A Dead Issue

by John Evans

  CHAPTER 58

  “You sure this is going to work?” Dusty asked as he chopped a dozen or so sheets into rectangles.

  “I don’t know.” I ran a length of masking tape around a stack of one hundred “bills.”

  Manufacturing a quarter of a million dollars from a ream of Georgia-Pacific Soft White copy paper was tedious and gave me time to think about the switch. Tony was going to demand to see the money and I would demand to see Liza. I give the money to Tony and Liza is released. There would be a gun. Tension. Mistrust. Somewhere between the show-and-tell and the tradeoff, I needed to switch backpacks. Tony would have to be distracted for one crucial moment. And Tony would be expecting it.

  We were on our last few sheets of paper and the sun was breaking when Cash called.

  “Waldo?”

  “Yeah, here I am lost in a dilemma.”

  There was a pause on the other end. “The dilemma better not be that you don’t have the money.”

  “You have the gun?”

  Cash chuckled—probably imagining my face when Dusty told me about him finding it. “If you have the money, you can buy if from me. No dilemma.”

  “I have the money,” I started to explain. “I’ll send you a picture . . .”

  “Oh, that’s good. I’ll send you a picture of the gun. Listen, asshole, no games, no pictures. You give me the money, and I give you the gun. It’s that simple. If you have the money, I’m on my way over. No sense putting this off.”

  Cash hung up and I smiled and turned to Dusty. “He’s on his way. You need to ditch your car—hide it in the garage so he thinks I’m alone.”

  We jockeyed the cars around in a maneuver that looked like we had spent years working in a parking garage. Then we returned to my father’s office to work out some details. On the way, I grabbed two pillowcases from one of the guest rooms.

  Dusty filled one pillowcase with the fake packets, keeping them in a rough pile so edges and corners were outlined against the cloth. Then he twisted it shut while I went into the vault for the real cash. When I came out, I had envelopes for Dusty and Stomp, and a bundle of money exactly like the one Dusty held.

  “Looks pretty good,” Dusty smiled with a touch of pride.

  I held the bag open for Dusty and he peered in.

  “A quarter of a million dollars,” I said, allowing the words to settle upon us like a benediction.

  “And my money?” Dusty asked.

  I reached into my back pocket and pulled out an envelope filled with fifties and flapped it at him.

  “My ticket—one way, Thursday night out of Newark.” He paused before adding the important part. “It cost me close to twelve hundred.”

  “There’s an extra two grand in there for travel,” I said, “I’ll keep the envelope until . . .”

  “The shit hits the fan. I know.”

  I twisted off the second pillowcase and dropped one into each of the identical backpacks and lined them up against the wall, fake money on the left, real on the right. Then we admired our work.

  “We should mark one so we know which is which,” Dusty suggested.

  “It already is,” I said, and flicked the little plastic price tag fastener stuck through the right shoulder strap.

  We studied the backpacks for a moment longer. “I think it’s about time to take our positions,” I said.

  Dusty nodded. I looped my arm through the strap and headed for the observatory.

  CHAPTER 59

  Cash showed up about fifteen minutes later. I stood at the broken window of the observatory and watched him come up Cameron Drive. He parked his car at the far edge of the garage apron, well out of range of falling telescopes. He stepped out of his GTO, dragging the Boscov’s bag after him. When he closed the door with his hip, I ran down to meet him.

  “Where’s the money?” he said when I opened the door.

  “Inside. I’m breaking my habit of answering the door with a big bag of cash.”

  I led him up to the observatory.

  “You could’ve saved me the climb,” Cash complained as we walked down the hallway past my father’s office. “Could’ve had the bag ready downstairs. Christ.”

  I didn’t need to look back to know he was shaking his head at my stupidity.

  “I wasn’t thinking.”

  At the top of the stairs, I stopped and turned toward Cash.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. He paused halfway up the steps, one hand on the railing, the other clutching the bag.

  “Nothing,” I said and held up the backpack. “Know what’s in here?”

  “Better be a hundred and fifty thousand,” he said and his eyes narrowed.

  I shook my head and unzipped the backpack. “It’s a quarter of a million.”

  Cash frowned, obviously confused by the increased amount. I reached into the pillowcase and pulled out a handful of packets and waved them at him.

  “Then I guess it’s time to show you the gun.” He reached into his shopping bag and pulled out Jonah’s pistol and I found myself staring at the enormous hole in the end of the barrel. “And I guess we don’t have to go no farther than this,” he added. He spit out a little laugh. “You are such an asshole. It’s hard to believe you lived this long.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I’m learning.”

  Dusty stepped into view at the bottom of the stairs and cleared his throat.

  Cash turned his head and froze as Dusty raised his Beretta.

  “Shitbird!” Cash cried as if surprised to see an old friend.

  “And Waldo,” I reminded him. When Cash swung around, he faced the business end of my Smith and Wesson.

  “Looks like we have a Mexican standoff,” Cash smiled but I could tell he was uneasy. His confidence had vanished.

  “You know,” I said. “I really don’t think so. I think if you don’t put the gun down, one of us is going to shoot your sorry ass. Now if you want any part of this quarter of a million, drop the fucking gun—now!”

  Cash rolled his hand over and let the forty-five drop.

  “Come on up.”

  We sat in a loose circle in the leather chairs, tension building along with mistrust and fear. It took only a few minutes to tell him about Liza’s kidnapping and Tony’s demands. As I laid out the details, Cash seemed to understand—even to sympathize with Tony’s actions. He had only two questions.

  “You love her that much?”

  I wanted to say yes, but stopped myself. “I owe her that much.”

  “And you had that much cash on hand?”

  “Emptied the piggy bank,” I lied.

  Cash shook his head. Obviously those two points were beyond his understanding.

  “I only saw a few packs. I got to see it all.” Cash pointed his chin at my backpack.

  I tossed it over to him, and he arranged it in front of him, unbuckled the flap, and pulled out the pillowcase.

  “Don’t seem like much,” he said hefting it. He spread open the end of the pillow case and peered in, taking a rough count with his lips moving. When he looked up, I had the gun on him.

  “I can’t pay both of you,” I explained. “I give you money I won’t be able to pay Tony and then he kills Liza.”

  “You have the gun,” Cash said. “Why don’t you shoot me?”

  “I need your help. I can’t do this alone.”

  Cash threw his head toward Dusty who was polishing fingerprints off the forty-five. “What’s wrong with Shitbird?”

  “I don’t think either of us are cut out for this kind of thing.” I paused. “Besides, I doubt if you’d just walk away and forget it. This gives you a chance to earn your fee.”

  The corners of his mouth curved up at my wisdom. “Tony isn’t going to walk away from this either. That means we have to kill him.” He paused. “You prepared for that?”

  “If we don’t, he’ll kill Liza.”

  Cash considered that for a few seconds. “Then the fee is just about right.”

  There was a mome
nt of silence and the sound of a car approaching drifted in through the broken windows. Dusty rose and peeked down.

  “It’s Devereaux.”

  “Fuck!” Cash said under his breath and stuffed the pillow case back into the backpack. “Now what?”

  We joined Dusty and peered down as Devereaux’s unmarked Crown Victoria stopped directly beneath us.

  CHAPTER 60

  I grabbed the backpack and raced down the stairs to let Devereaux in, stopping along the way to lock the money in the vault. The other backpack, filled with Georgia-Pacific, I left in my father’s outer office. Cash had seen the money, taken a rough count, so he knew this was for real. I needed him to drool over it for a while—lure him in.

  Devereaux was at the door, looking back at Cash’s GTO. I held the door open for him.

  “Nice ride,” he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “Yours?”

  “It belongs to Cash. I’m testing it before I buy it,” I lied.

  “Thought it was his.”

  Devereaux followed me into the kitchen where I offered him a seat at the table. He pulled out a chair and sat heavily. He looked tired.

  “The reason I’m here,” he began slowly, “is because of a conversation I had with one of our officers—the one who investigated your little accident. That must have happened after you left the diner.”

  “Right after.”

  “I’m concerned about Liza,” he said and paused. “You told DiNuccio that her husband took her away from the scene. Did he?”

  I nodded.

  “Have you heard anything from her?”

  I shook my head and I could tell by Devereaux’s deadpan stare that he did not believe me.

  “Listen. There are a lot of things going on here and you seem to be caught in the center of what promises to be a category five shit storm.”

  He let that piece of information marinate for a moment while he smoothed out an area on the tablecloth. He folded his hands and dropped them on the table. “Jonah and Eric Stem were both shot on the same night with a forty-five. I’m thinking it was the same guy using the same gun. Eric Stem’s father, Horace Stem, wants Jonah’s land. He also pays Stomp to keep an eye on Eric—to protect him from himself. Both are involved with drugs. And Stomp Jessup hides out at Jonah’s farm after running out of the hospital—like he’s been there before.” Devereaux paused. “You see possible connections?”

  I did and indicated that with a nod. Horace Stem sends Stomp to make Jonah an offer he can’t refuse. Stomp pushes Jonah down the stairs when Dusty and I show up. Then he sneaks back to Easton with Jonah’s gun.

  “Then there is the magic bullet,” Devereaux continued. “It shows up in the grass next to Dusty’s teeth at the scene of your accident. A brand new bullet—a Remington just like the casings found at the Britz.”

  Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. If Stomp took the gun and reloaded it with new cartridges, he also must have planted it in my car—probably when he stopped in for a visit with his dead rat. He knew I was at the scene, and that bit of evidence would shift suspicion away from him and place it squarely on someone who did not have an alibi.

  Devereaux unfolded his hands and dropped them into his lap. “That brings us to why I am here.” He paused and changed directions. “Do you have a gun?”

  “Do you have a search warrant?”

  I gave Devereaux a friendly smile to show that I was kidding. He stared at me until my smile faded.

  “I couldn’t get one. The judge said my probable cause was weak. You know what I think? I think Judge Woodson was more concerned with pissing off William J. Cameron.”

  I said nothing for a moment and dug deep for another smile. “You’re probably right. What is it you wanted to see?”

  Devereaux looked perplexed—like he didn’t know if my question was an invitation to search anyway, or idle curiosity after the door closed on his investigation. He shifted in his chair.

  “I’d like to see Jonah’s gun. I’d like to see a forty-five that matches the casings found at Eric Stem’s murder.”

  I did not want Devereaux to find Cash and Dusty upstairs, but it was time to be cooperative, to dispel any doubts that grew out of my stupid search warrant comment. Besides, they were probably in a closet or under a bed.

  “I can show you what I have.” I rose from the chair. “My father has a small arsenal up stairs. He’s a collector.”

  “Any forty-fives?”

  “I wouldn’t know, but probably.”

  “Any ammunition?”

  “Boxes and boxes.”

  Now I knew where this was going and I relaxed a little. The cartridge Lenny DiNuccio found was a Remington. The ammunition boxes in the vault were all Federal. Both forty-fives could be at the bottom of the Delaware for all Devereaux knew. He wasn’t interested in the guns. What he really wanted was to link any ammunition up stairs with the casings found at the Britz parking lot—or the shell found near Dusty’s teeth. I was safe.

  CHAPTER 61

  On the way to the vault I started to worry—not about Dusty and Cash keeping out of sight, but the money. Devereaux was bound to stumble on the money drawers, one of which was now empty. He’d be sure to notice the backpack leaning against the back wall. One look inside would tell him worlds, but in the end—it wouldn’t matter.

  Devereaux lumbered up the stairs behind me, and as we walked down the hallway, I caught him leaning into open rooms, absorbing everything he could.

  “This is my father’s home office,” I explained as I opened the door and allowed Devereaux to enter ahead of me. “Looks like something out of an old bank.”

  He stared at the vault door with its chrome spinner wheel. “I see what you mean.”

  “He keeps his guns and valuables in here,” I explained. “He’s not going to be too happy if he finds out I let someone in.”

  “He doesn’t have to know.”

  I dialed in the combination, and spun the wheel, retracting the twelve locking bolts.

  Devereaux stepped into the vault and looked around. I was right to worry about the backpack. His eyes picked it up immediately as something extremely out of place—a cow at a dinner party. He studied it for longer than necessary and scanned the rest of the room, finally settling on the gun cabinet.

  “The ammunition is in the first drawer of the gun case.” I looked at the wall of drawers and thought, what the hell.

  “The other drawers are full of money.” I said it in a casual way—as if having that much money on hand was normal.

  My phone rang, something that wouldn’t have happened if I were standing deeper in the vault. I had a feeling it was Tony and I was torn between leaving Devereaux unsupervised in the vault and having a guarded conversation about Liza’s kidnapping in his presence.

  “I got to take this outside,” I waved a finger in a circle about the room. “Reception.”

  Devereaux reached for the handle of the top drawer. Then I stepped out of the vault and into my father’s office, jumping when Cash strolled to the desk. He gave me a moment to compose myself and then frantically tried to mouth a desperate message as the phone continued to ring. He made a steering gesture with his two fists and released the invisible wheel to point toward the door—to the outside world. His mouth exaggerated one word—cab.

  I flipped open my cell phone and touched my lip with my index finger. Then I used it to point to the vault where Devereaux was probably staring wide-eyed at stacks of cash.

  “Yes?”

  The high whispery voice asked, “You have the money?”

  I cupped the phone and turned away from the vault. “Where’s Liza?”

  “Still tied up. Can’t come to the phone.” There was a pause and I looked up at Cash. He was jittery and kept looking at the vault door.

  “I need some reassurance,” I said. “Send me her picture.”

  Cash sidled nearer to the vault like he was trying to spy on whatever Devereaux was doing in there.

 
“You already got a picture—with the newspaper.”

  Cash was at the door, almost leaning in now.

  “I need an updated picture. Send me one with Liza giving you the finger . . .”

  Cash reached for the door and pushed it closed in a slow motion slam. There might have been a thump as Devereaux threw his body against the weight of the closing door, or it might have been the door seating itself firmly in place. Cash gave the wheel a spin.

  Tony ignored my comment. “I’m coming over—to your place—up on the hill.” He hung up.

  My head was ready to explode as I tried to sort things out. What the fuck had just happened? Tony was on his way over to pick up the ransom, Cash had locked Devereaux in the vault with the money, and a cab had pulled up to the Crow’s Nest. What else could go wrong?

  Dusty skittered into the office. “Holy fuck! Stomp is here! He just got out of a cab!”

  CHAPTER 62

  “I want my money,” Dusty demanded, his eyes wild with fear. “The shit has definitely hit the fan.”

  “The shit will hit the fan when Devereaux gets out of the vault,” I said and looked at Cash. “What did you do that for?”

  “I don’t need him getting between me and my fee.”

  “What are we gonna do?” Dusty asked on the edge of panic. “Stomp’s gonna kill us!”

  “So he came in a fuckin’ cab?” Cash said, his voice rising to an incredulous squeal.

  “Cash, here’s where you earn your fee. Go let him in.”

  Cash shook his head, “Not without a gun, I won’t.”

  I understood and looked over at Dusty holding both guns—his Beretta and Jonah’s .45 picked up from the stairs. “Give him the .45.”

  Dusty held out the gun.

  “We’ll be in the observatory.” I said. “Tell him you’re the butler. Bring him upstairs.”

  “How ‘bout I just shoot his ass—then come back and tidy up, do a little dusting, make tea?”

  “Just get him upstairs,” I said. “And don’t shoot anybody—not yet.”

  Cash checked out the pistol, racked open the slide, and marched out of the office. As soon as he was gone, I went to the vault door to free Devereaux. I dialed in the first two numbers and stopped. There was nothing to be gained by letting him out. It would only complicate things. I grabbed the backpack by my father’s desk—the one filled with Georgia-Pacific Soft White copy paper—and scampered up the stairs to the observatory with Dusty close behind.