Heaven, INC: Chapter 32: ANGRY BIVO

LAS MADRES DES LOCOS
MARKET PARK,
11:29 A.M. PDT

MICK HATED BIVO’S PHONE PARANOIA because Mick was the one who always got the shaft.

See, while Bivo got to use a new cell-phone from pool side or maybe from his spiffy, state-of-the-art, karaoke training-center, Mick had to find a payphone that wasn’t loaded up with poor people diseases. Today, at least, the phone out front Crazy Mama’s was such Mick could use it without even exiting the car, which was good on account of the neighborhood had a lot of ethnic-types you can’t trust one second of the day with your money, your car or your health.

Mick pulled up beside the phone and after thoroughly cleaning the receiver with antiseptic wipes he kept in the glove-box for just this reason, he dialed Bivo, listening to the phone ring and wondering which Bivo would answer the phone.

And got Angry Bivo.

“A carpet cleaner thinks he can fuck with Bivo Papacostas? A fucking carpet cleaner? I will kill that fucking carpet cleaner fucking dead and shit in his fucking motherfucking skull, do you hear me? Dead!” A pause. Then: “Who is this?”

You see? This was the sort of crazy, irresponsible bullshit Mick had dealt with ever since Bivo began his descent into the twin horrors of karaoke and cocaine. The least Bivo could do before threatening someone with death was find out who was calling. Seriously.

“It’s me,” Mick said, “it’s me.” There was something on the receiver, a booger, a piece of skin, something missed with the antiseptic wipe. Holding the phone way, he said,“So you’re still pissed at Jimmy?”

“You know what that carpet cleaner fuck did?”

It was almost certainly a booger. Holding the phone still farther, Mick said, “What did Jimmy do?”

“He spray Rony, and Dmitri with the acid, Bivo’s people, like you can do anything to Bivo Papacostas, Bivo don’t care, he just a malakas. That carpet cleaner fuck needs to learn what happens you fuck with Bivo Papacostas.”

Mick decided it was time to divert Bivo before Angry Bivo mutated into Homicidal Maniac Bivo and the order was given that would result in something else for Mick to clean up or kill. Plus, Jimmy was a friend and Mick didn’t want to see him dead. “Beev, let’s get back to Mij Poopikov. If we didn’t kill him, then who did? Viktor wouldn’t want to, so who?”

Angry Bivo gave way to Suspicious Bivo.

“Ah, I been thinking about that. I think is Viktor’s doing. The Russians, they are extra sneaky.”

“Okay, but why would Viktor want to kill Mij when Victor was planning to use Mij’s tape?”

“Hmmm. Micky, you don’t understand how the Russian mind works. Sometimes I think you forget your father and I fought against the Communists. That’s when we saw how sneaky is the Russians, like a game of chess. Victor knows I can be champion of all the American Popstar, even Universal Popstar. He wants to take away Bivo’s chance at greatness by disqualifying Bivo for life.”

Using a wipe, Mick brushed the errant booger away. “Yeah, but Beev, if he drops dime about Lester Gilfinkle, it could be prison for life.”

At this, a real world sentence, Bivo was unimpressed.

“Prison? So? I could do the karaoke in prison. You see Johnny Cash in the San Quentin. Prison made Johnny Cash a international star.”

“Bivo, he was never actually in prison, he just did a show there.”

This, you see, ever since Bivo had caught the karaoke bug, was the sort of mindless bullshit that had slowly eaten away at the operation, culminating in Gilfinkle’s senseless murder and starting a chain of incidents that had the cops sniffing around for one more chance. That, coupled with the cocaine, had put Mick near the edge; toss in Tonya’s boob obsession and Mick was right there.

Mick decided to defuse the situation before Bivo could give the order for another killing. “Beev, I know Jimmy, and acid isn’t his style. You sure it wasn’t pepper-spray?”

“‘You sure it wasn’t pepper spray?’” Bivo’s voice mocked. “You taking this malakas’ side now? Over family?”

Speaking now of Rony and Dmitri, two Greek, country bumpkin idiots who couldn’t speak a word of English.

“That’s family? They’re 4th cousins I never even met until last week.”

“So? Is blood, Micky, and now Rony, he is blind maybe for life and Dmitri says things still a little blurry.”

“From acid?”

“Maybe battery acid, the pool acid, I don’t know, someone shoot you in the eye, acid is acid. Why you defend this malakas? Because you played in a band together? Pffft.”

Fifteen years ago, Mick played bass with Jimmy in the Red Jackets. Cover songs exclusively, but boy they’d had some times.

“Look, I’m only saying, Jimmy’s known for using his fists, not acid— man’s got a first punch that’s like pure dynamite.” Mick watched a low-rider stop in front of the taco shop and four vatos pile out as Bivo said, “I am tired of this. You get the tape?”

“I got it.” Mick pulled the tape from the envelope and slipped it in portable VCR wired into the truck to hit play . . .

Soon as the video started, Mick knew he had problems . . .

Jesus.

. . . soon as the screen came up with movie credits in Russian on what looked to be a low-budget, Russian crime flick . . .

Son-of-a-bitch, she fucking played you like a punk . . .

“ . . . and bring them when I see you. You have people coming, yes? For tonight?”
Mick frowned, pausing in his fast-forwarding. “Coming to what?”

“You forget? How can you forget? Is the American PopStar western sub-regional finals at the Tickled Trout. And this time, no wheelchair fakers and no stupid judges, just the great Bivo Papacostas on his first step to international stardom. You bring people to cheer me when you bring the tape. Is important. No excuses.”

That might prove to be a problem. With Bivo’s cocaine-fueled karaoke mania, it could be a huge problem. For Mick. He hung up thinking about the sound of the bathroom window squeaking open and about how he’d fallen for a charade.

She played you, Sport . . . All she wanted was for you to leave and she knew you wouldn’t leave until you got the tape . . . Probably never gave one shit about that tape, whether she knows where it is or not . . . She just wanted you out of there and this was the fastest way.

Mick thought about the pistol sitting on the night stand, the tricky little foreign number, and ended up wondering who Heidi was waiting for.