The Carrier

by Preston Lang

  “I hope they’re getting the money right now, but—who knows?”

  “Maybe they’re going to call the whole thing off.”

  “No, it’s too much money for them to just leave on the table.”

  It was still a very difficult job, Marcus realized. Even if the courier and his armed girlfriend were making the pickup, it was going to be tough to track them, and even if they could be tracked, how were Marcus and Danny supposed to disarm the girl and grab the money? It was clear Danny was thinking, but Marcus had learned that not all of Danny’s plans were simple and safe.

  CHAPTER 17

  Duane heard the steps coming up the stairs, and then the man appeared on the landing: Tony Braxton. Duane took an overhand swing, like splitting a log, and felt the solid contact with a skull. He swung again, and then kicked the body down the stairs and sprang on top of it. Tony’s gun was about ten feet away, on the floor of the lobby. The motionless body was now a problem for Inez. Duane picked up the gun, left the building, and walked back to his car.

  ***

  Five minutes after she’d heard the thump, Inez walked down the stairs carefully, gun in hand. When she got to the lobby, there was the mess. Tony lying flat—dead?—on his stomach. She kicked him once, and he didn’t move but he didn’t feel dead. She stooped over him—he was breathing.

  Great, just skip out on your responsibilities, Duane. But you couldn’t really hold it against him, though. What did she want from him, exactly? They should play house in this stranger’s apartment? No, she’d taken Duane home because she’d gotten pretty sick of games with plastic toys. With her gun tucked in her pants, she dragged Tony out of the apartment building. He wasn’t heavy.

  ***

  Later, still very early that morning, she collected her possessions—a laptop, a change of clothes, toiletries—and she left Newburgh for good without anyone ever learning her name.

  She’d thrown out Tony’s wallet, but she held onto his cellphone, checking the messages as she drove. She didn’t have a clear destination yet, but she wanted to put a few miles between herself and this town before she had breakfast. She’d only eaten half a pancake the night before, and it had her thinking about how tasty a real breakfast can be.

  Inez was not a good driver, and she nearly drove over the center line while operating the phone. There was a good reason they told you not to text and drive, and she decided to wait until she stopped for breakfast before checking the messages. She didn’t actually have a driver’s license. Growing up she took the subway everywhere—who needed a car? A written test? A road test? For the time being, she just had to hope she didn’t get stopped.

  She had breakfast in Connecticut, a few miles across the border. Pancakes—a whole stack that belonged to her, no sharing. Next she checked Tony’s phone. There were a few cryptic texts and two voice messages. The newest one was from Duane calling from the Denny’s—Hey, call me if you need me. The other was also from Duane, but he sounded a lot less tough.

  “Hey. I’d just like to know what’s going on. Because I’m going to move soon. So . . . please call me back,” he said.

  She listened to it again. No, it wasn’t Duane, but, damn, it really sounded a lot like him. Who was it? And who talked that way—So please call me back. This was the business phone, so it had to be someone on Tony’s payroll. Could it be the driver he was going to use? A driver who sounded a lot like Duane. That was something. She’d hang onto the phone a while longer and see who else called.

  In the next two days the driver called back twice. He wasn’t stupid enough to call from a phone registered in his own name, but the third time he called a number popped up.

  “The trip is on Monday. So please let me know what you can before that day,” he said in his message.

  This was a lot more specific than a message should be. She called the number back about an hour later. It rang and rang, until finally someone picked up, an older woman.

  “Hey, is the boss in?” Inez asked.

  “What boss?”

  “The boss.”

  “This is a payphone, dear.”

  “Okay. Where is this payphone?”

  It was in Poughkeepsie, New York. Jesus, the names of these upstate towns—Poughkeepsie, Fishkill, Beaverdance. At least it wasn’t too far away. On the way up, she had a sudden inspiration: it was Duane’s brother. Had to be. A lot of brothers sound alike. She couldn’t tell her own brothers apart on the phone—not that she talked to those moody bitches anymore. But a lot of people trusted family when it came to crime. And here’s where it paid to have done her homework. She’d asked Tony who Duane was, and he’d given the full name—Duane Smrekar. He’d said Smrekar twice—making a joke of the sloppy swirl of consonants. Soon after that she’d left him alone in that loud sports bar and went to fuck his enemy—not all bad memories. She’d meant to get a look at Duane’s wallet to double check, but she never got the chance. Duane was a careful man when it came to where he put his pants.

  It took Inez a while to get the spelling right, but finally Poughkeepsie information found exactly one Smrekar—Cyril. She went by his house, a modest place with a gray Toyota Camry parked in front. Thank you Cyril for being so easy to work with.

  She knew he was picking up money—that’s what Tony had indicated in a few long, stupid speeches. She would have to use Danny Chin for this job. Luis would think she was still working for him, and she wouldn’t have to drive a thousand miles. Not only that, she wasn’t sure how dangerous the trip would be. Inez was a confident woman, but she wasn’t about to enter a gunfight if she could avoid it. This way, the worst thing that could happen would be for Danny to get himself shot out in a flat state.

  She waited until late Sunday night to put the tracker on Cyril’s car. She stuck it on good—glue along the edges—not trusting the magnets to stick on their own. She wanted to get a look at this little Smrekar, but he didn’t seem to be home. She had to settle for her imagination—kind of like Duane but younger, a little more mild, maybe fat in the face? There were uses for men like that.

  CHAPTER 18

  Cyril drove with Willow in the passenger seat. She didn’t even have the gun in her hand anymore; it was tucked into the tight pocket of her jacket. Out on the flat land it was easy to see if there was a car behind you but hard to tell much beyond the simple fact that it had headlights. It was difficult to spot a specific car, especially if you didn’t know what that car was supposed to look like.

  They passed a large billboard promoting abstinence. Underneath a picture of an attractive young woman the caption read I want to be an engineer. Sex can wait.

  “I don’t understand why you can’t study to be an engineer and still have a lot of sex,” Willow said. “I mean frequent intercourse, you know?”

  “I think it’s pretty demanding—the course load.”

  “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

  Willow blushed just a shade.

  “No, I’m single,” Cyril said. “You’re with Tony?”

  “I am definitely not. Look, he’s just a guy I met. He was just a guy in a bar.”

  “You saw Tony in a bar and thought, I’ve got to get to know him better?”

  It would have been much nicer if he’d had a partner for all these trips, these thousands of miles that he’d driven alone—someone to talk with and keep him awake, especially if she had a voice as warm and thrilling as Willow’s.

  “He started buying me things. You think that makes me cheap? The first night I met him I told him I wanted four hundred dollars to take care of my nose. Just sort of put the request in and see what happens. He gave me cash. But still I figured he was just an addict with a little extra money that night. Then he opens his closet and it’s full—like kilo upon kilo.”

  “You went back to his place?”

  “You can’t exactly throw plastic toys at a man’s wiener in the middle of a crowded bar.”

  Fair enough.

  “You’re pretty brave,” Cyril said.


  “Yeah, I’m very brave. His place is small. He’s got a big TV and a fancy juicer, but it’s not, like, a mansion or anything. So the thought crossed my mind that it was all fake—the money and the smack. Maybe he had one bag and the rest was baking soda for show. You know how Tony likes to be the big shot. So he says to pick a bag, any bag. I do, and he cuts it open, and when I move in, he actually gets this responsible look in his face. Honey, you ever done pure Lake before, he asks.”

  “I forgot, he calls it Lake.” Cyril shook his head.

  “He can call it whatever he wants. For the love of Jesus, it was the best thing I’ve ever put inside my body. And he’s got—what—forty keys in his closet?”

  “You’re a user?”

  “Oh come on. You’re really going to judge me for that, too?”

  “No, I’m just surprised. Your body—it’s like a real woman.”

  “Hey, you’re selling it to middle school kids in the heartland of America—so don’t judge me.”

  “Someone has to bring them their drugs. If we don’t bring them heroin, they play games with prescription drugs. And that’s bad, especially for the elderly.”

  “So it’s like a public service you’re doing? For the elderly?”

  Willow fiddled with the radio. She found an adult contemporary station near the top of the FM dial playing an old Mariah Carey song about heroism.

  “I wasn’t judging you about using,” he said. “I’m just saying you don’t feel like a skeleton. You feel like a real woman.”

  “You’ve had your share of skeletons?”

  “Once or twice, by accident. It’s not like the real thing. Not like a real woman.”

  They were both a little turned on again.

  “So should I assume you’re single?” he asked.

  She laughed and rolled back her head. It wasn’t the first chance Cyril had to take an easy shot at her, but he just kept on driving.

  “Last guy I dated for real was this blind man,” she said.

  “Yeah, I can believe that.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You have a great voice. A blind guy would probably appreciate that”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Because his sense of hearing would be all—”

  “Yeah, I get it,” Willow said, checking the rearview mirror again. “It’s not easy—dating a blind guy. They say how they’re fully capable of doing anything, but there’s still a lot you have to do for them.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like drive. They can’t drive.”

  One car drew close enough for them to make out some detail, then it slowed. It was still back there, but it was keeping its distance.

  “I think we’re being followed,” she said.

  “Different car?”

  “Yeah, not the one you slashed.”

  “What are the plates?”

  “Iowa plates, but still. Slow down.”

  Cyril slowed and soon the car Willow suspected, a Lexus, drove past them.

  “I’m not a hundred percent, but I think the guy in the passenger seat was the guy driving the other car.”

  “You got that from just now? From looking in the window when they shot by?”

  “I said I’m not a hundred percent.”

  The Lexus seemed to have slowed a bit ahead of them. They were driving less than thirty miles an hour now.

  “Pull off, next exit,” Willow said.

  “How soon is that?”

  “There’s food in about six miles.”

  The car in front of them disappeared, and Cyril increased his speed steadily. They drove in silence for a few minutes. The exit was coming soon.

  “Just pull off.”

  Cyril eased onto the off ramp. Ronnie’s Highway Diner had a picture of a smiling woman holding a pie on the side of the restaurant. Underneath it said Ronnie Welcomes You. The parking lot was nearly empty, and Cyril tried to find a spot that would be visible from inside the diner. After he parked he got out and walked toward the restaurant.

  “Slow down, there,” Willow called.

  He stopped, then began to take very slow, loping steps.

  “Happy?”

  “I’ve got a great voice and a real woman’s body. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

  CHAPTER 19

  Danny Chin frowned and slowed the car again.

  “Where are they?” Marcus asked.

  “I think they took the exit.”

  “So they spotted us?”

  “I think so.”

  Marcus looked back. The exit was nearly a mile behind them now. Danny pulled over onto the shoulder and waited. They sat in silence for almost three minutes. Two trucks and a car shot by at high speed. The little Toyota wasn’t behind them anymore.

  “All right. Hang on.”

  Danny shifted into reverse and drove backwards along the shoulder. Marcus just shook his head.

  “You got a better idea?” Danny asked.

  Marcus didn’t.

  “You’re going to go in on foot.”

  They had reached the exit. It was about a quarter mile from there to the restaurant.

  “Just walk down there,” Danny said.

  “Why can’t you do it?”

  “Because I told you to do it.”

  Marcus gave him a look, hurt, with the first hint of violence Danny had noticed.

  “Is that how it is?” Marcus asked.

  “Man. You’re getting half the take. Do some work.”

  Maybe he should get up in Marcus’s face. Danny had dealt with tougher men than Marcus in his life, but the results were decidedly mixed.

  “Anyway,” Danny said, easing up, “we’re in Iowa. They’ll think I’m some kind of secret death ninja sneaking around their food court. You look like the people here, like you ate the corn and pork and got real big. All right? That’s why I’m asking you to do it.”

  “What do I do when I get there?”

  “If you get a chance, slap the tracker on the car. They won’t be expecting you on foot.”

  “Will it still stick?”

  “Feel it.”

  Marcus reached to the backseat to pick up the tracker; it was still pretty sticky on the bottom.

  “I’ll get off at the next exit, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Danny said.

  The whole car shook when Marcus slammed the door.

  CHAPTER 20

  Cyril and Willow sat across from each other at a table in the diner. Willow looked at the pictures on the menu.

  “Get some better looking sandwiches,” she said. “Doesn’t even have to be your sandwich. Get someone else to make a pretty sandwich and take a picture of it.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  Cyril turned the menu to the back and looked at dessert. He doubted he would be able to handle a full meal right now.

  “Are trackers easy to get?” Willow asked.

  “Yeah, regular people use them for their kids or a cheating spouse. You know, if you think your husband is messing around, you put one on his car and you’ll get your answer.”

  “Kind of sad if it comes to that. I feel like you need a certain amount of trust in a relationship. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  A red pickup truck, New Jersey plates pulled into the lot. Out stepped a tall slim man in jeans and a leather jacket.

  “That’s got to be him,” Willow said.

  “It’s not the same car.”

  “There’s two guys—two cars.”

  “There were two guys in the Lexus, right?”

  “Okay, so there’s three guys.”

  “And three cars? The one I slashed, the Lexus, and this one?”

  The man nodded to the waitress and then walked to the bathroom. Cyril shook his head.

  “You really don’t think so?” Willow asked.

  “No.”

  The man was in the bathroom a long time. While he was in there a woman came into the diner wearing buckskin and carrying
a baby in her arms. She sat down at the counter and started talking to the waitress. Then the tall man came out of the bathroom and walked right up to their table. Willow slipped the gun out of her pocket.

  “How long have you two been together?” the man asked.

  “Almost a year,” Willow said.

  “Hey, that’s great. Here’s to many more down the road, right? Look, I hate to do this, but I kind of got overextended, you know?”

  They let him continue.

  “We need to get out to California—my wife and me. We can either fill up with gas, or get a motel room. Or get a meal. I’m just saying can you help us out?”

  “We’re not rich people, either,” Willow said.

  “I know that. Rich people won’t give you the time of day. You just look like a couple of decent folks who might understand what we’re dealing with.”

  “There you are,” the buckskin woman joined the tall man, and the three of them—mom, dad, and baby—stood over the table. “What’s going on here?”

  “Well, I was just asking them for a little help.”

  Willow watched the woman carefully, still pretty keen on the idea that these people were out to get them.

  “You guys thinking of having any?” the man asked.

  “Any what?”

  “Kids? They’re just beautiful, but they’re so much damn work.”

  “Yeah? You got a boy or girl?” Cyril asked.

  “A girl—Maisey,” the woman said, rocking her bundle back and forth.

  “Can I hold her?” Willow asked.

  What the hell? Willow wanted to hold a baby? She didn’t exactly have a maternal look in her eyes.

  “Sorry, she’s asleep right now,” the buckskin woman said.

  “I can give you ten dollars,” Cyril said.

  The man was disappointed, but the woman looked genuinely moved.

  “Bless you,” she said.

  Cyril reached into his pocket.

  “Oh, you’ve got my wallet, right?” he said to Willow.