by Johnny Shaw
Fritzy slowly moved out from behind the open trunk. When he cleared the car, the pistol in his hand became visible. He raised it, but not quickly enough.
Johnnie fired his shotgun, knocking Fritzy backward onto the ground.
“Gretchen!” Axel yelled in her ear. “Gretchen! What was that? What’s happening?”
“He shot Fritzy.”
“Who? What?”
“Johnnie effing Correia,” Gretchen said. “Oh shit. Don’t do it.”
Steven reached for his sidearm and drew like an Old West gunfighter. He fired, missing by at least fifteen feet. The shot ricocheted off a drum of used cooking oil.
“The hell,” Johnnie said, firing at Steven and knocking him to the ground.
“Holy hell! What is happening back there?” Axel shouted into Gretchen’s ear.
“Quit yelling in my ear,” Gretchen said.
Stanley had no interest in trying anything. Crying into his hands, he sat on the ground with his back to the truck.
Fritzy got to his feet. The side of his face was pocked with dark spots, and his arm was soaked red with blood. He crawled into the driver’s side of the car and started it.
“Fritzy’s up,” Gretchen said. “He’s in the car. Get ready. He’s going to be in a hurry. The money’s in the car.”
“Cops are going to be on this,” Axel said. “This is all screwed.”
“Just follow the damn car,” Gretchen said.
“On it,” Axel said. “Get off that roof. You can’t be there.”
The silver whatever-kind-of-car backed out, just missing the approaching Johnnie, who loaded more shells into his shotgun. Scraping against the wall of the neighboring warehouse, the car drove out of the driveway, the trunk still open, the money bags fully visible.
Gretchen ran to where Stephanie watched the action, and made it in time to see the car fishtail onto the street. Johnnie took one last shot as the car drove away, blowing a hole in one of the money bags, sending bills flying into the air. Johnnie watched the car for a second, spit on the ground, and walked back to the diner.
“I hope I’m that cool when I’m eighty-one,” Gretchen said.
“You Uckers know how to party,” Stephanie said.
“Time to make like a horse cock and hit the road,” Gretchen said.
“It’s your classiness that I’m most drawn to.”
“Classy as fuck.”
CHAPTER 37
The silver Saturn crossed the intersection in front of Kurt. He counted slowly in his head just like Fritzy had taught him. He let his foot off the brake, and the car idled forward. He braked abruptly.
“Hey,” Louder said, both hands on the dashboard to stop her forward momentum.
The Saturn had stopped. The driver’s side door swung open. Fritzy hobbled out, one hand holding his bloody shoulder. His face looked like it had caught on fire and someone had tried to put it out with a fork. Using the car for balance, he stumbled to the open trunk, slammed it shut, picked a few loose bills off the ground, shoved them into his pockets, and got back in the car.
“He’s a mess,” Kurt said. “Should we forget the plan and help him?”
The Saturn drove away slowly.
“As long as he’s driving,” Louder said, “he’s not dead.”
“That’s cold,” Kurt said.
“You going to go?”
“Patience, grasshopper.”
“He ain’t looking around,” Louder said. “You see him? His eyes were zombied out.”
“If he sees me, I don’t know if I have the skills to stay on him. He taught me.”
“The student has become the teacher,” Louder said. “You got skills, K. Mad skills.”
Kurt smiled and pulled out onto the empty street. They were the only two cars on that stretch of road, but Kurt stayed seventy-five yards back. When Fritzy turned onto the main road out of view, Kurt closed the gap.
“We’re on Fritzy,” Louder said into the walkie. “He’s heading west.”
“Stay on him,” Axel said. “That car is the money.”
“Saw it,” Louder said. “Trunk looked full.”
“Tell Ax I need him or Gretch here now,” Kurt said. “We need to tag team.”
Louder relayed the message.
Gretchen’s voice came over the walkie. “Steph and me, we’re on our way. Three, four minutes depending.”
“I’m staying back,” Axel said. “Mother is somewhere close. I want to find her. If you absolutely need me, I’m there. But otherwise . . .”
The Saturn took the next turn really wide, showing a loss of control. One of those one-handed turns you make when you’re holding a cup of coffee and have your phone in the crook of your neck. Fritzy’s injury was affecting his usual precision.
“He turned onto Hilltop, then headed south,” Louder said into the walkie. “Drive toward Chula Vista. If he changes course, I’ll let you know.”
“Got it,” Gretchen replied.
Kurt turned onto Hilltop. Fritzy’s car drove two blocks ahead, weaving out of its lane, correcting too much, and darting into the other lane.
“I’m worried about him,” Kurt said. “It looked like a lot of blood.”
“He pulled a gun on us in Mississippi,” Louder said. “Don’t forget that.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy. He’s a tough old dude, but not invulnerable. Hope he makes it easy. Pulls over. We can get the money and call an ambulance. I don’t want him to die or nothing.”
“Whoa,” Louder said.
The Saturn drifted across two lanes, forcing a panel van to slam on the brakes. The van rode its horn. Fritzy’s window rolled down. The old man’s bloody arm held a middle finger aloft.
“Tough all right,” Louder said. “Got to give him that.”
The Saturn accelerated through a yellow light, forcing Kurt to stop at the red. No longer attempting to be inconspicuous, the car didn’t slow down when it crossed the intersection.
“Bullspit,” Kurt said. “Either he saw us or thinks he’s close to passing out.”
The wait for the green light was excruciating. Kurt idled into the crosswalk. The moment the light turned green, Kurt gunned it. The Saturn was no longer in sight. They were almost a half minute behind—an eternity in car tailing. Making matters worse, Kurt got boxed in between two trucks.
“Monkey flunker,” Kurt said, swerving into the oncoming lane and passing the truck to the sound of horns from every car in a one-block radius.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Louder said, pumping a nonexistent brake on the floor of the passenger side.
“I got it,” Kurt said, sliding back into the lane and accelerating up the street.
“I can’t believe you’ll pull into oncoming traffic but you won’t swear.”
“The Bible doesn’t say anything about pulling into oncoming traffic.”
“You’re going to get hit.”
“By a car, or by you?”
“Both.”
“You see him?” Kurt said.
Louder lowered her window and scoonched herself onto the window frame. Kurt reflexively grabbed her calf and held on to it. After fifteen seconds, she shifted back into her seat.
“He’s still up ahead,” Louder said. “About six blocks. It’s him. Unless there’s another really drunk guy driving a similar car.”
Without any abrupt motion, Kurt eased through traffic, passing cars on the right and left. The moment he had the Saturn back in sight, Fritzy took a hard left, forcing oncoming traffic to skid to a stop. Taking the turn too wide, the Saturn bounced off a parked car. The car alarm blared as Fritzy continued on his way.
Kurt waited for a gap in the oncoming traffic and then took the turn. On the dead end street, there were no cars on the road. None of the parked cars were silver or Saturns. With no visible outlet, Fritzy had to have pulled into one of the buildings. Kurt parked, leaving the engine running.
Louder reported the street address into the walkie.
“Still five minutes at least,” Gretchen said. “Traffic. Some cop activity.”
Louder set the walkie down. “What do you want to do?”
Kurt opened his door. “Let’s poke our heads in some windows.”
“Should one of us stay in the car?” Louder said.
“Probably,” Kurt said, “but I’m worried about Fritzy. He’s hurt bad. Let’s see what we can see.”
“You’re the criminal mastermind,” Louder said. “I’ll take this side of the street. You take that one.”
Kurt wiped grime from a window and squinted through the smeared glass. Streaks of sun lit parts of the tap-and-die facility inside, but there were more shadows than light. It didn’t appear that anything had moved in the space for a century.
The sounds coming from the neighboring building indicated that it was a working factory. The blacked-out windows gave him nothing, but there was nothing suspicious about the modest sign over the door that read: “Silicone Zone: Rubber Molding. Since 1979.”
The door opened and Kurt jumped. Out walked a man with a loupe in one eye inspecting a large rubber penis. He walked to a patch of sunlight, not even noticing Kurt. Focused on quality control, he ran his finger over a latex vein.
Louder whistled behind him and waved Kurt across the street while she pointed at the building in front of her. She made other hand gestures that made no sense to him.
Kurt shrugged and took three steps toward her, but she only looked at a nearby window and immediately waved to him to get back.
“What is—?” Kurt said, but he was interrupted by the garage door next to her opening and an International Scout roaring out of the building and jumping the curb near Kurt.
The dildo inspector hit the deck and protectively clutched the rubber wang like a small baby.
As the Scout turned onto the road, Kurt and Fritzy made eye contact with each other for a moment. Fritzy gave him a wink and a finger gun. Kurt checked on the man on the ground.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” the man said. “And thankfully so is the prototype.”
“K!” Louder shouted, running back to the car.
“He saw me,” Kurt said, reaching the car at the same time as Louder.
“No more Mr. Nice Guy,” Louder said. “You’re going to have to knock his ass off the road.”
“Buckle up.”
Kurt made a two-point turn in time to see Fritzy turn onto the street back in the direction they had come. A second later, Gretchen and Stephanie appeared at the same intersection.
Kurt tossed the walkie-talkie into Louder’s lap as he passed Gretchen. “Tell her what’s going on.”
“Fritzy saw Kurt,” Louder said. “That was him in the Scout you just passed. We’re going to nail his ass.”
“Go, go, go,” Gretchen said. “Right behind you. Don’t lose him.”
“I don’t plan to.” Kurt turned onto the road. He fishtailed and corrected, only a couple blocks behind Fritzy. Fritzy’s driving hadn’t gotten any less erratic. He was swerving and overadjusting all over the road. Blood loss was not conducive to concentration or reaction time.
Kurt heard sirens somewhere. It was hard to tell which direction they were coming from. It’s not like the situation wasn’t already urgent. He did his best to ignore the sirens and focus on the Scout.
Fritzy took a left and slid onto the sidewalk, missing a fire hydrant by inches. When Kurt caught up, he saw the Scout making a quick right. Kurt knew Fritzy’s tactics. He was attempting a Dixie Shuffle, but Kurt wouldn’t bite.
Kurt gunned it and made the next turn. His car slammed directly into the back end of the Scout. Kurt jerked forward, his neck burning immediately. With a yelp, Louder slid under her seat belt and onto the floorboard.
Fritzy had fooled him. It wasn’t a Dixie Shuffle. It was a Rusty Sheriff’s Badge. The Scout took off again but stopped at the end of the block. No steam from the radiator. Kurt rolled forward a little. The car didn’t appear damaged.
“You okay?” Kurt asked.
“I’m all tangled,” Louder said, fighting the seat belt to get back into a sitting position. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Kurt said.
The car door opened, and Fritzy got out. He leaned against the car and held a pistol loosely in one hand. The blood on his bad arm had dried at the edges but still gleamed wet toward the shoulder.
“Dang,” Louder said. “Did we have a plan for when we caught up to him?”
Kurt rolled the car forward, stopping twenty yards away from Fritzy. He turned off the engine.
“What stupid thing are you going to do?” Louder said.
“I’m going to talk to him,” Kurt said.
“He’s got a gun.”
“I’m not a threat.” Kurt got out of the car but stayed behind the open door.
“You’re hurt!” Kurt yelled to Fritzy. “You need to go to a hospital.”
“This? It’s nothing,” Fritzy said. “Scattergun swiss cheesed me. Hurts like road rash. How’s my face look?”
“One of your eyebrows fell off.”
“That happens a lot.” Fritzy felt his face where the missing eyebrow should have been. He peeled off the other one and let it fall to the ground. “Some good driving back there, kid.”
“I had a good teacher.”
Fritzy smiled. “People would now refer to this situation as a Latinx standoff.”
“Very PC of you.”
“You taught me a few things, too,” Fritzy said. “I got nothing against Mexicans. In character, I threw around casual racisms. Makes people think I’m dumb. Makes them underestimate me. A good position to be in.”
“I never underestimated you,” Kurt said.
“So here we are,” Fritzy said.
The screech of tires made Fritzy raise the gun and Kurt turn. Gretchen’s car tore around the corner and came to a stop behind Kurt’s.
“The gang’s all here,” Fritzy said, lowering the gun again.
Gretchen and Stephanie got out and joined Kurt. Louder got out of the car and joined them, as well. Kurt gave her a look.
“What?” Louder said. “I’m not going to be the only one waiting in the car.”
Fritzy leaned on the top of the door for balance. “There may be four of you, but three of you are ladies and I got a gun.”
“You aren’t going to shoot any of us,” Kurt said. “You wouldn’t shoot family.”
“Hate to break it to you,” Fritzy said, “but I’m not your family. Not your father’s brother. I’m your aunt’s boyfriend. Hooked up with her a couple years back. We’ve been running some rackets together.”
There was a long silence. Fritzy looked away. Only for a moment. It wasn’t much, but it held meaning. Maybe regret and maybe guilt.
“It don’t matter,” Fritzy said, tossing the gun into the Scout and walking away. “She’s done with me. Should have seen it. I was always eventually going to take the fall for something.”
“What?” Kurt said. “What are you talking about?”
Fritzy tripped, tried to gain his balance on the wall of a building, but he let his body slide to the ground. He sat there.
Kurt and Gretchen ran to him.
“Things have been rocky,” Fritzy said. “I wanted to retire. She wants to keep at this shit. Makes me deadweight. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tipped off the diner guy.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Kurt said. “I’m sure she loves you.”
“You got a good heart, kid, but you’re dumb as shit.” Fritzy laughed and fell over onto his side, unconscious. Kurt felt for a pulse. It was faint, but the old man was still kicking.
“Call an ambulance,” Kurt said.
“I’m on it,” Louder said, punching the number into her phone.
Stephanie popped the back hatch of the Scout. “Uh, guys. Come here. Right now.”
Kurt and Gretchen rushed to the back of the car. They stared at the empty vehicle. Well, not completely empty. Th
ere was a spare tire, a jack, and a gas can. But no money—that was for sure.
CHAPTER 38
An International Scout coming from the other direction blew past Axel. He caught sight of Fritzy behind the wheel. Ten seconds later, Kurt’s car followed, and then Gretchen’s.
Any subtlety to the operation had been abandoned. A car chase drew attention. The police would be a problem soon. If they didn’t catch Fritzy in the next two minutes, they would need to abort. Not that it mattered. Axel knew that Fritzy didn’t have the money.
If he had learned anything about how Mother operated, the money wouldn’t be with Fritzy. Mother buffered herself from risk. Fritzy was her new patsy. While Kurt and Gretchen did their job, Axel would do his.
He headed to the location of the building where Fritzy had swapped vehicles, where he expected to find the money. And Mother.
She was the perfect candidate to transport the stolen money. She wouldn’t fit any description involving the crime. She looked like the opposite of an armored car thief. She hadn’t been at the scene. She wasn’t driving erratically. She looked guilty of eating too much chocolate pie, not stealing thousands of dollars.
He turned down the chatter of the walkie-talkie—Louder and Gretchen shouting street names to each other.
What had Mother said? Opportunity and willingness. Were those really the only two things that separated a criminal from a citizen—identifying the opportunity and possessing the willingness to execute?
Mother had double-crossed them in Mississippi, but they had created the opportunity for her. She had warned them not to trust her, but they chose to ignore her. Instead, they had given her the benefit of the doubt that they had never gotten themselves. It stung. Just because a person warned you they were going to kick you in the balls didn’t mean it hurt less.
Axel parked across the street from the address. On the sidewalk, a man holding an enormous dildo smoked a cigarette with a shaking hand. Axel gave him a head nod. The man smiled.
Crossing the street, Axel reached into his pocket like he was digging for his keys. He pulled his lockpicks and casually opened the warehouse door.
