“Are you a hitter?” she asked.
Her voice was at a normal speaking level but it sounded painfully loud in the room despite Wes’s snores. He didn’t wake. She’d put him in a coma. She’d been around long enough to know that when he was out, he was out. It told me the relationship was pretty stable, which made me pleased for him.
She pinched out the end of the J. “Are you?”
The question caught me wrong. You didn’t usually ask a guy who’d broken in and was standing there right in the bedroom if he was a hit man. If he was, he would probably lie about it or just shoot you in the head. Maybe the weed was especially strong.
“No,” I admitted. “Is that something Wes has to worry about now? Hitters popping up?”
“According to him. But I think he’s a little paranoid.”
“Probably a good thing to be, in his line of work. Unless it’s because of the pot.”
She drew a wild blond flip of hair out of her eyes.
“I’m Em,” she said.
“ ‘M’?”
“Em. Short for Emily. And you must be Terrier Rand.”
It made me perk up a little. I didn’t like strangers knowing my name.
“Maybe I’m just a hitter who lies.”
It got a modest grin. “You’re a wiseass. That means you’re Terry Rand. He talks about you.”
“He does?”
I was a little paranoid too. I didn’t like Wes talking about me with his girlfriends, no matter how friendly they were when I broke into his house this many times before to be Q. If I wanted to chat with a gorgeous woman with a higher-than-usual sex drive and admit I was a thief, that was one thing. Having Wes chatter about me to his sweethearts, that was something else.
“What’s he say?”
“He’s impressed with you.”
“In what way?”
“He likes how you don’t take shit off Danny Thompson. I think he’s working up the nerve to quit.”
“You don’t quit that line of work.”
Her lips were firmly set, her eyes empty. “It’s nice to think it’s possible.”
“It’s stupid and dangerous too.” I worried that she might be pushing him in that direction, which would lead to a face-off with Danny. “I need to talk with him.”
“Go wait in the kitchen and we’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
I did as I was told. I felt a little chastised. To prove I was still macho and the master of my own fate, I poured myself a glass of milk though she hadn’t specifically said I could. I sipped it with an air of defiance.
I looked around. The four-bedroom house was full of expensive, practical furniture. Chandeliers, marble tiling, a fireplace without an ounce of ash in it. A dining room that sat twelve. A living room with lush leather L-shaped couches, thick white carpeting, a huge HD television and entertainment system. Coaster trays on every end table. The kind of room where you hosted large parties serving martinis and canapes.
There were photos on the shelves and the walls were now covered with classy paintings. They’d been chosen with genuine care. Wes had either hired a personal decorator or Em had moved in or was on the verge of doing so. He’d finally started to turn the place into a home.
I retreated back to the kitchen and sat in the sunniest corner. After a few minutes, Wes stepped in wearing a fancy silk kimono. His hundred-and-fifty-dollar haircut looked good even after sex and sleep. He carried a black sports jacket carefully folded over one arm. It was supposed to hide the fact that he was gripping a .44 that he’d tugged from a specially made leather shoulder holster.
He wasn’t smiling now. He turned and called down the hall to Em. “You were right.” He slipped the gun back into the holster, laid his jacket on the counter, and faced me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually like catching me off guard, breaking into my house all the time.”
“I knocked and rang the bell.”
“That’s true,” Em said, appearing behind him, wearing a matching kimono. I was a little sad to see her covered up. “I wasn’t sure if I should answer.”
“You shouldn’t,” Wes said. “Never.”
“Okay, I won’t.” She pecked him on the chin. “I’ll get lost now and let you two talk.”
“No, you can stay.”
He was asserting himself. I understood why but it was bad business. Wes was one of the most even-balanced people I knew in the life, but I’d embarrassed him in front of his woman and that was the kind of thing that might force a display of bad attitude. I had to make it right, and fast, but I wasn’t sure how. I sipped more of my mil this many times before to be Qk.
Emily did me a favor. She smiled, gave Wes another quick kiss, and left the room anyway.
He watched her go. I’d ruined their morning. He opened the fridge and banged some shit around in there.
“I’m sorry, Wes.”
“For what?” he asked. “For sneaking around my place and sniffing my dirty sheets and checking out my girl in the flesh?” He glared at me. “She sleeps in the raw so you saw her, right? You checked her out?”
“In my defense, man,” I said, holding up my palms. “I mean, come on, who wouldn’t? She’s gorgeous.”
“You—”
“I’m sorry. Really. Sincerely. Honestly.” I was running out of adverbs. “Genuinely.”
But he wasn’t mad. He was proud of Em’s body and glad that I’d gotten to see what a hottie he’d landed.
“Forget it. What are you here for? What do you need?”
“Next time I’ll bring cinnamon buns. Promise.”
“Terrific. What do you need, Terry?”
I told him about staking out Chub’s place and the four-man team I’d seen. Wes found a piece of cherry cheesecake and a half-full bottle of white wine at the back of the fridge. He poured himself a glass and sat opposite me drinking and sticking forkfuls of the cake in his mouth. I started to doubt that his ulcers were all from tension on the job.
“They’re slick and professional.”
“Most pro crews are four-man,” he said between bites. “Any less and the big jobs are out of reach. Any more and the string is so long that they’re not as tight and well oiled. They get sloppy and there’s a bigger chance someone will talk.”
“These guys also pack a lot of hardware.”
“You expect something different?”
He finished the wine and pulled a pained face. I got up, drew a glass from the cupboard, and poured him some milk. He took a gulp and groaned. I found a bottle of antacids on the counter and handed him a couple of tablets. He threw them back.
“Why are we talking about this?” he asked.
“I’m worried.”
“Worried? You took a five-year hiatus, Terry, but Chub’s been working this angle the whole time. He knows what he’s doing. And why are you watching him anyway?” Wes paused, waiting for an answer. Then he brushed his hand through the air, erasing the question. “No, forget I asked. I already know the reason, don’t I?”
“You do,” I said.
When he finished his glass he thumbed away a milk moustache. “Kimmy’s not coming back to you, Terry,” he said firmly. “You need to forget her and leave them alone.”
I sucked a shallow breath in. Nobody liked having their infatuations tossed back in their faces. It’s why only close friends could hate each other as much as they sometimes did.
I thought, Maybe this is it. Maybe we’re done for good here. I pushed too hard and he went for the sweet spot. This next minute here, it could this many times before to be Qbe very bad.
“I know,” I said. “But I can’t yet.”
He nodded. “There’s things that none of us can let go, even when we should.”
“You mean women.”
“I mean a history that’s already passed us by.”
My guts let out a cry like a cat caught in a carburetor. I was hungry as hell. I had acid burning. I popped two of his pills. I drank more milk. He got up and started making
a sandwich. “We’ve got ham and provolone. That all right?”
“Great. Thanks.”
He pulled out the wrapped meat and cheese, squirted brown mustard on a slice of bread, made some sandwiches, put one on a plate, and slid it across the table to me. “When you bring the cinnamon rolls, make sure they’re from Tataglia’s bakery, right? None of this King Kullen’s bullshit.”
“Right,” I said. I talked with my mouth full. “Now about this crew … can you ask around? Maybe some of Danny’s muscle have heard about them.”
Wes let out a little grunt of irritation. “You might want to go elsewhere for your information. If Mr. Thompson finds out you’re interested, if it gets back to him somehow, it’ll just stir him up again. Last time you ran into him, with you playing gunslinger, he nearly put a hit out.”
I sat there chewing my ham sandwich. “What stopped him?”
“It wasn’t for old times’ sake, I can tell you. You Rands just had too much attention focused on you. All the journalists and news channels camped outside your house because of Collie. The protesters at the prison. The girl hanged in the park. His wife saying there was a serial killer loose. All that shit. Jesus, you might as well have been on your own reality show.”
The question was nearly on his lips. He wanted to ask if I knew anything about who’d killed Mal, who’d killed the girl in the park. But you couldn’t wonder too much about who snuffed somebody else’s family or friends, because it might just be the guy you were talking to.
Wes watched me chewing, and I put all my capacity to lie into my face. I was cuddly. I was cute. I tried to make like Bambi. I was an innocent in the cruel woods of life. I didn’t know anything. I didn’t do anything.
“So … can you ask around about this crew?”
He pulled a face. “You aren’t listening to me.”
“I am.”
“You’re not. You never do.”
“I am.”
“You aren’t. You think I chat with guys who work the pro strings? You’re the only career criminal I know who isn’t mobbed up.” He paused for emphasis. He stared at me but I wouldn’t lift my eyes from my plate. I knew what he was about to say.
He said it. “Why don’t you just ask Chub?”
“I can’t. We’re not exactly on speaking terms anymore.”
“Good for him.”
I took a final bite, carried the plate to the sink, rinsed it off. I looked through the kitchen window at the bay, the water convuls in a bikini and high heels. at the Qing, sharp as sheet metal, the wind rising. Dark clouds rolled in from the west. “Doesn’t Danny skim most of the crews who work his territory?”
“Not so much anymore, and it pisses him off,” Wes said. “They don’t pay tribute the way they used to in the old days when Big Dan ran the show. Mr. Thompson’s been trying to throw some muscle in that direction, pressuring any pros he hears about. It keeps his soldiers busy and the money flowing in. And he thinks he’s earning back some of the old rep.”
“Who else would know some heist men?”
He shrugged. “Ask your uncle Grey. He’s a smooth old-timer who’s got connections everywhere. He could get answers.”
“He’s working a grift out of state,” I said.
“How far out of state?”
“Not far, but he’s staying on the move.”
Wes grinned. He always grinned when he talked about my uncles. He admired the classic grifters. “I wondered why he hadn’t come into the Fifth lately to hit up any of the big games. I thought maybe your fracas with Danny had him worried.”
“It doesn’t.”
“No, he isn’t the kind to let that sort of thing slow him down. So talk to him when he gets back.”
“I will. But in the meantime, can you think of anybody besides Grey?”
“You never listen to me.”
“I do.”
“You don’t. I’ve been telling you for ten minutes I don’t know anybody who’s tight with that kind ofalked the rest
Turning onto Old Autauk Highway, heading past Shalebrook Lake and the college, I caught a glimpse of a piece-of-shit brown Chevy Malibu in the rearview. I looked again and it had faded back a couple of car lengths and switched lanes. Nothing seemed to stand out about it, which caught my attention.
My cell rang. It was my mother. “Are you anywhere near Schlagel’s, Terry?”
“That depe">“Is it?”tpnds. What’s Schlagel’s? And where is it?”
“The pharmacy. It’s on the corner of Shore Road and Elm. Tucked away back there.”
“I’m close enough. What do you need, Ma?”
I could tell she didn’t want to impose. She fed us, watched over us, and handled all our common, everyday matters alone, and she still always had trouble asking for the slightest bit of help. “Your grandfather’s prescriptions. There’s three of them. Pick them up and I’ll pay you back when you get home. Don’t steal them. I still want to be able to shop there.”
“I won’t steal them and you don’t need to pay me back, Ma.”
“And your sister left me a list. It’s a short list but it’s a list.”
“Is it in French?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Read it. I can handle lists.”
I could hear her slipping on her reading glasses. She didn’t like them and always made a small sound of irritation when she put them on. They hung around her neck on a little chain and the chain chimed faintly. “She numbers these things. So, number one is Cool Sea Breeze Vita-activated defrizz shampoo and conditioner.”
“Cool Breeze—”
“Cool Sea Breeze,” she corrected.
“Cool Sea Breeze Vita-whatever shampoo. And conditioner. They’ll have this at the pharmacy?”
“Of course. Next, she needs mascara. Number two. Great Lashes Waterproof Fantasy. It’s what she wears when she’s onstage. In case she sweats under the lights, it won’t run.”
“Right. Great Lashes. Waterproof.”
“Waterproof Fantasy.”
“Jesus, all right, Waterproof Fantasy.”
I numbered my own list. One. Your mother, in the backyard, strolling past her flower garden, stepping into the woods, finds a deep grave that will never be deep enough. What expression is on her face? Two. What expression is on Grey’s face, two months dead? Three. What is the expression on the face of Bubba John Jankowski on your first night in the cell you’ll share with him for the next twenty-five years?
“Terrier?”
“I’m here. What did you say?”
I heard her refolding the piece of notepaper. “There’s more but that’s all you need to get.”
“Read the rest of the list.”
“I’ll go out later.”
“You don’t have to go out later. Just tell me the rest.”
“Number three. Last item. She’s got a star here and it’s underlined. She does that because although it’s third on the list she wants us to know it’s just as important as the other two items. Number three. Intimate Clinical Strength Antiperspirant and Deodorant Advanced Lady Solid Speed Stick, Light and Fresh pH-Balanced.”
Holy fuck, I thought. “Okay. Repeat that. Slowly.” She did. “All right, don’t panic, no problem.”
“When wiPerhaps as much as a quarter millionre couple of ll you be home?” she asked. “Gramp needs to take one of those meds with his dinner tonight.”
“Just a little while.”
“You heard what I said.”
“I heard what you said. I’ll be home by dinner.”
I parked at the curb and stepped inside Schlagel’s. I didn’t recognize the name because the last time I’d been here the place had been a hardware store. I’d bought a ten-pound titanium jimmy bar here. Collie thought it was hilarious that I’d pay for a crowbar I was going to use to break into houses.
It took me a couple of minutes to navigate the aisles filled with dollar toys, magazines, greeting cards, baby food, toiletries, wigs, candy, and foot powders before I fou
nd shampoo. It took until the tenth power of infinity to find the bottles of Cool Sea Breeze among all the other thousands of brand names. When I got to the makeup aisle I let out a groan. It took even longer to find Great Lashes Waterproof Fantasy among all the similar-sounding products. Beautiful lashes. Fantastic Fantasy lashes. Gorgeous Waterproof lashes. I could feel my gray streak growing wider.
Oddly enough I snagged the deodorant the second I turned the corner into the aisle. I glanced left and there it was. I took the four items and hit the pharmacy counter, asked for the prescriptions for Rand. I gave our home address and phone number. The pharmacist handed me four bottles.
Three were for Shepherd Rand. The last was for Pinscher Rand. I checked the label.
Donepezil.
I didn’t have to ask the pharmacist what it was. Each bottle came with its own paperwork. But I didn’t need that either. Gramp was taking the same medication.
My father was being treated for Alzheimer’s.
“You can pay for that here,” the pharmacist said.
I stared at him.
“You can pay here at our register. Your medications and your other purchases. Instead of going to the front of the store.”
I handed him the cash. He stuffed Gramp’s meds into one small paper bag, my father’s in another, and then he stapled them together along with the paperwork. He placed the other items into a blue plastic bag with the store’s name on it in bold letters and shoved it all toward me with a smile. I scooped it up and hit the door.
The piece-of-shit brown Chevy Malibu was parked in a handicapped spot directly in front of me. I finally figured out what was wrong with it. The car hunkered down much lower than it should have. Its carriage had been reinforced to take a serious beating in case of a high-speed chase. A lot of extra welding had gone into the chassis. It carried more weight but the engine would have been souped to handle it. Chub always made sure the getaway cars he worked on could cope with going over a median or a high curb at eighty without bottoming out.
All of this came to me at once as the four-man crew wearing their look-alike black clothing and wool hats moved in on me. There was no time to make a break for it. Fighting would be useless, but sometimes you had to bare your fangs just to let them know they couldn’t walk over you. There were no guns in sight but I knew they’d be carrying. I controlled my panic. I let my muscles tighten. I steeled myself.
The Last Whisper in the Dark: A Novel Page 4
