Ryan called Sharky and brought him up to the apartment. Gave him a cookie and shut him inside. Went back out and caught up with the struggling tattoo guy and followed his drunk zombie march into the woods.
***
It wasn’t a nice walk.
They were pushing through dense undergrowth behind the nursery. Stuff that hadn’t been thinned out in a hundred years. Hard going, especially for a concussed guy. He kept getting slapped in the face. He’d grunt and groan, but he pressed on, maybe from muscle memory more than conscious memory. He finally made it out to a thinner section of woods that ran along the near side of School Street. Maybe a quarter of a mile from the storage units, give or take.
Ryan hung back, keeping the guy in sight. He didn’t feel like running into a black bear grabbing its last meal before winter. Nor did he feel like getting ambushed, if there was someone else waiting for the tattoo guy. He could see well enough now that they’d passed out of the thicket. His eyes had adjusted. No need to stay too close to keep track of the guy.
Then, as the zombie guy stumbled over a rough stone wall a few yards in from the roadside, Ryan spotted the accomplice. Or at least his car. It was darkish and compact. Small engine, idling quietly, barely pattering there on the opposite side of the road. Lights off, all dark. A dark shape in the shadows under the trees. Probably the heat was cranked inside.
Tattoo guy finally made it to the car. His destination. He staggered and leaned against the trunk lid and instantly the driver’s door popped open. An interior light came on briefly as a smaller guy stepped out fast and closed the door quickly but quietly. Tattoo guy just stood there, leaning on the trunk. Didn’t say a word.
“Well?” the smaller guy asked in a hushed but excited tone. “You find it?”
No answer.
The smaller guy edged closer, staring hard at his buddy, trying to read him in the low light.
“Well?” he repeated. “Answer me.”
Nothing.
“What’s the matter?”
Silence.
“Is your mouth frozen?”
No answer. No explanation. Nothing but frustrating silence and an empty stare. A mute zombie covered in tattoos.
Matt Ryan crouched by the stone wall, watching and listening. The smaller guy kept trying to talk to the taller one and kept getting no response. He didn’t speak exactly like a local, but Ryan couldn’t identify the accent. It was like a mix of multiple accents. Maybe the guy traveled and picked up bits and pieces here and there. No way to be sure. Not that Ryan really cared where he was from. He cared that the guy had sent a prowler to his property. Very much so.
The smaller guy grew angrier, trying not to shout in the quiet night. He didn’t understand what was happening and he was clearly losing his cool. He looked all around and tried to fathom the situation. All the tattoo guy had to do was go through the woods and cut locks on the small units until he found the one containing the cash. What could be the problem? There had been no noise, no police lights. For some reason the tall guy was stunned, either unable or unwilling to explain himself. The bolt cutters were missing.
Worst of all, he had no cash.
Finally the smaller guy gave up on the conversation and helped the taller one into the passenger seat. He shut the door and went around. Opened the driver’s door and killed the motor and stepped back, dropping the keys into his coat pocket. Then he stepped across the road to the pavement’s edge, roughly where the taller guy had emerged from the woods. He took an agitated breath, procrastinating, like someone about to step into very cold water.
Then he stepped off the road.
Right in front of the dark shadow that was Matt Ryan, now standing and rushing forward out of the gloom.
The guy was shoved to the ground before he knew what was happening, his ass sitting on the road, legs extending down into the ditch. His heart was right up in his throat.
Ryan held out the pretty little Kimber and said, “Don’t move.”
***
The small guy froze. He was genuinely shocked. He had thought he was alone in the middle of nowhere, only to discover in horrible fashion that he was not alone. He was cold and scared and starting to shiver. Up close he looked very pale. His face practically glowed against the darkness around him.
Ryan said, “Don’t drop those hands to those pockets. It’ll be the last thing you do.”
“It’s cold,” the guy said breathlessly, still recovering from the fright.
“Are warm fingers worth a bullet to the chest?”
Evidently not. He raised his hands.
Ryan said, “Looking for something?”
“No.”
“Money?”
The albino guy stared.
“Tell the truth.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
The guy hesitated.
“How much?” Ryan repeated.
“Three hundred large.”
“You’re too late. Someone else claimed it.”
“It’s my money.”
“And you want it now?”
“It is mine.”
“Not anymore.”
“It was taken from me.”
“Where’d you take it from?”
“I was paid.”
“Working down at the factory? Or by addicts?”
No answer.
“And you’re expecting no consequences?” Ryan said.
The guy took a long breath. More than being cold, he seemed to be trying to steady himself against the dawning reality of his sudden turn in fortunes. No longer in charge, waiting in a warm car while the goon did the dirty work. Now he was out of control, staring at a large bearded man he feared would likely be the last person he saw on earth.
And he was still thinking about the money.
The loss.
He said, “I’ll be missed.” Mostly to comfort himself.
Ryan said, “Of course. I’m sure there’ll be a national day of mourning. Maybe a long weekend with lowered flags and everything.”
“If you kill me,” he began.
Ryan said over him, “You’re not in the best position to be making threats, chief. Be careful, okay?”
The guy nodded.
“What’s so irreplaceable about you?”
He didn’t answer.
Ryan said, “Tell you what. I won’t shoot you unless you do something really dumb. That puts it all on you. How’s that treat ya?”
The guy regrouped emotionally and said, “It’s my money. It was taken from me.”
“Hard luck,” Ryan said. “You won’t get much sympathy from me after finding your tattoo boy cutting locks on my property. I ought to shoot you both just for that.”
“Please don’t.”
“Relax.”
“I’ll pay you.”
“Yeah?”
“I will.”
“With what?”
“Other money.”
Ryan said, “I got three hundred grand kicking around. But I guess you can bring me some more, if you really feel like it. Better yet, we could set up a direct deposit account and take all the headaches out of it.”
“That’s my money,” he said, anger seeping into his tone.
Ryan said, “Careful, chief. I’m not the guy to get brave with.”
“I’m not.”
“You had ideas.”
“I didn’t.”
“It’s only fair to warn you that people go missing in the woods up here sometimes. Never get found. Not even bones. I wouldn’t lose any sleep if that happened to you, if you get my drift.”
The guy took another long breath and made like he was about to try something with his arms. Maybe they were just tired. Or maybe he was getting brave. Ryan inched closer, still out of the guy’s reach, aligning his pistol with the guy’s face. Making the imminent threat absolutely unmistakable.
“Don’t move unless I say so.”
The albino nodded and said, “I’m nervous.”
/> “I’ll bet you are. Sneaking onto other people’s property should make you nervous. Getting caught can’t be a good feeling.”
The guy nodded.
“You’re sorry?”
“Yes.”
“That I caught you, or that you did it?”
“I’m very sorry.”
“That’s touching. Very heartfelt. Now let me go out on a limb and say you’re not from around here.”
“No.”
“So the cold is tough to take.”
“I hate it.”
“That’s funny. I find it invigorating.”
“Please.”
“What?”
“Don’t kill me.”
“You look ready to get back in that car.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll bet you had the heat cranked right up.”
“Yes.”
“You won’t try anything? All you care about is getting back in the car and warming up?”
“Alive and warm. That’s all I want.”
“So you’re definitely not interested in taking a swim in the river?”
“Please, no.”
“Okay, it’s like this. Do what I say, you can get in the car. Give me any trouble, you’re all done. Cold and dead. Food for scavengers.”
“Okay.”
“Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Ryan said, “Good. This is progress. Now move slowly and stand in the middle of the road.”
The guy complied. He rose and turned and walked slowly.
“Hand me the keys.”
“They’re in the car.”
“No.”
“They are.”
“They’re in your coat pocket. I was watching you, dipshit. Don’t lie to me again. After I pull you from the river, I’ll run you through a hay bailer and feed you to some hogs. There’s a farm just up the road. Don’t test me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”
“I’ll bet you’re used to being on the other end of these deals.”
“I’m cold.”
Ryan said, “You’ll live. Probably. If you give me the keys. No games. My trigger finger’s a bit cold. I might be squeezing a little harder than I should right now.”
“Okay, okay,” the coyote said and slowly took the keys out.
“Set them on the trunk. Slowly.”
He stepped back slowly, Ryan following, maintaining the safe distance. He leaned and placed the keys on the trunk.
“Now step away.”
He did.
“Hands out.”
He held them out.
“Are you a fast draw?”
“What?”
“With your gun.”
He started to say that he didn’t have a gun. But then he considered his circumstances, and the man standing before him, and he corrected himself and said, “Not fast.”
Ryan said, “Don’t do anything to make me nervous. I’m not in the mood to dispose of your body tonight. Then, of course, I’d have to handle your friend. So there’s another body to deal with. Honestly, I’ve got better things to do. So cooperate and we’ll get through this. Okay?”
“Yes.”
“We understand each other?”
“Yes.”
“If you survive, you can make more money.”
“I can.”
“If you die, you make no more money. And I still have your lost money. You lose everything. I win.”
“I understand.”
Ryan lifted the keys with his left hand and found the trunk button. He pushed it and the trunk popped open. He looked at the shivering albino and said, “Get in.”
Chapter 17
“I’m sick of waiting,” Denny said.
Crappy car guy replied, “Yeah.”
The quiet one in the back was nodding in and out of consciousness. So as usual he remained quiet.
“I wonder if that cop patrols all night.”
Crappy said. “Good question.”
“It’s been a while. What’s taking the coyote so long?”
Crappy said, “Maybe he ran into the DEA guy.”
“Or maybe he killed him,” Denny said. “Maybe the coyote’s dumping his body somewhere as we speak. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
They both smiled and laughed quietly.
Crappy said, “I’m hungry.”
Denny snapped, “You should’ve ate before we left.”
“Maybe we can sneak over to that little market without the cop spotting us.”
“Bad idea.”
“Just a quick trip. In and out.”
“Bad idea,” Denny repeated. “Besides, you don’t have any money. I’m sick of buying you stuff.”
Crappy crossed his arms and said, “I’ll pay you back. I always do.”
“No you don’t.”
“I will this time. We’re almost rich.”
“Wait till we get it. Then we can spend it. Don’t you get it?”
“We could jack the place. Get some cash and some food. No waiting.”
“How stupid are you?”
Crappy said, “Stop saying that.”
“By waiting we’ll get way more money. Maybe when you get older and more mature, like me, you’ll start to understand these things.”
Crappy said, “Man, I hope the coyote kills that guy. It’s all his fault that we don’t have the money already.”
***
The coyote’s car was a newer Honda Civic. Four doors, good climate control system. Even a backup camera. Not a huge trunk space, but Ryan figured it was better than being crammed into some sort of a hatchback or a Prius.
The coyote wasn’t thrilled about getting in the trunk, but where it was probably warmer than standing in the road, and certainly better than being shot, he climbed in and folded himself up beside a gallon of windshield washer fluid and a an old pair of worn wipers.
Ryan said, “Now toss the gun out,”
“I can’t shoot from a trunk.”
“I think people do amazing things to survive,” Ryan said, stepping back nearer the driver’s door, to keep some space between them. “Toss it out. Now.”
“You won’t kill me?”
“Not if you toss it. You try to aim it, things might get ugly.”
The albino wriggled his compact gun from his inside coat pocket and tossed it. It landed in the soft gravel beside the pavement.
“Cell phone?”
“In the car.”
“Promise?”
“I swear.”
“You know, I could just drive this thing into the river. That would be a hell of a way to go. Water leaking in slowly. The car sinking. You stuck back there.”
“I swear, it’s in the console.”
“The truth?”
“Yes, the truth.”
“I appreciate honesty.”
“I am honest.”
“Thank you,” Ryan said, and he stepped forward and closed the trunk lid.
Then he went around and opened the passenger door and dragged the concussed guy out. He was half asleep from being in the warm car.
The cold seemed to trigger him, and he started to struggle a little bit. Ryan shoved him to the ground and he lay there, half in the road, half in the gravel ditch. He felt the guy’s side. Felt a gun under his coat. He pulled it out and laid it on the road. Then he dug around in his own coat pocket and found a pair of thin liner gloves with the grippy palms that he sometimes used when plowing and shoveling snow. He pulled on the gloves and wiped the gun where he’d touched it and then grabbed the other gun and placed both weapons in the Honda’s glove box.
To be dealt with later.
He got in the Honda and pushed the seat back. Started it and drove down to Main Street.
***
Passing Dunkin’ Donuts felt unnatural. He had to ignore the urge, battling the muscle memory, and seemingly a gravitational pull to cut the wheel and turn in. The place was all dark and deserted, devoid of fresh coffee and snacks.
Sad.
He drove on by and turned left into his place and drove up back by the apartment. Got out and brought the guns inside. Because he knew a guy he could take them to.
Not now. Some other time.
From there he crossed the street to the market. One car in the lot. He got out of the Honda and went inside. Almost ran into the smaller friend of Carl Murphy.
The kid tensed up, then tried to step wide. He had just purchased a couple of frozen pizzas and was holding them at his side, like a couple of books. Maybe he was hungry after all the excitement, like Ryan was. Or maybe he was nursing his big friend back to health again, feeding him and bringing him ice packs for the swelling.
Ryan stopped and stood there, staring at the smaller guy. Blocking him from the exit.
“Hey, man,” the kid said.
“Sparky.”
“Sorry about all that.”
“For what?”
“The dog thing. The bats.”
“Are you?”
He nodded and said, “I am.”
“You mean it?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re worried I’ll tell your dad.”
“A little.”
“I won’t. As long as you don’t do anything else stupid.”
“I won’t. He’ll kick my ass. Then take my car away. I know I shouldn’t have gone with Murphy. I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was dumb. Just seemed like a good idea at the time. I don’t know what happened.”
“Why does Murphy pick on Clay Jamison?”
“He’s only kidding.”
“Clay has no sense of humor. He’s a tender emotion with feet. He doesn’t need to be picked on.”
“It honestly wasn’t me. And I am sorry.”
“Okay,” Ryan said, stepping aside. “We’re good. Hopefully you have better luck with your pizzas than Murphy had with his.”
The kid nodded and smiled halfway and went out and got into some kind of a Nissan sedan. Started it up and backed it out.
Ryan turned and looked over at Sal Mamund. He was setting a few things up for breakfast, over on the restaurant side of the big island.
“Matt, my man,” he said with a big smile. “You all out of smokes already?”
“Nah, just need a snack.”
“It’s late. Even for you.”
Ryan shrugged and said, “Busy night. What can I say?”
“Busy and hungry?”
I Warned You_Welcome to Fall River Page 13
