by Lee Lamothe
“Zo’, look, I’m sorry about that, out there with the window. Now I need something to show your dad that you’re okay. I can take a picture for him, or I can just take your nose. Your choice. Now stop pouting and let’s get it done, okay?”
Crouching and moving around like a fashion photographer, he took a series of photographs and he checked the screen that he’d got something usable. “Okay, good, natural beauty, Zo’, you’ll go far. Runways. Paris. Fags and homos. Choice.”
One of the meatheads stuck his head in the door. “Jerry, there’s fucking snakes in there, down the hill. All over the fucking boxes. Snakes, man, thousands of the fuckers. What’s up with that? Terry’s got a phobia, he’s frozen up in there. How we gonna get the snakes out so we can get him out?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. Snakes, you say. Holy cow.” He shoved Zoe so she sprawled on Chyna Lily, rolled off, and hit the board floor. “Use psychology: grab him by the nuts and yank him out. You guys move it out, Terry can load the cube.”
He ran his hand over Aurora’s breasts, teasing himself. “Roar, why don’t you go down the hill, there, and help the boys out with the snakes. Then after they’re done, treat ’em right. They’re workingmen in their prime.”
Chapter 27
The Cashman was in his glass office. He jumped up the minute they came through the door. He looked at each in turn and wondered what had gone on. Exhausted but mellow was his take. They’d clearly been working the case.
“Kids, where’s my dough? Downstairs in the lot? In the trunk?”
“Not yet, boss,” Djuna Brown said. “Doings continue to be strange in the land of the thugs. Strange, but very, very active.”
Together they ripped at their coffee lids, together they took the first sip, and together they slumped back in their chairs.
Ray Tate ran down the previous evening. “So, it looks like they’ve gone active. I took Jerry Kelly to Buffalo and back. He dumped me out on the interstate. Indian Country, or the Badlands, one.”
“What did he do in Buffalo?”
“Dunno. He rolled there empty, came back with a chick in the car. Maybe he’s staffing for the money run. Dunno.” He paused and thought for a moment. “She looked familiar. Blond chick, late teens, early twenties? Healthy looking, good skin? Ring a bell, Djun’?”
Djuna Brown shook her head.
Ray Tate shrugged. “It’ll come, another fifteen cups of coffee.”
The Cashman pondered. “Can you bend this, make it take a shape? Something I can give the dep at the Jank? Anything, kids? Anything?”
Djuna Brown glanced at Ray Tate and said, “Well, boss, except for it going to be tonight or tomorrow, nothing.” She gave him a big smile. “Yep. Markowitz told me.”
Cash said, “What the fuck?”
“When Ray abandoned me at Grat’s to go play with Jerry, I had to find somebody to play with. Marko hit on me. We hoisted a few. I said no way I was going to get dirty, not the first date, anyway. So I said let’s get together again. He ruled out tonight and maybe tomorrow night. Big project, he said, he had to work on. But after that, he’s all mine.” She batted her eyelashes at Ray Tate. “And I’m all his. Big time.”
The Cashman started making notes. “What did you use for cover?”
“Nothing. I told him I was a cop. Fraud squad. He didn’t mind, he thought it was cool. Banging a cop. There was no other way to play it. I didn’t have a cover story.” She turned to Ray Tate and smiled. “Free-form jazz, right, Bongo?”
Ray Tate gave her a wide grin. “My little beatnikette.”
Marko Markowitz couldn’t remember where he’d left his Mercedes. He rented a bland sedan and called Gherzanian to ask if Jerry Kelly had been by yet. Gherzanian said he had been in, given him five grand for the week, and kicked him out. Gherzanian seemed to be immersed in snit. “He better not be jamming me, Marko. Jerry Kelly’s all fucking elbows, I wouldn’t put it past him to crowd my business. If I start having sudden problems with somebody heavy and Jerry comes along to help me out, first thing I’m gonna do is put something in his head, and I don’t mean my dick. You vouching for this goof?”
“Don’t worry about it, Gherz. We got a thing, a straight up thing, nothing to do with your business. We just need storage space for some hijack for a while. I’m heading out there now. I’ll make sure it’s all on the up and up … Gherz? I got another call coming in. I’ll get back to you.” He saw the incoming number was blocked and he answered with a neutral, “Yeah.”
“Mark. Djuna Brown? From last night? Jeez, you sound grumpy. You sleep funny, or what?”
“Hey, Officer Djuna,” he said, surprised and pleased, his voice changing, his body relaxing. “You get home okay? I forgot to ask you to show me your gun.”
“Anytime, Mark. I’m always ready for duty weapon inspection.” She laughed. “Look, I just wanted to tell you I had a good time. Sorry I was a bit of a tease. I catch you at a bad time, here? Me, I’m going nuts, IPOs that are stinky, guys lying to me. I thought, I’ll give Mark a call, he’ll cheer me up. First honest guy I met lately who hasn’t told me lies about what a big man he is.” She paused. “So, what you doing? Time for a coffee or something before you do this big business deal?”
“Ah, fuck … I mean, no, shit, ah … I’m on the road, going into a meeting.”
“Oh, okay. Look, don’t worry about it. I wanted to call, just to make sure I didn’t get stupid last night. I got home and in bed and I thought, oh shit, I was a bit of a tease queen with him, maybe pissed him off. I piss you off?”
“No. Jeez, no. I had a good time. A great time. Don’t remember much of it but I didn’t wake up with a big bruise on my head in the alley and my wallet gone.”
She laughed. “Maybe next time. Anyway, you can’t get free? What part of town you in? I can use the lights and sirens and we can hook up. I gotta get out of this place.”
“Does it count as a second at-bat?” He laughed. “I’m way out near the airport.”
“You blowing town?”
“No, no. Near the airport, out past it actually.” There was silence on the line. He said, “How about lunch tomorrow if this thing wraps? Or the day aft?”
“Tomorrow? No. We’re serving warrants on some smug fucks. I’ll be wheeling handcarts full of documents all afternoon. Next day I’ll be with the State’s Attorney, swearing to my lies. Let’s just wait, tomorrow night, I guess, if you close this deal. Or the next. Shit. I’m going nuts, here. Surrounded by meatheads looking at my boobs.”
“Look, how ’bout … Let’s see, my stuff isn’t on for an hour or so. If you want to grab a quick coffee, fuck I could use about ten cups right now, why don’t we hook up at the Five Wheels, southeast corner Airport Road and Winter. We can grab a cup and get in a few minutes, anyway.”
“Save my life, Mark.”
He was sitting over coffee and a donut when his cell rang.
“Mark, Djuna. Can’t make it.” She sounded crushed. “Fucking bastards are making some moves so we’re just running out to do the warrants early, before they have a big wienie roast down in the furnace room. I didn’t hose you, I hope.”
“Naw, naw. We’re all busy people, right? I just got here anyway. I’m glad you called, though. I got to run. I’ll give you a shout when I get back on beam, okay? We still on for tomorrow night, or when this thing pans?”
“Can’t wait. I’m on days off, after the day after tomorrow, if that has any meaning to you.”
He ate his donut and thought about her. He hadn’t been in Julia Gurr angst all the previous night or the morning and found himself replaying what he could remember of his night with Djuna Brown. He’d been open for it, for a good break in the heart department. She was a cop, but she was cool. She liked him, he could tell. He remembered talking about Julia Gurr, although not by name, and how his old neighbourhood friendship had broken up over a misunderstanding. But mostly, as he’d had more cognac, he let her into his heartbreak and watched carefully for any interpretation o
f weakness she might deduce. But she’d been all right, said she’d been there herself with guys, that she realized they served the purpose of preparing you for meeting someone with the same experience, of the same heart.
The same heart. Marko thought about that. Maybe it was time to let go of that teenaged bleeder, maybe Djuna Brown, who he didn’t even think of as black or even a cop, finally, might be the one. He felt a kinship with Jerry Kelly, who seemed to have found someone of the same heart. There’s someone for everyone, they say. Her being a cop didn’t matter, or it wouldn’t, once this thing with the little Colombian fuck Pavo was done. He was sliding into retirement so there’d be no conflict, no way his lifestyle, that some might find tainted, would matter.
Distracted, he didn’t see the 500 and the VW set up across from the Fifth Wheel. He thought about his feelings as he got into his rental and called Julia Gurr. “How long, hon? You know where we’re gonna be?”
“On the way there now, Marko. Few minutes. You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you know what? I’m feeling pretty fucking great.”
“We’ll make it work.” She cursed out another motorist, then said, “I’m going to do some boiling, okay? I’m going to take some today, reduce the bulk.”
“See you soon.” He wanted to talk, to tell her about the possibilities of change in his life. Instead, after a moment of silence, he clicked off and called Jerry Kelly’s cell. A message came on: “Leave a fucking message and I’ll fucking kill you. You stupid or what?” He laughed. There were lovable things about Jerry Kelly.
He left the Five Wheels and drove out around the airport. At a hotel he parked and went in to find a public phone. No answer at The Mig’s. He began to worry, then started constructing a scheme to make the Presto work anyway.
Six blocks away, in a vast brick building, he located Gherzanian’s unit and went up to the window and peered inside. Jerry Kelly was in the middle of the cavernous room stretching and rotating his shoulders. Two minions were playing handball against the wall of the empty storage unit. A third was asleep in the back of one of the vans, the doors open and his feet sticking out. Marko tapped on the window and Jerry Kelly pointed to his left, to an unmarked door on the side of the building.
Inside, Jerry Kelly made a Tarzan yodel and listened to the echoes. “Fucking Gherz is going to get tons of shit into this place. It’s huge.” He looked at Marko. “What’s his investment? Couple of trucks, some stooges to load, drive, and unload. Pure fucking profit, he puts into his pockets. You know if the Gherz is hooked up? He got any problems I can solve? Help him out with?”
Marko, in his afterglow daydream of Djuna Brown, shook his head. He briefly entertained the thought of urging Jerry Kelly along, get him into shit with Gherz, but he passed. “Don’t go there, Jerry. I mean it. He’s hooked up with guys that’ll fucking mince you.”
“You think?” He looked closely at Marko. “You okay? You look, I dunno, different. What’s up?”
“Jerry, forget Gherz. You don’t want to jump into Gherz’s shit, let me tell you. Let’s just do our thing here.”
“She call? Your cutie? Give us the next step?”
Marko looked at his watch. “Couple of minutes. She’s going take some of it to boil, make it easier for Presto to do his variation.”
“I’ll be fucking glad when this shit’s over, Marko. I got things to do. Hook up with my sweetie, take a vacation. Hey, how’d you do last night at Grat’s? Any good action drag in?”
Marko protected his glow. “Nah. I had a couple of pops, went home and had a couple more with myself, then crashed.” He glanced at his cellphone to change the direction of the conversation, willing it to ring. “C’mon, Jesus Christ.” He looked at Jerry Kelly. “Fuck, this is work.”
Jerry Kelly stretched and essayed a massive audible yawn. “No shit. I’m still seeing white lines; zip, zip, zip.” He collapsed, then bounced on his feet and rotated his neck. “Feeling pretty good though, I got to say. Feeling prime.” He looked at Marko. “It’s gonna be soon, right? This isn’t just the Presto fucking us around? Giving us a hard time?”
“Well, Jer’, you might have to put your thinking cap on, on that. Still no answer down at The Mig’s. So we might not have the Presto’s balls anymore. The Presto might be an unshackled wild card. Fuckin’ Mig.”
“Whatever.” Jerry Kelly made another yawn and stretch. “You deal with Julia when she calls, I’m gonna sleep in the van. You just let me know what you need, Marko, and we’ll make this thing work.”
Chapter 28
Ray Tate and Djuna Brown worked Gherzanian’s factory alone. The Cashman was frantic, trying to get some bodies freed up without giving the dep at the Jank the heads up that things might be imminent.
They set up, Ray Tate in the blue 500 and Djuna Brown in a grey Volkswagen Golf she’d muscled with her eyes from Joey Jeff Watson, the ISS guy who hankered for his little Chinese partner. Ray Tate had the eye, a clear line of sight to the front of the building.
Markowitz had been easy to follow from the Fifth Wheel. Clearly he had things on his mind and made some half-hearted feints, some slow-downs and speed-ups. Ray Tate suspected it was something to do with his sweet chats with Djuna Brown. He could tell she didn’t like working Markowitz’s heart. It required a hard heart to manipulate someone, to play off their emotions, needs, and she didn’t have it and that’s why he loved her. He thought of her as less of a cop as time went by.
From his position on the corner of a car dealership he could see her in the little Volkswagen Golf about two hundred feet west of him, out of sight of the door and windows of Gherzanian’s place.
When Markowitz arrived Ray Tate saw Jerry Kelly’s face in the window. He voiced out on the freddy to Djuna Brown, “Jerry’s on the set.”
He climbed out of the 500 and did a walk-by, glancing in the window, speaking to Djuna Brown on his phone. “I just got a quick glance, Djun’. At least four in there. Place looks empty except for a van, a cube truck, and a bunch of boxes stacked against the wall.”
He dialed up Cash and brought him up-to-date. “We got at least four inside, boss, probably more. They’re waiting for something. Any more bodies we can hook into this?”
“I got nothing, yet, Ray. It look like my money might be in there?”
“Dunno. Some boxes, a couple of vehicles. We could hit the place right now, check it out. If we’re lucky we can end the thing right here.”
“Naw, hold off until we’re sure. They could be moving precursor drugs for all we know. Or bootleg dough. Who you gonna take away, if they go on the move?”
“We’ll play it off the face.”
“Good boy, Ray. Go get ’em. Stack those millions of mine up.”
At two p.m. a muscular guy with a ponytail came out of Gherzanian’s. He looked around and went back inside. Ten minutes later another guy, similar but different, came out and walked through the parking lot toward a Donut Shack across the road.
Djuna Brown bailed from her car and entered the donut shop ahead of him. He came out across the road with a cardboard tray of coffees and a large paper bag. He kicked twice at the door and was let in. Djuna Brown, carrying supplies of her own, came out of the shop and Ray Tate watched her sway as she made her way back to her car. A moment later she came on the freddy, noting the guy had bought two dozen mixed and five large coffees.
“So, maybe five guys in there, Ray. We’re gonna need more bodies if they all scatter out.”
“It’s just us two for now. We’ll have to pick a target when something breaks. Right now, it’ll be Markowitz.” As he spoke a red minivan with Julia Gurr driving pulled up to the building. “Standby. Gurr’s on the set.” He watched her sit in the van and punch numbers into her cellphone. Marko Markowitz came outside and stood by the driver’s door, pointing to the alley that led to the rear of the factory. She drove off and rounded the building.
Ray Tate speed-dialed the Cashman. “We got Markowitz in there, Jerry Kelly, and Gurr. Some guys, too,
look like muscle.”
“I’m trying to get a crew together. I’ll keep you posted, Ray.”
Ray Tate started his car and rolled to a view of the back of the factory. He saw the red minivan and a ponytailed mutt leaning on it. When the man pitched his empty coffee cup his leather jacket swung back and Ray Tate could see the butt of a pistol. He went on the air. “Djuna, the mutt out back is armed, repeat, armed. Handgun in his waistband, right hip.”
He saw Julia Gurr exit the rolling rear doors. She said something to the mutt. He held the door of the van open for her and she boarded. “Djuna, she’s on the move … She’s rolling to the end of the alley. Blue van out, behind her, two mutts aboard … She’s waiting for them. They’re all hooked up. They’re rolling, they’re both behind her.”
Djuna Brown came over, “Got ’em, got ’em, got ’em … We’re rolling eastbound.”
He dialed the Cashman. “Boss, Gurr’s out rolling, she’s got two mutts in another van behind her. Djuna’s rolling solo. I’m going to stay on this set, see what’s what. Get me two guys out here, in case I have to roll off, too.”
Djuna Brown, in her zippy VW, took the vans to the airport feeder road and southbound to the interstate. The vans headed east to the Eight and down the downtown ramp. They exited at Market Street and headed into the business zone. Djuna Brown kept them in view until they parked in a side street, beside an old, refurbished bank building. Julia Gurr climbed out of the minivan and the mutts exited their van, one of them lugging a black knapsack.
Djuna Brown rolled past them and parked around the corner. She walked back and stepped into a doorway and watched the mutt with the knapsack hand it to Julia Gurr. She hit Ray Tate on the cellphone and gave him her location. “She’s in with a bag. She’s in alone.”
