“Word gets around. He’s matto, crazy. No one wants anything to do with him. Sometimes he runs with a punk kid named Terry Trudeau. A burglar.”
She remembered the alligator clips on the alarm wire.
“Where do I find them?” she said.
“You’re on your own with that. Tino hangs at a market sometimes, up in Irvington. He keeps an office in the back. Eddie, who knows?”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Like I said, for our friend. He has some favors due.”
“You work for Tino?”
“That prick? Never.”
“Who do you work for?”
“The pope. How long are we going to stay in here?”
She put the .38 away, reached back and unbolted the stall door.
“Wait here five minutes,” she said. “Then go out to the counter, order a cup of coffee, sit there and drink it. I’ll be able to see you through the window. If you come out and try to follow me, you won’t give me any choice. You know that, right?”
“Got it.” He snapped his gum. “Coffee. Right.”
She backed out of the stall, let the door swing shut. He stayed where he was. She took out his gun, dropped it into the trash can by the door, went back into the diner and toward the exit, not walking fast, not looking back.
In the parking lot, she knelt by the Impala, Christmas lights bathing it in red and green. She took out her pocket knife, sank the tip into the right rear tire. Air hissed out.
She did the same to the right front, the Impala’s springs creaking as it sank lower, settled crookedly. She looked back at the diner windows. He hadn’t come out.
She closed the knife and walked back to her car.
* * *
The phone woke her.
She looked at the nightstand clock—10:00 P.M. She’d fallen asleep fully dressed on the bed, the phone beside her.
It trilled again. Hector’s number. She hit SEND, lifted it to her ear.
Silence. Then a man’s voice said, “I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing.”
She waited.
“We should talk,” he said. “Before all this gets out of control.”
“Talk about what?”
“What you’ve got. What I want. What I’ll do to get it. It’s not too late to work it out.”
“How will we do that?”
“Simple. Give me the money you took from the card game. All of it.”
“What card game?”
“Don’t. You didn’t get where you are by being stupid, did you? Don’t start now. You’re going to come out ahead anyway, right?”
“How’s that?”
“You’ll be alive.”
When she didn’t respond, he said, “That’s good. You’re thinking.”
“I am. Maybe I know a couple things about you, too.”
“Good for you. Like I said, we’ll keep it simple. We agree on a figure, you hand it over. You go steal some more from someone else. All there is to it.”
“That easy, is it?”
“Just that easy. I’m going to call you back tomorrow, and then I’m going to tell you where and when we’re going to meet.”
“Oh, we’ll definitely meet,” she said. “I guarantee that.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Been to Texas lately?”
She felt her arms grow cold.
“What do you mean?”
“Cute little girl. She yours?”
The laptop, she thought. The photos. It had been stupid to leave them on there.
“Still there?” he said.
She took a breath, let it out slow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Elktail Elementary, that a good school? Two Rivers, Texas. I looked at a map. What is that, a couple days’ drive? Maybe two hours on a plane?”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to stop fucking around. I did two of your partners. You doubt my seriousness?”
She thought of Hector in the trunk, what they’d done to him.
“Way I see it, there’s an easy way and a hard way,” he said. “Easy way is to get all that cash together and give it to me, then walk away. We do it the hard way, I’m not responsible for the consequences.”
“I think you’ve gotten some bad information.”
“Stimmer told me you took more than four hundred out of that game. Maybe you spent some of it, but that still leaves both of you with close to two hundred K apiece, right?”
“There was never that much.”
“No? Your buddy Hector seemed to think that was a good guess. He held out for a while, loyalty and all that, but he wouldn’t shut up near the end. You’d be surprised what people tell you if they think there’s even the slightest chance you’ll let them live.”
“You’re a sick fuck, aren’t you?”
“Maybe tonight I’ll be a sick fuck on my way to Texas. What are you going to do, hide her somewhere for the rest of her life? I find her and then our negotiations change, don’t they? Two hundred won’t be enough. Seems to me I’m giving you the easy way out.”
She looked out the window. Snow had begun to blow against the glass.
“Skull it out as much as you want,” he said, “but there’s only one way you’ll get rid of me. Give me the money and write it off to experience. Look at all the angles. It’s the only way out.” The line went dead.
She sat on the bed, could feel her heart in her chest. She started to punch in Leah’s number, stopped. Better to use a pay phone. If he somehow got this phone from her, the number would be in there. It would be a place to start.
Even the money wouldn’t be enough, she knew. Once she gave him the cash, however much, she’d be dead. He couldn’t take the risk. Wouldn’t leave her out there, alive, trying to figure out a way to get it back.
TWENTY-SIX
They sat in the El Camino, lights and engine off, looking out into the wrecking yard. They were back in Carteret, less than a half mile from Casco’s place, off a long strip of road lined with auto body shops and salvage yards.
“What’d she say?” Terry said.
“A lot of bullshit, but she’ll come around. Your hands shaking?”
“I’m just cold.” Flecks of snow settled on the windshield, melted. “Where is he?”
“He’ll be here.” Eddie looked at his watch. “It’s only eleven.”
The gate had been left open for them, but the office windows were dark. The yard was lit by vapor lamps on high poles. They’d parked in the shadow of the building, twenty feet in from the road.
Ahead of them were stacked rows of crushed cars, a burned-out Good Humor truck up on blocks, hood open and engine missing. Beyond it, a high chain-link fence strung with barbed wire.
“How come we didn’t go to the market, like last time?” Terry said
“The old man doesn’t like to handle money. Won’t be anywhere around it. That’s why he’s sending the kid.”
“You trust him?”
“Tino doesn’t have the balls to screw with me, and Nicky doesn’t take a piss unless his father gives the okay. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Then why’d you bring that?” He nodded at the half-open gym bag at Eddie’s feet, the shotgun and Stimmer’s Ruger inside.
“You never know, right?”
They sat in silence for a while. Then Terry said, “I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Are you serious? About the Texas thing?”
“She thinks we are. That’s what’s important. She’s not stupid. She’ll deal. But if we have to go down there, we will.”
Terry began to tap his foot on the floorboard.
“You cranked?” Eddie said.
“I told you. I haven’t touched that shit since you’ve been out.”
“So I’m a positive influence.”
“I just don’t like this. I don’t like being here.”
“Twenty grand is twenty grand,” Eddie s
aid.
“Is it worth it?”
“What?”
“The things we’ve done. Is the money worth it?”
“Up to you, isn’t it? How much is enough? Fifty grand, a hundred?”
“What do you mean?”
“You think I’ve gone through all this for the crumbs Tino throws me? I’m building a nest egg here. You, too. We find that woman, one way or another, take whatever she has left. Maybe she leads us to the partner. And knowing what I know about Tino, the shit he pulled, I can shake some more loose from him, too. Maybe a lot more.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Think about it. Tino wants his son-in-law gone. He gets Stimmer to do it for him. Then he gets us to do Stimmer. Makes sense, right? That’s why he wanted it done quick, before Stimmer started talking.”
“The money we found in his place…”
“Probably what was left of the cash he got up front. I’m guessing Tino suckered him into coming back up here to get the rest. He should have stayed in Florida. He’d still be alive.”
“Shit. I had no idea.”
“You surprised?” Eddie said. “Way of the world. Everybody’s looking out for themselves.”
“I didn’t think I’d be in this deep, you know? All the shit that’s been happening. It was never like this before.”
“Losing your nerve?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“The way you creeped Stimmer’s place, that woman’s? You’re a natural. You’ve got skills. It’s like they say, find your place in life and everything gets easier, makes more sense.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“What did you have before I got out? Nothing. Not even a job. Now you’ve got money in your pocket, more coming in. What’s the issue?”
“I’m just tired of living like this. Having a knot in my stomach all the time.”
Eddie looked at him. “You blame me for that?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You want to go home to the little woman every night? Be a daddy? Join the Elks? Little late for that, isn’t it?”
“Maybe not.” Terry couldn’t look at him.
“Now you’re just pissing me off. You want that life? What have you done to deserve it? You’re just like me. Why should you get something I can’t?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant. Enough with that shit already.”
Eddie looked at his watch again. Eleven twenty.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s take a look around.”
They got out, light snow blowing around them. Eddie took the Star from his belt, held it at his side. To their right, toward the fence, was a double row of newer wrecks parked nose to nose. Smashed front ends, twisted metal, and spiderwebbed safety glass. On the inside of one windshield was a rust-colored starburst pattern. Blood.
“Creeps me out,” Terry said.
“What?”
“Those cars. Knowing people died in them.”
“We all have our time. No one one gets to pick when.”
They walked past piles of rusted auto parts, engine blocks, listened to the wind.
“If someone’s out here,” Eddie said, “he’s freezing his ass off.”
They did a circuit of the yard, then went back to the El Camino, saw headlights on the road. The lights slowed.
“Here he is,” Eddie said. He put the Star in his coat pocket.
The green Mercury turned into the lot and pulled abreast of them, Nicky at the wheel. He looked over at Eddie, raised his chin in greeting, doused the headlights, left the engine running.
“It’s just him,” Terry said. “That’s good, right?”
Nicky got out, left the door open. He wore a long leather coat over a suit. “Hey,” he said. He went around, opened the trunk, took out a package the size of a shoe box, wrapped in butcher paper.
“Just so you know.” He shut the trunk lid. “My father threw in another ten, show his gratitude.”
“Generous of him,” Eddie said. Neither of them moved. Snow drifted in the air.
“Colder than a motherfucker tonight,” Nicky said. “You going to take this or what?”
“Why so nervous, Nicky?”
“I’m not nervous. Just freezing my balls off. I want to get out of here.”
“Step away from the car.”
“Come on, no bullshit.” He held the package out. “I need to get going. I got a date.”
Wind ruffled Eddie’s coat. He put his hands in his pockets.
“We going to stand out here all night?” Nicky said. “Shit, somebody take it.”
The side window of the El Camino exploded. Eddie saw the flash, heard the flat crack of the rifle. He shoved Terry away, said, “Get down,” and drew the Star.
Nicky dropped the package. Eddie fired at him. There was another crack, and a round punched into the El Camino’s right front fender. Air hissed from the tire. Eddie tracked the flash this time, the top of the Good Humor truck, fired twice at it. The first round sparked off the front of the truck. The second whanged through the empty interior.
More rifle shots, sounding almost as one. The El Camino’s windshield imploded. Eddie kept firing, hot casings flying past him, until the slide locked back.
A shadow rolled from the roof of the truck, hit the ground. A man got to his feet and ran toward the fence, a limping stride that favored one leg.
Eddie pulled open the passenger door of the El Camino, tossed the empty Star inside, drew the shotgun from the gym bag. The seat and dashboard were covered with cubes of safety glass.
Nicky lay facedown by the Mercury’s open door, not moving. Eddie went past him. The running man was almost to the fence, the limp slowing him. Eddie fired, the shotgun kicking back harder than he’d expected. He knew the shot spread would be too wide at this range to bring down a man. He pumped another round into the chamber, went after him.
The man reached the fence, leaped and caught the chain links, started to climb, full in the light now. It was Vincent Rio. He wore a quilted black jacket, black jeans, work boots.
Eddie walked toward the fence. Rio was grunting with effort, the wide boots slipping from the chain links. He reached the top, slung a leg over, caught his jacket on the barbed wire. He pulled at it, nylon ripping, got the other leg up. The barbs snagged his clothes in a half-dozen places, held him there, the fence rattling with his struggles. Snow drifted past the vapor light above him.
Eddie reached the fence, looked up at him.
“Wait a minute!” Rio said. “Just wait one goddamn—”
Eddie fired, felt the recoil, pumped, fired again. Bits of cotton insulation drifted in the air, were scattered by the wind.
He walked back to the Good Humor truck, climbed on the back bumper. There was an AR-15 on the roof, spent cartridges scattered around it.
He left it there, went back to the El Camino. Terry was out of sight. Nicky hadn’t moved. White exhaust puffed from the Mercury’s tailpipe.
“Come on out, kid,” he said. “It’s done.” There was no answer.
He walked around the rear of the El Camino. Terry sat on the ground, leaning against the bumper, his left hand inside his leather jacket. His face was pale.
“Shit,” Eddie said. He knelt beside him, set the shotgun on the ground. “Move your hand. Let me see.”
Terry took his hand away, the palm red with blood. Eddie unzipped his jacket the rest of the way. He could see where the round had gone in, just above the belt on the left side.
“Is it bad?” Terry said.
“Yeah, it’s bad.”
“You need to call an ambulance.”
Eddie sat back on his haunches. “Can you stand?”
Terry shook his head. “I can’t move my legs.”
Eddie stood, went over and picked up the package. He took out the razor, slashed through the paper and string.
“Eddie…”
Inside the box were three stacks of money wrapped
with rubber bands, twenties on top. He thumbed the bills. After the first three twenties in each stack, it was all white paper.
“Son of a bitch.” He pulled the twenties free, dropped the box. One of the rubber bands broke, and the wind blew white paper along the ground. He folded the real bills into his pants pocket.
“Eddie, you gotta help me.”
He got the gym bag from the El Camino, put the empty Star inside. The windshield had a fist-sized hole, the glass sagging inward. The floor was littered with broken glass and foam rubber blown from the seat backs.
He carried the bag back to Terry, set it down, squatted again.
“It feels like it went all the way through,” Terry said, his voice weaker, his forehead filmed with sweat. “I’ll be all right if I get to a hospital.”
“You’re bleeding like a bitch, kid. No way I can drive you anywhere, not get blood all over the place.”
“Then call an ambulance.” His breathing was shallow now, faster. “Call 911 … tell them where I am. ”
Eddie shook his head.
“Please, Eddie. I won’t say anything to anybody. I swear.”
Eddie slid the shotgun into the bag, took out the Ruger.
“Call Angie. She’ll come. She’ll take care of me. You don’t have to stay…” He saw the gun then. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry about this, kid. I really am.”
“Eddie, don’t…”
“Close your eyes.”
Snow drifted down around them, flakes settling in Terry’s hair. Eddie stood.
“Eddie, please. Call Angie. I won’t tell anybody anything.”
“You’ll talk, kid. You know you will. You’ll be so doped up, you won’t even know what you’re saying.”
“Eddie, not like this…”
“Don’t be scared.”
Tears were streaming down Terry’s face. He closed his eyes, sobbing silently. Eddie fired once.
The wind picked up, howled through the yard. He put the Ruger in his coat pocket, zipped up the gym bag. He carried it to the Mercury, stepped over Nicky’s body, reached in and popped the trunk latch. He put the bag in the trunk, shut the lid, got behind the wheel.
It was still warm in the car, the vents humming. He swung around in a three-point turn, felt Nicky’s legs crunch beneath the tires. He didn’t look at the El Camino as he went past.
Cold Shot to the Heart Page 17
