Cold Shot to the Heart (8 page)

“Still breathing.”

“I hear you. Inside gets tougher as you get older, doesn't it? Believe me, I know.”

Eddie shrugged.

“You get settled?” Tino said. “Get a place to stay?”

“Good enough for now.”

“Good. Nick, Vincent, can you give us a minute here?”

“Sure,” Nicky said. “I want to catch a butt anyway.”

“Enough with the smoking,” Tino said. “You'll end up like me.”

“We'll be out back,” Nicky said.

When they were gone, Tino nodded at the door. Eddie rocked back on his chair until he could reach it, pushed it shut with his fingertips.

“How'd those screws treat you inside?” Tino said.

“The usual.”

“With respect, though, right?”

“More or less.”

“I'm sorry about the confusion with the appeal, the money and all that. Jew lawyer got his signals crossed. By the time I knew about it, it was too late.”

“It's past.”

“I know that you, and some of the others, get a little resentful about the plea thing.”

“I didn't complain.”

“You never do. But you understand that's the way it is, way it should be, right? Nobody with us pleads out, ever. If the government thinks it's got a case, let them prove it in court. Why make it easy for them?”

“I understand.”

“That's the way it always was, in the old days. The only way it works. Same rule for everyone. Same for me, same for you.”

“I didn't say otherwise.”

“I know. I'm just making it clear, in case that was bothering you while you were in. Four years is four years.”

“Five,” Eddie said.

“Whatever. They want you thinking on it. That's how they get to you.”

“No one got to me.”

“This last case they threw at me,” Tino said. “That bullshit extortion rap. They were talking twenty years.”

He touched his chest. “Here I am, sixty-six years old, only one lung. They figured I'd take the five they were offering, be happy about it. I said, ‘Fuck you, take me to trial.' And they did and they lost, because it was a bullshit case to start with. That's the way they work, they try to scare you.”

Eddie looked at the TV screen. Nicky and Rio were standing outside the back door, smoking cigarettes, looking at the El Camino.

“Who's that you brought with you?” Tino said.

“My partner.”

“I know him?”

“Maybe. Terry Trudeau. We celled together in Rahway a few years back. He's a good kid.”

“You trust him?”

“You don't need to worry about him.”

“You got a place to stay. You need anything else?”

“Work.”

“We'll do what we can, get you earning again,” Tino said. “A good man is always valuable. And you're the best. That's what I said to Nick. I told him, you can't find a better man than Eddie the Saint. No matter what it is you need done.”

Eddie said nothing.

“Got some sad news the other day, though. You hear about our friend Casco?”

“What about him?”

“Someone jumped him in his office, cleaned out the safe. Killed him right there. Two in the back of the head.”

“Some junkie probably. They catch who did it?”

“No, not yet. To be honest, I doubt they will. You had some money with him, didn't you?”

“A little. Not much. Guess it's gone now.”

“He was a good man, a good friend. He handled a lot of things for me. Made me a lot of money. Whoever killed him did me a disservice.”

“You want me to look into it?”

Tino shook his head.

“No need. You just got home, I'm sure you've got other things on your mind. Besides, what good would it do anyway? He's gone.”

“That's right.”

On the screen, Nicky and Rio finished their cigarettes, tossed the butts away, came back inside.

“Do me a favor,” Tino said. “Open that door. That way they'll know we're finished.”

Eddie leaned back, twisted the knob, left the door ajar. Nicky and Rio came back in.

“You got a cell?” Tino said.

“No.”

Tino pointed to Nicky, who took a cell phone from his jacket pocket, held it out. Eddie took it.

“My number's already in there,” Nicky said. “In case you need to reach me.”

Eddie looked at Tino.

“Nick gives me messages,” Tino said. “Calling him is like calling me.”

“It's prepaid, untraceable,” Nicky said. “When it's used up, just toss it. I'll give you another.”

Eddie stood. “All right.” He put the phone in his coat pocket.

“It's good to see you,” Tino said. “Good to have you back.” He rose, put a hand on Eddie's shoulder for support, embraced him again.

“We'll talk soon,” he said. “Look after yourself. Have some fun. You should be enjoying your freedom.”

“I am,” Eddie said.

NINE

She hated Texas.

As the 747 swung around on final approach, the lights of San Antonio began to emerge through the thin clouds. Her stomach tightened. She'd spent eighteen years of her life in Texas, spent another fifteen trying to stay out.

She and Wayne had been living in Wilmington, Delaware, when the work had come up, a jewelry wholesaler outside Houston. The middle of February, and she'd been down with the flu, weak and hollow-eyed. She stayed behind when he left.

It was supposed to be a give-up by the owner, the guns for show. Wayne had gone in with Larry Black, a pro from St. Louis they'd worked with before, both of them in Federal Express uniforms. But a clerk with a concealed weapon had gone cowboy in the office, shot Wayne through the shoulder, winged the owner by accident.

Larry Black had gotten Wayne out of there, but two blocks away their driver misjudged a turn, took out a fire hydrant and park bench, and put himself through the windshield. Larry Black got away, but Wayne and the driver went down for armed robbery and conspiracy, ten to fifteen each. She'd been in the courtroom for the sentencing. He'd flashed a smile at her as they led him away in shackles.

Don't ever work in Texas if you don't have to,
he'd told her once.
That's one state it takes too goddamn long to get out of.

She got her suitcase at baggage claim and walked out of the terminal into dry heat, the night air still and oppressive. She was sweating by the time she reached the rental garage. They gave her a big Chrysler 300, all they had left. She shucked off the leather jacket, settled into the cushioned seat, turned the air conditioner on high.

She'd find a motel in the city tonight, head southeast on 181 tomorrow for the ride down to Kenedy. She knew the route well, made the drive five times a year. Halfway between Poth and Falls City, she'd pass Seven Tears, the town where she'd grown up. She never once had stopped.

*   *   *

The visiting room was decorated for the holidays, tinsel taped to cinder-block walls, an artificial Christmas tree in one corner. She knew the presents below it were just empty boxes in wrapping paper.

Nine thirty in the morning and most of the tables were taken. The visitors were almost all women, the majority black or Mexican, with children in tow. She sat at a table in the far corner, as far from the guards as possible, the same spot she always chose for contact visits. Vending machines hummed. Bright sunlight slanted through the windows onto the checkerboard floor.

The conversations at the tables were quiet, inmates in starched khakis with their hands in view at all times, two guards keeping watch. Cameras on all four walls.

She looked up when the security door buzzed. A guard held it open, and Wayne came out, looked around, saw her, smiled. He limped slightly as he started toward her. His black hair was combed straight back, less of it now, streaked with silver above his ears. She stood.

“Hey, darlin',” he said.

“Hey, babe.”

She leaned toward him on impulse, stopped. They were allowed a fifteen-second embrace at the beginning and end of every visit, but he wouldn't do it anymore. It made it too hard to say good-bye, he'd said.

They sat, and he winced as he settled on the bench. She reached across, took his hand. On the inside of his left wrist was a faint blue tattoo, the Chinese character for “perseverance.” It was a mirror of the one on her own wrist.

“You look good,” he said. “How was the trip?”

“Same as always.”

She looked into his dark brown eyes. There were more lines around them this time, more deeply etched.

“You're limping,” she said.

“This sciatica is kicking my tired old ass.”

“It won't go away by itself. You need treatment.”

“Only thing left is an operation, and I'm not letting them do that here. I'll end up in a wheelchair. Or worse.”

“They give you anything for it? Painkillers?”

“In here? Doesn't happen, girl.”

His khakis were loose, the shirt buttoned high, an inch of white T-shirt visible beneath. She wondered how much weight he'd lost.

“You had me worried,” she said. “No letters for a while.”

“They're lockdown crazy up in here lately. Three times in the last two months. No phone, and no visits to the commissary for stamps. Not that there's much to write about. Same old, same old, every day.”

She squeezed his hand.

“Wasn't expecting to see you again so soon,” he said.

“I decided to make the trip.”

“You going down to Two Rivers?”

“This afternoon.”

“How's she doing?” he said.

“Good, as far as I can tell. Growing up. She turned nine in February.”

“She still with your cousin?”

She nodded. “That's her family now.” It hurt to say it.

“Maybe someday you can work that out.”

“The way I live…” she said. “She's better off where she is.”

He ran his thumb over her knuckles.

“Sorry,” he said. “Guess I shouldn't bring that up.”

“I'm doing what's best for her.”

“I know. You still up north?”

“For now.”

“How you like it?”

“I like it fine. But sometimes I think I'm losing my manners.”

“Get used to the cold yet, Texas girl like you?”

“Not a Texas girl anymore.”

“I guess not. That's good. You're the smartest thing to ever come out of Seven Tears. And the prettiest.”

“That's not saying much.”

“You were too big for that town, girl. Hell, you were too big for Texas.”

“I talked to Rathka.”

“And?”

“He's still working on it. His man in Austin says he needs more up front.”

“He's a goddamn thief. How much?”

“Don't worry about that.”

“If he's sticking you up, tell him to go fuck himself. I'll take my chances with the board.”

“Not good enough. I don't like the odds.”

“I won't have you getting robbed by some spit-slick Texas lawyer son of a bitch.”

“Let me worry about that. March isn't far away.”

“What did you tell Rathka?”

“I told him I'd get it.”

“Now hold on with that, I—”

“I'm not gonna sit and watch you rot in here. You'd do the same if the situations were reversed.”

He sat back.

“What about that house you told me about?” he said. “The one you wanted to buy?”

“We're still talking. We'll see what happens.”

“If it comes down to paying some lawyer or buying that house, you know what you need to do, right?”

“Let me take care of it,” she said.

He looked at the nearest guard. He was chewing gum, thumbs hooked in his belt, looking at no one in particular.

Wayne lowered his voice. “How'd things go in Pennsylvania?”

“Not that great.” The guard had his back to them now. “But there's something else coming up. Hector put me onto it.”

“Too soon.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” she said.

“Anyone I know?”

“Stimmer. Chance.”

“That it?”

“For now.”

“How much exposure?”

“Not much,” she said. “Publicly, not at all. Closed doors. Private event.”

“Never as easy as it sounds.”

“I know.”

“Good men, though.”

“Stimmer put it together. I'm going to go have a look, make a decision.”

“I still think it's too soon.”

“Sometimes you have to take the opportunities as they come.”

A baby began to cry. He looked over. The mother hushed it in soft Spanish. After a moment, he looked back at Crissa.

“I was thinking,” he said.

“About what?”

“You. And that little girl. You ever hear from her father?”

“We've been over this. I expect he's inside. Or dead. Like I told you, we only ran together for a year. Last time I saw him, he was living in a trailer, a needle in his arm most of the time. You saved me from all that, remember?”

“You never did have much luck picking men.”

“I didn't do so bad the last time around. What's your point?”

“You should be looking beyond all this is my point. Buy that house for starters. Find a man, settle down. Figure out a way to raise your daughter.”

“I've got a man.”

“This is no life to live,” he said. “And the game is rigged. You see money for a minute—” he gestured around him—“and a place like this for a long time.”

“I'll get you out of here. I'm not gonna wait seven years, either.”

He turned her hand over, rubbed his thumb along her tattoo. She felt goose bumps rise on her arm, touched her calf to his under the table.

“This is hard to say. But I mean it.” He met her eyes. “What you need to do is get on with your life.”