. The struggle continues. The gun is knocked from both of their hands and flies off into the grass. Marco separates from Walters. Stooge two has a clear shot.
Walters and Marco hear the loud pop of gunfire in between the barks coming from the house. Walters looks down at his chest. There’s no blood. He looks at Marco, he’s not shot either. Stooge two drops to the ground revealing a young woman standing behind him fifteen feet away. She holds a .45 caliber handgun, both hands on the grip, still aiming at the place where stooge two stood seconds ago. Lola and Walters eyes meet for a brief millisecond. Lola looks away. To a running Marco. He’s made the executive decision to run for the Hummer and is already there. The shining sun of the Humvee takes off at the speed of a shooting star. Walters and Lola stand in the street, watching him leave. Walters checks his shirt. He’s bleeding on his side. He hopes it someone else’s blood. The pain in his side tells him it’s probably his blood. He turns to Lola.
“We should get out of here.”
Lola does not disagree with this assessment. They run to the blue Honda parked at the far end of the street and drive the couple of blocks to her house.
---
When they arrive, Walters heads straight for the bathroom and runs the water. This isn’t the first time he’s been shot. It’s not even the second or third time. It’s an occupational hazard, and as long as it’s not in his face or his heart, he’s sure there’s enough medicinal type supplies in Lola’s bathroom for him to patch himself up.
Emergency self-surgery can take time, Walters tries to make small talk with Lola who is somewhere else in the house as he works on his wound in the bathroom.
“Are you sure it’s safe here. Doesn’t Roxanne know this place?”
“She doesn’t know where I live.” And then in a quieter tone. “She never cared to ask”
Walters’ head pops out of the bathroom to find Lola sitting morosely on the couch.
“It can’t be that hard to find out”
“I’m not listed.”
His head pops back into the bathroom as he begins with the stitches. “Still, can’t be that hard to find out.”
Lola gets up from the couch and takes a step towards the half-closed bathroom door. She can see Walters with his shirt off patching up his side like an Army field medic.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Walters answer is slightly muffled as he concentrates.
Lola walks closer and opens the door a little. Walters barely notices as he is in a more delicate part of the procedure at the moment. She can see a needle and thread going into his side, closing a wound. She winces in pain even though its not her side.
“That looks bad.”
“It’s just a nick, it missed the important bits.”
Now it’s Walters turn to wince in pain as he works on closing the wound.
Lola stays in the doorway, leaning her head against the doorframe, arms crossed. She is staring down at the floor.
Walters hasn’t gotten through the trickier part now. He has time to make small talk again.
“Why did you save my life?” Walters is genuinely curious.
Lola’s eyes don’t leave the floor. “Because you saved mine.”
“How?”
“By not bringing them to my house.”
“They still would have killed me even if I had.” Walters keeps at the wound, some bullet holes are harder to close than others.
“I know. But you still saved mine. I thought it was gallant in some strange way.” Lola walks away from the bathroom, arms still crossed, protecting herself.
Walters is close to finishing. He hasn’t noticed she has left, so he continues the conversation.
“It might be safe for tonight, but we better move tomorrow. Like I said, it won’t take her long to figure out where you live.”
Lola is gone. She’s left her place at the doorframe and is no longer in the adjacent room either. Walters peeks his head out.
“Are you okay?” He asks is a louder voice in the direction of the closed bedroom door. There is no answer from behind that door. Walters can see light through the opening at the bottom of the door. He decides to give her some space. Besides, he needs to make sure this wound won’t get infected.
A little later, Walters is cleaned up, side bandaged, he grows restless on the couch in the living room. There’s still light coming from underneath the bedroom door. Walters hesitates, then walks over to the door and listens. He doesn’t hear anything. He knocks, expecting she won’t answer. It’s a light knock.
“Come in.” A weak voice answers.
Walters opens the door slowly and silently like a cat burglar. He sees Lola sitting on her bed. It doesn’t look like she’s moved since she went in there hours ago. She’s despondent, she looks like somebody she knew just died or perhaps she just killed somebody for the first time. Walters feels like he needs to be sensitive here. Not everybody is used to his line of work.
He tiptoes over and sits down next to her on the bed. His shirt is still off because quite frankly it hurts too much to put on a shirt right now. Lola’s eyes are still on the floor. Maybe they’ve been there the entire time, from her walk from the bathroom into the bedroom, since she sat down on her bed and didn’t move. Her arms still crossed over herself protecting herself. It’s a damn long time to stare at the ground. Even if you feel guilty about killing someone.
Walters leans in. “Are you alright?”
“No.” Lola turns her head away from him while keeping her eyes on the ground.
Walters doesn’t know what to say. This isn’t exactly his emotional territory.
“I took a man’s life today.”
“You saved mine.”
“You might be used to this, I’m not.”
“He’s not someone that will be missed.”
“And you think that makes it easier.”
Lola clenches her jaw. She is fighting back tears. Walters puts his arm around her and reaches out with his left hand. Slowly, he turns her chin towards him, so that he can see her eyes.
“You had to do it. It not only saved my life. It saved your life. If they killed me today, it wouldn’t have taken them long to find you.”
There are definitely tears in her eyes now. “I know.”
Lola puts her head on his shoulder. It’s a nice shoulder. She finally uncrosses her arms. She leaves her head on his shoulder for a very long time. He doesn’t move. His arm still around her. After that very long time, she looks up, her eyes into his. There’s a chemistry between them. Between this girl on the run and the hitman they sent to find her. There shouldn’t be chemistry but there is. Sometimes, these things can’t be controlled. Lola doesn’t want to control them right now, that’s for sure and neither does Walters. They kiss. They kiss again.
Walters hesitates. “Are you sure.” Lola doesn’t answer with words. She throws her arms around him. They fall into the bed. Walters making sure to fall on his side without a bullet wound. It doesn’t take much for their clothes to come off. Walters hesitates again.
“Are you sure?” He says again.
“Oh, shut up and fuck me.” Lola seems pretty damn sure.
They make love. Twice. A sweet release for them both. A few moments of time away from crime bosses and hitmen and stolen briefcases and the elaborate schemes of a sociopathic blonde.