But then she thought it over, her eyes fixed on the scrolling list, and she asked herself honestly who would be answering their phones at that hour. Who would be ready to work first thing in the morning? Her contacts weren’t bankers or legitimate business owners or honor students.
The sad truth was that she was very likely stuck with Joey.
Not promising.
She lay back on the bed and thought things over. Weighed her options. She could rent a car and leave. Or jump on a bus. Go south for a few months. Lay low. She had enough money to survive.
But on the other hand, she was already out the money locked in the coyote’s motel room. She’d been seen too many times near that room by too many people. That money was off the table now. A total loss. So why lose the money from the storage place on top of it? All together it was way too much to lose. Over half a million in cash. Plus smaller amounts in various bank accounts. Plus the car. Plus a few small emergency stashes, here and there. The idea of so much loss didn’t set well with her.
She could go away and lay low with or without the money. But she wanted as much as possible. It only made sense. More cushion. New contacts and opportunities might not arise for weeks or months.
So she needed the lost money. She needed help to get it. So far the only available help was Joey.
Good on one hand, bad on another.
Good, because he would be easy to use and then get rid of. Bad, because he might be too stupid to be of any practical use. He might make mistakes.
Risky.
But she needed help. No two ways about it.
She looked through her phone, at the last text the coyote had sent. He was waiting in the car, cold. Ready to have the job over with and get back to the warm motel. He hoped to be back in just over an hour.
The phone.
She would have to lose this one and get another one.
That was something else to think of.
And some people thought criminal work was easy.
Chapter 20
In the morning Ryan woke just before six. Fall River itself was waking up around him. He could barely hear and feel the low hum of cars passing on Maine Street, mostly southbound. People were getting coffee and getting breakfast at Hometown, stopping for bagels, getting breakfast sandwiches from drive-thru windows at Dunkin’ Donuts and Burger King. He could feel the hum and the energy of the routines. He liked mornings. He liked that feeling. It was optimistic.
He got himself up out of the recliner and stood stretching and yawning. Sharky rolled on his back and stretched, wagging his tail, happy to greet the new day. Ryan drank a big glass of water, his typical routine, and then got on his field coat and took Sharky out to take care of some morning business.
The sky was dark gray, barely any light. The temperature had risen a bit. The wind was blowing lightly and there were snow flurries in the air. Big flurries, swirling and floating and pattering down softly, barely accumulating. If they continued all day they might add up to an inch, all said and done. Not enough to plow. Just enough to look nice.
He was happy with that.
Five minutes later the duo was back inside and Ryan poured Sharky some expensive kibble and cracked an egg over the top of the pile and set the bowl down. Sharky appreciated it. He loved eggs. And Kerry Jamison had said that eggs were fine to give him. So he got one each morning.
Ryan went into the bathroom for the morning routine. He showered and brushed his teeth and used some of the good mouthwash. To help win the battle of bacteria. Then he went upstairs and pulled on some gray sweatpants and a black waffle shirt.
Another five minutes and the two of them were walking to Dunkin’ Donuts. They went inside because most of the early business was at the window. Sharky behaved perfectly. Ryan got a medium regular and a cinnamon stick.
They went out and sat at the vacant picnic tables with snow flurries swirling around. Some of the people in the cars lined up around the building were probably wondering who would enjoy such weather.
Ryan looked down at the river. Couldn’t see it clearly. Just to the left, down through a clump of trees at the back of the cemetery, he could barely see a hint of the nearest corner of the baseball field. The home run fence looked hazy through the snow flurries.
He sipped his coffee and said, “I love winter, Sharky.”
Sharky glanced at him, to make sure there was nothing important to hear. Then he resumed watching the snow and the cars in line at the drive-thru window.
When the cinnamon stick was gone they walked home. Ryan left Sharky in the apartment and went over to the market and sat on the end stool of the restaurant counter. Sal’s wife was running the register amid the big island. Meredith Glines was facing the little restaurant section, cooking up a storm. Ryan ordered two eggs over easy and three blueberry pancakes.
While he was eating Gary Lampson came in, thankfully wearing pants, and made himself a cup of coffee from the machines lining the wall of the coffee nook. Apparently Chuck had checked in on him and found him sober enough to earn his keys back.
Ryan spoke with several people during the course of time he was there. Nothing but idle chat. No one mentioned the burglary at the storage units. The story hadn’t circulated yet. And that was fine with him.
***
The blonde parked a rented white Toyota on the corner of Lawrence Street by an apartment building. She called Joey. Told him it was time. Then waited five minutes and saw him walking on the sidewalk. He leaned over and looked into the car. She waved and forced a smile.
“Ready?” she asked as he climbed in.
Joey nodded and sat rigidly.
“You have your gun?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Ready to make some money?”
He nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”
***
Ryan got in his GMC after breakfast with the two acquired pistols and drove to the north end of town, just beyond the town hall and the fire station. Turned right on a gravel road that disappeared behind a ten-foot plank fence obscuring the mess that was Rusty’s Automotive from passing traffic. A four-acre junkyard and automotive service place.
New customers seeking someone called Rusty were often disappointed. The place was run by a guy named Gilbert Brown.
He passed through rows of scrapped vehicles, now dusted with snow, and parked before the four-bay garage and office. Went in and found the office vacant. Gilbert Brown was working on a car, bright and early. His assistant mechanic wasn’t there yet. He called good morning in a husky voice and took a minute to clean his hands on a rag before stepping into the office. The whole place smelled like oil and grease and orange hand cleaner. Sometimes paint. It was heavy and musty in July, but on a cool day it was almost oddly pleasant.
Gilbert himself was the single grubbiest human being Matt Ryan had ever known. The Pigpen of Fall River. Most of his clothing was worn rough and thin and stained. His beard was salt and pepper and his skin was weathered and his hands and nails were stained permanently black. It always amazed Ryan that such a guy could produce vehicles that looked so good. He could do a mean paint job. He had restored Ryan’s GMC as well as his Ford.
His other specialty was firearms.
“What do you need, Matt?”
“Nothing automotive at the moment.”
“Why are you grinning?”
Ryan took the two pistols from a white Dunkin’ Donuts bag and laid them on the counter before Gilbert.
Gilbert said, “I see.”
“A Glock and a little Ruger.”
“Do I want to know where from?”
“Nothing to worry about.”
“Looking to trade?”
“I’d like to try the Glock, if it’s worth keeping. You can keep the little three-eighty if you spruce the Glock up for me.”
“That’s more than fair on my end. That little Ruger’s worth just about two hundred. If it works as good as it looks. This is the newest model.”
>
“I’m not too worried about it,” Ryan said.
Gilbert hefted both guns and said, “You cleared the chambers?”
“I did.”
He dropped the magazines out of both guns and laid them aside and broke the guns down and looked them over with a keen eye of the sort that Ryan lacked.
“Good shape. Not much use. Nobody’s been taking them to the range every weekend.”
“They came to me unexpectedly.”
“Not sure I need to know.”
“From two guys who tried to rob me last night.”
Gilbert raised his eyes long enough to say, “Where might these guys be now, minus their weapons?”
“Nothing to do with me,” Ryan said. “They won’t be needing them anymore. Last I heard via Chuck’s radio they were dead, being scraped up off the side of the interstate.”
Gilbert nodded, still looking at the guns, and said, “Bad ends sometime meet with folks of bad professions. I’ll throw in a few boxes of nine-millimeters to get you going with the Glock.”
“If you want.”
“Give me a little while to go over this Glock and test it out. It looks fairly new. Shouldn’t need much attention.”
“No rush,” Ryan said. “I’ll check back this afternoon. Or tomorrow.”
***
Ryan settled down in the recliner with a donut and a fresh cup of coffee to channel surf a bit. He found Jeramiah Johnson playing on one of the old movie stations. It was near the scene where Jeramiah and his makeshift family were starting to chop the trees they’d use to build their cabin. He couldn’t help but watch it again, regardless of how many times he’d seen it before.
The remainder of the Alexander show was still waiting on the watch list.
He heard Rosie enter the office a short time before the credits rolled on Jeremiah. Once they did roll he got up and went out front. She had come in with a box of Christmas decorations. A snowman and a few other odds and ends. She’d taken them from the box and then refilled the box with Halloween decorations to be taken home. She looked at Ryan as if she’d been caught with both hands in the cookie jar.
“I couldn’t help myself,” she explained. “I woke up and saw the snow and just had to bring in my favorite snowman. Then I figured I’d bring the Santa and the little reindeer and the little trees.”
Ryan said, “It’s no crime.”
“It’s a tad early.”
“I doubt the decoration police will show up and take you away.”
Rosie suddenly made an O of her mouth and said, “The police. That’s right. I almost forgot because of the decorations. My uncle told me what happened last night.”
Ryan said, “Don’t worry. Those guys won’t be back.”
“I know.”
“So hopefully it’s over.”
“I’m glad they won’t be back, but I can’t help feeling a little bad for them. I guess they weren’t even very old.”
“Waste of life.”
“Yeah, that. And it’s so close to the holidays. It’s just not good.”
“If they’d been living good lives, they’d probably still be alive.”
Rosie nodded slightly and looked down at her snowman.
Ryan said, “Don’t let it get to you.”
She nodded again.
“I was glad to see the snow this morning.”
“So was I,” she agreed.
“Maybe I’ll dig the Christmas lights out and start wrapping them around the white fence and the sign.”
“That would look nice,” Rosie said, raising her eyes again.
“I’ll hold off on the tree until next week. Get it set up and then light it on Thanksgiving.”
A faint smile returned to Rosie’s face.
Ryan said, “I need to visit Kerry before I start on the lights. We left things fairly heated yesterday. I don’t feel great about it.”
Rosie nodded.
“I’ll need you to issue new locks for the ones that got cut last night,” he said. “I put the list of units on your desk. Call the people and let them know to stop in for their new keys at their convenience. Tell them nothing appears to have been taken from the units, but they might want to stop in and check, just to be sure.”
“Okay,” Rosie said. “I’ll get started on it.”
Chapter 21
Man and furry land shark crossed Main amid the snow flurries and went into the market. The man grabbed a twenty-five-pound bag of expensive kibble. Not for the land shark this time. It was a peace offering for Kerry Jamison.
Ryan made donations to the Barking Lot when needed, sometimes financial, sometimes in the form of necessary supplies. After the argument of the previous day, he figured stepping into the building with a donation might help matters. And even if it didn’t, at least the dogs would be happy to see him.
They crossed Main to the Barking Lot, Ryan carrying the kibble under one arm, like a huge book. He set it down by the front door. Stood there looking over at the bagel place. Ray’s Bagels, all of his life. He wasn’t huge on bagels. There were better options for breakfast, in his mind. But he liked continuity and familiarity. He liked his small town and wasn’t big on the idea of new people swooping in with big ideas of trying to build it up into something it really wasn’t.
World of Bagels.
Then he thought of Kerry.
You don’t even know them, she had said.
She was right. He should give them a chance.
He picked up the kibble and set it just inside the Barking Lot’s door. Denise Richardson looked over. She was just getting started grooming a dog that had apparently been dropped off for a haircut and a bath.
“Matt,” she said.
“Be right back,” he said and went out and had Sharky follow him next door.
They stopped by the bagel place’s door as someone was stepping out with a rolled brown bag. Nobody Ryan knew. A lone woman. Maybe in her forties. Maybe a regular commuter from another town getting her morning bagel. She looked like she was trying to bring fuzzy perms back in style. He stood aside and held the door as she passed by and then he pushed through and motioned for Sharky to follow.
“Oh,” said the guy behind the counter. The door hadn’t completely closed yet. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “We love dogs here, and they are totally welcome, but we really do insist on leashes for larger dogs. Please. Thank you so much for understanding.”
Ryan said, “Sharky’s cool.”
“Sharky?”
Ryan nodded.
“Oh, that’s cute. But he really should be on a leash.”
“He doesn’t need one.”
“I’m sure he’s a great dog, sir. But he could be a lawsuit waiting to happen if something upsets him.”
“He’s been in this place dozens of times before with no trouble.”
“I’m sorry,” the guy said. “I’d love to see him again, on a leash. Thank you so much for understanding.”
“You’re asking us to leave?”
“I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal. I just really need for him to be leashed and under control. You know, just to be safe.”
“He’s under control.”
“He certainly seems trained, yes. That’s not to say something couldn’t happen.”
“We’re the only ones here. I wouldn’t bring him in if there were twenty people jammed in the place.”
“I’m so sorry, sir. We’re new in town and just getting to know everyone. We need to establish a few ground rules to ensure everyone’s safety. I truly am sorry to start off on the wrong foot. We would love for you to get a leash and come on back.”
Ryan nodded. Didn’t move.
“Sir,” the guy said.
“Do you have onion bagels?”
“We don’t, actually. We’re focusing on more experimental flavors.” He gestured toward a machine on the counter. “We’re proudly making everything with organic ingredients, and free of gluten. And we’re even offering several options for fresh juice
. Unfortunately, you do have to leash your dog before we can serve you. I’m sorry. I know this is a small town. But rules are rules. Thank you so much for understanding.”
“Cinnamon raisin?” Ryan asked.
The guy looked around and said, “We might have a few of those left. If you’d like to come back, I’ll be happy to get you fixed up with one.”
The second guy from the kitchen stepped up to the counter and looked around.
“No problems,” the first guy said to him. “Just a little misunderstanding.”
Ryan turned away and held the door for Sharky and followed him outside.
***
“Morning,” Denise Richardson said, standing by her work station across from the row of kennels, attending to some sort of a spaniel dog. “We’re getting a little low on food. Kerry will be grateful for another bag.”
Ryan said, “No big deal. Where’s she at?”
“Out back walking the mastiff we got in yesterday afternoon. He was all dirty and mangy and chained to a dog house somewhere in Georgia. Kerry got him from the local shelter and had him shipped up. He’s about a hundred and fifty pounds. Should be ten or fifteen pounds heavier. But still, it takes two to walk him. Thankfully he’s been pretty mellow so far.”
“Probably glad to be taken care of.”
“I think so,” Denise said, smiling and looking from Matt to Sharky. “Even the angriest ones soften up a bit once they get here. Isn’t that right, Sharky?”
He didn’t answer her. Just stood there glancing around.
Ryan left Sharky inside, to avoid any issues with the new dog, and went out the back door. The one Kerry had slammed the day before. He stood there and saw the brother and sister team wrangling a huge dog. He didn’t seem to be much trouble. He wasn’t pulling hard or acting timid or aggressive. Wasn’t bulldozing his way through the fence to go kill anyone. Just lollygagging around in the dusting of snow. He probably hadn’t seen much of it in Georgia. The brother and sister duo were merely nervous due to his size, therefore exercising a little extra caution. Which wasn’t a terrible idea.
I Warned You_Welcome to Fall River Page 16
