The Carrier
Page 16
“No, I’m not going to hold your hand. I would like to think we can just talk like two adult people.”
No, Saida couldn’t leave Margaret anything. The sole reason for coming down to New York was now off the table. Still, it was easier to get places from New York than from God damned Rock Pile, Massachusetts. The Plan? Florida, probably. First sell a bar or two right in downtown Brooklyn. She knew places that bought Gold Gold Gold, no questions asked. You could walk in with a gold ring on a severed hand and they’d be happy to buy. Next she’d take a bus south. Or maybe a train. She wasn’t going to fly with this kind of treasure—she knew that much. And then the beach. All winter on the beach. A quiet part of Florida. Not the twenty-four hour reggaeton party, but not the Klan part of Florida either. Maybe she could stay in a hotel for a month or two—not extravagant, but classy. Someone else cleans your room for you, does all your laundry. She’d cash in her gold slowly, in different places. Saida knew the money wouldn’t last forever if she went all champagne all the time, but this was going to be nice—so very nice.
Saida expected a pleasant sleep, but she woke up to ugly predawn dreams of being caught under collapsed scaffolding. She could smell the ocean, but she couldn’t move her legs.
CHAPTER 43
Inez nearly hit a deer, somewhere in Connecticut. A few minutes later she crashed into the guardrail for no apparent reason. Her fender was bent, but the car could still run. She was a horrible driver, especially at night. She considered pulling into a motel somewhere and resting until dawn, but she knew she had to keep pushing or she’d lose Saida forever. So she pressed on, finally making it to predawn Brooklyn, to the gentrifying edge of Prospect Heights. A few party people were heading home, sequined and still buzzed, and three Mexican guys holding thermoses stood out in the cold, waiting for something. Inez parked two blocks away from the address she had written on a napkin sitting on her dashboard.
She made it to the building, a decent looking brownstone on an uneven block. Inez waited, and just after six AM Saida came out of the building with the duffel bag strapped to both shoulders like one of those European backpackers. She glanced back once and saw Inez but didn’t seem alarmed. Inez didn’t look out of place—just a girl strolling through the neighborhood. Just as Inez started to quicken her step, Saida stopped walking.
***
Saida was already tired from the weight. She readjusted her straps. But the more pain it was to lug around, the richer she’d be. Carry the weight now so it’s all easy for the rest of her damn life. Just before she put the bag back on, she smelled a fruity flavor—watermelon, green apple? It was a cheap candy. What did they call those? Jolly Ranchers?
Right before she put the bag back on she took two bullets in the side of the head.
CHAPTER 44
Cyril woke up, looking out at the dark Nevada desert from a westbound passenger train. A middle-aged woman sat watching him closely.
“Man, you were out,” she said. “I thought you might be dead. Serious. I put my hand under your nose—you know?”
“I’m awake now.”
“Partying in Denver?”
“No, I was just tired.”
“You missed all the craziness here. The cops hauled a lady off, and she was screaming. You just slept through it.”
“What was going on, with the lady?”
“She didn’t have a ticket. She said Amtrak had stolen her babies. It was all pretty wild.”
Duane tried to think if this could have anything to do with him. Who could the ranting woman be, and what was her game? No. There was plenty of drama in the world that had nothing to do with his bag of gold. The voice on the public address warned them against putting paper towels in the toilet.
“Jesus, would you stop it with that? I’m not going to put any paper towels in the damn toilet, okay?” The woman shook a fist at the sound coming from overhead. “They keep announcing that. Telling us not to put towels in the toilet. I paid for my ticket to ride a train like a civilized person, and here they are treating us like animals, you know? Like the kind of animal you can’t even trust to treat a toilet a proper way.”
Cyril worked a knot out of his neck.
“Anyway,” the woman said, “are you holding?”
“Am I holding what?”
“Look, if you got nothing left, you got nothing left. Just tell me that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I just want to know what knocked you out like that.”
“Can’t I just be really, really tired. Working really hard, not getting any sleep.”
“Yeah, what do you do for a living?” she was spiteful now.
“I don’t know.”
Where were the decent, hardworking Americans? When was he going to get to meet them? The woman moved to the next car before they crossed into California, and Cyril tried to figure out the best place to close out his bank account. It might last him a month or two, living on the road. What else? 32.15 ounces of gold in his jacket pocket. But when he felt for it, it was gone. His best guess was that it lay under four feet of wet dirt somewhere back in the middle of the country.
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