Dirty Money
Page 20
“Don’t do that.”
“What? He’s dead. No need to fixate.” I drank some coffee. It burned my mouth. I fucking hated it when coffee burned my mouth. It didn’t make me feel alive or awake or aware. It just hurt.
“You don’t need to trivialize it just to feel better. In fact, you’ll probably feel better if you talk about why it isn’t so trivial.”
“What if it is trivial? The guy was an asshole. The last guy I killed was an asshole. Didn’t Vito tell you? Or are you the type of wife who doesn’t want to know?”
“I don’t feign ignorance. It would be a lie.”
“How very honorable of you.”
“All right.” Madge stood. “You’re not ready. I see that. But when you are I’ll be here.”
She was already out the door when I spoke.
“He taught me multiplication.” Her footsteps stopped. “When I was a kid, this boy in my class told me girls couldn’t do math. So Christopher taught me multiplication. He quizzed me on it for a whole weekend.” Madge came back into the room. “The next week, I got all gold stars on the stupid math chart thing our teacher had on the wall. The other kid couldn’t even get past his subtraction tables. It sounds dumb. I know.”
“It doesn’t sound dumb.”
“He was cool when we were kids.”
“Just when you were kids?”
“Yeah, just then. When Carissa died…I dunno. He died or something. Earlier this year, he hit Reese. Do you know Reese?”
“Yes.”
“She has a scar now. Here.” I pointed below my eye. “Such a fucking asshole.”
Madge sat next to me. And waited. And waited some more.
“I knew we were going there to kill him. That’s what Esau does. Did. Whatever.”
“It’s what Esau did.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“But it’s not what you do,” she said.
“No. I guess not.”
“It sounds like you and Christopher were close once.”
“Shit happens.”
“What kind of shit happens?” She mimicked my phrasing. It sounded weird. Like having your grandma cuss at you.
“I just got so fucking mad at him. He shot Esau.” I started shouting. “Just shot him. With his own gun. He shouldn’t have shot him.”
“It made you mad?”
“It was my damn fault. I tied him up. Esau always says—he always said to tie them up tight. But I didn’t. The squirrelly bastard got his hands free. And then—Esau never carries his gun. He always leaves it sitting there like a fucking idiot. So Christopher grabbed it and he shot him.”
“Did he try to shoot you?”
“No. He set the gun down. He said he wanted to talk to me. So I hit him. And then I hit him again. And again. At first, he tried to stop me. He didn’t hit me back. He just tried to stop me. And then he just took it. Like a little bitch. And that made me even madder. So I grabbed his head and I slammed it into the desk. And. And―” And then I was crying. The kind of crying where your whole body feels like it’s shaking and you can’t breathe and your nose is running. And I remember thinking what a badass I was for committing to my story like this. I didn’t think about why the hell I was actually crying.
Madge didn’t try to hold me or comfort me. She just let me cry it out. Which was probably for the best. Otherwise, I might never have stopped. She cradled one of my hands between hers. I used the other to wipe my face as I sniffled and sobbed. Somehow, she produced tissues when I was able to breathe again. Big gulps of air became only minor gulps, and then my chest was slowly rising and falling.
“Thank you for telling me.”
I looked at her. Didn’t say anything. Looked away and back again. “He didn’t die.”
“He didn’t?” Now she was worried.
“No. Not right away. It took him forever. I knew I couldn’t save him. I didn’t want to. But I couldn’t just end it either.”
“What did you do?”
“Called Vito. Loaded the…the bodies into the car. When I was driving, I could hear him in the back. Moaning and coughing. Then he’d fall asleep or pass out and I’d think he was dead and then he’d cough again.” I shuddered. “It took so long to dig their graves. It was past dawn when I finished Christopher’s. I did his first. And I thought if he wasn’t dead, that I was going to have to shoot him because I couldn’t bury him alive. But when I opened the back, he was dead. Just like that. And then I was thinking about how he taught me multiplication and how I don’t know if I thanked him. And even if he was an asshole I should have done something.”
“What would you have done?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Held his hand. Told him I was sorry.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because I was so damn mad at him.”
“But why were you so mad?”
“For everything, I think.”
“What do you mean, everything?”
“Like, before I was mad ’cause he was a jerk to the twins. And then I was mad that he stole all that money. And then I was mad ’cause he was screwing Vito over. And he kept trying to get out of it. As if it wasn’t his fault he was such a douche bag. He was saying the most insane shit. Like, he made me look in his desk and there was this photo of the twins’ dad. And he said he killed him so he could marry Carissa.”
It was the little details that made a lie.
“Wait, who killed who?” Like she didn’t know.
“Christopher killed their dad. He said Carissa’s father made him do it, but he was obviously lying. And then he killed Esau. And that was it.” I stood. “I don’t think I want to talk anymore.”
“That’s fine.” Madge squeezed my hand once more. “Do you need anything?”
“No. I think I’m gonna jump in the shower. Maybe I’ll go out today.”
“Of course. I’m sure you’ll want to be out tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, it’s New Year’s Eve.”
“Oh, shit.”
Madge smiled a little. “You didn’t know?”
“I spent Christmas morning digging graves. And that night scrubbing blood. The holidays this year are a little lacking.”
“I see. Well, Vito will arrange for a driver. You will be safer that way. And if there are any clubs you want to go to just let us know. Vito will be able to get you in.”
“Right. Thanks.”
She wasn’t lying. Vito got my name on half the clubs in the city. I didn’t go to any of them. They were all straight. Boring. I went to Boystown. Found a bar. Watched the pretty people. Drank in the New Year.
I missed Reese and Ryan.
*
“I’d like you to come somewhere with me.” It was a week later. Vito had found me in his library.
“’Kay.” I set down my book.
“Get dressed. We leave in fifteen.”
I glanced down at myself. Jeans. Sweatshirt. Chucks. “I am dressed.”
“You’re going to meet the don.”
“Right. So monkey suit?”
“It’s that or a skirt.” I felt my face scrunch up in disgust. He started laughing. “I thought as much. Fifteen minutes.”
I went with a suit two shades lighter than charcoal. The tie and pocket square were red. A nod to my Victorian homies. I kept the Chucks. Mostly ’cause they were my only pair of shoes.
The warehouse Vito took me to looked very much un-don like. Painted over, broken out windows. Only one functioning streetlamp in the parking lot. Pretty cliché really.
“This is where the don wants to meet me?”
“Yes, but there’s someone else first.”
“Dude, are you gonna kill me? ’Cause that would blow.” Seriously. It would blow.
“What is with you and the paranoia?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“Alex said you asked her the same question.”
“Yeah, well. You guys are organized crime and all that.”
“I don’t know. That’s what they do in the movies.” Vito cuffed me on the head. Lightly. But still. “Oww.”
“If I’m going to kill you, you’ll know.”
“Okay.”
“Now, there’s something I need your help with. Normally, I would call Esau, but…”
“You want me to kill someone?” Fuck that.
“No. I just need information. I thought you might facilitate that exchange.”
“Fuck you.”
“Cooper.”
“Fine.” Not like I had a choice.
“I’ll ask questions. You motivate him to answer.”
“You suck.” He did. I was so over this shit.
“And the don will be here shortly.”
“So we’re on a time crunch?”
“Yes.”
“Neat.”
We got out of the car.
“Do you need hardware?”
“It would be helpful. Beating people into submission isn’t exactly a favored pastime. So I don’t carry the accoutrements.”
Vito gave me the middle-aged, straight male version of an eye roll. It was mostly a fed-up smirk with a little eyebrow lift. He opened the trunk. In one of the side compartments there were a small Sig and a couple knives.
“Take your pick.”
“One of each, please.” I used my best housewife at Macy’s voice and got another weird smirk thing. “Do you have any knives that aren’t serrated? Those are too messy.”
He handed me the Sig and a five-inch knife with a matte black handle. I flicked open the knife. It was decent.
“Do you carry anything in a rubber grip?” Still using the annoying voice. “I just hate when the blood makes my hand slip.”
“No.”
“This will do then.” He cuffed my head again. “Asshole.”
“Follow me.” I did. A flight of stairs just inside the door blocked most of the warehouse from view. A small table and chair were crammed into the space. We went up the stairs. There was a landing with a waist high barrier and an office. I looked in the window, but it was dark.
Vito opened the door and flipped a switch. A bare bulb lit a weak circle of light in the office.
Ryan was tied to a chair in the center of the room. He was blindfolded.
Everything went Technicolor. I didn’t even know until right then that it had all been gray masquerading as black and white.
I took the safety off my gun. Vito walked in ahead of me. Ryan raised his head at the noise.
I took out my knife, flipped it open. Vito stopped in front of Ryan. Took his blindfold off. Ryan looked up and locked eyes with me. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just watched me. I continued in a circle around them. Behind Ryan, around Vito. Behind Ryan again, where I pulled my Sig, trained it on Vito, and dropped to my knees. I started sawing through the ties on Ryan’s wrists left-handed. I should have gone with the serrated knife.
“Oh, Cooper,” Vito said. He was genuinely disappointed. Good. Maybe that misguided emotional connection would keep me and Ryan safe.
My hands were shaking. I nicked Ryan’s palm.
“Is this your choice?” Vito asked.
“I gave you loyalty,” I said. “But you always knew he would come first.”
There was a noise behind me. I barely registered it, started to turn, when my world went black.
Chapter Eighteen
“Coop. Damn it, Coop. Wake up.” There was something hard poking me in the ribs. It felt less than fantastic. I groaned. “Are you awake? Please wake the fuck up. Please don’t be dead.”
“I feel kinda dead.”
“Oh, shit. Thank God.”
“My head feels like it’s gonna fall off.” Actually, it felt like something had crawled in the back of my skull and was burrowing out through my eyes.
“Yeah, they hit you pretty hard. You were just laying there bleeding forever.” Ryan sniffled a little. “I thought you were dead.”
“You sure we’re alive?” I opened my eyes. It was dark. “I can’t see anything.” I tried to roll onto my back, but my hands were tied together behind me. So that didn’t work too good.
“Your eyes’ll adjust.”
“I missed you so fuckin’ bad.”
“Me too, bro. I’m so sorry.”
“No apologies. Not right now at least. Where are you? I still can’t see shit.”
“I’m here.” He poked me in the ribs with his shoe again. “Still in the chair.”
“This blows.” I tried to sit up. It took like two minutes. “How long was I out for?”
“No idea. Couple minutes. Forever. There are a bunch of people down there now.”
“Awesome. Any ideas how to get out of here?” I asked. My eyes were starting to adjust. There was a little light filtering through the blinds and the dirty window.
“I got nothing.”
“Can you move your hands?”
“A little. They doubled up my zip ties. My hands feel kinda tingly,” he said.
“Good enough. I have a money clip in my jacket pocket. It’s got a little pocket knife on it.” If they hadn’t taken it.
“I love you.”
“I know,” I said.
“Scoot around to where my hands are.”
I tried. It was hard. In movies and shit, when people are all tied up, I’m always thinking they’re being pansies when they can’t move. But no. It’s fucking hard. Like you have no balance. Which I found out when I fell and couldn’t catch myself. My shoulder hit the ground with a dull, painful thud.
“Did you just fall over?” Ryan asked.
“Yes, asshole. It hurt.” Somehow, I managed to sit back up. It only took a minute and a half that time.
“Stop dicking around.”
“This isn’t easy.”
“Sorry.”
“Ryan?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s Reese?” He didn’t answer right away. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Except it did.
“No, it’s just…I don’t know.”
I stopped moving. “Shit. I thought you guys were together.”
“We are. We were. But if one of us got caught the other was supposed to get their ass gone.”
“So she could be in Peru by now.” If we were lucky.
“She could be.”
“But she’s probably taking someone hostage instead.”
“Probably.” He laughed.
“Damn that girl.” I laughed too. It wasn’t funny.
“Seriously. We obviously have this under control.”
“Obviously,” I repeated.
Liars. We were both liars.
My shoulder bumped his hands.
“Can you get on your knees or something?”
“I doubt it.” I scooted backward some more. His fingers trailed over my lapel.
“Closer,” he said.
“Can you stretch down?”
“Not really.”
I straightened as much as I could.
“The pocket inside my jacket.” His hands were on my chest now. “Stop feeling me up.”
“Get over yourself. If I wanted to cop a feel, I would have done it years ago.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Oh, shit. I got the pocket.” He was right. His fingertips were at the pocket. “Almost. I almost got it. I can feel the money.”
I shrugged my shoulders up. “Can you get it now?”
“Yes!” He started working the money up and out of the pocket. “Drop down a little.” I did. The cash came out of my pocket. “I got it. I got it.”
“’Kay. Can you get the money out?”
“Maybe. Sorta.”
“That’s descriptive.”
“I got it.” Paper fluttered down into my lap.
“Can you open the knife? Do you want to drop it into my hands?”
“I think I got it. If it falls, then
it’s up to you.”
“Cool.”
“Jesus, Coop. Could this thing be any duller?”
“Is duller a word?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know. But that’s what it is. Duller. And shit.” I loved how smart Ryan sounded all the time.
“Sorry,” I scoffed. “It’s vintage. I didn’t know I needed to sharpen it.”
“Why do you have a vintage money clip?”
“It reminded me of you, douche bag.” It did. He always had vintage accessories. His cigarette case for joints, his little silver lighter. And a collection of tie clips that required a jewelry case.
“Oh.”
“I told you I missed you.”
“Oh, holy fuck.” Something landed in my lap.
“What?”
“My hands. I can feel them.”
“You got it?”
“I fuckin’ got it.”
“You are a mother fucking badass.”
“I know. Scoot back around so I can do your hands.”
“Do your feet first. Then get me.”
“Are you—”
“Just do it. I wanna get the fuck outta here.”
“Yes, sir,” Ryan said. It didn’t take him long to cut his feet free. And then he got up, stretched, and started to cut me loose. He was right. I should have sharpened the knife. When I was free, he tackled me back to the floor.
“Dude, let me up.”
“Nope.” He squeezed me. “I’m never letting you go again.”
“Well, maybe we could just hold hands. Then we’ll be able to get shit done.”
“I’m holding you to that.” Ryan climbed off me. He pulled me to my feet, but didn’t let go of my hand when I was standing.
“You’re such a girl.”
“I’m comfortable with my masculinity.” He sniffed like he was hurt. He wasn’t.
“I do appreciate that about you.” I bent back down to pick up the money we’d dropped. We might need that. Instead, my head started spinning and I fell over again. “Shit.”
“Did you just fall over again?”
“Fuck you.” I felt the back of my head. Carefully. It was matted with drying blood. Chunks of bloody hair clung to my fingers. Gross. “Pick up the cash for me.”
“Are you okay?” I heard the rustle of paper as he picked up the cash.
“The back of my head is bleeding and everything is all spinning and shit. I think. It’s hard to tell ’cause it’s dark. But, yeah, I’m fantastic.”