by Mike McCrary
“I was there to get some attorneys to alter the docs. It’s complicated, but with my mother and my brothers gone I needed to remove them and my father from the trust. Transition everything.”
“Transition?” I ask. “To you?”
“Yes.” He looks at me sheepishly in the rearview. “I had the docs amended, along with the letters my mother signed saying that my father was not of sound mind. All that would let me get possession of all the assets and real estate from the family.”
“Meaning?” I ask, knowing damn well the answer.
Gordo swallows hard now, avoiding looking at me in the mirror.
“You? Only you?” I ask, wanting him to come out and say it.
Gordo nods.
Sandy shakes her head.
“You thought my brother and I would be dead by now, didn’t you?” I say while processing. “You’re not a killer. Don’t have that, do you? Didn’t get that gene from your father, did you? So you were hoping we’d all kill each other off at Mama McCluskey’s mansion, and then whoever was left you’d have the Nasty Brothers take care of. But things went to shit, didn’t they? The fire and fighting got too out of control and you went pussy, freaked out and had to break and run. That it?”
Gordo pauses, then nods again without looking at me.
“That’s fantastic, bro,” I say. “You didn’t count on us being badasses, and you certainly didn’t count on dear old Dad getting better.”
“I did not,” Gordo says in a low tone. “Look, I’m not going to lie to you.”
“That’d be refreshing.”
“This is grown-up stuff, Teddy. It’s a hard world my family lives in, and I wanted out. You’re right. I’m not like Jonathan. Rather not be. I saw a way out and I took it. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle, but it happens.”
“Happens?” I’m seconds from jumping over the seat and removing his head with my fingernails. “You need to say something nice real damn soon or this is going to be a short trip.”
“Honestly?” he says.
“Yeah, asshole, honestly,” I say, pressing my gun to the back his head.
Sandy smiles as she places a hand on the wheel just in case I kill the driver.
Safety first.
She always was a smart one.
“I was going to cut you and Skinny Drake out,” Gordo says, glancing back and forth between me and road. “You two had some cash already. More than you two had ever had in your lives. I was going to pay off that house of yours and then cut you both out altogether.”
“That’s great, Gordo. Still doesn’t pass for nice.” I whack his melon with the barrel of my gun. “I like to live in the moment. So, that was then, this is now What are we going to do with all this money?”
Sandy clears her throat.
“Oh yeah,” I say. “And by we, I’m including Sandy.”
I can feel the defeat rolling off Gordo and filling the car. As if every muscle in his body simply said fuck it.
“You know I did really care about you,” he says to Sandy. “I wanted us to be something. Together.”
I roll my eyes.
Sandy scrunches her nose. She slow rolls into a laugh. Many laughs. Hard, deep laughs. Roaring stuff. Seems like it goes on for a minute or two. I let it go on just so Gordo’s ego gets a good beating. Something occurs to me while I enjoy the show.
“That’s why you waited for us. Isn’t it?” I ask him.
“What?”
Sandy stops laughing. Still snickers to herself, but stops with the loud stuff. She’s all ears, wanting to hear this one as well.
“That why you didn’t take off in this sweet ride after you blew the house? You could have hauled ass and left us there, you had a chance, but you didn’t. You stayed. You waited. You love this one here, and couldn’t leave what’s between her legs.” I stop, think, then ask, “Or is it that you need us to kill your daddy?”
“Can I say all of the above?”
I whack him again. Sandy punches him too.
“You can,” I tell him. “I won’t believe you, but you can say whatever you want.”
The car goes quiet once more, with only the sounds of tires grooving along the highway and the sniffles of Gordo’s busted nose to be heard. I watch Gordo. I know he’s thinking it all through. Plotting. I’m doing the same. Problem is that I don’t have shit to work with. He’s got all the cards. I’ve got nothing. No cards to be played, nothing to lay down. No pieces to connect. Nothing to draw a line to. Hate to admit it, but I have to trust Gordo a little bit with this situation here. It’s all I’ve got. He’s all I’ve got. The only way to get to my brother and to get to good is through Gordo, and that really, really sucks to know.
“Make you a deal?” he finally says.
“This should be good,” Sandy chirps.
“Shut up,” Gordo says.
“Fuck you, two-pump chump,” she fires back.
I snicker, can’t help it. “Okay. Okay. Let’s not do this. Not now.” I put a hand on Sandy’s shoulder, trying to keep her from beating on him some more. “Let’s hear it, Gordo. What’s your deal?”
“You help me and I’ll cut you in.” He glances between us. “Both of you and Skinny Drake.”
I look to Sandy, then back to the back of Gordo’s head. “Think that was understood, Gordo. You need to dig into it and find something more. Need details.”
“Numbers,” Sandy says.
“Yes, numbers,” I say. “And, oh yeah, explain how to find my brother.”
“Jonathan must have him,” Gordo says. “That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Bullshit,” I say.
“I do not know where he is. That’s the truth.”
“If you’re lying to me about him. If I find out you have him stashed somewhere, if he’s hurt in any way, shape or form, so help me I will make your death the stuff of FBI textbooks.”
“I didn’t take him. Why would I? Why would I take your brother and not offer some sort of deal or trade after doing it?”
Sandy turns to me, looking for a possible answer.
I don’t have one.
He’s right. There’s no upside for Gordo to take him and not use it as a bargaining chip. Right now would be the smart time to make that play, and he’s not doing it. Gordo isn’t dumb, and making dumb moves doesn’t sound very Gordo-like. Not what he’s about.
“You think this will end if we kill Jonathan?” I ask, hopeful as hell.
“I do. He’ll keep coming after me, even if he can’t get the money back, and he has no intention of giving you back your house or that box. He’s not capable.”
I lean back, take a breath, and let some thoughts roll.
“Okay.” I snap my fingers at him. “Here’s my deal, and it is not up for debate. You can have the real estate, stocks, bonds, all that shit. You wire two million each to me, my brother and Sandy here. You also hand each of us a hundred-grand cash, in twenties,” I say, thinking while I talk. “That’s me being nice and easy to get along with. These are family prices. You and I both know you can hand over a helluva lot more, but that’s all we need. Those are easy numbers for you.”
I look out the window into the dark night as my mouth unwinds what’s floating in my mind. “This money, this big-time wealth, it’s toxic. It’s destroyed your life and the lives of your family. Your real family.” I stare into the back of his head, hoping this is all landing. “Maybe I shouldn’t even take as much as I asked for, I don’t know, but I think we need something, ya know? Something for our troubles, and there have been troubles, Gordo. Pain and suffering doesn’t begin to cover it. Not to mention, going out and finding a day job after all this might suck the big one.”
I let that hang in the air.
I can almost see Gordo’s brain cranking it through all. Don’t want to give him too much time to gnaw on all that though. Need to press him into a corner. I need a response now.
“Whatcha say, bro?” I ask.
He looks in the re
arview, holding my eyes.
I stare back, giving him nothing. Seems like hours pass as the silence beats me down. Feels like the temperature in the car has risen twenty degrees. Like the air has gotten tight.
“Okay,” he finally says with exhaustion in his voice. “Deal, Steady Teddy.”
I breathe out, relieved, even though I know I can’t trust a single syllable out of this clown’s filthy mouth. At least I have a framework to not trust.
“Good. Now, let’s go fuck up Daddy.”
Chapter 37
We come up with a plan.
I push for simple. It’s my way, after all.
Despite the fact the last simple plan I was involved in got blown all to hell, I do believe my thesis still holds true. At the house in Tahoe we stuck to the core simplicity, and we do indeed have Gordo. That was the goal. How we got there was a mess, but in the end we won.
Kind of.
I tell myself this fairy tale of victory while trying not to think of Rosie or Rondo. There’s a twinge inside of me that makes me sick to my stomach. I’m rationalizing beyond reason. Makes me sick that I’m negotiating the reality that got people killed, people who were trying to help me. Sick that I’m bargaining for money with a lowlife like Gordo when my brother is out there.
He might be afraid.
Alone.
He’d better not be hurt.
I feel that rage bubble up again. Pushing it down, I go back over the plan this new team of mine has formed. The team of Gordo, Sandy and me. This is a group I would have never thought imaginable when we all met not long ago—the night Gordo walked into my bar, introduced himself to me, offering me a chance of lifetime, and then hit on Sandy like a ravenous horndog. How could I have envisioned the three of us would be in a car together after leaving a burning house in Lake Tahoe on our way to my house in Texas to kill our father? To kill a father I didn’t know I had, or wanted, in a deal with an asshole brother I also didn’t know I had, or wanted, so that I can find Skinny Drake, my other brother I didn’t know I had, but who I want back very badly.
It’ll scramble a woman’s brain if you let it.
I won’t.
I focus harder.
I made a call to Jonathan a few minutes ago. Told him I have Gordo and that we’re coming back. Told him he needed to be at the house, my house, because I really had no idea where he was when I called him.
No way in hell I’m meeting him in New York or some other locale that’s friendly to him. I need him on my turf. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but it’s the only turf I have in this world. Also told him my house better be the way I left it and, oh yeah, he’d better have that box.
He had questions.
He asked several actually.
I didn’t answer any of them, telling him we’d work it all out when we got there. Jonathan wasn’t happy with my tone, nor the words I used, but he accepted it all and agreed to be at the house. He told me he’d have a plane pick us up in Arizona. I said at first that I didn’t want his damn plane, but as I thought it through, I realized it is a long drive from Nevada to Texas and we’re all pretty damn tired. We could use the recharge before we charge into this fight that’s waiting for us.
Make no mistake, this will be a fight.
A big one.
Perhaps the last one.
With all that said, I agreed and accepted his private plane offer. Of course, Johnathan meeting us at the house means he’ll have more than a few of his goons along with him. There’s probably a team of them with their feet up on my coffee table right now. Their asses on my couch. They’ve destroyed my bathrooms, I bet. I shiver and gag some off the thought. My house will never be clean again.
Stop.
Focus.
Now, this is where the plan has some holes. It was discussed between us that we would go in with guns blazing and hope we could simply out-mean them during an all-out, award-winning bloodbath, with us rising up as the victors. As cool as that sounds, and certainly simple, we all realized the success rate on that one was more than likely quite low.
Not to mention, killing everybody doesn’t help us get Skinny Drake back. It leaves no one alive to answer questions. The fact that there’s a very good chance we’d all end up dead was left unsaid.
Next we talked about going in to try some good old-fashioned reasoning with the man. Maybe we didn’t have to kill him, or anybody for that matter. We could talk it out like rational adults. Find some middle ground. Some common ground we all could agree upon.
Really?
We had a good laugh at that one.
Got to talk through all the possibilities, I guess.
There is no way Jonathan will strike a deal with us, shake hands and let us all live happily ever after. Not is in his best interest, or his DNA. So we went back to square one. There will be blood. Buckets of it. No way around it. I went back to the central questions at hand.
What do we have to work with?
What advantage, if any, do we have?
What does Jonathan really want?
Well, we have Gordo. Gordo holds the cards to Jonathan’s money, and Jonathan would very much like that money back. Okay, that’s one. Not sure what we do with it, but it is one thing. Next question.
What do we want?
We want to get my brother back, keep the money, and for all this shit to stop. Okay, all roads do lead back to killing Jonathan.
We are under no illusion that this will be easy or that this will go smoothly. There is a very real possibility we could all die in this thing. At the very least, some of us will get hurt. Hurt badly. Not to harp on it, but more than likely one of us will die. Unfortunately, we don’t really have any better options. Well, now that I think about it, Gordo and I don’t have better options. I look to Sandy. She does.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell her. “You can still go.”
Sandy thinks about what I said for all of two seconds. “You kidding me, Teddy? You offer up a lotto win and then ask if I want to bail? You think I’m going to turn down a new life and go back to hand jobs for pennies when I can lie in bed, alone, eat ice cream and watch cupcake-making shows all day?”
“You could die in this,” I say. “To be clear.”
“I could die with an unhappy client beating me to death. I could say the wrong thing to the wrong guy, or some guy could decide he just wants to kill a girl. Happens all the time. You know it does. I risk it every day for a fraction of the payday I’m seeing here right now.” She punches me in the arm with a smile. “So yeah, I pretty sure I’m in.”
I smile back, letting her know I get it. I know she’s right. It’s a dangerous game she plays on a regular basis. I also know I can’t let her die in this thing. There’s an unreasonable amount of responsibility I feel for her.
Always have.
Also can’t be responsible for another person dying because of me. I want to go back to the plan. Go over it. Dig into the dirt of it. Get granular with the thing. The bones of the plan are pretty damn simple.
Find out where my brother is.
Kill Jonathan and any other son of a bitch who looks at us sideways.
There. That’s it.
The details are fuzzy at best, but our two-bullet-point agenda is clear as shit. This doesn’t feel good. Feels like we are running into a buzz saw with smiles plastered on our dumbass faces. There has to be something I’m missing. An angle I can play that I haven’t thought of. Something hiding in plain sight that I’ve glossed over because of everything that’s happened. My head is hazy.
Think, Teddy. What do we have that I’m not getting the most out of?
What is there? What do we know? Who do we know?
“Think,” I whisper.
A thought screams into my head. It’s not bad. Risky as hell, but risky is kinda where we are right now. I have one other card I can play.
I send a text to one of Jonathan’s goons.
Bear Boy gave me his number when he drove me back from the airpor
t after my trip to New York with Gordo. Back when all this started. Seems like a lifetime ago, but he and I bonded a bit after my New York meeting with Jonathan. We talked some, not a ton, but I got the feeling he liked me. He helped me at that strip joint when I got a little crazy with the ATM. He was worried. Caring. Protective. I saw it in his eyes. I hope he’s still worried. Still caring. Still protective. I hope I can flip him to our side with a story of warm fuzzies and the promise of money.
I hope.
I hope.
I hope.
Chapter 38
We land in Austin.
It’s cloudy. The rain spits mist off and on, then it’ll pour down in buckets for about five minutes before suddenly stopping. The sun will peek out for minute or two then it’ll dump down again. They say if you don’t like the weather here, wait five minutes. Some days that is exactly the truth. I’ve seen it go from seventy degrees to forty in an hour. Keeps us guessing, I suppose. Keeps it interesting. Keeps us weird.
There’s a black Yukon waiting for us outside the terminal. Jonathan’s signature car. I was hoping Bear Boy would be the driver. Thought maybe he got my text and we could talk things through before getting to the house. That would be the ideal situation. I hoped this would be easier.
Too much wishful thinking on my part.
Jonathan sent us some other mountain of a man as a driver. He’s quiet as hell, only saying “hello” and, well, that’s it. Can’t help but wonder what his story is, him or any of the other goons Jonathan so casually sends around strapped with muscles and guns.
Do they have families? Friends? Pets? Anyone they care about or who cares about them? Dreams? Desires of a real future? Or are they really mindless drones who follow orders to the death? These are some of the things I tossed around in my head while sending the text to Bear Boy before we got on the plane. What does Bear Boy want?
I chose my words carefully when I texted him my offer.
I offered him friendship.
I offered him a chance to do the right thing.
I offered him money.
Who doesn’t want any of that? Between the lines of the text is the unspoken chance for him to have a new life. This all occurred to me while I was listening to Sandy tell me why she wanted to come along on this suicide deal. This isn’t about money. I mean it is, it’s always about the green, but this is more about what that money can do. Not necessarily about getting that Mercedes or those new, ridiculously priced shoes. It’s about the change that money can make for a person. A nice, sudden chunk of cash can afford you a safer way to zig and zag your way into a new life.
