by John Evans
At the top, I ran to the window and looked down. The cab was leaving.
A further look at the world below showed that Stomp was already in the house.
“Was anybody with him?” I asked.
Dusty looked at me blankly.
“You didn’t see Liza?”
“Liza?” Dusty looked confused. “Why would he be with Liza?”
Stomp wouldn’t call a cab. Liza had to be with him—otherwise there’d be an International Harvester parked next to the Crown Vic.
“What’s going on?” Dusty asked.
“Stomp found Liza tied up at Jonah’s.” I paused, trying to bring Dusty up to speed. “She has a new pet. Beauty and the beast. Now he’s her watchdog.”
“Why?”
“For the money he tried to beat out of us.”
Dusty paused in thought, piecing something together he didn’t like. His face clouded.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “He’s on the payroll?”
I said nothing, hunching my shoulders in a gesture of resignation.
“How much?”
“Ten,” I said.
“Ten thousand? Ten thousand fucking bucks! For what?”
“For protecting her from Tony.”
“Jesus H. Christ. Shitbird! Tony—a quarter million. Cash—a hundred fifty thousand. Stomp—ten thousand. Dusty, your own brother—seven thousand and get the hell out of town! What the fuck!”
“Dusty, it’s not like that. I didn’t come up with those figures—they did.”
Dusty was breathing hard. “You want me to come up with a figure. A half million. There—that’s my figure.”
“You going to kill me if you don’t get it?”
Dusty paused. “I’m thinking about it,” he finally said.
“Look,” I said. “I know how you feel. But you have to understand. Cash, Stomp, Tony—they’re stealing from my father. I intend to pay your seven thousand out of my pocket.”
Dusty and I stared at each other until he grinned and shook his head. “Shitbird.”
Footsteps mounted the stairs and I tensed, waiting for Liza to appear. She came into view followed by Cash, gripping the fingers of his right hand and wincing in pain. Then Stomp’s shaved head appeared out of the stairwell followed by a vapor trail of sweat and stale cigarettes. I slid my finger against the trigger of the .357 when I saw Jonah’s .45 held loosely at his side.
“Liza!” I ran to her and pulled her away from Stomp and Cash.“What happened?”
Dusty maneuvered himself behind Cash, trying to keep himself out of Stomp’s reach. Liza squeezed my arm as we moved farther away. Stomp stood silently, watching.
“He never showed,” she said. “The bastard was going to leave me tied up like that. I couldn’t stand it any more.”
This threw a new complication into an already tangled mess. It was comforting to know Stomp was protecting Liza at Jonah’s, but now he was here—in the thick of things. He was big, but I sensed that he was no dummy. He knew money was about to change hands and was now in competition with Cash to see who walked away with it.
“He called,” I said. “He’s on his way to pick up the ransom . . .” I didn’t finish and the room became silent.
“Ransom?” Cash blew out his breath. “Shit, man. If he left her there, this isn’t a kidnapping. He’s just going to shoot your ass and take the money.” He moved over to the broken window, and looked down. “Too many cars,” he said. “Looks like you have company.”
I had a flash of inspiration.
“You’re right,” I said. “Where are your keys?”
“In the ignition . . .”
I turned to Stomp before Cash could finish. “You’ve earned your pay,” I said, “Liza’s safe with me.” I reached into my back pocket for the envelope fat with fifties. “Here.” I held it out to him. “Take the GTO. Leave it in Easton at the bus terminal.”
Stomp tucked the .45 in his waistband and took the envelope.
“Bullshit . . . he’s not using my car!”
“That’s ten thousand dollars,” Dusty said. The information was for Stomp. The attitude was for me.
Stomp opened the envelope and riffled through the bills.
“It’s all here—in fifties,” I added
I glanced over at Cash and gave him a look. He stepped forward instantly.
“Let me see one of those,” he said and moved closer to Stomp. “You have to be careful.”
Stomp slipped a bill out of the wrapper and gave it to Cash.
“It’s fuckin’ Al-Qaeda,” Cash continued. “They’re flooding the world with phony fifties, trying to ruin our economy.”
Stomp’s left eye slid into place and locked onto me, and for a second or two we shared a moment of silent communication. My lips twitched with a smile.
“They look good—got those anti-forgery threads, special paper, holograms—you have to be an expert to tell the difference.”
Cash was right next to Stomp now, holding the bill up at eye level. “But they had to get in our face. They put Osama bin Laden in the clouds behind the Capitol Building. Hold it up to the light you can see him.” Cash held the bill up to the window. “Son-of-a-bitch. There he is, plain as day. Take a look.”
And that’s when Stomp threw him out the broken window. It is a scene I can replay in my head anytime I wish—Cash offers Stomp the fifty-dollar bill while his right hand reaches for Jonah’s pistol. Stomp, with linebacker speed, grabs a fistful of shirt, hooks his fingers under Cash’s belt, and launches him into space as the gun tumbles to the floor. Cash falls silently—the impact like someone slamming the trunk of a car.
No one moved for a long time. Only Stomp yielded to curiosity and leaned out to see what had become of Cash. The rest of us simply stood there, stunned. As much as we may have wanted to look, we were frozen by the presence of Stomp. I had a sudden thought that Stomp might connect Cash’s fall with his own plunge from my balcony and figure this was a good time for revenge. Dusty took several backward steps, putting as much distance between him and Stomp as possible.
Stomp bent down, reaching for the packet of fifties. Jonah’s .45 was a foot to the left.
“Don’t,” I said. I didn’t threaten him with the gun, but Stomp glanced at me and froze. Liza stepped forward and picked up the fifties including the one Cash used for show and tell. “The deal was to help us with Tony.”
Stomp straightened slowly, and Liza, near the window now, leaned out to peer down at Cash.
She swung back toward us, eyes wide with fear. “Shit! Tony’s here!”
“Liza,” I ran to her and grabbed her arms above the elbows. “You’ve got to hide. I want him to think he’s still in charge—with you as hostage.”
She shook her head. “Cash was right. This isn’t kidnapping. It’s a robbery. He knows what you have in the vault,” she warned.
“No—he doesn’t.”
CHAPTER 63
I grabbed my backpack of phony bills and Dusty grabbed Cash’s shopping bag. Then I herded everyone to a guest room down the hall from my father’s office. I handed Liza the backpack. “Hold this for me. The shit is about to hit the fan.”
“Watch yourself. Tony’s a fuck.”
I turned to Stomp. “I’m going to get him up to the observatory. Wait here with Liza.”
Stomp frowned. He seemed disappointed he wouldn’t be tossing Tony through the window on top of Cash.
“What do we do?” Dusty asked. He was now hugging Cash’s shopping bag.
“Stay here,” I said. “If Tony’s going to rob me, he’ll make me open the vault.” I gave Stomp a nod, “All you have to do is keep Liza safe.”
Then I left.
I raced down the stairs pleased with the turn of events. There would be no need to make a switch. No matter what Tony was planning to do, the real party was going to take place in the vault with Devereaux as the surprise guest. With any luck, he’d walk away with two door prizes, Tony and Stomp.
Tony wa
s at the door when I got there. “Come in,” I said, opening the door for him.
Tony stepped by me and stood in the foyer. I ducked out quickly to see what happened to Cash. Devereaux had made the mistake of parking where the BMW had been the night before. Cash landed on the roof, caving it in and disappearing from view in a metallic hammock. Tony evidently didn’t notice the feet poking out above the windshield.
“Anyone else here?” Tony asked when I came back in.
I shook my head. “Where’s Liza?”
Tony entered the kitchen without looking back. “Don’t you get tired of asking that?”
We stood in the kitchen facing each other. “I’m not giving you a cent until I know she’s all right.”
Tony nodded agreeably. “And you’re not going to see Liza until I know you have the money.”
I tossed my head toward the living room and stepped by him. “This way.”
Tony followed me up the stairs and down the hallway past the guest room where Liza, Stomp, and Dusty were babysitting a backpack filled with copy paper. I led him to the observatory and waited at the top as he mounted the last few steps.
“I like it up here,” I said. “You can see everything.”
Tony glanced at the broken window and frowned. “What I want to see is the money.”
I stepped over to the window and looked down. Cash was on his back motionless. His pose was almost serene, his left arm at his side, right arm draped across his stomach, both feet raised—put a glass of iced tea next to him and he’d be taking a summertime snooze.
When I turned around, Tony had his Magnum out. This was the second time I found myself looking down the barrel of a gun, and the feeling didn’t get any better with experience. My gut churned and sweat broke out everywhere.
“I’m tired of fuckin’ around. Where’s the money.”
“It’s in the vault,” I said. “And if you kill me, it stays in the vault.”
Tony paused, probably weighing the truth of my statement. When he was done considering, he said, “You have a gun?”
Slowly, I reached under my sweatshirt.
“Careful,” Tony warned.
I moved slowly and pulled it free between my thumb and forefinger.
“Drop it out the window.”
I reached back and let the gun fall. For some inexplicable reason I hoped it wouldn’t hit Cash. It clattered on the tarmac. Mr. Starchy Pants would die if he saw his gun treated that way.
“OK,” I said, “Now why don’t you put your gun down and we can talk about how this is going to work.”
Tony lowered his gun but did not put it away.
“The way it’s going to work is this,” Tony began.
Behind him Stomp rose from the stairwell like a zombie out of a crypt. I had momentary hopes that he would be able to sneak right up behind Tony and lift him off his feet, palming his head like a basketball. But Tony sensed his presence, felt the loom of his mass rising out of the shadows, heard his breathing—or maybe just smelled him. Tony spun and stumbled backward for several steps.
“Holy Jesus Christ!” It was nearly a prayer. Tony recovered his balance quickly and leveled his gun at Stomp. He huffed out several deep breaths until he settled himself down. “What the fuck is that?”
“My financial advisor,” I said. “He’s in charge of the money.”
Tony gestured at Stomp with the gun, aiming it at him with both hands, telling him to move over next to me. From my vantage point, I could see Stomp tracking Tony with his lizard eye. Tony let out another “Christ.”
Stomp stood next to me, facing Tony, waiting for his next move.
“Let me start again,” Tony said—in control now that we were two easy targets right next to each other. “You have a gun?” He was talking to Stomp, his voice a notch louder, like he was trying to communicate with aliens.
Stomp shook his head.
“Fuckin’ liar.” Tony extended his gun, showing more determination and watchfulness.
Stomp pinched the bottom corners of his leather vest and held them out from his body, looking like he was about to curtsey. Instead he turned slowly, giving Tony a good look for weapons.
Tony took another deep breath and blew it out. “OK, the way it’s going to work is this,” he began again. “The first thing is the money.” He gestured at Stomp with the pistol since I had appointed him head of finances.
“What about Liza?”
“Fuck Liza,” Tony said. “She’s not in this anymore.”
So he knew she was gone. OK—this was now a simple robbery. I still had to play it like a kidnapping, resisting as if I didn’t know she was safe downstairs. “I’m not giving you the money until—”
The shot was so unexpected that I found myself clenched in a crouch, waiting for overwhelming pain to grip me somewhere. It did not come. Instead, a soft moan came from Stomp. It was almost the purring of a kitten. He held his stomach with both arms, and he staggered backward. I thought of Jonah trying to maintain his balance at the moment of death, willing himself to stay on his feet, but yielding to gravity as his will died with him. Stomp fell in slow motion, his knees giving way as he curled up and twisted to the floor. And in another of those images I will never forget, I watched him roll over over on his back and stretch out—completely covering Jonah’s forty-five.
“I told you I’m tired of fucking around. You want to fuck around some more?”
I shook my head that I didn’t.
“Now take me to the vault.”
Once the vault door was open, I would be shot. That was an absolute. Tony’s only reason for not shooting me was his need for the combination.
CHAPTER 64
As we walked down the stairs, my mind raced, weighing possibilities, searching for a way out. Dusty and Liza must have heard the shot. They would know that something went wrong. I hoped they would lay low and wait. Devereaux was in the vault amid an arsenal of weapons including his own service revolver. He already knew that something was wrong, and he was probably itching for that door to open. With the element of surprise on my side, I counted on Devereaux to save me.
I paused at the door to the office, and Tony gave me a little jab with his gun. I walked over to the vault door. As I touched the combination dial, I turned to Tony.
“I’ve only opened this thing twice,” I said. “I’m nervous.”
“Don’t fuck around.”
I gave a weak smile. “Knock on wood.” And I rapped my knuckles on the steel door. I wanted Devereaux to hear the warning knock, but it was a long shot. I turned the dial with its oily precision, stopping at each number of the combination, and turned the spinner wheel. “There’s another lock inside,” I lied, buying more time so he wouldn’t shoot me when I finished dialing the combination.
The door was free to open and I gave it a steady pull. I stepped aside for Tony to go first, but he motioned for me to lead the way. Taking a deep breath, I walked into the empty vault. Devereaux was gone.
Tony saw the backpack immediately and motioned for me to get it.
“I see you have it all ready.” There was satisfaction in his voice. “Open it.”
I unzipped the main compartment and looked in. The pillowcase was gone.
What the fuck!
I dumped out a pair of sneakers, a towel, gym shorts, a can of Right Guard, and a videotape. They belonged to Cash. The son-of-a-bitch had switched bags, but when . . . how?
“Where’s the other bag?” Tony said.
“Other bag?” I asked, my voice hollow.
“The bag with the money in it—the one you were going to switch with that one.”
“It’s down the hall in one of the bedrooms,” I said, hoping he would make me take him there.
“We’ll get that later. For now, fill that one.” He stepped back, away from the drawers of money, keeping his distance. I knelt before the drawers and scooped bundles of money into the backpack, knowing that when the last drawer was empty my life would end. I took my time, pray
ing that Devereaux would magically appear in a puff of smoke to save me. And then I saw Stomp out of the corner of my eye, standing outside the vault.
I did not turn, but I knew it was Stomp. I could see the bare arms, the shaved skull, leather vest—his pants wet with blood. And in my hour of pessimism, I wondered if he would kill both of us just for the hell of it. I dropped the last packet into Cash’s backpack and placed my hands on my knees. “That’s it,” I said.
I felt Tony getting nearer, and I could imagine the gun inching closer to the back of my head. The explosion that followed sent me lunging against the open drawers, and for the second time I wondered where I was shot and why I was still alive. Tony crashing through the glass of the gun cabinet snapped me back to reality, and I knew that Stomp had saved my life. I looked at him standing in the doorway of the vault, Jonah’s pistol still held out toward Tony, waiting to see if he needed another bullet.
His gaze turned to me and I had an impulse to thank him. Then he swung the gun with slow deliberation until it was aimed directly at me, his right eye steady behind the notched sight. His left eye shifted until it, too, locked onto me.
There was another explosive shot. Stomp reared back like he had been kicked in the kidneys. His body continued arching backward and he fell flat. Devereaux was behind him in a classic shooter’s stance, knees bent, both hands steadying his pistol, ready to fire again.
We were frozen in our respective poses for several seconds and then we relaxed. Devereaux lowered his gun and stood erect. I pushed myself away from the empty drawers and staggered out to Devereaux. He gave me a fatherly hug.
“You OK?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
He holstered his gun and placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be all right,” he reassured me softly. “Everything is going to be OK.”
