by Max Austin
“Sure, sure. We can do that.”
“I’ll report it stolen,” Caro said. “Be a lot of paperwork and shit, but I won’t have cops asking me about a bullet hole in the fender.”
Milton picked up the keys. “Happy to take care of that for you, Mr. Caro. Shall I call you when it’s done?”
“Just leave a message on my room phone. I’ll be going out again as soon as I get a fresh car delivered.”
Milton managed not to make a face. This Chicago hood thought he could just march in here, order him around, get him to aid and abet in crimes. But he was too fucking busy to take his calls.
“Consider it handled,” Milton said. “Anything else we can do for you?”
Caro pressed his lips together, as if it pained him to ask for another favor. He met Milton’s gaze and said, “I need a new gun.”
Chapter 63
Bud drove his Equinox along shady suburban streets, smiling at the way the girls chattered in the backseat. They’d covered the day’s big news: soccer practice, the new girl in Angela’s class, and the boy who’d bloodied his elbow in a fall on the playground. Now they were lobbying for ice cream.
“We’re almost home,” he protested. “You can wait until dinner.”
“But I’m star-ving,” said Amy, the ten-year-old, always with a flair for the dramatic.
“Me, too!” her little sister chimed in. “I haven’t had hardly anything to eat all day!”
“What about lunch?”
“Mom made us eat at the school cafeteria,” Amy said. “Today was meat loaf!”
“I like meat loaf.”
“Ewww!” they both sang. “Not meat loaf!”
“Yummy.”
“You don’t know what this meat loaf is like, Dad. It’s horrible.”
“Come on. They couldn’t serve it if it were that bad.”
“They do, though,” Angela said. “Amy’s right. It’s horrible and smelly and gooshy.”
“Gooshy?”
“It squirts when you cut it.”
“Probably just grease.”
“Ewww!”
“Maybe we can have a healthy snack at home.”
“Ice cream! Ice cream! We want ice cream!”
They laughed until Bud noted, “Ice cream is gooshy, too.”
He watched in the rearview mirror as they looked at each other with wide eyes. “Ewww!”
“Too late anyway,” he said. “There’s the house. We’re home!”
“Awww!”
“Come on. We’ll go inside and have some fruit. You’ll be hungry for dinner when Mom gets home.”
“It’s not the same,” Amy said, giving him the sad face.
“At least an apple won’t be gooshy.”
Bud parked in the driveway, then helped them haul their heavy backpacks up to the porch. He’d put his keys in his pocket and now dropped the backpacks to fish them out again.
“Hurry, Dad. I’m starving, remember?”
He laughed as he opened the door. The girls bolted past him, headed for the kitchen, leaving him to schlep the backpacks inside.
He was halfway through the door, his hands full, when he realized the girls had frozen just inside the living room.
“Dad,” Amy said, alarm in her voice. “Who’s that man?”
The man was sitting in a floral-print wingback chair, his legs crossed and a smile on his freckled face. His narrow eyes were cold, though, and his reddish-brown hair was greased back into a ducktail. No one Bud knew.
“What the hell—”
Another man stepped from behind the front door. He was no taller than Bud but twice as wide at the shoulders. He wore a sweatshirt that had the sleeves cut away, exposing bodybuilder arms. His curly black hair sat on top of his head above twisted little ears.
The bodybuilder grabbed Bud’s arm and yanked him the rest of the way into the living room. He shut the front door.
The girls were wide-eyed and gaping.
“Look,” Bud said, “I don’t know who you guys are, but there’s no reason to scare my kids. Just leave now, and I won’t call the cops or—”
The seated man laughed, a loud bark that cut Bud off.
“Nice try, Mr. Knox,” he said. “But we need to have a talk. The girls look like they could use a bathroom break, don’t they, Dwight?”
Dwight nodded stupidly and pointed down the hall to the powder room, a closet-sized cell that held only a sink and a toilet. The window in there was a foot square, too small for even Angela to crawl through.
Amy looked up at Bud and said, “Dad? Do we have to?”
“Just for a minute, hon. Let me talk to these men and see what they want.”
The girls hesitated. Angela looked ready to cry.
“Go ahead,” Bud said.
Dwight followed them down the hall, bobbing back and forth as he walked. Once the girls were inside the bathroom, he shut the door.
Bud’s gaze shifted back to the man in the armchair. Beyond him, in the dining room, the back door stood open a few inches. Its frame was splintered. They’d pried it open with something, shredding the jamb in the process.
“All right,” Bud said, “now what’s this—”
Again he stopped in mid-sentence. The seated man with the greasy hair had produced a six-shooter, and he pointed its long barrel at Bud’s stomach.
“Sit down, fool. We’re asking the questions.”
Bud edged around the end of the sofa and sat, hands on his knees, feet flat on the floor. He wanted to be ready if he saw an opening, but the revolver followed his every move.
Dwight came back into the room. Bud could hear the girls sobbing behind the bathroom door.
“Where’s the money?” asked the man with the gun.
Bud put on the affronted homeowner act. “We don’t really keep cash in the house. I’ve got a hundred bucks in my wallet. You’re welcome to that.”
The gunman’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You fucking with me?”
“What? No. I don’t want any trouble. Just tell me what you want and—”
“The bank money, asshole. We don’t want your petty cash. We want the money you and Mick Wyman took from that bank.”
Bud glanced toward the bathroom. He knew from experience that it was hard to hear anything clearly through that wooden bathroom door, but still.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I don’t know anybody named Mick.”
“Bullshit. You just had lunch with him. We saw you.”
Bud kept his face blank.
“We talked to the FBI,” said the gunman. “They told us the robbers were a tall guy and a short guy. Mutt and Jeff.”
“The FBI?”
“They hauled us in for the robbery. You can’t tell it because I’m sitting down here, but I’m pretty tall myself. And Dwight there, he’s vertically challenged. Ain’t that right, Dwight?”
“That’s right, Rex.”
The bodybuilder slipped behind the sofa, which sat in the middle of the room, and moved behind Bud.
Bud remembered what Mick told him about a strongman snapping Johnny’s neck. It was all he could do not to jump up from the couch.
His gaze roamed the living room, but he saw nothing that would work as a weapon. He remembered the pistol in his office, so carefully locked away.
“We did a little detective work ourselves,” Rex said. “Mick Wyman’s got quite a reputation. A bad man.”
Bud didn’t reply.
“We see you eating with him at the diner. And I say, ‘That guy’s short. He could be the one.’ ”
Bud shook his head. “Sorry, fellas. You’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t know anything about a bank robbery.”
Rex looked up at his partner, who still stood behind Bud. Bud tensed, but he couldn’t avoid the big hand swinging at his head. It knocked him off the sofa onto the tile floor.
“Get up,” Dwight said. “Get up ’fore I stomp you to death.”
The room tilted and spun,
but Bud made it onto his knees and pulled himself onto the sofa as if dragging himself into a lifeboat. Dwight cracked his knuckles, ready for the next blow.
Rex leaned forward, making sure he had Bud’s attention.
“Where’s the fuckin’ money?”
Chapter 64
Rex Cutler smiled. He had Bud Knox right where he wanted him.
A lucky break that the man had shown up with his kids. Rex had intended to simply surprise him, get the jump on him when he returned to his own house. But when he saw the SUV pull up outside and the two girls spill out, Rex knew they were home free.
Oh, Bud put up a good front, but Rex expected that. Guy like this, pulled lots of bank jobs over the years, he’d be a cool customer. But Rex held the trump cards—those two girls weeping in the bathroom—and he knew that Knox would crack before long. He and Dwight probably wouldn’t even have to hurt the kids, though Rex was willing. They’d already killed twice in their quest to get the money. He wouldn’t let a couple of snot-nosed girls stand in the way now.
Rex kept his handgun pointed at Knox’s midsection, but he didn’t intend to use it. Not yet anyway. It was just insurance while Dwight worked him over.
Without any signal from Rex, Dwight hauled off and whacked Bud upside the head again. He fell over on the sofa cushions, then slowly picked himself up. His cheek was bright red. Blood dribbled from his left nostril.
“Look out there,” Rex said. “You don’t want to get blood on your nice furniture. Your old lady would never let you hear the end of that.”
Bud wiped at the blood with the back of his hand. He sniffed a little, but the look in his eyes was murderous.
“You feel like talking yet?” Rex said. “Dwight can do this all day. He actually enjoys it. It’s like a workout for him. Ain’t that right?”
“You bet,” Dwight mumbled. He flexed his bulging arms, but Bud didn’t see. He was focused on Rex and his pistol.
“Or,” Rex said, “maybe you’re tougher than you look. Maybe you can take all the punishment Dwight dishes out. We’d just have to up the ante, wouldn’t we? You think those little girls of yours could hold up to some punishment?”
“You son of a—”
“Careful now,” Rex said. “You don’t want to insult a man who’s holding a gun on you. I might put a bullet in your kneecap just to learn you some manners.”
Bud clamped his mouth shut, his jaw muscles pulsing.
“Now, you gonna tell us where that money is, or do I have Dwight go fetch those girls?”
Bud took a deep breath and blew it out his nose. Blood bubbled on his nostril, and he swiped at it with the back of his wrist.
“All right,” he said. “But you’ve got to let my daughters go.”
Rex wagged the gun at him.
“You think we’d let our best bargaining chips go running to the neighbors’ house to call the cops? You must think we’re stupid.”
Whap! Dwight slapped the back of Bud’s head, nearly rocking him into the floor again.
“Dwight hates it when people act like we’re stupid,” Rex said. “It gets him upset.”
Bud shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot and fierce, but he started talking.
“Mick’s got the money put away in a safe place.”
“Where’s your share?”
“We haven’t split it up yet. We haven’t had a chance. Ever since we pulled that job, one asshole after another has been after the money.”
Rex let that go.
“You expect me to believe you let your partner put millions of dollars into a hidey-hole somewhere, and you don’t know where that is?”
“It’s the truth. I trust him to take care of it.”
“Man.” Rex sat back in his chair. “That’s more trust than I’ve ever felt for anybody. How about you, Dwight? Would you let anybody, even me, hold on to a million dollars of your money?”
Dwight grinned. “Not fuckin’ likely.”
“I think this boy’s lying to us. Go get one of the girls, the littler one. Bring her in here and see if he wants to repeat that lie in front of her.”
“It’s the truth!” Bud shouted. “The money’s locked up and I can’t get to it. I swear it. The only one who can get it is Mick.”
Rex smiled at the bank robber. “You’d better call Mick Wyman, then. Tell him to bring the money here before we start killing little girls.”
Chapter 65
Bud put the phone to his ear and listened to it ring. Rex had moved over to sit beside him, his ear close to the phone, the gun pressed against Bud’s ribs. Dwight still loomed behind them.
“Come on,” Bud whispered as the phone reached the fourth ring. There was a click and he knew Mick was on the line.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me. Bud.”
“I tried to call you a little while ago.”
“Must not have heard the phone. I was bringing the girls home from school. You know how loud they can be.”
Bud didn’t think the girls could hear him now, but he imagined he could hear whimpering coming from the bathroom. Poor kids. He caught himself. He couldn’t let emotions take over. Keep calm, explain the situation to Mick, see what can be done.
“Listen, there were a couple of guys here when we got home.”
“At your house?”
“Inside my house. They know about the money. They want it.”
“Or what?”
“Or they’re going to hurt the girls.”
“Bastards.”
“I know.”
“They been slapping you around?”
“A little. But it’s the girls I’m worried about.”
“Of course. What do you want me to do?”
“I told them I couldn’t get the money, that I don’t even know where you put it. So they want you to get it and bring it here.”
“All of it?”
“Afraid so. Can you manage it?”
“You really expect me to hand it over?”
Bud was so focused on his conversation with Mick, making every syllable count, that he’d almost forgotten the man pressed up against him. Rex poked him with the gun.
“They’ve got a gun,” Bud said. “They’re going to shoot me if you don’t.”
Another pause.
“They think you’re more important to me than the money?”
Now it was Bud’s turn to pause. “Aren’t I?”
“Sure. But how do they know? Pretty big gamble.”
“They’ve got the girls shut up in the guest bathroom,” Bud said. “As long as they’ve got them, we can’t afford to do anything but cooperate.”
“Right. It’ll take me a while to get the money, though. It’s all the way across town.”
Bud cut his eyes to Rex, who nodded.
“They’ll wait. We’ll be right here.”
“I can be there in an hour,” Mick said. “When is Linda supposed to get home?”
Bud glanced at a cuckoo clock hanging on the far wall. “Couple of hours. We’ll be done by then.”
“Okay.” Mick blew out his breath, loud in the phone. “I can’t believe you let some mutts get the jump on you.”
“I’m sorry, man. Really.”
“I’ll be there soon as I can.”
The phone clicked dead.
Rex leaned away as Bud took the phone from his ear. He kept the gun pressed against Bud’s side.
“You did good!” he said. “Very convincing, especially when you was talking about your daughters.”
Bud glowered at him, but it seemed to have little effect.
“Bet you’d like to go comfort the little girls, wouldn’t you?”
Bud nodded.
“Take him in there, Dwight. We’ve got a wait ahead of us. Might as well keep him shut up in the bathroom until the money gets here.”
The ape grabbed Bud’s collar and yanked him to his feet. He followed as Bud walked down the hall and opened the bathroom door.
The girls were standing
as far from the door as possible in the tiny bathroom, holding onto each other, their faces streaked with tears.
“Daddy!” they shouted in unison.
Bud dropped to his knees and took them into his arms, murmuring that everything would be all right. He barely flinched when Dwight slammed the door.
Kneeling there, he had a girl pressed against each cheek, their tears wet against his skin. Amy whispered in his ear, “Daddy? What do those men want?”
“They’re looking for somebody, and they thought it was me,” he murmured. “I told them they’ve got the wrong guy, but they’re not sure whether to believe me. So we called Uncle Mick.”
“Uncle Mick?”
“He’ll be here in an hour. He’ll get this straightened out.”
The girls shuddered in his arms, but their sobbing stopped. They trusted in Uncle Mick.
Chapter 66
Mick sat behind the wheel of the Charger, staring at the phone in his hand. Bud and the girls were in trouble. The men holding them likely were the ones who’d killed Sid Harris and Johnny Muller. Which meant that, even if he delivered the money as promised, they’d try to kill them, too. With millions at stake, they wouldn’t leave any witnesses, not even little girls.
A hot fury threatened to derail Mick’s train of thought. He took a deep breath. He needed to stay calm, make a plan.
Bud had given him lots of information in that phone conversation. Two men were in the house with them. Only one gun had been mentioned. The girls were in the bathroom, probably safe for the moment.
Best of all, he had surprise on his side. He’d said the money was across town. They expected him to pick it up and drive all the way to Bud’s house. But Mick was parked outside Bud’s house right now. He’d driven there after Bud hadn’t answered his phone. Had a feeling something might be wrong. The smart thing would’ve been to focus on getting rid of the Charger. The police had to be looking for it by now. But he’d driven to Bud’s house instead, and now he was glad.
Mick pulled out the Colt, checked the clip and racked the slide so it was ready to fire. He also readied the little Beretta he’d taken off Vincent Caro, which might be the gun for this job. Quieter. The neighborhood looked empty, most people still at work. Maybe he could do this without attracting a lot of attention.
