“How’s he know all this?”
“He still makes some bets with the boys who bet through Reese’s gas station. So he knows what goes on in his old hometown. He believes we can get the money without all that much hassle. I tried to tell him it wasn’t easy, but he’s not listening.”
I looked over the cliff. It was a seventy-foot drop to the rocks below. When we were young, we’d sit out here, our feet hanging over, showing each other we had no fear. Once I tried to climb from the bottom and nearly fell. Scared the hell out of me. I was only twenty or thirty feet up, but those rocks at the bottom aren’t forgiving. Getting down was even more difficult. I never tried it again. About fifty yards to the east of where we sat, you could walk down the slope.
After a long silence drinking our beers, I said, “This can’t be happening. Especially not now.”
“I know, but it is,” Snyder said. “We’re going to have to deal with him. You’re coming to that conclusion, I assume.”
I didn’t know what conclusion I was ready to come to. Even if the obvious stared me in the face, I needed to go a long way to come to terms with it. I had to see Freddie sitting there in front of me. I had to hear it from him.
We stared down at the sparse lights of our city spread out along the Susquehanna River like a piece of cheap jewelry. I said, “Any chance he’s bluffing? Any chance we can talk him out of this?”
Snyder finished one beer and grabbed another. “He’s got himself in some serious trouble. You don’t mess with those Vegas bookies. Like he says, he gets the cash, or he’s a dead man. We’re the cash cows.”
Another long, dark silence ensued. We drank our beers solemnly. The conflict inside me was crazy intense. How could it come down to having to kill somebody who was a friend?
This place had forged our memories, and they included Freddie. He was always a funny, entertaining guy. One of those crazy types who kept you laughing. He would do anything. He made things more fun. Fast Freddie. And he was fast. He could run like a deer. But he lacked discipline. He could have been something, athletically, but he just couldn’t deal with the struggle of it. He wanted things to come without all that sweat.
I said, shaking my head, “You talk about killing the guy, but if it came to that, hypothetically, how would we do it so we come away clean?”
Snyder glanced over at me. “What we do is get him a little high, throw him off the goddamn cliff.”
He said it as if he’d already decided what had to be done. It was a foregone conclusion. That’s why he wanted to meet here. He had this all planned out. And there was some logic to it, for sure.
“What about the subsequent investigation?” I asked, wanting him to get specific. “You can’t just do something like that without thinking about what follows.”
“They’ll find his car up here, eventually,” Snyder said. “They’ll find him…eventually. As long as there’s no connection to us, we’re home free. But, when you think about it, even that doesn’t really matter in the end. If we were here, we left. He was drunk and fell. Or on drugs. We thought he went back to Vegas. Look, everybody in this town—and that includes the police—know what a whacko he is. You think this town can afford to waste time or money on Freddie? Not going to happen. His family’s long gone and he has a juvenile record. Good riddance will be their attitude.”
He was right about all of that. The story worked.
We were quiet for a moment. He turned again to me and said, “If you have an alternative, I’m listening.”
I didn’t. If we couldn’t get Freddie to listen to reason, I saw no option.
“Here’s the deal,” Snyder said, looking over at me with a tight expression, tipping his beer bottle at me as he swatted off a mosquito with his other hand. “We need him to understand that we’re not all that upset. We understand his problem. We have plenty of cash. We want the friendship to remain. He’s going to pay us back, so that’s cool. No big deal. The Racketeers. Remind him of those days. I told him this was the best place to meet. Just the three of us. We’ll bring the money, he brings the original video. We’ll have a few for old time’s sake. Tell him we’re interested in this deal he’s always talking about. This ‘strip poker show on the internet with hot chicks’ deal of his. Then, well, he falls. It’s that simple.”
“Freddie’s no fool,” I said. “He’ll bring a gun to this little rendezvous. He always has guns.”
Snyder nodded. “We’ll get him a little drunk. I’ll bring a little battery LED lamp, a deck of cards, and some vodka. Don’t worry about it. I can handle Freddie.”
“Fast Freddie,” I warned.
“I’ve taken down the fastest runners and quarterbacks in football,” Snyder said. “Don’t worry about the details.”
He had it all figured out. And Snyder was, in fact, one of the quickest and hardest hitting linebackers in college football. He had all kinds of offers to the NFL but then got into a bar fight where somebody got hurt, and things went from bad to worse for Paul Snyder. He played two years in the Arena Football League, got injured, and that was it. He had the ability, if not the psychology, to make it big time.
“Getting the cash means robbing my company safe,” I said.
Snyder said, “All you have to do is get it back before morning. I have the same issue. Look, we put a pile of cash out on the rock we played cards on. Get his juices flowing. He produces the video. Then he gets drunk, stumbles off the cliff. How much can you get?”
“Maybe sixty-five.”
“That’s good. I can get about thirty-five from my cousin as long as it goes back real soon. Like the next day. We just need to make it look good to relax Freddie.”
I had a construction company with a lot of crews on one job or another—drivers, delivery guys, and, well, some illegals who only took cash. I always needed a lot on hand. But it wasn’t my money. It was company and bank money.
On my third beer, my mood changed. I got bitterly angry that Freddie was doing this, and seriously pissed that he might force us to kill him. And I wasn’t happy with Snyder for what he’d done. But I knew there were no options. We had to get rid of this problem.
So in the end, I nodded in agreement. “We have to do what we have to do,” I said.
“That’s exactly right,” Snyder said, holding out his beer. We clinked in a final toast of the night and the decision to commit murder.
Driving back to my empty cabin—my future with my daughters, my business, my life on the line—I was committed to do what would have been unimaginable to me just a day ago.
We were going to throw our childhood buddy off a cliff. We were going to kill Fast Freddie.
3
Sunday afternoon, nobody at the office yet, I went in and “stole” my company’s cash. I had no idea that much money, all hundreds and twenties, would be so damn heavy. It filled the backpack and had to weigh at least seventy or eighty pounds.
Like any thief, I made sure no cars were out back. I’d parked right next to the back door. The security cameras were positioned on the outside lots, and I knew how to avoid them.
I hadn’t even gotten back to the cabin when Snyder called me on the throwaway. “He’s been driving nonstop. He’ll be here about ten tonight. I told him we’ll meet him up there. You get what you need?”
“Yes. You get money?”
“I will. I’m getting it tonight. My cousin. Meet me at Mel’s at nine, then we’ll go up.”
His cousin owned Mel’s Place, down by the river. It was one of those nondescript local bars that did minimal business but had two pool tables and dedicated locals.
***
It was Sunday, and Mel’s was closed. When I pulled into the back of the bar, Snyder’s car was there. I didn’t see any sign of his cousin’s car. I sat and waited.
Fifteen minutes went by, and I was wondering if I should call him on the throwaway, but then the back door opened and Snyder came out with a backpack. He nodded to me, then popped open the trunk of his car, threw the backpa
ck in, and shut the trunk.
“Where’s Mel?”
“He’s inside. His wife dropped him off. He’s working on the books.”
I nodded toward the bar. “He know what’s going on?”
“No. No questions asked. That’s how he is. He just wants it back tonight.”
Snyder worked for his cousin both in high school and later. I wondered if Mel was really inside. Maybe, like me, he knew the safe combination and just took the money.
“It’s like we’re fucking drug dealers,” I said.
“Yeah, but you do what you have to. Freddie’s already here. He’s up there waiting for us. He says he got a couple hours sleep at a rest stop. Other than that, he drove straight through.”
This was all happening so much faster than I’d expected. Because it was settled—it was going to happen unless Freddie could be talked out of it, and that didn’t seem promising. And it didn’t look like Snyder was going to play around.
The best laid plans, I thought with a darkening fatalism as we pulled out. I followed Snyder back across town and up the side of the mountain. Sunday night after six or seven, the whole valley just shuts down.
We parked at the same spot, but weren’t alone. A black 300 Chrysler with heavily tinted windows was there ahead of us. Vegas plates.
We took the backpacks out of our trunks.
“I brought some lubrication for the festivities,” Snyder said. He showed me a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka, some plastic cups, the deck of cards, and the tiny lamp. “Like old times,” he said.
We hiked through the woods, then went past the old cross and down to the cliffs. When we cleared the pines, there was Freddie.
He stood up and watched us, drawing on a cigarette, his face momentarily illuminated.
“Freddie, how you doin’?” Snyder said.
“Long time, no see,” I added.
“Been awhile. Roger Dodger, how’s it hanging?”
“Hanging in there, Freddie. I hear you got into a jam.”
“Little bit,” he said. He looked at the backpacks as we lowered them to one of the rocks’ flat surfaces.
I saw relief on Fast Freddie’s face in the glow of another drag on his cigarette. He nodded to a small traveler’s bag sitting on a nearby rock.
“Everything’s here,” he said. “I’m sorry it went this way, but I’m in some big damn trouble. I didn’t know what to do. Had to act fast. But you gotta understand—”
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” I said. “We’re friends. We’re Billtown boys. We’re the Racketeers. We have each other’s back through life.”
I saw the positive relief my words had on Freddie. I opened the backpack and pulled out packets of bound hundreds. Snyder followed with money from the other backpack.
“One fifty,” I said. Even in the moonlight, you could see his eyes get wide. But he stayed away from us. He knew he was no match for either one of us, let alone both. And I knew he was armed by the way he was sitting, the jacket, the slight bulge.
“I’m gonna pay you back,” Freddie said. “I got something going that’s gonna pay off big. Just need to get some problems straightened out. I’m looking at this like a loan. I hate having to pull this on you guys, but it’s how things—”
“Hey, c’mon, man. Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We understand. Look, don’t be so uptight. Shit happens. We all get into binds. A run of bad luck hits. So let’s not make a big issue of this. It’s a loan. Pure and simple. But there’s one problem.”
He fixed suspiciously on me. “Yeah, what’s that?”
I could see his hand inch towards his jacket pocket. I smiled. “Let me tell you something, you som’bitch, you do launch that site, the strip poker site with all those hot chicks, and I’m not part of it, I’m not gonna be happy. It’s something I could definitely invest in. I’ve been thinking maybe this money isn’t really a loan. Maybe it’s a buy-in to the action if you get this thing going. It’s one of the greatest ideas I ever heard. I want to see this happen. Hell, I can get more money if it comes to that. I’m serious as hell. I love this idea. So does Paul. You get this rolling, we’ll be out there. Hell, I’m getting a divorce. I’m ready for something new.”
I’d thrown him an offer he couldn’t resist, and it brought that smile we all knew so well when he got excited about some crazy idea. He chuckled. The tension relaxed.
“You kidding?” Freddie said. “I’ll cut you guys in right from the get-go. This is gonna be big. I’m thinking of Texas Hold ’Em strip poker featuring the Vegas Vixens. It’s gonna be the biggest goddamn thing ever to hit the Internet. You get to bet on which girl gets naked first.”
“Here’s to that,” I raised my drink. “I’m serious, man. It’s the single best goddamn idea I ever heard,” I said. “I love it. I’m not kidding. I’m putting this money up now for whatever problem you have. But I got a lot more money for investing, and I want in.”
“I’m in for sure,” Snyder said.
“You’re both in,” Freddie said. “The Three Racketeers ride again.”
We had him. Freddie was really a pathetically incorrigible dreamer of impossible dreams.
Paul set up the cups and the vodka. “Let’s drink to the future and to old times. Best damn vodka around, my friend. Your favorite. Goddamn, did we have some fun in the day. Freddie, you remember the night when we brought Carry Millstone up here? That is a night to drink to.”
“I don’t remember that,” I said. “Where was I?”
“You were in football camp or something,” Freddie said.
It was really bad taste to bring up some other girl who no doubt had drunk too much and gotten the bad end of things.
Snyder poured three strong drinks. We got into who from our high-school days was where. Who went to war. Who died. The past. All the hell we raised.
“You heard about McVee, right?” Snyder asked as he poured another round into glasses on a flat rock.
“I heard he got killed in Iraq. Got blown up,” Freddie said. “Poor bastard. Always wanted to be a soldier. Who the hell wants to go get blown up by a bunch of crazy fucking terrorists? Makes no sense to me.”
“Actually, it was in Afghanistan,” Snyder said. “Same difference.”
Still, Freddie was careful. He kept a little distance. We had to get him relaxed and drunk. He probably still had that snub-nose .357 he always liked so much.
Back in the day, he used a plastic bottle that stuck on the barrel. It was like a silencer, so the sound didn’t travel. Freddie could outshoot any of us.
Into the third round, his tension eased. We were laughing hard now, remembering all the crap we’d gotten into. And then he got into how this new venture of his was going to work.
We had another round, and that’s when I thought maybe Snyder was getting anxious, like he was ready to make some kind of move, and I wanted to forestall it. I wasn’t quite drunk enough for this. Nor was Freddie. He could drink and he could shoot. A bad combination.
“Paul, you brought cards?”
“I did.”
“Freddie, I brought a little extra cash along. Ten grand. You know why?”
“No.”
“Well, my friend,” I said, “I’ll tell you. I’m still pissed off about that last game in your dad’s cellar.”
“What game? We had a lot of them.”
“The one where you bluffed me bad, humiliated me. You took those old silver quarters off me. That was embarrassing, not to speak of how much they were worth. I always had a bad taste in my mouth about that. I want a little revenge.”
I took the deck from Snyder and laid it on the very flat rock where we had played a lot of poker back in our high-school days. “You can afford a couple hands.”
“You should let him win,” Snyder said to Freddie. “He’s been moaning and groaning for years about that night.”
Freddie shook his head. “Man, you fell for the worst bluff ever. Not once, but twice. Nah, I don’t want to beat up on you again.”
“Hell, give the man his due,” Snyder said. “I’ll play a few myself.” He filled our cups again, then took out some money from his pack.
The thing about Freddie is, once you get him started, he doesn’t have a breaker switch. He’ll go to the bitter end one way or another. He was always that way.
Freddie lit a cigarette. Took another pull on his drink. He moved a little closer, getting comfortable. “I’ll give you a chance. But you really have no chance. How do we see?”
“I got it covered,” Snyder said. He brought out from his bag a small flashlight and an LED lamp to illuminate the rock card table.
That sudden movement brought Freddie’s hand to his jacket pocket, confirming again to me that he did have a weapon, or was good at faking it.
I counted out ten for each of us. Fast Freddie didn’t look too worried about us taking his money.
We played, drank, laughed in the balmy night. Everybody getting high. Having fun.
We got back to our old comfort zone, sitting on the logs we always had there for seats around the large, flat piece of granite, the light set off to the side. I almost forget at times what we were really doing.
Beating Freddie was a challenge. He wanted to stick to Texas Hold ’Em, as that was the big game of the moment. No wild-card bullshit, he said. Not even seven-card stud, my favorite game.
I knew that all it came down to was getting Freddie drunk. It was that simple. Then we’d throw him off the cliff and put an end to this. But he could outdrink us, so that was a challenge. Our big advatage was, you could see how tired he was, that only some kind of pills was keeping him going. The alcohol had to get him sooner or later.
4
Not being the world’s greatest poker player, I erred toward caution. But I did notice that when Freddie tried on several occasions to act like he was weak, I picked up a little “tell.” Or so I thought.
The Murder Option Page 5
