Approaching him Majestyk said, "I got a flat tire a couple of miles back. No s pare."
"That's a shame," the owner said.
"I wonder if I could use your phone. Call a friend of mine."
"Where's he live?"
"Down at Edna."
"That's two bits call Edna."
Majestyk watched him raise the wet-glistening beer can to his mouth.
"I don't have a spare. The truth is, I don't have any money on me."
"Have to trust you then, won't I?"
Majestyk smiled at him. "You trust me for a can of that too?"
When he got his Coors, a sixteen-ounce can, he took it over to the wall phon e w ith him, looked up a number in the Edna directory, and dialed it. He kept hi s b ack to the man at the counter. When a voice came on he said, quietly, "I believe you have a Lieutenant McAllen there? . . . Let me speak to him, please."
He waited, looking over at the counter where the owner of the place was watchin g h im, then turned his back to the man and hunched over the phone again.
"This is Vincent Majestyk. You remember we met a few days ago?" He paused , interrupted, then said, "No, I'm downtown in a hotel. Where do you think I am?
Listen, why don't you let me talk for a minute, all right?" But he wa s i nterrupted again. "Listen to me, will you? I got Frank Renda . . . I said I go t h im. . . . You want to listen or you want me to hang up? . . . Okay, I got Rend a a nd you got an assault charge against me. Drop it, tear it up, kick it under th e r ug, and I'll give you Frank Renda."
With the loud sounds coming from the receiver he held the phone away from him , covered the speaker with his hand, and looked over at the owner of the place.
"He's sore cause I took him away from his breakfast." He turned and put th e p hone to his ear again, waiting to break in.
"Yeah, well nothing's free in this world," Majestyk said finally. "You want him , that's the deal. . . . No, I'll deliver him. You come here you're liable to sa y y ou found us. But I bring him in it's me doing it and nobody else. . . . Yeah.
Yeah, well it's nice doing business with you too."
He hung up, took a sip of beer, but didn't move away from the phone. "Pu t a nother call on there, okay?" he said to the store owner. "Phoenix. And maybe a c ouple more beers, to go."
He finished dialing, waited, and as he turned to the wall said, "I got a messag e f or somebody named Wiley. You understand? All right, get a pencil and piece o f p aper and write down what I tell you."
It was a little after twelve, the sun directly above them, when the sports ca r a ppeared on the county road. They had been waiting since eleven-thirty, partwa y u p the slope that was covered with stands of pinyon pine. In that time this wa s t he first car they had seen.
"That's it," Renda said. He started to rise, awkwardly, still handcuffed.
Majestyk motioned to him. "Keep down." He watched the sports car, a white Jaguar XK, go by raising a trail of dust on the gravel road, finally reaching a poin t w here it passed from sight beyond the trees.
"That's the car," Renda said.
Majestyk continued to watch the road, saying nothing until the car appeare d a gain, coming slowly from the other direction.
"All right, let's go."
By the time they reached the road the Jaguar was approaching them and came to a n a brupt stop. An attractive young girl with short blond hair and big roun d s unglasses got out and stood looking at them over the open door.
Majestyk stared, taken by surprise. He hadn't expected a girl. The possibilit y h ad never entered his mind.
"Who's that?"
"That's Wiley," Renda said. He started toward the car and called to the girl , "You got the money?"
"I already gave it to him," the girl said. "God, Frank, you're a mess."
"What do you mean you gave it to him? Come on, for Christ sake, where's th e m oney?"
She was frowning as she raised the sunglasses and placed them on her head. "I was told to stop at the store on the highway and pay the man three dollars an d e ighty-five cents, and that's what I did. It's the only money I was told t o b ring."
Renda turned to Majestyk, who was walking toward the Jaguar now, looking at i t c losely.
"What are you pulling? What kind of shit are you pulling! We made a d eal--twenty-five grand!"
"It doesn't look like you'd fit in the trunk," Majestyk said. "So I guess mayb e y ou better drive, Frank. Keep your hands on something. Wiley can squeeze i n b ehind the seats." He looked at Renda then. "You can get in by yourself, or I can help you in. Either way."
"I must have missed something," Wiley said. "Is it all right if I ask wher e w e're going?"
Majestyk gave her a pleasant smile. "To jail, honey. Where'd you think?"
Wiley was three years out of Northwestern University, drama school; two year s o ut of Universal City, a little television; one year out of a Las Vega s s how-bar, topless; and six months into Frank Renda.
Until recently she had been amazed that life with him could be so--not boring , really--uneventful. Living with a real-life man who killed people had sounde d l ike the trip to end all trips. It turned out to be mostly lying around swimmin g p ools while he talked on the phone. Frank was fun to watch. He was a natura l a ctor and didn't know it. He played roles constantly, from cool dude to spoile d c hild, and looked at himself in the mirror a lot, like almost every actor sh e h ad ever known. It was interesting watching him. Still, it was getting to b e s omething of a drag until, four days ago, when she fingered the guy in the ba r f or him. No, it wasn't exactly a finger job. What she did was sit at the bar , keeping an eye on the guy. When it looked like he was getting ready to pay hi s c heck, she got up and walked out of the place, letting Frank know the guy wa s c oming, giving him a minute or so to get ready. She didn't know what Frank ha d a gainst the guy; she didn't ask him. This was real-life drama. She stood off t o t he side and watched Frank calmly shoot the guy five times. Wow. From about te n f eet away. The guy was a great dier. It was really a show, cinema verite. Unti l t he cop came from out of nowhere and jammed his gun into Frank's back. She go t o ut of there, took a cab back to her apartment and waited, the next four days , close to the phone.
More true-life adventure now, scrunched behind the bucket seats of an XK Jag , driving down a back-country road, her handcuffed boyfriend with both hands o n t he top arc of the steering wheel, and a solemn-faced, farmer-looking gu y s taring at him, watching every move he made.
"Left when you get to the blacktop," Majestyk said. "That'll take us to th e h ighway."
Renda braked. As he began to turn onto the county road he lost his grip and ha d t o grab the steering wheel and crank it hard to keep from going into the ditch.
Wiley was thrown hard against the back of Majestyk's seat. He glanced around a s s he straightened up, holding onto the seat.
"Hey, are you trying to put me through the windshield?"
Renda's eyes raised to the rearview mirror and the reflection of Wiley's face.
Their eyes met briefly before he shifted his gaze to the road again. Perhaps a m inute passed before he glanced at Majestyk.
"All right, you got a new game. What's it cost?"
"Three dollars and eighty-five cents," Majestyk said. "You paid and you're in."
"Come on, cut the bullshit. How much you want?"
"Nothing."
"I explained it as simply as I could," Renda said. "We make a deal or you'r e d ead. I get sent away, you're still dead."
"I've already made a deal."
Renda glanced at him again. "You think the cops can keep you alive? They'd hav e t o live with you the rest of your life. Can you see that? Never knowing whe n i t's going to happen?"
When Majestyk didn't answer, Wiley said, "He's kind of weird, isn't he?"
Renda's eyes raised to the rearview mirror and met Wiley's gaze.
When he looked at the road he saw the curve approaching, waited, started int o t he curve and braked sharply to redu
ce his speed. Again Wiley was thrown against Majestyk's seat.
"Hey Frank, take it easy, okay?"
He glanced at her reflection. She was ready.
Coming out of the curve and hitting the straightaway, Renda accelerated t o a lmost seventy, held it for a quarter of a mile, then raised his right foot an d m ashed it down on the brake pedal.
Wiley already had her hand on the latch to release the backrest of Majestyk's s eat. It was free as the car braked suddenly and she threw herself hard agains t i t, her weight and the momentum slamming Majestyk into the dashboard.
"Frank, under the seat!" She screamed it.
"Get it, for Christ sake!"
Renda was accelerating with his left foot, bringing his right foot up and ove r t he transmission hump to kick viciously at Majestyk, jammed between the seat an d t he dashboard, as Wiley reached beneath the driver's seat, groped frantically , and came up with a Colt .45 automatic in her left hand.
"Shoot him! Shoot the son of a bitch, will you!"
"I don't know how!"
"Pull the fucking trigger!"
Majestyk pushed against the seat back, lunging at Wiley. Renda hit the brake s a gain, bouncing Majestyk off the dashboard. But he was able to push off from it , twisting around enough to get a hand on the girl's arm just as she fired and th e a utomatic exploded less than a foot from his head.
Renda was kicking at him again. "Christ, shoot him!"
He kicked at Majestyk's ribs, got his heel in hard a couple of times, kicke d a gain and this time his heel hit Majestyk's belt buckle, slipped off and hit th e d oor handle as Wiley pulled her arm free and put the automatic in Majestyk's f ace. The door opened and she saw him going out, fired, saw his expression an d f ired twice again, saw the window of the swung-open door shatter, but he wa s g one, out of the car, and she knew she hadn't hit him.
The XK Jag was two hundred feet up the road before its brake lights flashed on.
The car made a tight turn, backed up on the narrow blacktop, and turned again t o c ome back this way.
Majestyk heard the sound of the engine. He was lying facedown on the shoulder o f t he road, propped on his elbows, dazed, staring at gravel and feeling it cuttin g i nto the palms of his hands. His vision was blurred and when he wiped his eyes , he saw blood on the back of his hand. He heard the engine sound louder, windin g u p, coming toward him. When he raised his head he saw the headlights and th e g rille, low to the ground, the nose swinging toward the gravel shoulder, comin g d irectly at him.
With all of his strength he threw himself to the side, rolling into the ditch , as the Jag swept past. A moment later he heard the tires squealing on th e b lacktop and knew he had to get out of here, pushing himself up now, out of th e w eeds, climbing the bank away from the road and ducking through the wire fence , as the Jag made its tight turn and came back and this time stopped.
Majestyk was running across the open scrub, weaving through the dusty brus h c lumps, by the time Renda got out of the car and began firing at him with th e a utomatic, both hands extended in the handcuffs. Majestyk kept running. Rend a j umped across the ditch, got to the fence, and laid the .45 on the top of a p ost, aimed, and squeezed the trigger three times, but the figure out in th e s crub was too small now and it would have to be a lucky shot to bring him down.
He fired once more and the automatic clicked empty.
Seventy, eighty yards away, Majestyk finally came to a stop, worn out, gettin g h is breath. He turned to look at the man standing by the fence post and, for a w hile, they stared at one another, each knowing who the other man was and wha t h e felt and not having to say anything. Renda crossed the ditch to the Jag and Majestyk watched it drive away.
It seemed easier to get out of jail than it was to get back in.
He got a ride in a feed truck as far as Junction, after walking a couple o f m iles, then sitting down to rest and waiting almost an hour in the sun. When th e d river asked what'd happened to him he said he'd blown a tire and gone off th e r oad and was thrown out when his pickup went into the ditch. The driver said h e w as lucky he wasn't killed and Majestyk agreed.
At Junction he went into the Enco station and asked the attendant, the one named Gil, for the key to the Men's Room. The attendant gave it to him without sayin g a nything, though he had a little smile on his face looking at Majestyk's dirty , beat-up condition. In the Men's Room he saw what a mess he was: blood and dir t c aked on his face, his shirt torn up the back, his hands raw-looking wit h i mbedded gravel.
It was four-thirty that afternoon when he walked into the Edna Post of the County Sheriff's Department and asked the deputy behind the desk if Lieutenant McAllen was around. The deputy, ignoring his face, asked him what it was h e w anted to see the lieutenant about.
"I want to go to jail," Majestyk said.
He waited on the bench thinking, Christ, trying to get back in. He was stil l s itting on the bench twenty minutes later when McAllen walked up to him an d s tood there, not saying anything.
"I had him," Majestyk said.
"Did you?"
"I guess you want to hear what happened."
"I think I can see," McAllen said.
Chapter 6.
GETTING RENDA to Mexico was no problem. A young guy who brought reefer in two o r t hree times a month flew him down in his Cessna, landing on a desert airstri p n ot far from Hermosillo. Renda spent two nights in a motel while the rest of i t w as being worked out. On the morning of the third day an Olds 98 with Californi a p lates and a house trailer attached--with Eugene Lundy behind the wheel and Wile y c urled on the backseat reading a current bestselling novel--pulled up in front o f t he motel. Renda, wearing work clothes and a week's growth of beard, walked ou t o f his room and got in the trailer. The Olds took off and didn't stop agai n u ntil they were on the coast road south of Guaymas and Lundy thought maybe Fran k w ould want to get out and stretch his legs, exercise a little, breathe in th e s alt air, and throw a couple of stones at the Gulf of California. Wiley said t o h im, "You don't know Frank very well, do you?"
He didn't come out of the trailer or bother to look up when the door opened. He w as sitting in back on one of the bunks, smoking a cigarette.
Wiley said, "Hey, do you love it? I think it's great."
Behind her, Lundy said, "Air-conditioned, you got plenty of vodka, scotch , steaks, and beer in the ice box and"--he took an envelope out of his pocket an d h anded it to Renda--"twenty-five hundred cigarette money."
Wiley was opening cabinets and doors. "There's a shower in the john. Even a m agazine rack."
"Tonight we'll be in Mazatlan," Lundy said. "We can stay there or go on down to Acapulco, it's up to you."
Renda looked up at him. "Regular vacation. You having a nice time?"
"Listen, I think I could use a rest. That stunt, hitting the fucking bus, tha t t ook some years off me."
Renda watched him turn to the refrigerator and take out a can of beer.
"Where is he?"
"You want one?"
"I said where is he!"
Lundy, about to pop open the can, looked over at Renda. "The guy? He turne d h imself in. Last I heard they're still holding him at Edna."
Wiley came in to stretch out on the opposite bunk. "Kind of tight fit, but al l t he comforts of home."
"We're not at home," Renda said. "He is."
"He's in jail, Frank." Wiley's tone was soft, approaching him carefully. "You'r e f ree. We can go anywhere you want."
"There's only one thing I want," Renda said. "Him."
Lundy opened the can and took a swig. "He gets out, we can have somebody tak e c are of that."
Renda shook his head. "Not somebody. I said I want him. I want him to see it an d k now it's me. Put the gun in his stomach and look at him. Not say anything, jus t l ook at him and make sure he understands."
"You still have to wait," Lundy said.
Renda didn't say anything. He was still picturing it, putting the gun in th e m elo
n grower's stomach.
"All right, let me ask you," Lundy said. "What do you do, walk in the jail, as k t hem for a visitor's pass? How do you get close to the guy?"
"You get him out of jail."
"You get him out. How?"
"Find the guy he hit," Renda said. "Tell him to drop the complaint. It was all a m istake, a misunderstanding."
"What if the guy doesn't want to drop it?"
"Jesus, I said tell him, not ask him."
"Maybe pay him something?"
"That's up to you. See what it takes."
"You mean you want me to do it? Go back there?"
"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"
"I just wanted to be sure."
"You're going to go back and set it up," Renda said. "Find the guy made th e c omplaint and get that done. Get some people if you see we need them. Call me, I come up. We go in and get out fast. No bullshit screwing around. Arrange it, I walk up to him, and it's done."
Lundy took a sip of beer, getting the right words ready in his mind. "I keep thinking though, what about the cops? They'll be looking for you, watching you r h ouse, the apartment."
"Christ, you think I'm going to go home? We'll stay someplace else. Call Harry , tell him to arrange it."
"I mean right now, why take a chance?"
"I told you why."
"I'm not against it," Lundy said. "I'm just thinking, we're this far. Why chang e y our mind all of a sudden?"
"I didn't change it. I hadn't made it up yet. But the more I think about it--I know it's what I'm going to do."
"I was going to lie on the beach," Wiley said, "and read my book."
Lundy waited a moment. "You know, Frank, there's a lot of guys'd do it. I mea n g uys the cops aren't waiting to flag."
Renda said, "Hey, Gene, one more time. I said I want him. I never wanted anybod y s o bad and I'm going to do it strictly as a favor to myself. You understand? Am I getting through to you? I'm going to do it, not somebody else. Before I tak e a ny trips or lay on any beach I'm going to walk up to that melon grower son of a b itch, I'm going to look him in the eyes, and I'm going to kill him."
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