The Carrier (18 page)

“
Hey, is Willow around?”
Duane asked.

“
No. She’s been gone a
while. What do you need Willow for?”

“
Just wanted to say hi. See
if she wanted to party.”

“
She’s the only one who
likes to party? You can’t bring something for me?”

“
I don’t have anything.
That’s why I was looking for Willow. What about her man—what’s his
name, Tony? Has he been around?”

“
I wish. I love that man. He
says a lot of ignorant shit, and he smells like an animal, but he
pulls smack out of his pockets like it’s loose change.”

“
Yeah. So let’s find that
guy.”

“
Who the hell are you?” the
man asked coming up from the couch.

He was slim and washed out in the
eyes, but you never knew what that type might decide to use as a
weapon. They’d throw a TV or a litter box, set a grease fire in the
kitchen. You had to stay awake.

“
Easy, baby,” the woman
said. “He just wants to know where Willow is.”

“
And you just decided to
answer any question he has, right? Think, Tess—just for once. This
prick comes to our door—let’s tell him all our
business.”

“
Sorry to disturb you,”
Duane said. “I’m just wondering if you’d seen Tony
around.”

“
Yeah, I saw him,” the man
said. “He was jerking off your dad. Your dad was
like—
Oh, that’s so nice; you’re a real
pro.
”

“
It’s good to know my dad’s
got people willing to take care of him.”

“
How about you get the fuck
out of here?” the man said.

Duane shoved the woman out of the way
hit the man in the face. He went right down, and Duane put a foot
on his windpipe and pressed. He gave it a ten count and then
released the pressure just a bit.

“
Talk.”

“
Jesus. Please. We haven’t
seen Willow in almost a week. And that guy Tony—we haven’t seen him
in forever, right Tess?”

“
I haven’t seen him since,
like, Labor Day maybe. Willow did that funny song about
fireflies.”

The woman talked like it was all
normal, like a foot on her boyfriend’s neck wasn’t a particularly
strange turn for a conversation to take.

“
I mean it. If he was
around, we’d know it,” the man said. “If you’re really hard up,
we’re meeting a guy later. Might be bullshit, but he works in
eldercare, so he said he could score some fentanyl patches.
Probably taste like some old man’s chest hair, but we’ll let you in
on that. Really. Just, you know, ease up.”

Duane turned to the woman.

“
Willow’s not in town at
all?”

“
No. I mean, her car’s gone
and everything.”

“
Could she be holed up
somewhere?”

“
Why would she do
that?”

He’d learned all there was to know at
this house. He could drive around Delaware checking cheap motel
rooms, but that would almost certainly lead nowhere. It was more
than likely that he’d come down on bad information. Tony was dead
and the tip he’d gotten was just rotten-headed noise. But what had
happened to Tony’s body? Had Inez shoved it in the incinerator?
Stuffed and mounted it over her bed? What?

If Tony never turned up, Top would
assume Duane got the job done and the world would be a happier
place. Back in the car, he should’ve been in a good mood, but he
wasn’t. He’d hit the skinny addict with his bad hand, and it really
woke the pain in that little, bitten-up finger. When his phone
buzzed, he had a feeling it was bad news.

“
Where are you,
Duane?”

It was Top.

“
I’m on the
road.”

“
Have you heard from your
brother?”

“
My brother? No.”

“
When was the last time you
talked to him?”

“
I don’t know—maybe last
Thanksgiving.”

“
Is that a joke?”

“
No, we don’t talk
much.”

“
Has he called
you?”

“
Why would he be calling
me?”

“
It looks like he took off
on us.”

“
Why do you say
that?”

“
He hasn’t checked in like
he was supposed to.”

Duane didn’t think Cyril would take
off with company property, but it was possible he’d had been picked
up by the police or gotten himself shot by some crazy heartland
dealer, one of those rabid farmhands who just stood around with a
gun down the front of his pants.

“
Is he meeting you
somewhere?” Top asked.

“
What are you talking about?
This is the first I’m hearing about any of this.”

“
Okay. Let’s say that’s
true.”

“
It is. I haven’t
even—”

“
Fine, we’ll say it’s true.
I’m sure you know that you haven’t been carrying your weight
lately.”

“
Excuse me?”

“
This is not open for
discussion. So here’s what I need you to understand: you’re on the
hook for your brother’s money.”

“
What?”

“
You need to get it back.
However you need to do it.”

“
I told you when he first
came to—”

“
Yeah, you told me a lot of
bullshit, but the only part that matters now is you need to bring
him in, with the money.”

“
I have to bring
him
in, too?”

This was robbery; this was Top holding
a gun to his head and saying, empty your pockets.

“
How much is it?”

“
It’s 940,000 dollars-worth
of gold.”

Is this what Top had felt him out
about before? He was converting everything to metal and going
clean? Go legitimate and sit on a big pile of gold like a dragon.
That was Top’s big idea? There were people who thought he was some
kind of genius—saw everything coming, had master plans and
infallible judgment. But Top made mistakes, trusted the wrong
people, miscalculated. There was the distinct possibility that Top
had no clue what he was doing.

“
All the drops that my
brother made for you, did I get a commission on that?”

“
You don’t think you’ve
gotten paid?”

“
Not for anything my brother
did, and I don’t see why I should get blamed if he does something
wrong.”

“
I’m trying to give you a
chance to save yourself.”

“
How are you giving me a
chance to save myself?”

“
By getting me the money
your brother took.”

“
Where was the
pickup?”

“
It was Arthur—Red
Arthur.”

That crazy animal? The scope of the
failure of this Midwestern enterprise was starting to become
clearer to Duane. Top had slept while Tony ruined the whole region,
and now Top was hoping that by handing Duane a death sentence he
could still turn a profit.

“
Those
guys probably jacked my brother,” Duane said. “Most likely
he’s hanging from a hook right now. Red Arthur has your
money.”

Duane didn’t really believe this, but
it wasn’t completely implausible.

“
No. I know they handed the
money over. I had eyes on it.”

“
My brother is not the kind
of guy who’d do this to you.”

“
You have to fix it. Can
you?”

Duane didn’t answer right away. He
stared at his phone for a second like it was rotten meat—but then
he spoke.

“
Yeah. I can fix it. I know
how to get Cyril.”

He surprised himself at how convincing
that had sounded, like he’d thought about it and come up with the
beginning of a plan.

“
Okay then.”

“
It’s going to take a few
days.”

The beginning of the plan that Duane
had come up with was stalling Top and driving far away. That’s all
it was. Duane had about seven thousand dollars cash and a car that
he’d probably sell off quickly for another two grand. Then what? He
didn’t know anybody outside of work, and he didn’t have any real
skills. What could he do? Take a bus to Memphis or Oakland or Fort
Worth and apply to work at Burger King? No, he couldn’t do that. He
had no choice but to see if he could find out what had happened to
the money.

Or maybe the smart move was
to take out Top. How about
that
? Clearly his operation was
falling apart, and it might not be all that hard to pop him. It was
an appealing idea, but then what? Search his house for cash?
Crawlspaces and floorboards? And Top was probably taking
precautions these days.

Still in the car, Duane called Cyril’s
cell phone; it went right to voicemail. Duane couldn’t get internet
on his phone, so he had to drive to King of Prussia and find a web
café in a Mexican restaurant. These were the kinds of towns where
he had to do most of his work, and he hated them. They were ugly
and boring. He bought a soft taco and sat down on a couch to work.
The place was full of pillows and stuffed animals. That’s the kind
of idea people came up with in a town like King of Prussia:
pillows, internet, tacos.

First he checked some news sources
online for a big drug bust in the Midwest, but there was nothing.
And there was definitely nothing about gold turning up in an
abandoned Toyota Camry. These things would have made the news
fairly quickly—lawmen love to brag. The big question was did Cyril
have the gold? He wasn’t the kind of guy who would burn his
organization for money. Then again, greed was kind of an entrance
requirement for the game. Duane called Cyril’s cell phone a second
time and it went right to voicemail again.

“
Call me, man. You really
need to do that.”

Duane stared at his taco, and it made
him sick. He wouldn’t be able to take a bite. When he was in real
trouble his stomach gave out on him and wouldn’t take in food. It
was embarrassing to have to admit to himself that he was nervous,
but it was better than being one of those guys who got shakes or
tics or something else obvious to everyone in the room. He left the
uneaten taco on a cushion and went back to his car. And all this
time Cyril was riding around with a million dollars in gold. Either
that or he’d already been fed to the animals at some dealer’s hog
farm.

CHAPTER 34

Cyril walked into a large hardware
store in Omaha, Nebraska. He picked up a flashlight and a case of
Gatorade and then walked over to the shovels. He chose a big silver
model and swung it around a little, without much practical
purpose.

“
It’s going to be a cold one
this year,” said the man in the blue tee shirt.

“
What?”

“
Lot of snow coming this
winter. Smart to get your shovel early.”

“
Oh, this is for
snow?”

Cyril realized he was talking to a
floor salesman—middle-aged, friendly, and competent. His nametag
said Gene.

“
That’s not what you
wanted?” Gene asked.

“
Well, not
exactly.”

“
All right, then. Let’s get
you what you need. What are you digging?”

“
I just have some projects.
It’s at my aunt’s house. She just said I’d need a
shovel.”

“
Are you digging pits? Are
you doing some light gardening? What are we looking at?”

“
Pits probably. Something
like pits. Deeper holes.”

Gene took a shovel with a red handle
and flat tip off the wall and handed it to Cyril like it was a
sword.

“
This is a good one, and I
won’t lie to you, you could get something a little cheaper, but it
won’t last as long. I’ve seen cheap ass shovels punk out in the
middle of a job. If you will excuse my language.”

Gene also got Cyril to buy a pretty
nice pick ax, and they shook hands manfully before Cyril went up to
the register.

Back in the parking lot, he put the
shovel, ax, flashlight, and Gatorade in the trunk. The tarp he
threw over the lifeless body in the back seat. The body was already
covered in cardboard, but a big tarp made him feel like it wasn’t
about to pop loose at any moment.

Was it a good idea to drive around
with a dead body? Yes, it was. The decision made in haste and panic
had been smart. As things stood, this body was filled with all
kinds of evidence of Cyril. It would have been found and tested,
and he’d be the one they’d want for it. But now what was there to
find back at the scene? A single body, a small man he’d never known
and never touched. As long as he hadn’t left anything stupid at the
site—a wallet, a cell phone—he didn’t figure to be much of a
suspect. The only problem was this woman in his car—her car, that
is. At first he’d considered dumping girl and vehicle together, but
that would probably make the body easier to find, and it would
leave him stranded near the evidence. No, he had to bury the
body.

It was close to dawn—not enough time
to get the job done now. He had to wait a full day before getting
rid of the body. Sure, that made him feel like a callus bastard,
but what else was he supposed to do right now? It was better to
think practically and block out everything—try not to
feel.