Savages

deposits, the condo.
    It’s like a
really
bad meeting with an IRS auditor, except Alex can’t bring in H&R Block or any of those gunners that advertise on the radio.
    He has to be his own attorney, but he doesn’t have the right to remain silent. And it ain’t no police interview room, it’s a warehouse out in the flats of Costa Mesa. At least Alex isn’t dangling from the ceiling. Lado knows his man—the lawyer isn’t tough, there’s no need for the piñata routine. So he just has Alex tied hand and foot, and he slaps him around a little, that’s all.
    The
lambioso
lawyer is already crying.
    Chon and Ben have been summoned to the meeting, too.
    Elena’s idea.
    To see how they react.
    Ben watches this movie in horror.
    CUT TO:

199
     
    INT. WAREHOUSE – NIGHT
     
    ALEX sits propped against a wall. Blood trickles from his mouth and flecks ofblood spatter the shoulders of his gray Armani suit.
    LADO squats beside him, speaking quietly.
    LADO
Who paid you?
    ALEX
Nobody.
    LADO
Azul? 94?
    ALEX
I swear to God. No one.
    LADO
Look, you’re going to die. We both know this. But I like you and you have given years of good service. So I’m going to give you this chance. You can die—or you and your whole family can die.
    ALEX starts to sob.
    LADO (CONT.)
Tell me the truth—right now—and your wife and kids cash in your insurance policy. Lie to me again and I’ll go to your house, tell them you’ve been in an accident, and bring them here. I’ll kill them in front of you.

200
     
    Ben can’t breathe.
    The world spins and he thinks he might throw up, but he can feel Chon willing
    Not one word. Not one goddamn word.
    Alex straightens up, swallows, looks Lado in the eyes, and says, “It was Azul. He’s using the 94.”
    Lado pats him on the head and stands up.
    Takes a revolver out of his belt and
    Hands it to Ben.
    “Do it.”

201
     
    “He took
your
money, too,” Lado says reasonably, “so you should do him. My gift to you.”
    “I’ll do it,” Chon says.
    “I said
him
, not
you
,” Lado snaps.
    He looks into Ben’s eyes.
    As he presses the pistol into Ben’s hand.
    Do it, Chon wills.
    You have to do it. Think about O.
    Ben shoots twice
    into Alex’s chest.

202
     
    “So it was Alex,” Ben says out in the parking lot. His hand shakes like a haunted house skeleton.
    “It was Alex,” Lado agrees.
    “We’re in the clear.”
    A terse nod.
    “Then it’s business as usual?”
    Sí
, Business As Usual.
    “I want to Skype O.”
    Lado thinks about that for a second, then agrees.

203
     
    O’s face
    Lights up when she sees them
    Big smile. “Hi, guys!”
    Hi.
    Hi.
    “How are you?” Ben asks, feeling stupid.
    “You know, I’m okay,” O says. “It’s a slacker girl’s fantasy—I’m actually forced at gunpoint to lie around my room and do nothing but watch bad TV.”
    “It won’t be for much longer.”
    “No?”
    “No.”
    “How are you guys?”
    “Yeah, good,” Chon says.
    “Ben, you good?”
    “Yeah, I’m fine,” Ben says.
    The session is cut off.

204
     
    Yeah, Ben’s fine.

205
     
    “Did you notice the background on the Skype?” Ben asks Chon. “It’s a different place.”
    He’s watched it about thirty times.
    “And listen …”
    He jacks the volume up. “What’s that in the background?”
    “Voices.”
    “Speaking …”
    “English.”

206
     
    Danny Benoit is a deacon in the Church of the Lighter Day Saints.
    And a highly paid sound technician who makes the 405 run from his home in Laguna Canyon up to the L.A. recording studios about once a month in a ’66 Vette he calls the Pirate Ship.
    “I sail it up to L.A. once a month,” Danny says, “fill it full of loot, and sail it back before I get caught.”
    Danny B is gold.
    Or platinum.
    DB can make an average voice great and a great voice sublime. “The biggest names in the recording industry” all want Danny on the mixer.
    He could give a shit who they are.
    He ain’t interested in dropping names
    Rubbing elbows
    Hanging out
    He just wants to do his mix, make his money, and come home.
    And Danny does some of his best work for Ben & Chonny’s.
    They’ve been known to give him mixes depending on what “artist” he’s sweetening at the moment. He wants
sativa
for the hip-hop,
indica
for R&B? Say the word, my man, and B&C will shortcut the usual distribution network and have it delivered direct.
    Ben likes hearing tunes on the radio and knowing he contributed.
    “They should put your names on