Cold Shot to the Heart (21 page)

*   *   *

The Travel Inn was on 42nd Street, still Manhattan but close enough to the Lincoln Tunnel that she could get out of town fast. She left the rental car in a garage a block away, tipped the deskman to let her check in early.

She had lunch in the coffee shop, her first food of the day, and brought a takeout cup of tea up to her fifth-floor room. She got out the .38, checked the rounds again, then pulled a chair up to the window. The clouds were heavy with the threat of snow. She thought of the cat, out there on its own again.

She sat there sipping tea, the gun in her lap, looking out at the gray day, waiting for her phone to ring.

TWENTY-FOUR

Eddie ran the razor under the faucet, cleaning off the last of the dried blood. Water swirled faint pink into the drain. He'd wiped the blade clean after they'd left Suarez, but blood had caked on the hinge. He didn't want it to rust.

Terry had the woman's laptop open on the kitchen table, his face lit by the screen's glow. Angie stood in the doorway, watching them, chewing on a thumbnail.

“You know what you're doing with that thing?” Eddie said.

“Enough.”

“What's in there?” He leaned over, drank from the faucet, then dried the razor carefully on a paper towel, closed it.

“Not much. Almost nothing on the hard drive. The trash has been emptied, and all the histories have been cleared.”

“Whatever that means,” Eddie said. He dropped the razor into the open gym bag at his feet, the shotgun visible. “Can you sell it, get some money?”

“Maybe. Hold on. There's some folders here with pictures.”

“What pictures?”

“Some little girl.”

Eddie came around behind him, looked over at Angie. She met his eyes for a moment, then turned and left the room.

“Show me,” Eddie said.

Terry hit keys. A picture came up on the screen, a girl in pigtails, maybe eight, nine years old. She had reddish blond hair, was sitting on a carpeted floor in front of a Christmas tree. In the next photo, she sat on the edge of a dock, holding a child's fishing pole, the line in the water, an intent look on her face.

“Same girl in all the pictures?” Eddie said.

“Yeah.” He clicked through more photos.

“Stop.”

This one was a group portrait, kids sitting on the front steps of a school. The girl from the other photos was in the front row, giving the camera a wide smile. There was a school logo at the bottom of the picture.

“Two Rivers, Texas,” Eddie said. “Never heard of it.”

“Probably a small town.”

“All these pictures, got to be someone important to her. Daughter maybe, or niece. Too young for a sister.”

“Cute little girl.”

“You need to find out where Two Rivers is,” Eddie said. “There can't be too many of them. We lucked out here.”

“Why?”

“Like I said, that kid means something to her. It's leverage.”

Terry was silent.

“What?” Eddie said.

“I'm not going after some little girl.”

“Who said we were? We just let her know we found the pictures. She'll get the idea. And if she bolts, we know at least one place she might turn up.”

Terry hit the power button. The screen faded to black. “I don't know.”

“We've come too far to back off now,” Eddie said. “What's the problem? You've got nothing but paydays ahead of you. We've got twenty more coming from Tino, and who knows how much we'll get off the woman when we find her. Probably more money than you've ever seen in your life.”

“I guess.”

“You guess? What is it? That thing with Suarez still got you bothered?”

“I didn't expect it to go the way it did.”

“Whose fault was that? He could have made it easier on himself. He chose not to. I did what I had to do.”

“I know.”

“Then stop acting like a bitch.”

The phone in his coat pocket began to ring. He took it out, looked at the number. “It's about fucking time.”

“Who is it?”

“Man with the rest of our money,” Eddie said. He opened the phone. “Yeah.”

“Sorry,” Nicky said, “I just got your message. I got tied up with some shit. What do you need?”

“What do you think?”

“You have any trouble with that thing?”

“Nothing I couldn't handle. But there's the question of the balance.”

“I hear you. Hold on.”

Eddie waited, hearing muffled voices in the background. Terry was watching him.

When Nicky came back on, he said, “No problems with that. We got it. I'll call you tomorrow, tell you where to go.”

“No. Let's do it tonight.”

“What's the rush?”

“You've got it, right?”

“Yeah, we got it. But tonight's no good.”

“Why not? The work's done. What's the issue?”

Another pause. Nicky came back on and said, “No issue. I think we can make that happen. Give me a half hour, I'll call you back, tell you where.”

“Do that,” Eddie said and hung up.

He zipped up the gym bag, hefted it, felt the shotgun's weight.

“Let's get out of here,” he said. “Go get a decent meal. Then I've got a phone call to make.”

Terry shut the laptop.

“Another thing.” Eddie nodded at the hallway. “You want to keep an eye on her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She makes me nervous, way she stands around, watching us. Listening all the time.”

“She's just worried about me.”

“Maybe so. But she doesn't like me very much, and she's seen some shit. You want to be careful around her.”

“You don't have to worry about Angie.”

“No,” Eddie said, “but maybe you do. Women get that way sometimes. They drop a dime on you, think they're doing you a favor.”

“Angie won't.”

“That's right,” Eddie said. “She won't.”

TWENTY-FIVE

At dusk, she sat in the half-full parking lot of the Tick-Tock Diner, engine off, watching the traffic on Route 3, the lights of Manhattan in the distance. With the dark had come a light snow. The diner's Christmas lights reflected off the wet blacktop.

The man on the phone had told her five o'clock, but she'd been here since four, parked in the shadows at the far end of the lot, occasionally running the engine for heat. The .38 was beneath a newspaper on the passenger seat.

At six thirty, a new Impala glided into the lot, did a slow circuit, and parked close to the diner. The engine and headlights cut off. No one got out.

After ten minutes, the Impala's window slid down. The driver scanned the lot, looked at his watch. The window went back up.

She waited him out. Fifteen minutes later, he got out of the car, a short, heavily built man in a suit and overcoat. He looked around as he crossed the lot, hands in his pockets, and went up the flagstone steps to the diner entrance.

She put the .38 in her coat pocket, got out of the car. Through the diner windows, she could see him stop at the register and speak to the female cashier. She pointed, and he moved off.

Crissa went up the steps and inside, saw the driver turn into an alcove at the far end of the diner. She followed and came to a short hallway with a pay phone,
MEN
and
WOMEN
doors facing each other. She gave it a moment, waiting for someone to come in or out, then pushed open the
MEN
door. No one at the urinals. In the mirror, she could see the driver standing in a stall, the door open. All the other stalls were empty. He flushed, zipped up.

She came up behind him, put the muzzle of the .38 to the back of his head, crowded him into the stall. She pushed the door shut behind her, bolted it.

“Easy with that thing,” he said.

She reached around, felt under his suit jacket. “What's your name?”

“This could get a little embarrassing, don't you think? We were supposed to talk in the car.”

She drew a small automatic from his belt.

“What's this for?” she said.

“Hey, I don't know who you are. Better safe, right?”

Her thumb found the magazine release. She held the gun over the toilet and shook it. The clip slid out, splashed into the water.

“I really wish you hadn't done that,” he said.

She put the gun in her pocket.

“What's your name?” she said again.

When he didn't answer, she cocked the .38, felt him stiffen.

“Be careful with that,” he said.

“Name.”

“Carmine.”

“You alone, Carmine?”

“What do you think? I was sitting on my ass out there for a half hour. You had to be watching.”

They heard the men's room door open. She screwed the muzzle of the .38 into his scalp. Someone used a urinal, whistling softly to himself. He flushed, ran water in the sink, and then they heard the rattle of the towel dispenser. The door opened and closed again.

“You're starting to piss me off,” he said. “I'm here as a favor. Take that thing away from my head, before I take it away from you.”

“Tough guy, huh?”

“Try me.”

She lowered the gun.

“I don't know who you are either,” she said. “Or who you work for. Better safe, right?”

“I'm here as a gesture to our friend down the Shore. That's all. You understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Then don't make me regret it.”

“What do you have to tell me?”

“This is the only time we're ever going to meet. So stop busting my balls and listen up. I'm not repeating shit.”

She decocked the .38. “Go on.”

“There's a guy used to work for Tino, just got out of Rahway. His name's Eddie Santiago. They call him Eddie the Saint. He was Tino's go-to guy when the old man had to make a move and didn't have enough muscle.”

“So?”

“So Eddie's back in the fold. He's the guy that took out your two partners.”

“How do you know that?”

“Word gets around. He's
matto
, crazy. No one wants anything to do with him. Sometimes he runs with a punk kid named Terry Trudeau. A burglar.”

She remembered the alligator clips on the alarm wire.

“Where do I find them?” she said.

“You're on your own with that. Tino hangs at a market sometimes, up in Irvington. He keeps an office in the back. Eddie, who knows?”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Like I said, for our friend. He has some favors due.”

“You work for Tino?”

“That prick? Never.”

“Who do you work for?”

“The pope. How long are we going to stay in here?”

She put the .38 away, reached back and unbolted the stall door.

“Wait here five minutes,” she said. “Then go out to the counter, order a cup of coffee, sit there and drink it. I'll be able to see you through the window. If you come out and try to follow me, you won't give me any choice. You know that, right?”

“Got it.” He snapped his gum. “Coffee. Right.”

She backed out of the stall, let the door swing shut. He stayed where he was. She took out his gun, dropped it into the trash can by the door, went back into the diner and toward the exit, not walking fast, not looking back.

In the parking lot, she knelt by the Impala, Christmas lights bathing it in red and green. She took out her pocket knife, sank the tip into the right rear tire. Air hissed out.

She did the same to the right front, the Impala's springs creaking as it sank lower, settled crookedly. She looked back at the diner windows. He hadn't come out.

She closed the knife and walked back to her car.

*   *   *

The phone woke her.

She looked at the nightstand clock—10:00
P.M.
She'd fallen asleep fully dressed on the bed, the phone beside her.

It trilled again. Hector's number. She hit
SEND
, lifted it to her ear.

Silence. Then a man's voice said, “I know you're there. I can hear you breathing.”

She waited.

“We should talk,” he said. “Before all this gets out of control.”

“Talk about what?”

“What you've got. What I want. What I'll do to get it. It's not too late to work it out.”

“How will we do that?”

“Simple. Give me the money you took from the card game. All of it.”

“What card game?”

“Don't. You didn't get where you are by being stupid, did you? Don't start now. You're going to come out ahead anyway, right?”

“How's that?”

“You'll be alive.”

When she didn't respond, he said, “That's good. You're thinking.”

“I am. Maybe I know a couple things about you, too.”

“Good for you. Like I said, we'll keep it simple. We agree on a figure, you hand it over. You go steal some more from someone else. All there is to it.”

“That easy, is it?”

“Just that easy. I'm going to call you back tomorrow, and then I'm going to tell you where and when we're going to meet.”

“Oh, we'll definitely meet,” she said. “I guarantee that.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself. Been to Texas lately?”

She felt her arms grow cold.

“What do you mean?”

“Cute little girl. She yours?”

The laptop, she thought. The photos. It had been stupid to leave them on there.

“Still there?” he said.

She took a breath, let it out slow. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Elktail Elementary, that a good school? Two Rivers, Texas. I looked at a map. What is that, a couple days' drive? Maybe two hours on a plane?”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to stop fucking around. I did two of your partners. You doubt my seriousness?”

She thought of Hector in the trunk, what they'd done to him.