Cold Shot to the Heart (17 page)

“It's me,” Chance said.

“You got the message?”

“I did. What's it mean?”

“Not sure yet. I'm trying to find out more.”

“It's something to do with down south, isn't it?”

“Maybe.”

She stopped outside the subway entrance. The grate at her feet rattled as a train went by below.

“If the circumstances were otherwise,” he said, “I'd say someone did us a favor.”

“It could be unrelated. I'm sure he had enemies.”

“You should have let me end it down there. It would have been simpler.”

“Too late for that. I'm going to shake some trees, see what I can find out. How long's this number good for?”

“About five minutes. I think it's best to cut some ties. Don't take it personally.”

“I won't. What are your plans?”

“I'm going to move around a little. Cleveland for a few days, then I'll catch a train.”

“What direction?”

“Haven't decided.”

Careful now, not wanting to tell her where he was going.

After a moment, he said, “You want me out there?”

“No. Do what you need to. I'm getting rid of this number, too. I'll give your guy the new one.”

“Any shit starts to jump off about this, you need to let me know.”

“I will.”

“Might be a better idea if you just get out of there for a while.”

“I'm thinking about it.”

“I don't want to have to answer to Wayne if something happens to you over a deal I was involved with.”

“He wouldn't blame you.”

“I wouldn't count on that. And he has a long memory.”

“You've got nothing to worry about.”

“If you need me out there, call my guy. Don't screw around.”

“We'll see,” she said and ended the call.

She shut the phone down, pried off the back, and took out the chip. She snapped it in two with gloved fingers, flipped the pieces into a storm drain. Then she dropped the phone in a trash bin, went down into the station.

*   *   *

Back in the apartment, she broke open another phone, powered it up, and called Hector.

“It's me,” she said. “New one.”

“Got it.”

She hit
END
, punched in Rathka's number, waited while Monique put her through.

When he came on the line, Crissa said, “Anything new from Texas?”

“I talked to our friend in Austin. He agreed to take half now, half later when he starts to show some results.”

“You pay him?”

“I wired it out yesterday. One twenty-five.”

“He better produce.”

“He's aware of that, but he says it'll be weeks before he knows anything. January at the earliest, maybe February. Still, as I said, nothing's for certain until that board sits down in March.”

“When does he want the rest?”

“I told him he'd get it when we got some proof things were moving along. Like an early letter to the board, expressing support. A declaration of intent.”

“We give him the two fifty, and that hearing doesn't go our way, there'll be issues.”

“He knows that. I'll give it a couple weeks into the new year, then rattle his cage a little if I haven't heard from him. But I have to be careful here. I'm putting myself at risk as well.”

“I know that. I appreciate it. Listen, I may need to go away for a few days. Not sure when yet, or where. If I do, I'll get in touch, let you know where you can reach me.”

“I hope that's not as ominous as it sounds. You're worrying me.”

“There's nothing to worry about,” she lied. “Everything's under control.”

She got the suitcase from the closet, opened it on the bed, and took out the .38 and the carton of shells that had been in the safe deposit box. She broke open the cylinder, checked the loads, then closed it again. She'd have to carry it now, and that bothered her—but she couldn't take the chance of getting caught without it.

*   *   *

She was on the futon, a glass of wine in her hand, night creeping across the floor, when her cell began to trill. Hector.

“That guy you were asking about,” he said. “Peaches.”

“Yeah?”

“I made some calls. I got a number for him, or at least somebody who can reach him.”

“Good, what is it?”

She took the phone into the bedroom, shooed the cat off the desk. She found a pen and wrote the number on the back of an envelope.

“Thanks,” she said. “I'll let you know what happens.”

“I'm headed up to my nephew's place in Newark. He knows some people around there, maybe they've heard something.”

“You going tonight?”

“Might as well. I just talked to Luisa. Everything's okay. Kids think it's a little vacation, you know?”

“Good.”

“If I find out anything, I'll call you.”

“Thanks.”

“But you need to be careful, all right? Just in case.”

“I always am,” she said.

TWENTY

They'd parked the El Camino on a side street, with a diagonal view of a row of old homes. Three doors from the corner was the address Stimmer had given them, a two-story house with a small yard. There were lights in the front windows. No one had come in or out in the three hours they'd been here.

“How long are we gonna wait?” Terry said.

“Long as it takes.”

They were on the west side of Jersey City, new businesses and restaurants a few blocks away. Here, houses with sagging porches, sneakers hanging from telephone wires.

“What he told us,” Terry said. “It could all be bullshit.”

“Only one way to find out.”

A shadow moved behind a window.

“Someone's in there,” Eddie said.

“What about the wife and kids? He's supposed to have a wife and kids.”

“I'll worry about that.”

The front door opened. A Hispanic man in a green flight jacket came onto the porch, cell phone to his ear.

“Give me your phone,” Eddie said.

“Why?”

“I don't want to spook him when he sees the number.”

Terry handed it over. The man started up the block, still talking, then closed the phone and put it away. He went to a brown Chevy Nova, unlocked it, and got behind the wheel. They heard it start up, saw white exhaust swirl from the tailpipe.

Eddie punched in the number he'd gotten from Stimmer's cell. The driver took out his phone, looked at it. Eddie pressed
END
.

“That's him,” he said.

The Nova pulled out, crossed the intersection in front of them.

“Follow him,” Eddie said. “But stay back.”

The Nova stood out in traffic, was easy to keep in sight. Suarez led them out of the city, onto the Parkway, heading north. After a while, he moved into the far right lane and signaled for the exit.

“He's taking us to Newark,” Terry said.

“Don't lose him.”

They left the Parkway, wound through back streets into a warehouse district. Narrow one-way streets and no other cars. They could see the Nova's taillights ahead.

“I don't like this,” Terry said.

The Nova pulled up outside a tire shop.

“Drive past,” Eddie said. “Don't slow down.”

As they went by, he got a glimpse of open bay doors, discarded tires. Salsa blasted from inside. He watched the shop in the rearview, saw Suarez get out of the Nova and go in.

“Make a left up here,” Eddie said. “Circle around. Kill the lights.”

Four left turns later, Terry pulled to the curb two blocks down from the tire shop. The streetlamp above them was out. The next one, a half block up, flickered on and off.

Light from the shop bled into the street, the music filtering down to them. Five minutes later, Suarez came out carrying an oversized gym bag, got back in the Nova.

“You think that's money?” Terry said.

The Nova pulled away from the curb.

“Turn around here,” Eddie said. “I don't want to drive past there again.”

Terry swung a U-turn, lights off.

“Go up a block, turn right,” Eddie said. “It's dead around here at night. He'll be easy to find.”

They traced a slow grid, headlights off. The warehouses and automotive shops they passed were dark. There was no sign of the Nova.

“Shit. Where'd he get to?” Terry said.

They turned onto a wide two-way street along a row of warehouses.

“Slow down,” Eddie said. He looked into alleys and driveways as they crept past. Not liking it, feeling too exposed.

“We can always go back to his house,” Terry said. “Wait for him.”

Near the end of the block was a narrow alley between two warehouses. Eddie saw the red glow of brake lights on a brick wall.

“There he is,” he said. “Keep going. Make a right here, go down a block, and pull over.”

They drove past the alley, made the turn. When Terry pulled to the curb, Eddie took Stimmer's Ruger from his coat pocket.

“Wait here, keep an eye out,” he said. “In case I miss him, or I have to clear out quick. If you see him drive past, follow him, see where he goes. Then come back and pick me up.”

He held out the Star. Terry looked at it.

“You know how to use it, right?” Eddie said. “There's a round in the chamber already. Just point it and squeeze the trigger.”

“No. I'm good.”

“What are you scared of? If things jump off, you want to be out here holding nothing but your dick?”

“I'll be okay.”

Eddie shook his head, handed the phone back. “Keep that on, in case I need to reach you.”

He got out, tucked the Star in the back of his belt, under the sweater. The metal was cold against his skin. He kept the Ruger down at his side.

He started down the street, no cars in sight, every building dark and empty. A wide service alley ran behind the warehouses. Loading docks back here, Dumpsters, doors with security lights, alarm company signs. He counted buildings. At the fourth one, the loading gate was open enough for a man to climb under. Light from inside threw a yellow bar on the concrete dock.

He stopped one building short, staying close to the wall. The Nova was parked in the alley between the buildings, empty. Keeping an eye on the loading gate, he came up beside the car and looked inside. The bag was gone.

He waited a few moments, listening, then crossed to the loading dock. He looked under the gate, saw racks of metal shelving, boxes, an oil-stained concrete floor, fifty-five-gallon drums.

He crouched to get a better angle, saw a workbench against the far wall, a single rack of fluorescent lights above it. No one inside.

He pulled himself up onto the dock. With the Ruger in front of him, he ducked beneath the gate, stood up on the other side.

In the darkness to his right, he heard the unmistakable ratcheting of a shotgun. Knew it was pointed at his head.

“Hey,
puta,
” Hector Suarez said. “Where's your partner?”

Eddie didn't move. On the floor to his left he saw the open gym bag, loose shotgun shells inside. No money.

“Drop that shit, homes,” Suarez said. “Just toss it away.”

“We need to talk.”

“Toss it.”

Eddie bent, put the Ruger on the floor.

“Now ease out of that coat. Let it fall where it is.”

He shrugged out of the trench coat. It bundled at his feet.

“Walk forward. Center of the room. Safety's off on this bitch.”

Eddie stepped forward, hearing Suarez behind him. There was the click of a switch, then the drone and rattle of the gate closing. He looked around. It was a big room, most of it lost in shadow. Shelves of cardboard boxes rose almost to the ceiling.

“Last time I'll ask. Where's your partner?”

“Out there somewhere. Easy, Hector. You don't know what you're dealing with here.”

Suarez came around, keeping his distance. Eddie looked into the muzzle of a pistol-grip shotgun. Suarez kicked the Ruger skittering into the shadows.

“What's your name?”

“Eddie Santiago. I work for Tino Conte.”

“Bullshit.”

Eddie didn't respond.

“You the one that called me before?”

“I needed to be sure it was you.”

“How'd you get the number?”

“How do you think? This has nothing to do with you, Hector. Don't get involved.”

“I think you already got me involved, homes. Why don't you kneel down there?”

“These are new pants. ”

“You think I'm fucking with you?”

Eddie knelt, felt cold concrete under his knees.

“You got a phone? To call your partner?”

“You can call him yourself. His number's in your phone.”

Suarez took another step back, watching him over the barrel of the shotgun.

“Think this through, Hector. It isn't about you. It's about the money. And the woman.”

“What woman?”

“Lead me to her, and there's enough cash to go around for all of us.”

“Man, you don't even know what the fuck you're talking about.”

Holding the shotgun one-handed, Suarez drew the cell from his jacket pocket.

“Stimmer told me everything,” Eddie said. “We had a long conversation. How do you think I found you?”

“Shut up.” He thumbed numbers on the phone. The shotgun didn't waver.

“That was Tino's son-in-law that got capped down there,” Eddie said. “You know that, right? He wants payback. Can you blame him?”

Suarez set the phone down, stepped back. He'd put it on speaker. Eddie could hear the ringing on the other end.

Suarez pointed the shotgun at his head. “Talk to him. Tell him to come down here.”

“I can't control him. He'll do what he wants.”

“If he doesn't, then I'll just take you out right here, go looking for him.”