Death Benefits (29 page)

“Paul Newman?” I said, laughing so hard there were tears in my eyes.

“Sure. I bet his
cojones
are halfway down his thighs already.”

When I finally stopped laughing I said, “Have you got a name yet?”

“Not yet. I've been toying with Highballs—”

I burst into laughter again.

“—but maybe it's a little too cute.”

“I've got your motto. ‘Highballs: For a Vas Deferens.'”

I was still laughing, staggering against Benny as we walked on, when the beam of his flashlight fell on something that stopped us cold.

We stared in silence.

“Jesus,” Benny finally said. “You think that's from Stoddard?”

I stared down, and then glanced over at the passageway. “Yep,” I said. “We're here.”

Chapter Thirty

What had caught our attention was a green plastic bucket and a brown grocery bag on the floor of the tunnel near the arched passageway—the thirty-ninth passageway from where we started, and thus the sixth passageway from the end.

The bucket had a small amount of hardened concrete in it, and one of those wood paint stirrers was stuck in the concrete. On the ground next to the bucket was a chisel that was six or seven inches long and looked like it was made out of a heavy metal. I peered into the grocery bag. It was one-fifth full of what looked like a mixture of sand and gravel.

“Is this concrete?” I asked, pointing the flashlight beam at the grocery bag.

Benny leaned over to see. “Yep. It's the ready-mix stuff. You just add water. Stoddard must have brought it in with him. There's certainly plenty of water for mixing.”

I stepped up into the arched passageway and shined the flashlight into the ceiling. Right in the center was a corroded light fixture. You could see traces of fresh concrete around the edges. I reached up and tugged on the light fixture. I could move it back and forth. Benny joined me.

“Let me,” he said, grasping hold of the light fixture with both hands. “Back up,” he said.

He gave three big pulls, and on the third one the fixture came loose in a shower of crumbling concrete and dust. As Benny brushed the junk out of his hair and off his face, I stepped in and shined the flashlight at what he had exposed.

“Bingo,” I said.

Anderson had chiseled out a large area above the light fixture. Set back in the archway and anchored in concrete was a metal lockbox, turned on its side so that whatever was in it would not fall out when the door was opened.

“That's it,” Benny said. “Goddamn.”

I pulled the key out of the front pocket of my jeans. I stood on my tiptoes, but the lockbox was just barely out of my reach. “Give me that bucket,” I said to Benny.

“Here,” he said, bending down and wrapping his arms around my thighs. “I'll pick you up.”

He lifted me high enough to insert the key.

“It fits!” I said in excitement as I turned the key in the lock. The door swung open and I reached inside. I pulled out something heavy wrapped in a plastic bag. “Okay,” I said, and Benny lowered me with a grunt.

We sat down on the edge of the passageway, our legs resting on the floor of the tunnel. Slowly, carefully, I unrolled the black plastic bag on my lap. Inside was a canvas bag, wrapped with three lengths of duct tape. My hands were shaking as I yanked off the last piece of duct tape, reached into the bag, and pulled out Montezuma's Executor.

“My God,” I breathed as Benny shone the flashlight on it. “It's incredible.”

I turned it slowly in my hands. Montezuma's Executor was in the unmistakable shape of an erect penis. The gold column gleamed in the light, the emeralds and rubies sparkled. The craftsmanship was magnificent.

“Jesus Christ,” Benny said. “Look at the size of that thing. That fucking Indian was hung like a horse.”

I rested its base on my thigh. “Look,” I said, pointing at the slit in the head. “That's where the knife blade went.”

“Jesus.”

I turned it over. There was a wider slit between the two little globes at the base of the column where the knife blade was inserted. As I sat there, holding that remarkable object in my hand, thinking back to who had originally wielded it, up there on the sacrificial pyramid, and for what specific purpose, I shivered—part in awe and part in revulsion.

I checked my watch.

“What time is it?” Benny asked.

“Ten-thirty.”

He shifted his weight from side to side. “Whew,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Not too long now, huh?”

“Turn around,” I said as I gently laid Montezuma's Executor on the floor of the tunnel. “I need to get that white turtleneck out of your backpack.”

He did.

“Don't look,” I said as I grasped hold of the dirty turtleneck I was wearing and pulled it off over my head. “Ferd said his men were already in position, right?” I asked Benny as I unfolded the white turtleneck and pulled it over my head.

“He said they're all set.”

“Did he tell you where all those sharpshooters are?”

“Let's see,” Benny said, trying to recall. “He said most of them were up on the train trestle. A few were on the edge of the ditch. A couple on the rooftops, a couple on the water tower.”

“You can look,” I said as I tucked the turtleneck into my jeans. I stretched my neck, trying to relax. “Twenty-five minutes to go. It'll take maybe ten minutes to walk down there, and then—wait a minute. He said most were on the train trestle?”

“Yeah. That's what he—oh, shit. Where the fuck is that train trestle?”

“Oh, no. It's at least half a mile from the tunnel opening. He told you he had a couple on the water tower, too? Benny, I don't even remember a water tower.”

“It must be down there by that fucking train trestle. Jesus Christ, that pinhead's got his men in the wrong goddamn place. They're too far away.” Benny slipped off his backpack and pulled out the portable phone.

“Is it safe to call him?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said as he dialed the number. “Those knuckleheads are so far away Panzer won't hear it ring.” He held the phone to his ear. “Oh, shit. This fucking phone won't work in here. I can't believe this.”

My mind was racing. “How far back was that last ladder?”

Benny shook his head helplessly. “I don't remember. Quarter of a mile? Half a mile? Shit. Shit!”

“Go back there fast,” I said. “That ladder leads up to the surface. Call Ferd from there. Tell him to move his men closer to the tunnel.” I checked my watch. 10:35 p.m. “Tell him where you're calling from, too. Tell him to send some of his men down that manhole.”

Benny was nodding his head. “Okay. Got it. You stay here, Rachel. Wait for me.” He reached down to pick up his backpack, but then he handed it to me. “I don't need this. There's an extra flashlight in there, and some batteries, too.”

“Go, Benny. Hurry.”

“Okay. I'll be back. Just wait here.”

I watched Benny jog down the tunnel and out of sight. I turned toward the direction of the tunnel opening, which was out of view about six hundred yards further down. I checked my watch. 10:38 p.m. Panzer told me he would wait exactly five minutes and then he'd leave. Which meant I had no more than twenty minutes to figure out what to do, and do it.

I rifled through my options. I was probably safer meeting Panzer without Montezuma's Executor than with it. He wouldn't try anything funny if I didn't have it with me. I could tell him some story, maybe have him follow me into the tunnel with his money, or see if he would wait there while I went back into the tunnel to retrieve it. By then, Benny would have gotten the feds back in position, with several coming down the tunnel from the opposite end. Ferd and his men couldn't be that far away now. Maybe a few blocks.

Panzer was no bigger than me, I thought, trying to rationalize it. Without a weapon, he shouldn't be that dangerous. If I could stall Panzer for a while, the feds would either descend on him out there or be waiting for him in here.

I thought of Rafe Salazar. When he finds out about the screw-up, he's going to be furious, I told myself. The thought of his rage gave me some comfort.

I checked my watch again. 10:43 p.m.

What if everything's screwed up? I said to myself. Don't think that way, Rachel. Benny must be up that ladder by now. He's probably moving them into position even as you stand here.

I looked down at the flashlight in my hand. The light was growing weaker. There was another flashlight in the backpack. I shined the beam on the Executor. Even in the dimmer light, the sparkling of the jewels made the Executor seem incandescent.

But what if Benny hadn't reached the ladder? What if he'd dropped the phone? What if everything was screwed up?

I studied the Executor, my mind fully revved on adrenaline now. I couldn't just leave it out there on the ground. I moved the flashlight beam slowly around. I held the beam first on the metal chisel on the ground by the bucket. I reached down and picked up the chisel. I moved the beam to the grocery bag, and then over to the backpack, and then back to the bucket.

I stared down at the flashlight, and then over at the Executor.

I checked my watch. I had exactly eight minutes before I had to start walking down the tunnel.

It might work.

Chapter Thirty-one

At precisely 11:05 p.m. I emerged from the tunnel and stepped out onto the concrete riverbed of the River Des Peres. One hundred feet in front of me, standing beneath the full moon, was Remy Panzer. He was alone and he was facing me. On the ground to his right was a large metal briefcase.

I walked toward him slowly, my eyes scanning back and forth. The concrete banks of the river sloped steeply up toward street level. We seemed to be alone down here. But because the riverbed was so far below street level, I had no way to tell who or what was up there.
Don't count on anyone else
, I said to myself.
Assume it's just you and him
.

I stopped ten yards from Panzer and turned off my flashlight.

“You're late,” he said.

“My watch must be slow. Is that the money?”

“It is.”

“Let me see.”

“You let me see,” he said.

“You first.”

“Very well.” He bent down, his eyes never leaving mine, and turned the briefcase on its side. Clicking open the clasps, he raised the top. I stepped a few feet closer. In the bright moonlight I could see the neat stacks of green bills packed into the briefcase.

“How do I know it's all there?” I asked, trying to stall for time.

“Because I say it is.”

“Maybe I should count it.”

He lowered the lid and locked the briefcase. Standing up, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Your turn. Where is the Executor?”

I gestured over my shoulder toward the tunnels. “Back there.”

“Then go get it,” he snapped. “And hurry.”

“I can't.”

“What do you mean, you can't?” He said the words slowly, precisely, his anger starting to show.

I shrugged. “You'll have to help me. I know where it is, Remy. But I can't get at it.”

“I cannot believe my ears. We had a deal, young lady,” he snarled. “I bring the money, you bring the Executor. Here is the money. Now bring me the Executor.”

I was surprised by the force of his anger. “You don't understand, Remy. I know where it is. I found the Executor. I just can't get it out of where Stoddard hid it.”

Panzer ran his fingers through his close-cropped hair in furious exasperation. “I cannot believe this. I cannot believe this.”

“Listen to me,” I said. “I know where it is. Do you understand that? I found it. It's in the tunnel. In a lockbox. In the ceiling of a passageway in the wall. It's there. I've seen the lockbox. I just can't get it open.”

Panzer put his hands on his hips, fists clenched. “AND WHY NOT?”

“Two problems. First, it's just a little too high for me to reach. Second, the lockbox is anchored in cement. The only way to get the Executor out is to open the lockbox. I don't have a key. You're going to have to break the lock. When I called you this afternoon, all I had was Stoddard Anderson's map. I didn't find out about these problems until I went in there tonight to get it.”

Panzer stared at me, his jaw clenching and unclenching. And then he spun away, his back to me.

I quickly looked up both sides of the riverbank, straining to see any movement. To my immediate right was the stairway leading down from street level. Why weren't there twenty FBI agents charging down those stairs? What was taking them so long?

“Look, Remy, I'm sure we can get it if we work together. The lockbox doesn't look that strong. You could probably break the lock with a crowbar. Remy?” He still had his back to me, shaking his head.

And then I heard the crunch of tires on loose concrete and the low-pitched rumbling of a car engine. A Pontiac Firebird with a dark-tinted windshield was slowly coming down the riverbed toward us, headlights off. It came to a halt in front of Remy Panzer, who now had his face raised toward the moon. A perfect mirror image of the moon was reflected in the tinted windshield.

Both of us stood there in silence for a moment, facing the car. The only noise was an occasional metallic
thock
from the cooling engine block.

And then both car doors opened simultaneously. A short, bearded man stepped out of the passenger side. He was wearing a baggy white dress shirt (sleeves rolled up), baggy khakis, and wire-rim glasses. A moment later, Rafe Salazar stepped out from the driver's side. He was wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans. Both of them were carrying handguns. The bearded man's handgun had a silencer screwed onto the end of the barrel.

Rafe stared at me. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice flat.

I smiled bravely. “Sure,” I said a little uncertainly, my mind shouting,
What's wrong with this picture
? “I was kind of nervous there for a while,” I added.

He nodded curtly. No smile, no warmth.

The bearded man took a step toward Panzer. “Where is it?”

Panzer gestured angrily toward me. “She says it's in the tunnel. In a lockbox. She says she couldn't reach it, and she says she doesn't have a key to open it.”

“Shit,” the bearded man said harshly. He turned to me, pointing the gun. “What kind of lock?”

I looked at Rafe. “What's going on?”

Rafe's eyes were cold. “Answer his question, Rachel.”

“Where's everyone else?” I asked as the earth began to tilt. “Where's Ferd? Where are his men?”

Rafe's stare met mine. “Twenty miles north of here,” he said. “Staking out the playground behind an abandoned elementary school, which is precisely where I told him tonight's rendezvous would take place. He and his men have been there since six o'clock.”

It took a moment to grasp the extent of the miscommunication that had occurred when Benny had called Ferd from the tunnel. Ferd had assured him that he and his men were in position. Both had assumed that they were talking about the same position. Rafe read my facial expression. He gave me a sad smile and shook his head. “You're all alone, Rachel.”

The bearded man stepped in close. “What kind of lock?” His voice was low and controlled. His eyes were like laser beams.

I stared at him, trying to place a name on the face. I had seen him somewhere before. “It's just an ordinary lockbox,” I said, feeling dizzy.

He turned to Rafe. “Get a crowbar out of the trunk.”

As Rafe went behind the car and popped the hood, Remy Panzer reached down for the briefcase. “I don't believe my services are needed anymore.”

“Services?” the bearded man repeated. “Your services have been worthless, you miserable faggot.”

Panzer smiled as he straightened up, his hand clenched around the briefcase. “A deal is a deal, Mr. Nevins. Moreover, I have even delivered a special bonus, at no extra charge. I've brought you a sacrificial maiden for your next little soiree up on the pyramid. She's really quite lovely, if I say so myself.” He turned to me. “I've enjoyed doing business with you, Rachel. Although Mr. Salazar's script called for you to betray me, I don't take it personally. Moreover, the contents of this briefcase have placed me in a forgiving mood. You played your role to perfection, with the exception of this minor foul-up at the end. Assuming these gentlemen will allow you to grow old, my best wishes for continued success in your career.”

He turned and walked toward the stairway leading up the side of the riverbank to the street. He was four stairs up when Tezca shot him.

With the silencer on the gun, all I heard was a
thwip
.

The bullet hit Panzer in the middle of his back, punching him forward, his back arching in pain. He started to turn toward us, his face contorted in shock and pain, his free hand reaching for the wound.

And then I heard another thwip.

The second bullet tore into Panzer's neck below his ear. The impact spun him off the stairs and onto the sloped riverbank. He landed on his side, the briefcase still clutched in bis hand. He seemed to be just resting there, propped on an elbow, staring at us, awful, motionless but for the blood pulsing and bubbling out of his neck wound. And then he rolled onto his back. Dark blood ran down the concrete slope in rivulets as his body started to twitch.

The first thing to drop was the briefcase. It slid down the incline and clattered onto the riverbed. A moment later, Panzer's body started to follow. It slid slowly down the concrete slope, gradually turning as it slid, no longer twitching, leaving a dark trail of blood. The body came to a rest near the briefcase at the bottom of the riverbank, head first, eyes wide open, twin moons reflecting in the sightless pupils.

Rafe walked over to Panzer's body. He was carrying a gun in one hand, a crowbar and a flashlight in the other. He crouched beside the body for a moment and then straightened up. He looked down at the bearded man. “That was stupid, Arthur.”

Arthur Nevins aka Tezca ignored the remark and grabbed me roughly by me arm. “Panzer was right, lady. You want to live to see your grandchildren, you show us where it is. And quickly.”

“Show us, Rachel,” Rafe said.

“Now!” Tezca hissed in my ear.

“Okay,” I said dully.

The three of us walked into the dark tunnel.

“You lied about everything,” I said to Rafe.

He didn't answer, and I couldn't see his face in the darkness.

“That call last night,” I said, close to tears. “Remember your call?”

He grunted.

“There wasn't any champagne, was there?” My voice was shaking. “It was all a lie, wasn't it?”

“There was no champagne,” he finally said.

“What kind of monster are you?” I asked, more hurt than angry.

“Be quiet, Rachel,” he said. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“My God, were you the one who attacked Dottie Anderson?” I asked.

“No,” Rafe answered. “Never.”

“Then who did?”

Tezca twisted my arm behind my back. “Shut up, bitch,” he snarled in my ear.

I was so upset I could barely concentrate. I walked as slowly as they would let me and pretended that I was unsure of where we were going. I knew that they had to keep me alive until we reached the lockbox. I also knew that they had no incentive to keep me alive afterward.

Finally, we reached the sixth passageway.

“Up there,” I said wearily, taking some small pleasure in the fact that I had at least remembered to heave the bucket, the grocery bag, and the backpack into the sewer tunnel, where the currents had carried them down the river out of sight.

As Rafe shined the flashlight into the arched ceiling of the passageway, I started inching away, hoping they would become too engrossed in the lockbox to notice.

But Rafe must have sensed my movement. He spun around and shined the beam on me. I froze.

“Hold her,” he ordered.

Tezca grabbed me from behind with his left arm, pulling me against him, his left hand clasped over my breasts. He pressed the gun against the right side of my neck. His breath was hot and sour.

I watched as Rafe reached up with the crowbar and poked it around under the edges of the lockbox, looking for good leverage. He found a spot and jammed the crowbar into it. Getting a better hold, he started to apply pressure, slowly pulling the crowbar down. I could see the lockbox door starting to creak and bend, slowly bowing out. Rafe yanked on the crowbar and the door gave way with a pop.

“THIS IS THE POLICE!”

The shout came from somewhere further down the tunnel.

Rafe immediately turned off his flashlight. We were in total darkness. Tezca grabbed me even tighter around the chest.

“Release the girl,” the voice shouted, “and throw down your guns!”

I recognized the voice. I prayed that Rafe wouldn't.

“Dammit,” Tezca hissed.

“Quiet,” Rafe commanded in a low voice. Then he hollered, “WHAT?”

“Release her!” Benny shouted. “Throw down your guns!”

“Give me your gun,” Rafe said to Tezca in a low voice.

“No way, man.”

“You want to walk out of here?” Rafe asked calmly. “Then give me that gun. I know what I'm doing.”

“I don't know, man.”

“Don't be a fool,” Rafe told him. “Give me the gun and hold Rachel.”

Tezca tightened his grip on me. “Okay,” he said, handing Rafe the gun.

Rafe clicked on his flashlight. “Here!” he shouted as he heaved the gun in the direction of the voice. He used the flashlight as a spotlight, following the arc of the gun with the beam of light. The gun landed thirty feet in front of us. It bounced along the concrete and slid into the shallow stream of water. Rafe held the beam of light on the gun in the water.

I realized what was happening too late.

“Go back!” I screamed as Rafe shifted the beam of light up and found the moving target seventy-five yards away. “It's a trap!” I shouted just before Rafe fired the gun.

There was a howl of pain as the body twisted and fell.

“Oh my God,” I moaned. “Benny! Benny!”

Tezca turned me around. “Shut up,” he hissed into my ear as he hooked an arm around my neck and increased the pressure.

Rafe shined the flashlight in my face. “Be quiet, Rachel. We're almost done.”

Tears of anger and frustration blurred my vision. “You bastard!” I croaked, unable to shout because of the pressure on my neck.

“Hold her,” Rafe said to Tezca as he turned back to the lockbox and stepped into the archway.

The door to the lockbox was hanging open. Rafe reached up and removed the black plastic bag. Still standing in the archway, he carefully unrolled the plastic and pulled out the canvas sack, which I had rewrapped with the duct tape. He gripped the canvas sack in his left hand, judging its heft.

He turned to Tezca, the hint of a smile on his lips. “At last,” he said quietly, stepping down from the archway. He turned to set the canvas sack on the floor of the passageway and pick up his gun.

From somewhere far off I could barely hear the sounds of police sirens.