Short Cut (The Reluctant Hustler Book 2)

by J. Gregory Smith

  Rollie had to have heard enough to know they intended to rob the meet. He and VP already knew where it would take place. After that, I had no idea what to expect.

  Would Rollie call Bishop? Other cops? I wondered. At best, the police would take down Grist and Mauser, but also all the rest of us and Mr. B. I could live with prison after playing with fire, and at this stage blaming Ryan for my situation seemed pointless. But I wondered how far a betrayed Mr. B’s influence reached. All the way to lockup? Maybe, and not just for me but anyone around me. Rollie and VP?

  On the other hand, a wave of cops would most likely trigger a huge shootout with plenty of dead police and others, and no guarantees Grist and Mauser would even get caught.

  As I played all the scenarios in my head, I kept coming back to the best one being that Grist and Mauser succeeded but let us all live, with Mr. B blaming them and not us for the rip-off.

  And the best part was that Tom and I had no choice but to play along and stall for time hoping when the time came, we’d know the right thing to do. Simple.

  * * *

  “So,” Grist said to me, “they’re expecting you and Tom in the truck?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay, that’s what they’ll get.” Grist looked over at Stu, who had regained some color in his face but hadn’t spoken for a while. “What about him?”

  “He’s in the dark,” I said and Tom agreed. “His job was to help with the fuel tank and keep his mouth shut. That’s it.”

  Stu nodded like a bobblehead in an earthquake.

  Grist thought for a moment. “In the dark and mouth shut?”

  “That’s all,” Stu managed to stammer.

  “It’s enough,” Grist said. “Now, tell me where you keep the keys to the little backhoe I saw parked around the side.”

  * * *

  One hour later

  “You don’t have to do this,” I said.

  The last I’d seen of Stu was Mauser hoisting Stu over his shoulder, no mean feat. They’d wrapped him up in so much duct tape that he looked like a silver mummy from the neck down. His mouth was taped shut, but he could still breathe through his nose.

  Grist covered Tom and me with a pistol. “You’re absolutely right. Be glad it won’t take us long to reach the meet. If we were pressed for time it’d be far simpler to cut his throat and bury him for good.”

  “Where will you bury us?” I asked.

  “If you play ball, you’ll live to set him free. He should be fine for a few hours, unless it rains. We put that PVC pipe to good use. If you two try to get in our way, he’ll starve before anyone finds him.”

  “Why should we trust you?” Tom said.

  “Tommy boy, you can make this go down smooth and easy if you help, but we can make it happen ugly too, kill everyone and take the stones and the dough. It makes the getaway stickier, that’s all. Get it?”

  “Yeah,” I said for him. In the distance we could hear the backhoe start up again.

  “I hope so. The silver surfer in the hole is counting on you. If that doesn’t matter, think of your own worthless hides.”

  Mauser returned a short while later with dirt all over his hands. He grinned at us while he washed up and saw Tom looking at him a little too intently. “What?”

  “I was thinking about the proverb about when setting out for revenge, dig two graves,” Tom said.

  “What revenge? That sap never did anything to us. Now just imagine what we do to those who screw us over.” Mauser dried his hands. He glanced over to Grist. “Did he make the call?”

  Grist shook his head, picked up one of the burner phones and handed it to Tom. “Care to do the honors?”

  I remembered the procedure Tom had briefed me on, all part of Ryan’s elaborate safeguards against last-minute double-crosses. I guess he never imagined the two goons with us in the picture.

  Tom made the call and spoke briefly with the person on the other end. “He’s right here.” Tom handed the phone to me.

  “This is Kyle Logan. Ryan asked me to help him with this small favor. He said to tell you ‘Irish eyes are still smiling.’”

  On the other end of the line a heavily-accented voice spoke. Mr. Beautiful. “Okay. I’m sorry he could not be here himself, but he spoke highly of you. You have my missing property?”

  “We do. And you have our reward?”

  “Of course.” He gave me a location a couple of towns away. “We will see you in one hour?” I looked to Tom, who nodded.

  “One hour.”

  * * *

  In the Delivergistics truck cab

  Grist sat next to me in the big rig. Behind us, Mauser followed in the ambulance. I’d seen him strap Tom to a gurney in the back and they didn’t need to bother further articulating the implied threat. Tom was resourceful and I didn’t put it past his capabilities to untie himself, but he wasn’t stupid. For now, we still just had to play ball, which for me consisted of “Just drive.”

  After a brief huddle with Mauser, Grist had known where to go. So far, I’d seen no sign of Rollie and VP. I didn’t know if they knew what had happened to Stu or not. I didn’t think where Mauser took him had been in their line of sight. Part of me hoped they’d save Stu and stay far from danger, but I had no way of knowing what they were doing.

  Grist whistled as the truck rolled through the night. We saw few other cars while we headed southwest, roughly paralleling Laurel Mountain State Park. The moon peeked out between clouds and I hoped it stayed that way so the rain would hold off. I pictured Stu trapped in a shallow grave and those PVC air pipes turning into drowning faucets.

  “Kyle, are you going to tell me what really happened to Ryan? This isn’t one of his regular deals. Hard to believe he’d miss it.” Grist studied my face for a reaction.

  “I wish he was here too,” I said.

  Grist laughed and I realized how it must have sounded.

  “No, I mean this never had anything to do with me and—”

  “You’re ‘just holding it for a friend,’ is that it?” Grist mocked.

  “Ryan wore out his welcome in town before this deal was ready. He has bigger worries than you two.” Grist’s connections weren’t in Fishtown, so my guess was all he had were suspicions but no hard evidence Ryan was gone. In any case I didn’t think Ryan would have given Grist and Mauser pause. I wasn’t scaring them, that was for sure.

  “Does he? Well, bless his heart. As long as you don’t, we’ll get along just fine.”

  We rode in silence after that. About every fifteen minutes Grist would check in with Mauser and to my relief all seemed well on the other end. Good, Tom wasn’t trying to take on Mauser by himself.

  The closer we got, the tighter my chest became. “Are you planning on leaving Tom on that gurney?”

  “Do you have any questions that aren’t stupid?” Grist consulted a paper map. “I realize your contact knows Tom personally so he has to be part of the exchange.”

  “How did you find us? You must have seen the cops when we left the port.” He wanted a better question, it was worth a shot. “I never saw a tail.”

  “That’s right. You never did. Sucks to be you.”

  “No argument,” I said.

  “Pull over at the next turn in for the park entrance. Then follow me,” Grist said.

  At this time of night, the park would be closed. I also knew we weren’t making the deal there. We still had about ten minutes to our destination.

  “Bathroom break?” I had a horrible vision of Rollie coming around the corner and right into a trap.

  At the turn, the truck’s brakes hissed and I saw the ambulance signal to follow. The lot wasn’t designed for big rigs, but we had the place to ourselves and there was another exit lane to the road at the other end of the parking lot.

  “Shut up and come with me.” Grist hopped out of the truck as soon as I stopped.

  I followed him to the back of the ambulance. I was relieved both to see Tom alive and off the gurney. He rubbed
his wrists.

  “Won’t be long now,” Grist said.

  Mauser reached into a storage box in the ambulance and lifted out a windbreaker and then a heavy vest.

  “You’re out of your mind, mate,” Tom said.

  “What are you complaining about? You don’t have to wear it,” Grist said.

  “Yeah, you just have to stand next to it.” Mauser laughed.

  “If that’s what I think it is,” I said, “you can get another volunteer.”

  “If you think it’s a bomb vest, you have a keen eye for fashion,” Grist said. “And when did we say anything about volunteering? You do things exactly as we tell you and you and the shrimp might just live to pull your dopey friend out of the ground.”

  “Don’t forget to accessorize.” Mauser took out a baseball cap and I began to understand. The red cap bore the logo for the Philadelphia Phillies, with a white letter “P” embroidered onto a red field. Inside the loop of the letter, I noticed a reflective glint.

  He began to plug in some electronics, along with a receiver and earpiece.

  “Nothing to worry about, Kyle,” Grist said. “I’ll see what you see and can tell you what to say.”

  “And I go boom if you don’t like the way I say it.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. The vest is a bluff for our buddy, so he’ll hand over the cash and be a good sport about getting nothing in return.”

  “So, the bomb is fake?” Tom said.

  “Very real. Think of it as an insurance policy.”

  “And if you have any other thoughts,” Mauser said, “I’ll be around to keep an eye on you as well.” He took out a long case that no doubt held a high-powered scoped rifle.

  “Let’s not keep our esteemed trading partner waiting,” Grist said. “Kindly suit up.”

  Grist still had the bag of stones. “Are you going to give me a bag of sand to hold up before I have to rip him off?”

  “Not at all. We trust you, here.” Grist gave me the diamonds and Mauser fitted the bulky device to me. It felt heavy and tight with a wired box of batteries and a phone near my waist. It made it hard to breathe, but that might have been me.

  “Listen carefully,” Mauser said, with no trace of his mocking tone. “Once I arm it, only he can deactivate it.” He pointed to Grist. “He can trigger it long distance, plus it will go off if you try remove it or play amateur bomb squad and mess with the detonator. Finally, you’re on a three-hour timer, which should be plenty, unless you get ideas about driving out of range.”

  “I got it. Behave or else.” My voice sounded stronger than I felt.

  Mauser held up the cap and an earpiece. “The radio’s on the same frequency as mine. He can see you, I’ll watch through my scope. If you hear coded talk, it’s for me. If you aren’t sure and it is plain English, he’s talking to you.”

  “Okay. And if they don’t shoot us,” I nodded to Tom, “then what?”

  Mauser handed Tom the pistol he’d taken off him a while ago. “Tom here has your back. He’ll cover the retreat.”

  “Make it look good, but don’t scare them into opening up on you,” Grist added.

  Tom took the gun. “I don’t have to ask if it’s loaded, do I?”

  Mauser held his arms wide. “Find out.”

  Tom looked tempted.

  “It is if you believe it is,” Grist said. He turned serious. “Play it straight, both of you. Sell it and follow directions and we won’t smoke you and your Mr. Beautiful and his entourage, not to mention Mr. Fixit in Johnstown.” Grist checked his watch, a thick diver’s style with a jet-black face and luminous numerals. “Ready? Keep it simple and it stays simple.”

  Chapter 31

  Highlands Limestone and Crushed Stone

  Now Tom and I shared the cab of the Delivergistics truck. It felt oddly familiar to drive wearing so much bulky gear. It reminded me of wearing a flak jacket and helmet over in the Sand Box, only then I’d been worried about bombs outside the truck.

  I’m sure Tom had as much to say as I did, but with the helmet-weight baseball cap on my head we weren’t going to plan anything out loud for Grist to overhear.

  The ambulance followed us down the road and I tried to move just my eyes to the mirrors, wondering if Rollie and VP were out there. I wished I had some way to warn them.

  The gravel company had a huge operation in the middle of this sprawling parkland. It was closed at night and clouds played havoc with the light from the full moon, like God was playing with his own dimmer switch. The main entrance appeared to our left, but I didn’t need Grist to mutter “Keep going” into my ear to pass it by.

  “I know where the damn turn is,” I said. “I just hope the old road is able to handle this rig.” It looked easier when we planned this out on the map.

  Tom and I had studied the area. There was another road leading to the early part of the quarry. Once it had played out, they took the operation to the other side of the street.

  There was a yellow metal gate across the drive but I could see the lock was on the ground. Not exactly high security, but who steals leftover crumbs of lime rock? This was probably meant only to discourage gawkers and teenage explorers.

  It figured. Mr. Beautiful wanted privacy not security. The route on the ground showed it to be a good choice. The long road nestled among thick stands of trees blocking the view from the highway. The flat, narrow road gave way to a series of switchbacks that put my driving skills to the test. The truck was designed for hauling heavy stuff a long way, not for mountain racing. Even so, I was happy to see that the surface was well maintained and had once supported huge rumbling equipment bearing chalky milled stones hewn from the earth.

  At the first place to turn off I noticed the ambulance take the dusty secondary we’d just passed. “Stay on this a bit longer,” I heard in my earpiece.

  Soon after, the moon slipped from behind another cloud and I saw a turnoff to a large, flat area above a pit that looked like a Caterpillar graveyard. Several generations of used trucks and loaders parked side-by-side. I figured there were working counterparts across the highway being kept running with the spare parts from these.

  The trees had opened up to reveal a vast, tiered landscape like a huge staircase of stone leading to a muddy pit. A couple crushed stone roads led away from the main quarry. Piles of debris and raw stone bordered the pit like tiny dormant volcanoes.

  “Can you still see?” I asked Grist.

  “I got you,” he said.

  “I’m taking the road to the left.” I assumed he knew that, but high explosives made me want to be crystal clear. “Any of the others will roll us into the pit.”

  “I said I could see.” Grist’s voice carried a little edge and made me wonder if he was feeling the nerves. Less confident than he let on? Twitchier?

  One glance in the mirror told me there’d be no way to spot the ambulance from down here. I saw walls, and the tops of some of the stone piles. The moon backlit everything and reflected off the light-colored stone.

  Got to be getting close. Around one last mini-mountain of rocks and we saw what must have been one of the original mills, complete with ramped conveyors like an abandoned rollercoaster.

  At the base of the building sat a van. When it flashed its headlights, I knew we’d arrived. I hit the brakes and left the truck running.

  “Okay Tom, let’s have the phone.” I held out my hand and he slapped a burner into it like I’d been a surgeon requesting a scalpel. I hit the button and put it on speakerphone.

  I spotted a glint of gold on a wrist through the windshield of the van and heard, “Yes?”

  “Uh, Mr. Beautiful?”

  “Mr. Kyle?” I didn’t recognize the voice.

  “Right. The directions were excellent.”

  “In position,” I heard in my ear, and for an instant confused it with a reply until I recognized it as Mauser’s voice. It was an illusion of the high-quality gear that he sounded close. I could almost feel the scope he’d mentioned panning o
ver us. Of course, they didn’t need to shoot me to take me out.

  “Roger that,” Grist said. “Nice and easy, Kyle. Play it his way until I say different.”

  A new voice came on the line, the same one I spoke to earlier. “Mr. Logan? You are ready for our exchange?”

  “Yes sir. My associate who knows you will confirm your identity.”

  “Step out, please.”

  * * *

  I shut off the truck and climbed slowly out of the cab. That damn vest made movements clumsy and I was trying hard not to shift my body too much for fear of tripping the anti-tamper device.

  Tom met me around the front of the truck, where we stood bathed by the headlights of the two vehicles. The van faced us about 25 yards away.

  Just as I began to wonder if they were thinking about running us down, the van’s engine went quiet and the headlights dimmed slightly as they shifted to straight battery power. The doors opened.

  The first guy out was a lanky, Middle Eastern man who held a briefcase in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  From the passenger side another figure stepped forward. He was older and heavier, wearing a dark business suit and close-cropped black hair with gray at the temples. He had thick features, a salt-and-pepper mustache and black eyebrows. His dark eyes belied the softness of the rest of his body.

  “That’s him?” I whispered to Tom.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Concur,” Grist said in my ear. “That’s our boy.”

  “Good to meet you,” I said to the man in the suit. I felt like an idiot, but what were we going to do, just stand there and gawk at each other?

  Mr. Beautiful nodded. “You look like the picture Ryan sent. I know Tom already.” He stepped forward and shaded his eyes against the truck headlights. He frowned. “You have gained weight?”

  “Maybe.” I felt desperate to deflect the direction of the conversation away from the added bulk under my jacket. “We didn’t go to all this trouble to talk diets. We have your property. May we see the payment?”

  “Show me the stones,” Mr. Beautiful insisted. His partner stared hard at me and I was keenly aware of the array of weapons trained on me—high, low, and wrapped around me.