Crime Always Pays

by Declan Burke

  'I'm only asking.'

  'Okay. Only next time? Ask me something I might know.'

  Ray sipped some coffee and chewed lightly on the rim of the cardboard beaker. 'Know what I'm thinking?' he said.

  Karen nodded, grim. 'We go over there, drag him out of the fucking car and put a round in each knee.'

  'Tempting,' Ray said. 'But first let's see if there's other options.'

  'Like what?'

  'Like how this doesn't actually change anything.'

  'Are you insane? The sick fuck's sitting right there.'

  'He's not over here. Not pointing a rod at your face, wanting the money. I'm saying,' Ray said, 'he doesn't know we're here. And there's no way he can know what we're driving. We could spin all the way down to Athens behind him, keeping an eye on the Beamer, he wouldn't think twice about it. Like, he reckons we got a jump-start on him, right?'

  'So now we're following him,' Karen said, 'following us?'

  'This way we know where he's at. And until I can raise Terry on the blower, we still need to hit Athens.'

  'I can't believe Madge told him about the cruise.'

  Ray had nothing to add to that. They watched as the big guy got out of the Beamer and lumbered back across the forecourt, went to the Ladies' restroom. From the rear of the van came a rumbling sigh that sounded a lot like a sabre-toothed tiger contemplating a mammoth. Ray flinched, ducking his head into his shoulders, then shuddered. Without looking, Karen reached back over the seat and patted Anna's shaggy head. 'Not now, hon,' she murmured. 'Just give me five minutes, okay?' Then, her eyes still on the wing mirror, 'You were saying, about this island.'

  Ray sipped some coffee. 'Ios, yeah. Time I was there, where I was staying, the guy had a hound he said was Rottweiler mixed with some Alsatian. To me it looked more like a bear crossed with a bigger bear, but I'm no expert. Anyway, the guy says the dog was for gypsies, blacks and guys in funny hats. Seriously, funny hats.' Karen gave Anna's ear a gentle tug, Anna growling sleepily way down in her throat. He said, 'You're living remote on the islands? They'll expect you to have a dog. Bigger the better.'

  'So that's Anna looked after,' Karen said. 'What about me?'

  'You'll buy a place,' he said, 'for thirty, forty. Nothing flash, you're not talking pools and wet bars, but enough space for Anna, a couple've acres. Then, you ride bikes, you can splash out for a Harley or some shit. Although in the islands, they mainly ride mopeds.'

  'Mopeds?'

  'Scooters. Anyway, your choice.'

  'And I'm working as a waitress. In a cocktail bar, right?'

  'Staying incognito,' Ray said, missing it. 'For a while, anyway. Until you decide what you want to do.' He glanced across. 'You've worked waitress before, right?'

  'Never, no. But you're saying I look the type.'

  'No offence,' Ray said. 'I thought all women, at some point, work waitress. Like, part-time. When they're kids, during the holidays.'

  'On my résumé,' Karen said, 'if I had one, which I don't, but if I had? It'd say, "Taking care of bastard father".'

  'Cooking, cleaning, serving him dinner. Same deal, right? And the living's cheap, especially on the islands. So you've still, even after buying the place, the bike, got thirty, forty gees in the mattress. That buys you, even not working, three or four years.'

  'We have eighty right now,' Karen said, 'eighty and change once we split with Madge. Then, after we split, that's forty. Forty before I go buying any ranches.'

  'So if we don't split,' Ray said, 'you've still got eighty.'

  Karen watched the big guy give up knocking on the Ladies' door, do a quick sketch left and right, then barge through. She said, 'If we don't split or if we don't split the money?'

  'Either or,' Ray said.

  'Because what I'm thinking,' Karen said, 'is that kind of living – I mean, remote on an island? Working in bars? It doesn't sound like your kind of living.'

  'Hold on, here he comes.'

  The big guy crossed the forecourt again, a suitcase under one armpit, the girl now in two-piece suit, jacket and slacks, a silk scarf knotted at her neck, tottering along on kitten heels, dragged by the hand. Ray lit a Marlboro and waited for the Beamer to pull off, the Beamer veering from the left-hand lane into the right when a Ford Focus came tearing towards it flashing its lights, honking its horn. 'Don't sweat the details, Karen,' he said. 'Living's living.'

  They pulled out of the gas station and got on the road. Karen dug out her bottle of pills and leaned over the partition, fed one to Anna, shushed her to sleep. Then she filched one of Ray's Marlboros, cranked the window an inch or two.

  'So what happens,' she said, 'we get to Athens, you still haven't heard from Terry?'

  Ray scratched the plaster-cast below his elbow. 'I guess we make a new plan.'

  'Another one?'

  'Plans are cheap,' Ray said. 'Plans come free.'

  Doyle

  'The Acrockolis?' Sparks said. 'That anywhere near the Acropolis?'

  'Right next door,' Doyle said. She switched the phone to her other ear, perched a buttock on a smooth rock that might have been a rock or yet another ancient altar, Christ, Doyle afraid to step on dog turds in case they turned out sacred. 'Just there behind the Acrapolis.'

  'Ingrate. That's three thousand years worth of culture you're looking at there.'

  Doyle, who'd found it hard to sleep in the muggy heat, felt like she fit right in with all the ruins. 'It's hot up here, Sparks. Plus they take your bag off you in case you smuggle out a temple or two, maybe. So I forgot to bring any water.'

  'Details, girl. What's it like?'

  Doyle shaded her eyes and looked up the dusty hill towards the Parthenon, the vast blue dome of sky behind. 'Right now,' she said, 'it's infested with Yanks and Japs, it's Iwo Jima with Nikons. And the temples are all covered over with scaffolding, so it looks a lot like a building site for the world's biggest sauna.' She pulled her clammy t-shirt away from her belly, the jeans sticking to her thighs. 'So what's happening there?'

  Sparks cleared her throat. 'Frank's dead.'

  'Shit. You're serious?'

  'Last night,' Sparks said, 'late.'

  'How come?'

  'They're still not sure. So far they've ruled out septicemia, cancer and suicide. The early money's on heart-attack.'

  'What happened?'

  'They don't know. He was fine at the last check, around ten-ish, still bitching. Then, the nurse is doing her rounds, about two-ish, she finds the guy.'

  'And no alarms went off? They were cut?'

  'He wasn't critical, didn't even make it to ICU, he went straight from theatre to his private room. So he wasn't hooked up to any alarms.'

  'What's Ted's take?'

  'Right now nothing, mainly because he has Frank's lawyer crawling up his fundament with a six-foot probe. I mean, the guy was already squawking about negligence, how you're the biggest fuck-up since …' Sparks paused. 'Actually, he reckons you're the biggest fuck-up ever. But don't take it personal, he's just building a case.'

  'What about Madge?' Doyle said. 'What's the read on her?'

  'I can't see her claiming self-defence,' Sparks said, 'when the guy was unarmed and cuffed to a cop. So yeah, right now she's staring down the barrel of a sawn-off shitgun. I'm guessing she'll claim temporary insanity after she found out Frank'd had her snatched, she blacked out, went doolally. Who'd blame her?'

  'I wouldn't,' Doyle said. She dragged a wrist across her forehead, felt the sweat dribble down her forearm. 'So where am I in all this?'

  'Ted wants you back. Yesterday.'

  'What'll that achieve?'

  'My guess is he's planning to drape you across his desk like Linda Carter, have you deflect that big fat bullet heading his way with your funky bracelets.'

  'Fuck that. He doesn't know where I am, right?'

  'Nope. But the boys finally got around to checking Madge's credit card records. So he knows about the cruise.'

  'They know about Aspen?'

  'That
was the twins, her kids. Aspen's a non-runner.'

  Doyle felt that tightening in her gut, she got it once in a while, not often but sometimes it played out – the instinct, the hunch, starting to pay off. 'So there's a pretty good chance she's already here.'

  'Except,' Sparks said, 'there's no record of her leaving the country. No Karen or Ray, either.'

  'Karen won't be sticking around, Sparks. Not after Anna savaged Rossi. And if they were smuggling a Siberian wolf out …'

  'They could be anywhere, Doyle. You're hoping they're in Athens, or heading there, just because you're there.' She said, 'You want my advice? Come home. No way is Madge letting the kids go through the funeral, all that shit, on their own. Then, worst case scenario, you're in court with all your competence and shit, the model cop, you're keeping your head down. Meanwhile the jury's looking at Mad Madge McMad, the socialite who popped a cap in her husband's ass.'

  Doyle watched a tiny lizard crawl up the side of the stone, its bluey-green iridescence reflecting back the sun in a million glinting sparks. 'So Karen and Ray, they just skate out free?'

  'What do you care? Right now you need to think about you.'

  'See, that's just it. I come home now, the best that happens is I get a pat on the head for not screwing it all the way up. And that's presuming they don't follow through on Ray and me, start asking what the deal was there. Maybe start wondering where the money's gone.'

  'Y'think it'll look any better if you don't come back?'

  Doyle thought about that. She said, 'How's this? We can't know for sure they're not taking that cruise until Madge shows up back at the ranch. She does, okay, I come home. That buys me a couple of days to maybe nail Ray.'

  'Ray?'

  'He's the one, he told me himself, pulled the snatch together. I get him, the money, I don't have to worry about keeping my head down, in court or anywhere else.'

  'Okay,' Sparks said. 'But are we talking about nailing Ray or, y'know, nailing him?'

  'If we find Anna --'

  'Big if, Doyle.'

  'Okay, but a Siberian wolf, she's noticeable, y'know? And if we find her, we have Karen, and wherever Karen is, there's Ray. A guy like that, she's not letting him walk away now. I mean, he took a bullet for her. You ever known a guy you could've said he'd take a bullet for you?'

  'I've known a few,' Sparks said, 'I wouldn't mind volunteering for the role.'

  Melody

  'FARCO?' Johnny Priest said.

  'The Francis Assisi Rehabilitation Concern Organisation,' Rossi said. 'For short? FARCO.'

  'And you're saying, it's like AA for ex-cons.'

  'Perxactly. Only the booze AA, not the motors one.'

  'Putting cons back on their feet,' Johnny said. 'Giving them a helping hand.'

  'It's a charity,' Rossi said. 'So we'll be getting tax-breaks, grants, free ads on TV, all this.' Rossi held up his balloon glass, twirling it slowly so the tawny liquid caught the light. 'This Napoleon brandy,' he said. 'Y'think they call it that 'cos it gets you thinking all strategic and shit?'

  'But it's nothing to do,' Johnny said, 'with the Colombians.'

  'The FARC fuckers? Christ no. Like I say, it's a charity. Only everyone gets to what they call pool their resources. Networking, all this.'

  Johnny Priest showed good teeth in a quick grin, seeing it now. 'A co-op for ex-cons? Christ, it'll be unions next.'

  Mel making mental notes every three seconds, the front of her brain a yellow wall plastered with Post-Its.

  Rossi laid an arm along the back of the booth and took a sip on a joint that was no bigger, Melody judged, than a bicycle pump. 'You want in, Johnny, I'm talking ground floor, just say the word. We could get what they call an international dimension going.'

  'Appreciate the offer, Rossi.' Johnny, Mel was disappointed to admit, wasn't exactly her idea of a gangster. Softly spoken, clean shaven, some old acne scars making him craggy but with neat strawberry-blonde hair. Sitting back now in the circular booth to consider Rossi's proposal with an ankle propped on his knee, wearing faded denims and penny loafers, no socks, a pale blue shirt open at the neck showing a tuft of blonde. 'And I'm grateful, don't get me wrong, you took the time to look me up. But things've changed since we celled, man. This,' he gestured around at the low-ceilinged club, Vatican Too, empty now at mid-afternoon, smelling faintly of stale beer and ammonia, 'this is where I'm at now. It's small, yeah, but it's mine and I'm not looking over my shoulder every three seconds. Y'know? So no disrespect, but the last thing I need is hooking up with ex-cons, charity or otherwise.'

  'I hear you,' Rossi said. 'No harm done, right? I'm just letting you know it's there.'

  'Much obliged.' He leaned in past the gently snoring Sleeps to accept the joint from Rossi. 'Good shit, right?'

  'Not bad, yeah. What's this one called?'

  'THX-1138.'

  'Okay. What was the first one again?'

  'Purple Craze.'

  'Bit trippy, that. Not so sure I'm up for flying monkeys this early, y'know?'

  'It's what they call,' Johnny said, sipping on the joint, 'value for money. You're chilled, you're tripping, you're covering all the bases. Mel? Want to try this one?'

  'No thanks, Johnny.' Mel was half-stoned already, just sitting there, Johnny on a sub-committee assessing the long-list for something called the Cannabis Cup. She batted an eyelash again, hoping he'd catch this one. 'I'm afraid smoking doesn't agree with me.'

  'No pressure,' Johnny said. 'It's there if you want it. Don't feel you need to ask.'

  'I won't.'

  Johnny nudged Sleeps' knee, offering the joint when Sleeps half-opened one eye. Sleeps just shook his head, closed the eye again. Johnny shrugged, handed the joint to Rossi. 'So you're driving all the way to Sicily,' he said, jerking a thumb at Sleeps, 'with the human dynamo here at the wheel. This is why you need the crizz.'

  'Can you do it?'

  'I can make a call, sure. No guarantees, mind, I'm not really moving in those circles anymore. So I wouldn't be able to vouch for the quality either.'

  'Even your basic Billy'll do it. I mean, it's that or we find him a barbed-wire cushion.'

  'I'll see what I can do,' Johnny said. 'So what's happening in Sicily?'

  'I probably shouldn't say, man. You being clean and all, the less you know the better.' Rossi winked, tapped the side of his nose. 'Loose tips sink fish, dig?'

  'Sure thing,' Johnny said, scratching his jaw. 'Okay, I'll make some calls, see if I can raise anyone.' He stood up, gestured at the low table. 'Make free with the samples, let me know what you think.'

  'Will do,' Rossi said. Johnny moved off, went through a door behind the bar. Rossi grinned at Mel. 'Nice guy, huh?'

  'Seems to be,' Melody said. 'Listen, Rossi – you think you should be smoking so much? I mean, with all we have to do?'

  'Mother's milk,' Rossi said. 'Anyway, what's with this 'we' shit?'

  Melody counted to ten. 'We've been through this,' she said. 'I'm the one staking you, so I get equal say.'

  'How about,' Rossi said, 'and I'm just having my equal say here, you was to be dragged down an alleyway, slapped around a little?'

  'I'm out of shape,' Sleeps mumbled, his eyes still closed, 'but I'm a big man. You don't want me sitting on your head too long.'

  'Much as I hate to admit it,' Mel said to Rossi, 'I'm about twenty pounds heavier than you are. And what, four inches taller?'

  'Maybe three,' Rossi said.

  'I also have two brothers, just in case you're wondering if I've any actual experience in putting guys flat on their ass when they start acting out. Anything else you need to know?'

  Rossi had a toke thinking it over. 'So it's okay for you to go slapping someone around, but not me.' He turned his head to exhale, keeping his eyes on Melody's. 'How's that work?'

  'Self-defence doesn't count.'

  Johnny came through the door behind the bar and crossed to the booth, eased in past Melody. 'You're in luck,' he said, rubbing his hands.

 
; 'Yeah?' Rossi said. 'Crizz?'

  'Yep.'

  'The good shit?'

  'You tell me. The guy's bringing it over, he'll be here in a couple've hours. You don't fly, you don't buy.'

  'Sweet. Hey, Sleeps? Guy's coming here with the crizz.'

  'Gorgeous,' Sleeps said.

  'Fuck's the matter now?'

  Sleeps opened one eye. 'Narcolepsy's a condition, Rossi. It's not like I get tired, y'know, take a powernap. The shit's hard-wired. Except you want to pump crizz in, jolly it all up, see how it goes.'

  'How else do we get to Palermo on time? You won't fucking fly, now you're bitching about driving …'

  'So why don't you drive?'

  'Because,' Rossi said, making an effort to restrain himself, Melody could tell, in Johnny's presence, 'you're the one took me to a vet after the wolf ripped half my head off, which is why I'm taking horse tranks. So I'm driving goofed to the eyeballs or blind with agony. That what you want?'

  'Why don't I drive?' Melody said.

  Rossi's eyebrows shot up. Johnny coughed. 'Rossi? Sorry to interrupt, man. But there's just one thing.'

  'It's the dame who's paying, Johnny. Like she keeps saying, she's the one staking us.'

  'It's just, this guy? Maybe I shouldn't have said, but I told him where you were headed.'

  'Shit, Johnny. What'd we say about sinking fish?'

  'I know.' Johnny held up a hand. 'Anyway, I told him about FARCO too.'

  'Oh yeah?'

  'He's got a proposal.'

  Madge

  'You got a good brief?' Terry said.

  'He's okay, I guess. I mean, for handling a divorce. But for something like this?'

  'See, what you're doing right there is thinking guilty. And until someone proves different, this is nothing like anything.'

  Madge stirred her martini, chasing the olive around while she watched the tourists stroll arm-in-arm in the warm early evening, smiling, murmuring sweet nothings. Somehow she'd always imagined the conversation over a digestif on the terrace of a trattoria on a side street off the Piazza di Spagna being a little more romantic.

  'I shot him, Terry.'