Fire Lake (32 page)

I spotted Jon Silverstein immediately. He was sitting
by himself in a booth on the left-hand wall. He looked up at me when
I came over to him--a smile forming on his long, horsey face--then
immediately looked away, as if he could tell from my expression why
I'd come. He passed a trembling hand through his curly red hair and
stared morbidly at the Rolex on his wrist, as if it were a shiny gold
bug crawling up his arm.

I sat down across from him in the booth. "I've
come to get you, Jon," I said. "I need the crack. LeRoi
wants it back."

A sick smile flitted across Silverstein's face. He
grabbed at it with his right hand, squeezing his lips together until
they were a bloodless white. "Who's LeRoi?" he asked. He
wasn't trying to be cute. It was a real question; but then there was
no reason for him to know LeRoi's name.

"He's the guy Lonnie copped the crack from."
I stared at him across the booth table. "You aren't going to
tell me you don't know anything about the crack, are you, Jon?"

He didn't say anything.

"That was pretty damn cute, what you did. Giving
Lonnie two thousand dollars to buy with just enough to get LeRoi
interested. That way, if it didn't work out, you'd lost nothing. And
if it did, you'd paid only two grand for twelve grand's worth of
stuff."

Silverstein dropped his hand from his mouth. It hit
the table with a thud, like a dropped rock. "What if I said that
I don't know what you're talking about?"

"Then I'd say you're lying," I said coldly.
"You're involved, Jon. I saw your Jeep parked here on Friday
night."

"I can explain that!" he said quickly.

I shook my head. "Don't bother. I found Lonnie's
picture inside your glove compartment. How do you explain that?"

Silverstein smiled his sick smile again. "Lonnie's
picture," he whispered, as if it were something he'd overlooked.

"Did you forget you'd left it there, Jon? Or did
you just stop caring about what happened to Lonnie Jack?" I
stared into his frightened face. "I could almost understand
that. The only thing I don't understand is why you went along with
Cal and Norvelle when they decided to kill Claude. Why'd you do that,
Jon? Was he going to run away with all of it? Or didn't you want to
sit on the crack either? Did you need a quick fix too? Even if it did
mean taking a chance? Even if it did mean murdering Claude and
Lonnie?"

"Was that such a loss--Lonnie?" Silverstein
blurted out, his voice shaking angrily. "Does he really mean
anything to you-you, who are playing hide-the-salami with his
old lady? Do you know what your pal Lonnie did to my wife? Do you
know what my marriage has been like? Do you care about what I've had
to put up with for the last fifteen years because of the nasty little
habit he taught her, Do you know the heartbreak?

The money it's cost me? The kids--what they've seen
with their own eyes?" His voice was choked with rage.

"So you did this all for Leanne? Is that what
you're telling me?" I reached across the table and snapped the
gold band of his Rolex. He jerked his hand away. "C'mon, Jon.
Don't kid a kidder."

"I've got nothing to say to you."

"You're going to have to talk to the cops,"
I said. "They're on their way now."

Silverstein bolted out of the booth, banging his bony
knees on the tabletop. I stretched a leg out and tripped him as he
ran past me; he sprawled face first on the barroom floor. The
bartender came running out from behind the bar with a baseball bat in
his hand.

"You okay, Jon?" he said.

Silverstein looked up groggily. His nose was bloody
from the fall, and he wiped it with his sleeve.

"Get rid of him," he said, glancing at me.

The bartender started toward me, waving the bat in
front of him. But I already had the pistol out. I pointed it at him,
gripping the butt in both hands. The bartender took a step back,
almost tripping over Silverstein.

"You want to get killed, buddy?" I said
with ice in my voice. "Over that piece of shit on the floor?
Because if you don't drop the bat, that's what's going to happen."

The bartender thought it over and dropped the bat on
the floor, stepping back toward the bar.

"Get up!" I said to Silverstein.

He got to his feet slowly, staring at me fearfully. I
slid out of the booth, keeping one eye on the bartender and one on
Jon Silverstein.

"Outside," I said to Silverstein.

"Where are we going?"

"To the cops, Jon. They want to talk to you
about Lonnie and the crack. They'll probably want to look into the
financing of some of your real estate deals too. You can afford a
good lawyer. Better get one."
 

I pushed him toward the door. "This is
kidnapping," he shouted.

The half-dozen people in the bar were watching us,
anyway. But it was a nice touch.

I shoved him out the door into the lot and dragged
him quickly over to the Studebaker. I figured the bartender was
probably already calling the county cops, and a couple of patrons
were peeking out the door after us. So the car would be easy to spot.
Which meant I didn't have much time.

"Where are you taking me?" Silverstein
said, looking wildly around him.

"Home, Jon," I said, opening the
driver's-side door and pushing him through it. I got in beside him,
holding the gun against his ribs.

"Listen," he said desperately, "maybe
we can talk about this."

"Sure we can talk about it." I smiled.
"Just like you talked it over with Lonnie."

He groaned. "Look, I've still got the crack.
That's what you want, isn't it? I'll give it to you, Stoner."

I started up the car and pulled out of the lot,
speeding off up the highway. In the far distance I could hear police
sirens heading toward the motel. We'd be back at the farm before they
could talk to the bartender and start after us.

Silverstein dropped his head to his chest and sobbed
with despair. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way. I swear to
you. Doing the deal was Lonnie's idea, for chrissake. He talked me
into this fucking thing, the son of a bitch. I was going to buy a
little dope and make a few bucks. He was going to make a little money
too--to get him started again, to get him on his feet. How did I know
Claude and Norvelle and Cal were going to rip him off? I was going to
buy some crack, that's all I was going to do. Then it just started
happening, and I . . . I couldn't stop it."

"Sure," I said. "You couldn't help
driving Lonnie to his death."

"I don't know what you're talking about,"
he shouted. "I didn't do anything but drive him over to
Norvelle's house. He called me from your place on Friday night, and I
picked him up outside the apartment. I offered to take him to the bus
station, but he wanted to talk to Norvelle first. He said he might
call me again later. I just took him where he wanted to go. I hated
the son of a bitch, but I didn't want him dead."

"Maybe just a little?" I said, glancing at
him.

He shook his head savagely. "No! I'm not going
to lie to you and pretend I'm sorry Lonnie's gone. But I didn't plan
it that way. I swear to God I didn't." His face lit up, as if
he'd had a brainstorm.

"Why the hell do you think I kept the
photograph? I found it on the floor of the jeep after I drove Lonnie
over to Norvelle's. I kept it in the car, thinking Lonnie'd pick it
up later that night. After I dropped him off I went to the bar and
poured myself a few drinks. Got kind of wasted. I guess the
photograph slipped my mind." He looked at me beseechingly. "Do
you think I would have kept that thing around if I'd known what was
going to happen?"

"And I suppose you had nothing to do with
killing Claude either?"

"Norvelle and Cal killed Claude," he said.
"I didn't know they were going to do it. Claude . . . he had the
stuff hidden someplace. He wouldn't tell any of us where it was. He
wanted to sit on it for a while. At least that's what he said. It
made no difference to me if he sat on it--what could I do about it
anyway? But Norvelle and Cal wanted to complete the deal right away.
They needed the cash right away." He eyed me with wounded
helplessness, like a kid, who'd gone along with the bigger kids and
found himself in trouble. "I couldn't just give them the money
without the goods, could I? I mean, that's not businesslike."

I laughed dully. "Is that what you told them?"

His face turned red. "I didn't know they would
kill Claude. How could I know that? Nobody was supposed to get hurt,
I'm telling you. It was a business deal." He sobbed again
hoarsely. "It was supposed to be like the old days,"
Silverstein whispered. "No one was going to get hurt."
 

45

It was almost fully dark when I pulled into the
farmyard. I parked behind the Buick and yanked Silverstein out of the
car. He looked completely depleted, as if he'd lost all his strength
once I'd put the gun on him. He'd picked the wrong line of work, I
thought. He wasn't tough enough to be a drug dealer. At least, not
for the kind of deal he'd gotten himself involved in. Maybe he'd told
me the truth in the car. Maybe he'd just gotten in over his head and
couldn't figure how to get out again. Or maybe he'd seen the chance
to get even with Lonnie, and stood back and let things happen. His
grudge against Lonnie didn't change anything. It just made the past
few days seem more terrible, more inevitable. Like everyone else,
Silverstein had gotten caught up in Lonnie Jackowski's life, on
Lonnie's last ride to Fire Lake.

I stared at the swart farmhouse, glowing yellow at
every window in the dusk. It looked like a bastion of warmth and life
in the frozen, purpling fields around it. But it was dead inside
there too. For a moment, in the rapidly fading light, I felt as if
the whole damn country were dying of the same fucking disease. A
disease that had started out as something almost like innocent fun,
in a time full of promise and good fellowship.

For a second I just wanted it to be that way
again--the way it had been, for a moment, with Karen and me.

But that was over too, I thought. What had happened
to Lonnie had ended it. Instead of freeing us, his death had left us
full of guilts and angers. It had left us alone again, as if all we'd
ever shared had been him.

"C'mon," I said heavily, pushing
Silverstein toward the door.

He stared at me hopelessly. "I can't face them,"
he said, seeing his whole life draining away in the dark. "How
can I face them? And Leanne?" His voice broke.

"C'mon, Jon," I said. "I've got to go
in there too."

He glanced at me uncertainly, then walked up to the
porch and opened the door. I followed him in.

The whole group was gathered in the living
room-Leanne, her mother and father, Karen, Sy. It looked as if Leanne
and her father had been fighting with each other again. They were
standing on opposite sides of the room, glancing at each other. The
mother was standing in between, like a referee.

"You bastard!" Leanne said when Jon walked
through the door.

Everyone in the room turned to look at him, and at
me. "Leanne," Silverstein said weakly.

She glared at him, her face burning with anger. "You
killed him!"

"I didn't!" Silverstein cried. "They
killed him--Norvelle and Cal."

I glanced at Karen. She dropped her head and covered
her eyes with both hands.

"You let them do it," Leanne shouted. "You
wanted them to kill him. Because I cared for him. Because he meant
something to me. Something you could never mean."

Her words struck Silverstein like a blow. He
staggered where he stood.

"You're stoned again," her father shouted
at her. "Listen to you talk. You worthless junkie. That's your
husband. You're supposed to cleave to him."

"He killed Lonnie!" she said, turning to
Gearheart with a wild look on her beautiful face.

She wasn't in control of herself anymore. The smack
and the trauma of Lonnie's death had simply unhinged her.

"He deserved killing," Gearheart shouted.
"He's the one who got you hooked on that stuff in the first
place!"

Leanne groaned. "You never understood him. Or
me. You've never understood anything. You vicious old bastard."

"Leanne!" her mother shouted. "That's
your father."

"He's nothing!" Leanne screamed, starting
toward Gearheart.

Levy tried to grab her by the arm, but she shook him
off. As soon as Leanne got within arm's reach, Gearheart slapped her
hard with his right hand. Leanne staggered backward with a groan. Jon
Silverstein rushed toward her, from where he'd been standing by the
open door. He reached out to her, but Leanne recoiled from his
touch--shrieking and slapping at him with both hands.

"Get away from me!" she screamed. "Get
away!"

Outside, I heard a car pull up in the yard. I glanced
out the open door. It was a gray Ford--a cop car.

Al Foster stepped out of one door. Jordan stepped out
of the other. In spite of what Karen had said, I hadn't figured on
Jordan's showing up. But I guessed Al hadn't had a choice. I guessed
I hadn't left him one. They both started walking toward the house.