by Lee Lamothe
“Marko? Three of us? That’s it?”
Marko smiled at Jerry Kelly. “We should’ve kept the guys from Zerb’s around, eh, Jerry? Have some firepower of our own. But, gee, what the fuck happened to those guys?” He gave Jerry Kelly a fond look. “Now it’s just us. So we do as he says. As long as we got Zoe, we can just play it out.”
Jerry Kelly nodded. A gleam came to his eye. “We should tell her, Marko, it’s only right, right? I mean she’s going to be out there too, with us, she should know the play.”
Julia Gurr spoke before Marko could. “You don’t have Zoe ready, do you, Marko? No Zoe, no guys bringing her. Nice.” She laughed. She was determined not to get emotional again. She wouldn’t give Jerry that. If she were alone with Marko, she’d let herself melt a little, maybe hold his hand. “Master of a vast criminal empire, can’t even keep a hostage without losing her. Nice, Marko. Choice.”
“Yeah, yeah. If the Presto hadn’t set up this dead-end phone thing, we could’ve communicated with him, let him know there are alternatives. No, we don’t have her. She’s on her way, but she might not make it in time.”
“It’s over then, Marko. You know that, right?”
“I can’t believe you guys didn’t set up something, reach out to him if things get fucked and they need to get unfucked.”
“Marko. If there was any way at all, I’d do it. I can’t reach out to him. He’ll have to see her at the river, or it’s off.”
Jerry Kelly spoke up, conciliatory, “Let’s not panic here. Let’s all get to the site and then see how it plays out. Maybe she shows up, last minute. There’s still a bit of time. Presto’s reasonable, understands there’s things beyond everybody’s control. Let’s just play square until the last minute and we’ll be able to negotiate with him.”
“Keep thinking them good thoughts, Jerry,” Julia Gurr said, but she felt a deep chill.
Chapter 34
At the river, Ray Tate told Preston not to get fancy. “If things go into the shitter, we don’t need code words or secret rings on our fingers. We’ll hear it, and we’ll decide when and whether to move in, okay? What we really need to know is when you’re comfortable that you’ve got your daughter back, that she’s safe. Grab her up and go like shit out of the line of fire between the hill and Marko and Jerry, left or right, it doesn’t matter. We’ll be someplace behind you. Take Gurr with you, if you can. But get away from those fucking guys as fast as you can, lay down in the weeds someplace until it’s all over.”
Djuna Brown pointed to a small bonfire where the lone remaining fisherman was waving a stick with a piece of something on it, just above the flames. “That place, where the fisherman is? That’s the place, right?” She straightened his clothing over the transmitter, her hands almost a caress. “You can’t start to move anything for them, Bobby, before you see your kid, okay? Don’t fuck around here. The tactical guys are standing by in the area. We’ll call them in closer the second it looks like we can get Zoe and hopefully the dough. When they go to work, anybody still standing up down there, it’s goodbye, Charlie. We’ve just got to know when you’ve made a positive ID on your daughter, say it, and as soon as you say it, then we’re going to war. If you can’t run, then take her to the ground. Okay?” She stepped close to him. “You take care, man.” She gave him a hug and he seemed surprised and taken aback. “Remember, Bobby, all the goofs will be standing up getting a haircut, while cool folks’ll be laying down in the weeds.”
“Look,” he said, “I’ve gotta ask. What if my kid isn’t there, with them?”
Ray Tate gave him a look. “We have to take the dough, one way or the other. Ideally, we clean up the whole fucking mess tonight. You have to prepare yourself. If she isn’t here, then she’s probably dead.”
“Jesus, Ray. Fuck, shut up,” Djuna Brown shoved him, both palms to his chest. “What’s the matter with you? It’s his fucking kid.”
Her heart, Ray Tate thought, taking her wrists, that beautiful non-cop thing. “Djun’, it’ll be okay.”
She stared at him for a moment, then gently disengaged her wrists from his fists. “Bobby, we’re doing our best. We’ve gone up one side of this thing and down the other and in spite of what my bohemian sidekick here says, I promise you this: if it’s your kid or the dough, it’s your kid. Trust me. If she’s here, we’ll get her, even if the dough floats.”
There was no place to jam the bubble van that would give them a view of the drop site. Ray Tate backed up deep into the scrub, successfully hiding it, but burying its wheels in mud up to the hubcaps.
They walked until they found a spot a little above Bobby Preston’s position, spacing themselves about five yards apart. They coordinated a direct channel on their freddies, radio to radio without the communication bouncing off a tower. Through the receiver bug in his ear, Ray Tate could hear whatever was said on the shore, but he couldn’t talk to Preston.
A battered old Dodge with wonky eyes came down the road. The remaining fisherman looked up and watched it pass by, do a three point turn, and drive out again. He went back to roasting something on a stick, his fire dwindling.
Ray Tate whispered into his freddy that he was moving closer. He heard the shuffle of Djuna Brown nearby, moving down with him. A few minutes later the Dodge came through again. By the dome light Ray Tate recognized Jerry Kelly’s profile, his straight-armed posture behind the wheel. He hit speed dial on his cellphone, dangling the bug over his ear and holding the radio close to the cellphone so Djuna Brown could hear.
“We got the boys with toys around, boss? Move ’em in a little. But keep back. I think there’s going to be more vehicles heading in.”
“This for real, Ray? You got my dough?”
“We got something going here, boss. Just waiting for confirmation.”
“I love you, Ray. You know that, right?”
“Love, boss. Cheap like beans.” He disconnected and plugged in his ear piece.
Over the ear bug, Bobby Preston said: “It’s Jerry, cruising.” His voice was clear. “He’s heading out again. No, he stopped; he’s backing up. He’s fifty feet away from me. I’m calling Julia.” Slightly muffled he said into the cellphone. “Okay, everybody comes in here with their inside lights on. Park the vehicles facing out, every door open, then take the inflatable to the riverbank. Then get the bags out and take them past where there’s that one fire burning. Somebody give the fisherman some money to take a hike. Take as many trips as you need. Then inflate the raft. Once everything’s there, I want to see Zoe. I don’t see Zoe, you won’t see me. I’ll call again in a few minutes if I like what I see.” Through the body pack, he said, “It’ll be just past the fisherman, I hope you got all that.”
“Djuna, we got Jerry Fucking Kelly in the car.” Ray Tate settled in a deep thicket and heard her stop moving off to his left. “Another vehicle coming in, it’s a cube truck. Markowitz on board. A man, anyway. A van behind it. That’d be Gurr.”
All three vehicles backed around so they were facing out. Jerry Kelly climbed from the Dodge and stood studying the area, examining the lone fisherman. He waved at the cube and the van. Marko and Julia climbed out and walked over to him. Julia Gurr said something, then went and opened all the doors on the vehicles.
Jerry Kelly was very mobile and jerky and did a small intricate dance of fidgety happiness. He spoke for a few moments to Julia Gurr and Marko Markowitz, gesturing at the almost-extinguished bonfire.
Julia Gurr and Marko went to the van and struggled to pull out the dinghy.
Jerry Kelly walked to the fisherman, who was stripping something from the glowing stick.
Still dancing his jitter, Jerry Kelly, slightly darker than the lightness of the river behind him, spoke to the fisherman and pointed to the road. The fisherman stripped another piece of something from the stick and nodded.
Jerry Kelly half turned, reached under his dark jacket, and pointed something at the fisherman. There was a silent finger of light an inch from the fisherman’s face
and he fell into the embers of his fire, raising a burst of sparks. There were two more sparks of flame, and then Jerry Kelly dragged the smoking body of the fisherman to the river’s edge and kicked it in.
Faintly, Ray Tate heard Markowitz shout, “Fuck, Jerry. Jesus fucking Christ.”
At the same time Djuna Brown whispered over the freddy, “Fuck, Ray. Jeez.” She sounded breathless.
“Okay, okay, Djun’, I saw it. Calm down. Let it play out.”
“He wasted the guy. Just fucking —”
“Radio silence. We want the girl, right? Nobody left for Jerry to go ape on except mutts.” He put the freddy aside, punched in the boss’s number on the cell, and spoke very quietly. “Boss, it looks like this is it. Give me a couple of minutes to confirm. Tell the boys with toys to move in closer on foot, keep to the woods. We got three vehicles, pointed outbound to be secured.” He heard the Cashman giving directions on another telephone or over a radio. “We’ve got one fatality here, boss, already. A citizen.”
“You want the boys down there now?”
“Soon. Soon’s we confirm the money,” he lied. “Nobody’s going out of here.”
“Ray, if this goes bad … Fuck. Okay, your play.”
Ray Tate clicked off and spoke into his freddy. “Djuna, the boys with toys are moving closer. I’ve got them stalled off, but this is looking pretty fucking bad. If we don’t see the kid soon, I’m calling them in.”
“Yeah. Yeah. That was fucking uncalled for.”
Jerry Kelly told Markowitz: “Fuck him. I asked him nice. I said, ‘Fuck off you slant-eyed fuck,’ but all he gave me back was attitude in Chink.” He shrugged. “Anyway, what now?”
Julia Gurr’s cellular rang. She listened, looking around to try to spot Preston. She said “Yes” several times. When she saw Jerry Kelly staring at her and pointing at the phone, she shook her head. He grabbed the phone and heard Preston’s voice: “… Zoe out so I can see her. She goes over first with me, and a bag. There’s a light on the other side; it looks like it’s an inch or two above the waterline … There’s a cube truck near it …”
“Presto? Presto? It’s Jerry, pal, talk to me.”
The voice went on reciting. “… near the light … tell Marko to get her down there where I can see her …”
“C’mon, Presto. This is stupid,” Jerry Kelly said. “You can hear me, man, I know it. Quit fucking around.”
“ … and when I come back I’ll start making the runs … tell Jerry to throw his gun into the river, throw it far, and I want to hear it splash …”
“Cocksucker,” Jerry Kelly said. He gave the phone to Julia Gurr and said to Marko, “What fucking bullshit.” He threw his pistol into the river, making a production of the windup. Casually, he turned and said, “Hey, Marko …” and kicked him twice in the groin, his foot snapping out and back, out and back. When Marko hit the ground he began kicking at his body like a deranged dancer, alternating feet, hopping.
Julia Gurr dropped the phone and went for him inside a rush of anger that smothered any fear. He grabbed her by the hair and started punching at her. She tried to get her fingers into his face. He held her by the hair at arm’s length away from him and shoved her against a tree. A little automatic pistol fell from her back waistband and he picked it up.
“Oh, ho. Sweet.” He tucked it in his back belt and looked down as Markowitz groaning, his body in the fetal position, his hands cupping his groin. “Shut up, Marko, you fucking fag. A kick in the nuts, big fucking deal. At least your chick fights back. My true love, Marko, she was, and you fucked it up for us.” He kicked Marko a couple of times and picked up the cellphone. “Presto? Hey man, you getting all this good stuff?” He listened to the silence and laughed. “Okay, your kid, right? Your kid ain’t here yet, but I can’t wait for her. You got my word, you work your variation and I’ll get her to you, quick as I can.” He listened to the silence for a few moments, then shouted into the sky. “Okay, I’m gonna show your sweetie here something and she’s going to tell you what it is. So call her right fucking now on a real phone before I have to get really heavy with you guys. I’ll wait, buddy, but I can’t wait long.”
The river ran, uncaring, waiting. The shadows across the river were thickening. The bonfire was smoking.
The cellphone rang on the ground. He searched for the light of its display. “Presto? Hey, Presto, you hear me buddy? Come on out or I’m setting her fucking hair on fire.”
“Jerry. You’re fucking this up. Just walk away from everybody, let it go.”
“The dough, Bobby. You going to come down here, take it over?”
“Where’s Zoe?”
“I’ve got her. I rescued her for you from Marko’s Mexican fucks. They had plans, Presto, they had designs of their own.” He was in full flower, raving, let himself out in a babble. “Weird Hispanic rituals. Scaly desert beasts. Stingers, fangs. Sucking. But she’s safe now, safe with pals.”
“Where is she? How do I know you’ve got her?”
“Ask your fuck-buddy here.” He took the digital camera from his pocket, turned it on, and held the screen up to Julia Gurr. “Tell him what you see.”
“Bobby. Oh, Jesus.” She looked at the picture. “It’s her, it’s Zoe. She’s bleed —”
Jerry Kelly took the phone away. “Okay, Presto? You come on down and you can save Zoe and your sweetie here. Do it quick and you might save your buddy, Marko. Just make the runs over, then we’ll talk and work it out like buddies.”
“Drive the dough out of here, Jerry. We’ll start again, when I get Zoe. I’m not coming out.”
“Hang on.” He turned to Julia Gurr. “Guess he’s got your number, eh? He won’t come down, even for you. I guess it’s a good thing for him that he finally figured out what a fucking swamp Spicetown made you into. But check this, time for Uncle Jerry’s playhouse theatre.”
He punched her back against the tree, tucked the phone into his belt, and crossed the clearing to where Markowitz continued writhing. “Marko? Marko? Hey, pal. The answer, if you really need to know, is fifteen feet. You got that? Fifteen fucking feet.”
“Jerry. Jerry, come on, don’t fuck this up.” Marko’s voice was faint; he tried to grin up at Jerry Kelly. “Don’t fuck this thing up, man.”
“Fifteen feet.”
“Fifteen feet, what?”
Jerry Kelly started stomping at him, using the heel of his boot. “You light a cat on fire, Marko, it goes fifteen feet before it collapses. You wanted to know, right? Remember you asked? At your stash house? Hey, Jerry, you got a lot of friends? You asked me that, too, so I’ll tell you, some, Marko. Gonna have some less in a little while.” He changed feet in a little hop and stomped down on Marko’s jaw and it snapped with an audible crack. “Hey, Jerry, you in love? Wow, Jerry, cool. Yep, Marko, old Jerry in love, how about that? I saw you laughing. Laugh now, you cocksucker.” He did another little hop and swung his foot and the toe of his boot exploded Markowitz’s eyeball. He reached down and grabbed what he could of Marko’s hair; he held his face straight up and dropped his knee fully onto his nose. He was in frenzy, unleashed. “Marko, you motherfucker. Laugh at this. This is a good one.”
He took another pistol from under his coat, a bulbous silencer on the end. He unfolded the ball of Marko’s body, kneeled on his chest, stuffed the silencer down the front of Markowitz’s pants, and fired. Markowitz screamed and tried to shrink from the powder exploding. The bullet went through through his foot. “You just didn’t get Jerry’s scene, Marko. The money? If I can get it over, great; me and Pavo become buds. If not? Then fuck the money. Fuck him too, the little Colombian retard. The prize, Marko, was your chick over there. She was prime, lots of dirty shit on her after my pals got done with her in Spicetown. But you’ve set all my good works back weeks, months, letting her go back to that fucking asshole. She’s no fucking good to me now, is she, Marko? It could’ve been love, but you fucked it up, you fucked up both our happinesses. Cocksucker.”
Behind him
Julia Gurr was sobbing and calling to Marko.
Jerry Kelly heard footsteps rushing down the road. He heard a voice yelling for him to stop, that he’d do the runs, just get away from Marko.
“Hear that, Marko? I beat the shit of her and he sits up there jerking off. But I have a little sport with his buddy Marko and, wow, here he comes down here like fucking hammers. You fucking guys.”
Marko’s pants were smoking and he was crying, rubbing at his crotch with his palms. His face was bloody shadows on the ground at Jerry Kelly’s feet. He twisted his head to look at where Bobby Preston’s voice came from. He tried to speak but his jaw felt in six pieces. He bubbled. He could only see with one eye and couldn’t tell how far away Preston was. Coming to save him. He tried to roll and crawl himself toward the voice. He said, “Bobby,” but to his one functioning ear and cracked brain it sounded like Ah-ee. He heard Jerry Kelly say something. He heard the faint sound of feet scuffling to stop near him. He felt a light tickle on his ear. He agonized his head into a position from which he could look for Bobby Preston’s face. The tickle on his ear became softly insistent, then there was a sudden pain as he felt the silencer on Jerry Kelly’s pistol grinding as it sent a flame of bright light into the centre of his brain.
On the hill, Ray Tate held his cellphone close to his mouth. “Skipper, we’ve got dead people down here. A bystander. Markowitz, Jerry just took him apart. Maybe Gurr, too. Light’s going bad. Move them in closer, a lot closer. Jerry’s going ape. It’s bedlam.”
“You guys okay, though? You see the dough?”
Djuna Brown’s faint voice crackled over the freddy. “Ray, call ’em in. Call ’em in right fucking now.”
