Duke City Split (15 page)

The door had a big horizontal handle. The kid pulled it and the seal popped. He stepped to the left, pulling the door open. It was pitch-black inside there, and Diego angled the flashlight, trying to see inside.

The beam bounced off the shiny interior, and Diego could see part of the way into the cooler. The part that was visible was completely empty. He took a step to the left, trying to see deeper into the cooler. His flashlight was pointed at the floor, where he expected the bags of money to be. Instead, the light showed him a pair of brown shoes at the very back of the cooler.

Diego swung his gun up, but he was too late. From inside the cooler came the familiar
clackety-clack
of a pump shotgun.

“Drop it or die,” came a voice from inside.

Diego dropped something, all right. He dropped the flashlight. It clattered off the floor, its beam jumping around crazily, briefly illuminating the man inside the cooler. The man wore a bulletproof vest over dark clothing, and his face was covered by a black ski mask. He had the sawed-off shotgun pointed right at Diego’s gut.

Diego brought his pistol up, ready to fire, but he was distracted by a noise behind him. The scuff of a shoe, a thump. Dolores groaned as she collapsed to the floor.

Diego froze without pulling the trigger. They had him now, front and back. Surrounded.

He said, “Aw, shit.”

A masked man stepped into the pool of light spread by the fallen flashlight. A big man. The one who’d knocked out Dolores.

Something cracked against Diego’s head. Even in the darkness, he saw a blinding white flash.

Then nothing.

Mick Wyman turned on his flashlight and let the beam run over the pair on the floor. The woman had fallen forward, apparently smacking her face on the concrete floor and bloodying her nose. The guard lay on his side, his hand clapped to the side of his head, some involuntary reaction before he went unconscious.

“They’re sleeping,” Mick said. “Come on out.”

A flashlight flicked on inside the fridge and Bud Knox emerged, carrying the light in one hand and the shotgun in the other. He found Johnny Muller with his beam and said, “You okay?”

Johnny, pale and wide-eyed, nodded. He didn’t look all right, but they could see to him later. First, Mick needed to get these other two put away safely before they came to. He plucked their guns off the floor and stuffed them into the pockets of his jacket, along with the guard’s big revolver, which he’d used to brain them. He squatted next to the guard and ran his hands over the man, finding his car keys.

Johnny stooped and picked up the guard’s flashlight, which had rolled over toward him.

“What are you going to do with that?” Mick asked.

“Huh?” Johnny shined the flashlight beam around until it landed on Mick. “Nothing. I just thought I’d—”

“Get it out of my fucking eyes,” Mick said.

“Sorry.”

Mick grabbed the guard’s collar and dragged him into the cooler. He dumped him near the back and went back for the woman. Her blouse was too flimsy to use for dragging, so he used two hands to pick her up by the waistband of her jeans. He carried her clumsily into the fridge and dumped her in a heap.

“Hey, kid.
Now
I could use that light.”

Johnny stepped around the cooler’s open door and shined the flashlight inside. The shiny interior bounced the glare around, but Mick could see well enough to work. He pulled plastic flex-ties from his pocket and used them to handcuff the guard and his girlfriend. Once their hands were pinned behind their backs, he turned them on their
sides.

“I don’t want them to suffocate with their faces against the floor,” he said to Johnny. “I’m not done with them yet.”

He backed out of the cooler. The kid stepped aside to make room. Bud hung back, behind Johnny, the shotgun still in his hands. Neither of them trusting Johnny. Not yet anyway. Their flashlight beams sliced up the darkness.

Mick flicked his light back on and shined it at Johnny.

“Anybody see you bring them here?”

“No. I was in the backseat, but I checked behind us a couple of times and I didn’t see anybody—”

“Nobody around outside,” Bud said. “Their car’s not visible from the street.”

“Okay, good. We’ve got some time.”

“Time for what?” Johnny asked.

“To talk to them,” Bud said. “We need to know what they know.”

“And who they might’ve told about us.”

“Then what? We gonna leave them locked in there?”

“Don’t worry about that, kid. We’ll take care of them.”

“But—”

“Tell you what, you can get rid of their car. You okay to drive?”

“Sure, but—”

“Here, take their keys.” Mick handed them over. “Where did you leave your car?”

“At the store. That’s where I met them and—”

“Take their car back over to San Mateo. Park it behind a building or something, a few blocks from your store. Walk back to your car and go home. Got it?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Go to work tomorrow,” Bud said. “Act natural. We’ll be in touch soon.”

Johnny looked from one masked man to the other, then turned and found his way out the door.

They listened until they heard the car start outside. Bud said, “He’ll be okay.”

“He’d better be.”

Diego Ramirez fought his way to consciousness, groaning and blinking against a bright light that shined in his eyes. He tried to wave away the light but found his hands were pinned behind him, cuffs cutting into his wrists.

“What the fuck?”

It came flooding back. The masked men. The shotgun. The crack to the head. He blinked some more, and recognized that he was inside the shiny steel cooler, lying on his side. Dolores was curled up beside him, facing his way. Her eyes were closed and her nose and mouth were smeared with blood and lipstick.

The big man squatted in the doorway, shining the light in Diego’s face. It was dark behind him, but Diego could see another shape moving around back there.

“Jesus, man,” Diego managed. “Get that fucking light out of my eyes.”

The flashlight didn’t move. Diego narrowed his eyes to slits, trying to see. His head pounded and a knot above his ear pressed painfully against the steel floor.

The big man wore a black ski mask like his partner. He was dressed in jeans and a dark jacket. The jacket’s pockets bulged, and Diego figured they were full of guns.

“I’m going to ask you some questions,” the big man said. “Don’t lie to me, or I’ll hurt the woman. Clear?”

Diego nodded.

“Who knew you were coming here?”

“Nobody.”

“You’re lying. I told you not to lie.”

The man grabbed a fistful of Dolores’s black hair and yanked her head backward. She moaned, barely conscious. Her bloody mouth gaped, and her throat looked vulnerable.

“Nobody,” Diego said. “I swear.”

His mind whirred. Maybe he should’ve said that someone knew they were here. Maybe he should’ve told him the cops were on the way. But it had happened too quickly, while his head still swam, and it was too late to turn back now.

The man released Dolores’s hair. She moaned again and rolled her head from side
to side.

“You didn’t tell the cops? Or anybody at the bank?”

“We just wanted a share of the money. How could we tell anybody about that?”

“How did you get on to the kid?”

“His tattoo. I saw it during the robbery, and I knew I’d seen it before. He sold me my car stereo.”

“You knew it was the same guy?”

“Had to be him. The tattoo. Those blue eyes. And when I talked to him, I could tell right away.”

The man nodded and stood up. He filled the doorway of the fridge, his light still shining down on Diego.

Behind him, the unseen man said, “We could just lock ’em in there.”

Diego felt a little hope well up within his chest.

“We could,” the big man said. “But how long until somebody finds them?”

“Maybe never.”

An image flashed through Diego’s mind, he and Dolores dead of starvation, reduced to skeletons by the time someone finally opens the cooler. But better that than to die now. At least he’d have some time to think, some time to—

“Give me that other padlock you brought,” the big man said. “I’ll take it from here.”

He turned and reached a hand into the darkness. There was a second’s hesitation, as if the partner wanted to argue about it. Then a hand appeared at the edge of the doorway and slapped a padlock into the man’s open hand.

“Thanks. Now go get the car. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Diego heard footsteps moving away, then the service door opened and closed. The big man shined the light in Diego’s face again.

“Last chance,” he said. “Tell me who else is involved.”

“Nobody. I promise you. Just me and her.”

The big man grunted and took a step back.

“Please,” Diego said. “Just let us go. We won’t tell anyone. We won’t say anything.”

“You’re right about that.” He reached for the fridge’s thick door and swung it most of the way closed.

Diego took a deep breath. Maybe he would just lock them in here after all. Would
there be enough air? Then the door stopped, still ajar a few inches. The flashlight beam sliced through the opening, hitting Diego in the eyes.

He heard a snapping noise, the distinct sound of a hammer cocking back.

“No, man, no! Please!”

The gun boomed, very loud inside the steel fridge, and Dolores’s head exploded, throwing hot blood all over Diego’s face and neck and shirt.

“¡Dios mío!”

The gun moved into the flashlight beam, a big silver revolver, and Diego recognized it as his own gun, the one they’d taken off him at the bank. The one he’d demanded they return.

Fire erupted from the barrel again, but this time Diego didn’t hear it boom.

Bud Knox heard the gunshots, but only because he was listening for them. Mick had said the shots would be muffled by the thick walls of the cooler, and he was right.

They’d parked the stolen Toyota in an alley behind neighboring buildings, out of sight from Felix’s lot, and it took only a minute for Bud to toss his vest and shotgun into the back, get behind the wheel and bring the car around to the service door. He pulled up close, so Mick could slide right in after he snapped the padlock shut.

Bud pulled away, headed for the street, trying not to notice the way Mick brushed at dark spots on the sleeve of his jacket.

He felt sick to his stomach. Killing had never been part of the equation before. This was murder, no two ways about it. Mick
executed
that guard and his woman, shooting them while they were tied up. And that stuck to you like blood on a sleeve.

Bud pulled off his ski mask and wiped at the sweat on his face. Mick removed his mask, too, and said, “You all right?”

“I will be.”

Mick leaned forward and felt around on the floorboard, came up with a folded paper sack. He popped it open and started filling it with the masks and the guns from his pockets. Bud smelled cordite, the hot aroma of death. Mick rolled the top of the sack shut, then reached over to put it in the backseat with the other gear.

Bud was driving south, headed for I-40, but he was caught by a red light at Menaul. The stop gave him a chance to look over at his partner, who sat facing forward, his face relaxed and untroubled. Looked a little sleepy, in fact.

“It didn’t bother you?” Bud couldn’t help himself. “Shooting those people?”

Mick’s eyes slid over to look at him.

“They had it coming. Don’t you think they were planning to kill us?”

“They didn’t know we’d be there.”

“They must’ve guessed. And they had Johnny. He wouldn’t have left there alive, even if he’d handed over the money.”

“You think so?”

“They had guns for a reason.” He jabbed a thumb backward at the weapons in the
sack. “They were greedy. Trying to take what didn’t belong to them.”

The light changed, and Bud pressed the accelerator. “Isn’t that exactly what we do?”

“We earn it, in our way,” Mick said. “We plan, we use our heads, we take risks. Those two were trying to get something for nothing.”

“Still,” Bud said. “It feels like we crossed some line.”

“Killing’s always a possibility,” Mick said. “You told Johnny the guns are just for show, but every time we walk into a bank, there’s the chance we’ll have to shoot some asshole who wants to play hero.”

They rode in silence for a while.

“Look,” Mick said finally, “don’t have an outbreak of guilt here. You didn’t shoot anybody.”

“I helped.”

“I pulled the trigger, and I don’t feel bad about it. It was them or us.”

“We could’ve paid them off.”

“Why? And that wouldn’t have solved the problem. They would’ve come back for more. As long as they were alive, they could’ve led the cops to us.”

“You could say the same thing about Johnny.”

Mick looked out the window at the passing stores and diners. After a few seconds he said, “Yeah, you could. Frankly, I’m worried about him holding up. But so far, so good. He came through tonight. If anything, he’s less likely to roll over now. He’s in with us all the way.”

Bud wasn’t sure that was true. If the cops caught Johnny, they could threaten him with murder charges to get him to make a deal. But he didn’t argue the point with Mick.

He exited the freeway at University and hit the light green at the end of the ramp. Two rights and he was in the parking lot of the Rodeway Inn where Mick was staying.

Mick reached into the backseat and picked up the sack of guns.

“I’ll get rid of these,” he said. “You’ll take care of the car?”

“I’ll take it back to the airport parking garage and wipe it down.”

“We wore gloves the whole time.”

Bud, thinking about the blood spatter on Mick’s sleeve, said, “Can’t be too careful.”

Johnny Muller shivered as he turned the key in his apartment door. The temperature had fallen with the night, and he still wore a short-sleeve polo shirt. But he’d shivered in the Jeep on the way home, too, with the heater going, so it wasn’t just the chill. He wondered if this was what shock felt like.