Kings of Midnight

by Wallace Stroby

  “You think it was that simple?”

  “Now you want to be a player again, risk your life going after some wiseguy money others are already looking for. Doesn’t make sense.”

  He looked out the window again, low thunder rolling around them.

  “I’ve got nothing anymore,” he said. “I had a life out there, a job, friends. Now I don’t. They took all that away from me, and there’s no way I can get it back. I need to start over. I can’t do that broke.”

  She thought about Wayne, walking out a prison gate in a few weeks, if they were lucky. They would need their own stake to start again, new names, a place to live. It would cost a lot more than the few thousand she had left.

  “How do you see your part in this?” she said. “You’re not twenty-three anymore.”

  “I’ll do whatever I need to do.”

  “This woman you’re with.”

  “Marta.”

  “How much does she know?”

  “Some of it.”

  “She expecting a cut?”

  “It’s not that way. She’s with me.”

  “Then she’s your responsibility.”

  “I understand that.”

  She started the engine. “I’ll take you back now.”

  “If you want,” he said, “we can go up there this week, take a look around, see if the setup’s the way I remember it, if the woman’s there. Then you can make your decision.”

  They got back on the Parkway, drove without speaking. The rain began to pick up, sounded on the roof. She was putting it all together in her head, the whole thing crazy enough to be true.

  When she pulled into the Target lot, he said, “Well?”

  She rolled to a stop near his car. “I’ll think on it. We might have another conversation. We might not.”

  “You’re starting to like the sound of it, though, aren’t you? Maybe just a little.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “That’s good enough for now.”

  He got out, shut the door, pulled his coat tighter around him. She watched him walk to his car in the rain.

  TWELVE

  Benny was feeling good when he opened the motel room door. He started to call out to Marta, then saw the man with the gun sitting on the bed.

  “That’s all right,” Danny Taliferro said from his left. “Come on in.”

  The door closed behind him. He thought of his Colt, in the trunk of the Hyundai, hidden in the wheel well. No use to him now.

  Taliferro was in the desk chair, wearing a white turtleneck and a dark overcoat. The man on the bed was a stranger, with buzz-cut hair and the flat nose of a boxer. He had a long-barreled revolver in his lap.

  Benny felt cold. “Where is she?”

  Marta’s voice came from beyond the half-open bathroom door. “Benny?”

  He started for it. The door opened wider, and Frankie Longo was standing there, a bandage over his left eyebrow, scratches on the bridge of his nose. A blue-steel automatic hung from his right hand. Behind him, Marta sat on the edge of the bathtub, her hands bound in back.

  The man with the revolver said, “Hold on there, slick,” and got off the bed. He came up behind Benny, patted him down.

  “I’m sorry,” Marta said.

  “It’s okay, baby. Are you all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Taliferro said. “For now.”

  The one with the revolver said, “He’s clean.”

  “This is Perry,” Taliferro said. “Dominic couldn’t make it. He’s still not walking so good, thanks to you.”

  He got up, rolled his right shoulder, massaged it. “Still a little stiff myself. I was lucky. Couple arteries in there you could have hit. And it was a week before I got all the hearing back in that ear.”

  “What do you want?” Benny said.

  “What do you think?” Taliferro said. “Have a seat, talk to us.”

  Longo came closer. Benny’s mouth was dry. “I still don’t know anything,” he said. “I can’t help you.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Taliferro said. “But it’s not just about that anymore, is it?”

  To Longo, he said, “Go easy. And give me that thing. I don’t want you losing your shit.”

  Longo handed over the gun. Benny took a step back, his legs heavy.

  “Don’t break his jaw,” Taliferro said. “We need him to talk.”

  Longo came toward him, and Benny tried to back up again. Perry blocked his way.

  “Wait a minute,” Benny said. “Let’s just—”

  Longo’s open hand flashed toward him. He heard Marta cry out, and suddenly he was on the floor, his face stinging, his glasses gone.

  “I said easy,” Taliferro said.

  “That was easy,” Longo said. Then to Benny, “Get up.”

  Benny didn’t move. The copper taste of blood was in his mouth. Stay down, he thought. Cover up, take what’s coming.

  “You’re fine,” Longo said. “That was nothing. Get up.”

  Benny stayed where he was.

  “Do what he says,” Perry said. “Get up.” He brushed Benny’s ear with the muzzle of the revolver. When Benny didn’t move, he cocked the hammer, the sound loud and close. Benny could smell gun oil.

  He rolled onto his knees, the room tilting around him. He got one foot under him, then the other, and stood.

  “That’s right. Come on,” Longo said. “You’re the tough guy. The OG.”

  “Leave him alone,” Marta said.

  “Keep that broad quiet,” Taliferro said. Perry went into the bathroom.

  “Don’t hurt her,” Benny said. “She’s got noth—”

  Longo’s hand flashed out again, and Benny found himself falling. The wall stopped him. He tried to get his elbows up to protect his face, and Longo crowded in, slapping with both hands until Benny was dizzy and reeling.

  He started to fall, and Longo put fingers on his chest, pinned him against the wall. Benny tried to raise his arms, numb from the blows they’d caught. He drew in breath, heard a wheeze deep in his chest, felt the first surge of panic.

  “Right there,” Longo said. The hand came back up, but it was a fist this time, something white wrapped around the knuckles. Benny tried to turn away, and then the air blurred in front of him. The room spun fast on its axis, and threw him off into darkness.

  * * *

  Crissa was parked in the motel lot, watching the door of Room 18. She’d followed Benny here, seen him go inside, the curtains already closed. He’d parked the Hyundai right out front. Careless.

  The radio was tuned to QXR, a Bach cello piece coming softly from the speakers. She’d wait awhile, see if he came out, if anyone came out with him.

  The rain was steady now, streaming down the windshield. She thought about what he’d told her. If it was all true, it might be easy work, a couple million lying there, waiting for someone to take it. If they didn’t move on it, someone else would. If she waited too long, weighed all the angles, it might be snatched out from under them. But Benny was the key. She couldn’t do it without him.

  The curtains parted, and a man she didn’t know looked out, scanned the lot, then drew them closed again.

  She sat up straight. That’s it, she thought. Whoever that was, whatever’s going on in there, the deal’s blown. Drive away. Call Jimmy, tell him it’s off.

  She started the engine, looked at the room door. Law inside, maybe. Or more likely the men that had tracked him down in Indiana, followed him all the way back here.

  She let out her breath, thinking it through. If they were still after him, then the story was probably true, the money real. But if she left now, she’d never know.

  She took out her cell, dialed 411, got the number of the motel. When the desk clerk answered, she asked for Room 18. The line began to buzz.

  On the sixth ring, someone picked up. Silence, then a faint noise in the background, a woman crying out. The hard smack of flesh on flesh, then silence again. A male voice she didn’t re
cognize said, “Yeah?”

  “Sorry, wrong room.” She hung up. So Benny’s woman was in there, too.

  She pulled out of the parking space, circled the lot. Nothing that looked like a surveillance vehicle, no service vans with generic company names. In the back lot, parked out of sight behind a Dumpster, was a glistening Lincoln Town Car with New York plates, no one inside.

  She drove around again, backed into the same spot, shut off the engine. She took the Tomcat from her coat pocket, eased back the slide to check the shell in the chamber. She thumbed off the safety, put the gun back in her pocket.

  Take off, she thought. Staying around here, not knowing the situation, was too much exposure. Go back to Avon, get your things, head out. Phone Jimmy from somewhere safe.

  She felt irritated, angry. Something else being taken away from her. First the mess in South Carolina, then Cavanaugh, now this. A long string of bad luck. Events pushing her along as if she had no control over them, no choice, her fate already decided. All of it getting away from her before she could fix it. Everything going to hell.

  * * *

  When Benny woke, Perry was hanging up the phone. “Wrong number.”

  Benny’s face was numb, his bottom lip swollen. His tongue found the split there, tasted blood. He felt dizzy, nauseous.

  From behind him, out of sight, Taliferro said, “Anyone else know you’re here?” When he didn’t respond, Taliferro put a foot on his hip, rocked him. “Wake up. Answer me.”

  “No,” Benny said. His voice was strange, hoarse. He twisted on the carpet, felt the warmth then, looked down to see the stain across the front of his pants. He’d wet himself.

  “Where have you been all day?” Taliferro said. “We been waiting here a long time. We were getting restless.”

  Longo squatted in front of him. He was chewing gum. There was a white hand towel knotted around his right fist. “Listen up, rat. The man’s talking to you.”

  Benny opened and closed his eyes, Longo swimming in and out of focus. He saw his glasses under the dresser a few feet away. Then he remembered Marta, twisted to look toward the bathroom. The door was closed, Perry standing outside.

  “She’s all right,” Taliferro said. “I had to give her a little slap to shut her up, that’s all. Perry wanted to take a run at her. Hell, I might have, too. Long time since I had a piece of trim that young. But I said no, business first.”

  “I’ll bring her out here, do her right on the bed in front of him,” Longo said. “That’ll get him talking, I bet. She’d probably like it, too. A good stiff one for a change.”

  “See what I have to put up with?” Taliferro said to Benny. “These young guys, that’s all they think about. Thing is, the longer you make us wait around, the more they’ll need some distraction. Then I can’t guarantee anything, you know what I mean?”

  Benny put his hands on the floor, sat up, fighting the urge to be sick. There was a solid knot of pressure in the center of his chest.

  “So, who’d you go to see today?” Taliferro said. “Who you been talking to?”

  Benny had to swallow before he could speak. “Nobody.”

  Longo took Benny’s chin in his hand. “Hey, shitbird. Are you aware of what’s going on here? We got all night.”

  “Ease off,” Taliferro said. He dragged the chair around in front of Benny, sat. Longo stood, backed away.

  “You’re lying to me,” Taliferro said. “And I always know when I’m being lied to. It’s like a sixth sense, you know? I think you’ve been going around, talking to people from the old days, seeing what you can find out. Am I right?”

  Benny swallowed again. “I told you the truth, Danny. I don’t know anything about that money.”

  “Out in Bumfuck, I maybe half bought that line. But here, forget about it. You know where it is, or you know how to find out, or you wouldn’t be here. You’d be in fucking Mexico, looking over your shoulder, waiting for me to ride up on your ass.”

  “Danny, believe me…”

  “That’s just it,” Taliferro said. “I don’t. Part of me wants to pop you right now for everything you did, get it over with. But I don’t have that luxury, you know? I need you. And that pisses me off.”

  He nodded at the bathroom. “But her, that’s another story. Her I don’t care about. These boys can pull a train on her until the sun comes up. It would serve her right, tagging along with a rat fuck like you.”

  “I haven’t talked to anyone,” Benny said. “I swear on my mother.” He coughed, and a blood bubble came to his lips. He couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs.

  “All right,” Taliferro said. “If that’s the way you want it.” To Perry, he said, “Get the girl out here. Gag her first.”

  “Forget about the gag. I’ve got something else that’ll do the trick.”

  “Whatever. Just keep her quiet.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Everyone froze. The knock came again.

  “What the fuck?” Longo said.

  Taliferro looked at Benny. “You expecting anyone?”

  “No.” Hoping whoever it was would keep knocking, not go away. Give him the chance he needed.

  Longo crossed to the window, parted the curtains slightly. “Some broad. Probably got the wrong room.”

  “That was a woman on the phone, too,” Perry said. “Maybe it’s the same one.”

  The knock came again, insistent.

  “Ignore it,” Taliferro said. “She’ll go away.”

  Another knock, then the knob rattled.

  “She ain’t going away,” Longo said.

  “Get him in the bathroom with the girl,” Taliferro said. “Shut them both up.”

  A louder knock, a fist this time.

  Perry grabbed Benny’s arm, hoisted him up, the gun in his other hand. “Get in there.”

  Benny drew in breath, ready to shout. Perry stuck the muzzle of the revolver into his ribs. “Don’t be stupid.”

  With the next knock, the door shook.

  “Bitch don’t give up,” Longo said. He unwrapped the towel from his hand, dropped it in the wastebasket.

  Perry opened the bathroom door, pushed Benny inside. His knee gave out, and he went down onto the tile. Marta came off the tub, knelt beside him. “Benny, are you hurt?”

  “Just lay there, and shut the fuck up,” Perry said. He showed them the revolver.

  The pain was solidifying in Benny’s chest. He sucked in air. You’re having a heart attack, he thought. After all you’ve been through, you’re going to die right here, like this. Right in front of her.

  Perry pulled the door shut, stood over them. He put a finger over his lips, cocked the revolver.

  * * *

  Crissa smiled at the man who opened the door, said, “You Steve?”

  He had a bandage above one eye, scratches. He looked her over, his glance drifting down to her wet sweater.

  He shook his head, popped gum. “Got the wrong room.”

  “I’m supposed to meet Steve,” she said. “He told me Room Eighteen. This is Eighteen, right?” She looked over his shoulder at a silver-haired man standing near the closed bathroom door, hands in his overcoat pockets. Near his feet, under the dresser, was a pair of glasses.

  “Yeah, but there’s no Steve here,” the man with the bandage said. He started to close the door, and she took out the .32, touched the muzzle to the center of his forehead and said, “Back the fuck up.”

  He looked at her, at the gun. She thumb-cocked the hammer.

  “Careful with that,” he said. He took a step back, and she followed him into the room, let the door shut behind her.

  “Hold on there,” the older one said. There was an edge of hoarseness in his voice. “Who are you?”

  She stepped to the side to cover them both. To the older one, she said, “Take your hands from your pockets. Slow.”

  “I got a pistol in here,” he said. “I’m taking it out. Don’t get nervous.”

  “Put it on the dress
er, then back away.”

  He drew a dark automatic from his pocket. “Here you go.” He set it on the dresser, stepped back.

  “We’re cops,” the one with the bandage said. “And if you don’t put that thing away, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble.”

  “Shut up.” She moved around him, picked up the automatic. It was a Browning .380, wouldn’t need to be cocked. She pointed the .32 at the bathroom door.

  “Tell whoever’s in there to come out slow,” she said. “I can shoot both of you in the time it takes to open that door.”

  “I believe you,” the older one said. “Perry, come on out. Not too fast.”

  “Lady, listen to me,” the one with the bandage said. “You’re in deep shit.”

  “Let’s everybody take it easy now,” the older one said. “Everybody stay calm. Perry, come on. It’s okay.”

  The bathroom door opened, and a man came out, one hand out of sight behind him. She pointed the .32 at his chest. “Whatever you’ve got there, put it on the bed. Slow.”

  He looked at the older one, who nodded. “Do what she says. We’re all gonna talk.”

  The man lifted a revolver, set it on the bed, backed away.

  “Benny,” she said. “Come out here.”

  She heard him moving around inside. Her vision seemed to constrict, her world shrinking to the three men in front of her, the guns in her hands.

  Benny came out slowly. The left side of his face was swollen, his bottom lip split.

  “Under the dresser,” she said. “Don’t get in front of me.”

  He stayed clear of the others, bent and picked up his glasses, put them on. He went back into the bathroom, limping slightly, and came out a moment later, leading a woman whose hands were tied behind her back. She was younger than Crissa expected, wearing jeans and T-shirt, her blond hair loose. There was a fading red mark on her left cheek.

  “Get your things together,” Crissa said. “Do it fast.”

  “Wait a minute,” the older one said. “Now that we’re all calmed down, let’s talk about this.”

  The one with the bandage was watching her. This wouldn’t last, she knew. One of them would make a move soon.

  “Benny,” she said. “Come here.”

  “Yeah,” the one with the bandage said. “Do what she says, Benny. Before you get smacked again.”