To Sleep Gently (7 page)

"What's beyond the computer room?" Dempster asked.

"The engineering area," Gardner said. "You need to enter a code on the keypad to get in, but there aren't any cameras in there."

"Can you get that code?"

"What for?"

"We need everything we can get."

Gardner glared at him for a brief moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I'll give that to you."

"How much longer before we do this, you think?"

"Oh, I'd say at least a few days," Gardner said. "maybe a week. I'll let you know when everything's right."

For the next half-hour they went over the rest of the hotel, learning more about the security systems, where the exits were, how many people were likely to be on duty on any given night.

"Okay," Dempster said, "we'll figure out more of this in the next day or two. Where's that Santa Fe map?"

Jimmy raced into the other room and returned a few seconds later unfolding it.

"Here's the Eldorado," Evan said, pointing. "On the south side here, where the entrance is, is San Francisco Street. The cross streets are Guadalupe and Sandoval, and behind the hotel is Johnson."

"I suspect we can all read," Gardner said.

"Shut up," Dempster told him.

"The fastest route," Evan continued, "I think would be to take Sandoval to Cerrillos here, then take that to St. Francis Drive. It goes all the way out to I-25, a direct shot all the way to Albuquerque."

"Those are the biggest streets in town," Clark said. "Even at two or three in the morning they've gotta have traffic, and I bet they're swarming with cops."

"This town isn't
that
big," Evan said. "There won't be too many cars out at that time. But you're right as far as the cops go. We'll have to make sure we drive within the speed limit and obey all the laws."

Gardner laughed and said, more to himself than anyone else, "Obey the law."

Dempster glared at him. "Something funny?"

Taken aback and then humbled, Gardner frowned and turned away.

Dempster looked back at the map. "Is that really the best getaway, you think?"

"The downtown area is completely congested," Evan told him. "The streets are tiny with too many stop signs and too many people walking around because of all the bars and stuff around there. Taking the bigger streets makes the most sense. It's way too easy to get trapped otherwise."

"Okay," Dempster said. "Tomorrow we should all drive around the area. Test the route casually during the daytime, see how it feels, look for alternate routes." He walked around the table and put his hand on Gardner's shoulder. "You know what you're supposed to do, right? You understand your part in all of this?"

Gardner ran fingers across his brow and looked at Dempster. "Sure," he said, then licked his dry lips. "Yeah, I know."

Dempster looked the man over. He didn't like him and didn't trust him. The way he held himself, the attitude that seeped from his very being, the man was a determined amateur with little else going for him. Dempster still wasn't wholly confident with Evan, Clark and Jimmy, but he knew they at least understood the rules of the game. If things went awry, the first thing Gardner was going to do was talk. That was obvious just from looking at him. He would sing and sing and sing, but that was only if he didn't let the cat out of the bag earlier, before they even got started.

"All seems pretty good so far, I'd say," Clark said, looking over the layout again as he fished out a cigarette. "What'd you think?"

"I'm not concerned about the job itself," Dempster said. "I'm concerned about everything operating smoothly."

This drew pause from everyone in the room.

When Dempster saw he had their full attention he spoke. "Years ago I was on a job with some other guys in Indiana," he said. "One of these guys had a twelve-year-old son who managed to figure out what we were up to, thanks to Dad being a bit dim-witted and letting too much slip. When we got to the job site it was crawling with cops." He continued, though as he did he looked at each of them in turn. "Everyone knew what had happened," he said. "We cruised on by, forgetting the whole deal, stopped and picked up the kid and all rendezvoused back at the house we were using as a hideout. I don't want to bore you with all the details, so let's just say, to make a long story short, both father and son were buried in the cellar of that house." At the end of this last sentence he made sure he was looking good and hard at Gardner.

Already Gardner was wiping his brow again. It gleamed with perspiration. The look in his eyes was deep stark fear, as though he'd just discovered that the monster in his childhood closet was real, and after all these years it had finally revealed itself to be the man that now stood across from him.

"I imagine it's agonizing," Dempster said, "knowing you're digging your own grave."

Nervously Gardner looked into Dempster's eyes, then looked past him and into some other world as comprehension set in.

Dempster winked at the man, nodded to the other three, and left the room.

2

In bed that night, he almost felt paralyzed. Through the darkness he saw pictures on the ceiling above him. He wasn't sure if his eyes were opened or closed, but it didn't matter because the images were there anyway, and they made him anxious. Flickering images of what had been and what might be, cranking forward and back in time. Fact and fiction mixing together, swirling about, separating.

He saw himself standing outside of the Eldorado on the steps, gun in hand, cops and police cars surrounding him on all sides, guns drawn and aimed, trapping him, screaming at him. There was blood on the steps and he didn't know whose it was.

Sirens blared.

Innocent bystanders stood on the street beyond, watching. They were all people he knew, or had known over the years to one extent or other, from Mike and Angela to Freddy Skeele to the homeless bum who'd asked him for change. Shelley was there, rubbing her belly. Charlie Powers was there but he had a beard again. The girl in the red sweater he'd seen at Essentials was off to one side. Donald Wycza and his twelve-year-old son Lawrence stood positioned as though posing for an oil painting. And Sandra Colvin was there, hanging her saddened head, hand half-mast in futile outreach. All of them watched with shame and disappointment as the cops screamed and told him to drop his gun, it was all over and done with and he was dead unless he dropped his gun right now.

Every cop had his face.

Chapter Seven

The ringing of his cell phone jolted him up from his restless sleep.

Climbing out of bed and crossing the room, he saw on the Caller I.D. that it was Freddy Skeele, unplugged the phone from its charger and answered.

"Hope I'm not calling too early," Freddy said.

Dempster looked at the bedside clock and saw it was seven-thirty. "No problem," he said rubbing his eyes. "You in Albuquerque?"

"Not yet. Getting ready to leave soon."

"What's up?"

"I just wanted to check in, see how things were coming along. Have the boys whipped into shape?"

"I think they'll be fine." Then through a yawn he said, "Yeah, they whipped into shape pretty quick. Much faster than I'd expected, actually."

"Good, and have you met Gardner yet?"

"Went over the layout with him yesterday."

"How does it look?"

"Looks pretty good so far. I don't see any real problems with it."

"Good, I'm glad to hear you say that."

"But honestly, Freddy, I don't mean to sound disrespectful or anything, but I don't like Gardner. I trust him like I'd trust an angry Great White shark."

"Demp, I'm starting to get the feeling," Freddy said with a chuckle, "that you don't like anybody the first time you meet them."

"I don't
trust
anybody the first time I meet them. Not anybody in
this
line of work." He walked into the bathroom and filled a glass with tap water. "If anything goes wrong, that man is gonna talk. Even if things go right, I think he's gonna talk—to somebody." The water was cold. It felt good on his dry throat and helped refresh him into the day. He studied himself in the bathroom mirror briefly, not sure what to make of the reflection.

"All right," Freddy said. "What do you want to do about it?"

"Not much we can do, is there?"

The sound of birds for a moment.

Then, "Look," Freddy said, "you know I'm not going to steer you into some bum deal."

"I never said anything of the sort."

"I had a good long talk with Gardner the day you left Ohio. He understands the score."

"Understanding it and being a part of it are two different things," Dempster said, thinking back to his conversation with Sandra in Oklahoma about people who play tricks on themselves.

"He's a part of it," Freddy told him. "He's an integral part."

"I'm just saying is all." He drank down the rest of his water. "If he talks, if he blows this—and this doesn't just go for Gardner, it goes for the other guys as well. If I find out this thing is fucked, I swear I'll kill all four of them."

"It won't come to that."

"I hope you're right."

"It won't." A tense, uncomfortable pause, then, "I gotta go. We're heading out in just a few minutes. Charlie or I will call you this afternoon or evening, all right?"

"All right."

The moment he hung up, a confrontation broke out down the hall.

2

"Jesus, man, let him go."

Clark stood in one of the bedroom doorways, face twisted in a disgusted grimace. When he saw Dempster he backed out, and in the bedroom Dempster saw Jimmy on his knees with Evan on top of him, a thick arm wrapped around his throat, the other arm over his face, covering his eyes, and he was pulling backwards, a knee pressed into Jimmy's back.

"What's going on?"

"Son of a bitch was going through my bag," Evan said through gritted teeth.

"I swear I wasn't." Jimmy choked, gasped for breath.

"Hell you weren't, I saw you."

"You got it wrong," Jimmy cried.

"All right," Dempster said stepping into the room, "let him go."

"Break his goddamn neck is what I'm gonna do."

"I said let him go."

Evan threw him a wild glare. At the very same second Dempster's fist cracked him in the eye. Evan's head snapped to one side and Jimmy fell away from his arms. Both men collapsed to the floor, Jimmy trying to swallow air, Evan with his hands on his face.

"You're not in a fucking schoolyard," Dempster told them.

Evan sat up, a small gash at the corner of his left eye.

Still sucking air, Jimmy rubbed his neck, glanced at Evan and then to the floor. "I swear I wasn't going through your bag," he said.

"Then just what the hell were you doing with it?"

"Moving it," Jimmy said, and Dempster saw tears in the man's eyes. "You obviously didn't notice, but you tossed your bag on top of mine this morning. You happened to walk in right when I picked it up to move it."

"Bullshit," Evan said.

"Why the hell would I want to go through your bag?"

"I dunno," Evan licked his fingers and brought them to his eye, "why would you?"

"The only reason I had for touching your stupid bag was to get it off of
my
bag."

Dempster studied Evan studying Jimmy. There was strength and confidence, a subtle yet sinister grin playing about his lips. Jimmy, on the other hand, was practically crying, still drawing deep breaths, his face red.

The dynamic these two had was scary.

Evan looked over at Dempster. He looked him up and down. His grin widened just the slightest bit, and his expression seemed to say, "Stay out of my business."

Dempster answered him with his eyes. "What's gonna stop me?"

Evan read it, checked it, and thankfully decided not to test it.

"Why so freaked about your bag, anyway?" Clark asked, then stuffed a cigarette between his lips and fumbled around for his lighter.

"My bag, isn't it? My personal belongings. My privacy. How would you feel if I was going through
your
shit?"

"I'd at least have enough sense to ask what you were doing first," Clark told him, and found his lighter. "I'd at least do that much."

"Well, maybe we'll just have to see about that," Evan told him.

Clark lit his cigarette. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"All right," Dempster said, "that's enough. Just shut the hell up, all of you. You're acting like goddamn third graders. Any second you're gonna start pointing fingers saying who started it."

"Now, hang on," Evan said.

"Shut up," Dempster snapped, then paused, and finally shook his head. "I thought you guys were getting better, growing up." The sigh that escaped him sounded like wind through trees. "Now I see that's all a crock."

"Jesus Christ," Evan said. "Who do you think you are? Big tough man steps into the picture and starts telling us what to do and what not to do. Big tough man wants to boss us around. Big tough man who screwed up and got nabbed by the cops and spent the last five years behind bars." He sneered. "Why should we be listening to you?" A long pause played out. Taut silence enveloped everything. Then, "But you're right about one thing," he said, "we're not in a fucking schoolyard, we're not in the third grade, so you"—he pointed at Dempster—"stop acting like the goddamn teacher."

Dempster studied the man's cold dark eyes. To his surprise, it was the first time that he felt a genuine respect for Evan Wolfe. It also solidified in his mind the fact that somewhere down the line, there was going to be some very serious trouble.

"If you have a problem with me," Dempster said. "If you have a problem with the way things are, feel free to call Mister Skeele and talk to him about it. Or feel free to swing at me." He stepped closer. "If it'll make you feel better then go ahead. Hit me. Prove to yourself that you've got guts."

Evan clenched both hands into tight fists. His face flushed and his arms shook. Then, in the blink of an eye, his fingers relaxed. "Forget it," he said. "You're a waste of my time."

"I'm a waste of time? Barely out of diapers and I'm a waste of time?"