The Fall Guy

by Simon Wood

  Todd drove back to Chuck’s to report in. He wasn’t there and Jolene directed him to the Yellow Rose. Chuck was in his usual spot with his usual friends.

  “There’s our boy,” Moran announced. “We missed you last night.”

  “I’m a working man now. Early to bed and all that.”

  “How did it go?” Chuck asked.

  “It went okay. I do have bad news. The Parker place, it’s been destroyed.”

  “Oh, that’s okay.” Chuck ordered a beer for Todd. “I should have told you that before you went out there. Lost the place about a month ago. Damn propane tank took the place out.”

  Todd was no fire investigator, but he knew Chuck was lying. The explosion had obviously originated from inside the house and it had blasted the propane tank from its mounts. The propane tank was still intact.

  “I was going to demo the place anyway. The fire saved me the job,” Chuck said and laughed. “Other than that, all good?”

  Todd handed over the paperwork Chuck had given him. “I’ve made notes for you.”

  Chuck leafed through it. “You’ve done a nice job. Take the rest of the day off and I’ll give you some new addresses tomorrow. You’ve done well.”

  “I know a hard working guy when I see one,” Moran said and patted the stool next to him.

  Todd sat and reached for the beer in front of him. It tasted good after a day cooped up in the pickup with no air-conditioning. He didn’t put the beer down until it was half empty.

  “How you liking the job?” Moran asked.

  “Fine. It’s simple work.”

  “Nobody likes complications.”

  “Amen to that.” Todd raised his bottle and Moran clinked his bottle with Todd.

  “You look worried, son.”

  “No, it’s nothing.”

  “Don’t give me that, Todd. We’re all friends here.”

  “Yeah,” Chuck said and J.G. slapped Todd on the back.

  “Okay. I’m grateful for the job and all, but...” Todd hesitated.

  “But?” Moran urged.

  “It’s just that I feel I’m taking your money. I mean, most of the properties I’ve been out to don’t need me checking up on them.”

  “I know they aren’t much to look at,” Moran said, “but they’re ours and it means a lot to us. It’s natural for us to have someone keep an eye on them.”

  “I guess,” Todd said. He wondered if he was playing this hand a little too hard, but didn’t think so. He could afford to push a little more. “But why all the rundown properties?”

  “Investments,” Chuck said.

  “They mightn’t look it,” J.G. said, “but give it time and every one of those properties will make us rich. Ain’t that right, boys?”

  The boys harrumphed—except for Moran. He’d turned on the snake eyes again. Todd dialed it back and let the subject drop. He needed to get off Moran’s radar and announced he needed something to eat, since he hadn’t eaten anything all day. Before he could slip out, Theo said dinner sounded good. Chuck seconded him. They left the bar telling Grady not to give up their seats.

  Chuck led the way to the Buckeye, a steak house two blocks up from the Yellow Rose. While Moran’s boys laughed and joked, Moran just brooded with a storm front for an expression. Todd cursed his stupidity. He’d pushed it too much and Moran was suspicious. He’d have to move things up now.

  They ate and Moran added to Todd’s discomfort by picking up the tab for everyone. Nothing like being made to feel like a Judas, Todd thought.

  After the meal, Todd blew off the idea of going back to the Yellow Rose. Moran’s boys bitched and whined at him to share a barstool. Todd insisted he couldn’t.

  “Why?” Moran asked. He put an edge on the question that gave Todd the feeling he was asking more than one question.

  “I need an early night is all. I promise tomorrow that I’ll make it a late one.”

  “Whatever you say, tenderfoot,” Theo said.

  They ribbed him some more, but they let him go. Todd returned to the pickup and drove back to Vandrel’s. He exchanged the pickup for the Seville and drove out to Chuck’s burnt out property.

  He lit up the site with the Caddy’s high beams and approached the scorch mark that had once been a house. The stench of charred matches still radiated off the remains as fresh as if the fire had been yesterday and not weeks ago. He kicked over the remains, but unable to connect the dots, he drove off. Maybe Moran’s property with the mysterious tire tracks and nailed shut windows might yield more.

  During the drive, he wondered if he was making a big mistake. What did the burnt matches smell have to do with anything? And what did he expect to find at Moran’s place? Squatters? It could mean something or nothing. It certainly wasn’t getting what Vandrel asked him to get. Well, if he turned up nothing but squatters at the other property then he’d do as Vandrel had asked.

  As soon as Todd spotted light leaking from the windows of the house, he doused his headlights and stopped the Seville. He left the car on the dirt road and approached the house on foot.

  An Econoline van sat parked in the dilapidated barn. No other vehicles were in the vicinity. Todd went up to the van. It was unlocked and the key was in the ignition. Obviously, the unofficial tenants had no fears about security. He touched the van’s hood. It was lukewarm.

  Music penetrated the house’s walls and made it easy for Todd to creep up on the house without being heard. The drapes, essentially sheets nailed up inside, not only failed to keep the light out, but failed to keep him from looking in. He peered through the tears in the thin material into the living room. Two men and a woman, all wearing bandanas, worked furiously around a crudely constructed bench covered with glassware and containers. Todd made out the writing on one container: anhydrous ammonia. Bulk size containers of paint thinner sat next to the ammonia. On the floor, there were enough broken open cold medicine packages to cure a hospital wing of the sniffles.

  It was time to go.

  ***

  “A meth lab,” Vandrel said after Todd had filled him in on the night’s discovery.

  “I didn’t see all the chemicals but that’s what it looked like and it explains the burnt out house. Not only are meth guys unstable so is the manufacturing procedure.”

  Todd peeled back a length of masking tape around the window frame of a Mercedes S-class and tore off the plastic sheeting protecting the window from its new paint job. Vandrel inspected the paintwork for imperfections.

  “Okay, someone is setting up meth labs in Moran’s abandoned properties. So what are you saying—Moran is a meth producer? Because I don’t see it.”

  “Neither do I. I think he’s taken being a landlord to a new level. He’s taking on tenants who don’t mind the cockroaches and mold, as long as they don’t get disturbed. He’s letting these tweakers do whatever they do for a slice of the action and if anything goes wrong, well, who cares? Someone will replace them.”

  “And how does this help me?”

  “Now you have something on Moran.”

  “I don’t have spit on him. We cry foul and he’s gonna say the drug labs are the work of squatters.”

  Todd sighed. He’d fallen upon the same conclusion on his ride over to Vandrel’s chop shop. “What are you saying—we just give up?”

  “You can give up if you want, but you won’t get your ten grand. No, we need something tangible on Moran.”

  “Like what?”

  “Paperwork.” Vandrel handed Todd a VIN plate to affix to the Mercedes. “Moran might not look it, but he’s a packrat. He never throws shit away. That’s how he got me. If Moran has dealings with anyone, he makes a record of it.”

  Todd pop-riveted the VIN plate in place. “Even with drug dealers?”

  “Even with drug dealers. You need to break into that safe.”

  Safecracker. Another talent to add to his résumé. He’d hoped to get the combination before this eventuality. What was it with everyone? They all seemed to think
he was capable of any crime. He couldn’t crack a nut let alone a safe. Then again…hadn’t he proved that he did have special talents and aptitudes? A week ago he was struggling to pack boxes in the shipping department. Now he was a pretty successful criminal. He’d yet to make any money, but he’d certainly settled into his new career without too many issues. While he’d failed to make an impact on the corporate world, he’d showed he had the smarts for this dubious career change. If Vandrel wanted a safe cracked then he was the man to crack it.

  “When do you suggest I do this?” he asked.

  “If you’re right and Moran is on to you, like you say, then there’s no time like the present.”

  ***

  Todd drove the Buick back into town and parked on the street. He didn’t have to worry about being seen. It was after three and the place was a ghost town. He sneaked a peek at the Yellow Rose. Moran and company might have stayed for an after hours game. He couldn’t afford to be up to his elbows in safecracking when they staggered back from the bar. Luckily, the bar exhibited no signs of life.

  He went to the rear of Moran’s hardware store. If Moran did have any secrets he wanted protecting, he didn’t invest too much in security. There was no visible sign of an alarm system. The door was a solid core model with a deadbolt. Todd could bust his way in with a crowbar, but he didn’t want to leave a mess. He liked the look of the restroom window. It was small, but not so small that he couldn’t squeeze his way through. He stripped off his sweatshirt, pressed it against the opaque glass and smashed the crowbar over the window. The glass splintered after the first blow, but the sweatshirt muffled the earsplitting crack. He brought the crowbar down for a second time and the window fell away. He cleared the glass from the frame, climbed up and clambered through.

  Moran didn’t have an office. The area behind the counter and cash register was as close as it got. Todd found the safe against the back wall. It wasn’t much. To Todd, it looked to be next model up from what hotels used. It was pedestal mounted with four bolts securing it to the floor. If worst came to worst, he could simply unbolt the thing, take it with him and crack it open with a cutting torch back at Vandrel’s. But he didn’t want to go that route if he didn’t have to. He didn’t want to keep taking the sledgehammer approach to his newfound career. Okay, busting the window wasn’t a good start, but he could work on that. He would pick up a set of skeleton keys and practice on locks. Reading up on safecracking would be another task. He sat down in front of the safe.

  He wished he knew Moran better. If he did, it might clue him into a likely combination. He spun the dial to the combination lock hoping to sense the tumbler falling into place. Sadly, he didn’t. It was looking more likely that he’d have to unbolt the safe and take it with him, but that was the great thing about ripping off a hardware store. The place was full of tools.

  He picked out a power drill and armed it with a half inch bit. He plugged it in and positioned the drill just to the left of the dial. He was about to squeeze the trigger when he heard the unmistakable snap-snap of a pair of hammers going back on a double-barreled shotgun.

  “I’d prefer you didn’t ruin the safe like you ruined the crapper window,” Moran said.

  The blood in Todd’s veins turned to ice, freezing his body rigid. The .357 was still in the pickup’s glove box at Vandrel’s. Even if he had it with him, it might as well be at the North Pole for all the good it would do him. Moran had the drop on him.

  “You really should clear a building before getting down to business.”

  “I’m sorry.” Todd wanted to say, “it’s not what you think,” but it was. There was no ducking what he was doing.

  “The combination is ten, twenty-seven, sixty-seven,” Moran said. “That’s my son’s birthday, if you’re wondering.”

  Todd raised his hands slowly and carefully above his head.

  “You can’t open the safe with your hands above your head.”

  “You want me to open it?”

  “You want to see inside, don’t you?”

  Not really. Not anymore. But Todd did as he was told and fed the combination into the safe. He put his hand on the lever and wondered if this would be his last action on earth. Moran could claim he was stopping a thief with the safe broken open. Todd pressed down on the lever and opened the door.

  No buckshot tore him to shreds.

  “Remove the contents,” Moran ordered.

  Todd removed a number of sealed manila envelopes and a small amount of cash.

  “See what you’re looking for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, take your time. Give everything a good look over before you decide.”

  “I’m sorry I betrayed you.”

  “You never betrayed me. It takes a friend to betray someone and you, son, are no friend.”

  The insult cut deep. In truth, Moran was no friend of Todd’s either, but the jibe made him feel inches high.

  “The best way to get to know a stranger,” Moran said, “is to welcome the stranger. You can’t get to know them if you keep them at arm’s length.” Moran came around the counter with the shotgun barrel and got himself close enough that he couldn’t miss. “You’re not too smart, are you, son?”

  “It doesn’t look that way.”

  “No, it doesn’t. This is a small town with only one motel and you weren’t checked into it.”

  “I could have been bedding down in my pickup.”

  “Yeah, you could have been, but no one saw your pickup parked on the streets and if you were, the moment you were offered a job, a sensible man would have asked for a room or a handout, but you didn’t.”

  Moran was handing Todd his ass in a hat, but at the same time, he was giving him an invaluable lesson. He was new at this game and he would make a few mistakes along the way, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. That was if he ever got out of this one.

  “You’re not a cop, Todd, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Is Todd your real name?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m glad you didn’t lie about everything. You aren’t an opportunist, so who are you working for?”

  “Me,” Vandrel answered, emerging from the restroom with a 9mm in his hand.

  Moran swung the shotgun in Vandrel’s direction and Todd felt the sweat dry on his back.

  “After all these years, you finally got off your ass.”

  “Is it there?” Vandrel asked Todd.

  Todd shone his flashlight on the sealed envelopes. Nothing was marked “incriminating evidence on Vandrel” or “meth labs.” All the envelopes were seemingly for monthly invoices. He ripped the envelopes open and poured out the contents. Invoices. Nothing but invoices.

  “There’s nothing here,” he said.

  “What?” Vandrel said.

  Moran laughed. “What did you expect? That I’d lock everything up in a pissant lockbox? I ain’t a fool, Vandrel. You know that.”

  “Then where is it?” Vandrel demanded, taking two steps forward, his grip tightening on the pistol.

  Todd didn’t like this. Something was brewing. These guys’ feud had been simmering for God only knew how long and he was caught in the crossfire.

  “I have a safety deposit box in San Antonio. Everything I’ve gathered over the years is there. There are a lot of skeletons gathering dust there. Yours included, Vandrel.”

  “And I’ve got one of yours,” Vandrel answered. “We know all about your little meth lab sideline. Isn’t that right, Todd?”

  Thanks, Todd thought, just put me back in the firing line.

  “Is that right?” Moran said swinging the gun back in Todd’s direction.

  “You’re buying shitty properties out in the middle of nowhere to rent out to scum to make meth,” Todd said. “Judging by the scorch mark and the stink, one crew barbecued themselves. But hey, it doesn’t matter. There are plenty of tweakers looking for a new place to set up. It’s pretty good business too. It’s getting harder
to set up mobile labs these days especially in the cities so why not come out to big open nowhere where there are no cops and no snoopers to worry about?”

  Todd hadn’t intended to spill so much. He put it down to nerves. He doubted anyone else had expected the speech either. It was a long time before anyone spoke again.

  “You’re right. There aren’t any snoopers—except for you.”

  “Don’t take it out on him, Lyle,” Vandrel said. “He was doing a job for me. If you need to blame anyone, it’s me, but you’ve been blaming me for years.”

  Moran swung the shotgun away from Todd and aimed it squarely at Vandrel’s gut. Todd sensed a violent change in Moran’s demeanor. A deep-seated rage melted away his cool. One wrong word and he’d open up with the shotgun.

  “You don’t know much about our friend here, do you, Todd?” Moran’s teasing question squeezed out through gritted teeth.

  Todd said nothing.

  “Vandrel likes to use people. Young people. Get them to do his dirty work and hang them out to dry when it turns to shit.”

  “That’s not true. What happened to Jesse was an accident.”

  “My boy died stealing cars for you,” Moran bellowed.

  “I made a mistake, Lyle. I was fed bad information on the owner. You know how much Jesse meant to me. I loved him like a son.”

  “But you weren’t his father. You don’t know a father’s pain.”

  “Then how can you help these killers make their poison? How many other fathers have lost their sons and daughters because of it?”

  Todd had to defuse this situation. Guns were going to be used tonight. Whatever information Vandrel hoped to get back, it wasn’t going to happen. That left only one alternative—gunplay.

  “How do we get to your safety deposit box in San Antonio?” Todd asked.

  “You don’t,” Moran replied.

  “We can if you come with us.”

  “I know what Vandrel wants and he ain’t getting it. Do you understand me?”