Must be traffic lights, he thought. If we were on the highway, we wouldn’t be stopping so much. We must still be in town then.
He twitched his nose as sweat accumulated around his face. The mouth-hole zipper was right up against his lips.
Bastards, he thought, as he tried to shift his position, wishing he could roll over on his other side, but there was a lot of other junk in here taking up all the room. He knew that in a lot of the newer cars there was a latch somewhere inside the trunk that released the lid, but he had no idea where it was. If they hadn’t crammed all their junk back here, he would have been able to feel around for it. He might have been able to pull out the bulbs in the taillights, too. Then a cop might have pulled them over. He could’ve kicked and hollered to get cop’s attention.
Of course, if the cop got suspicious and demanded to see what was in the trunk, Krupnick might just shoot the guy dead. He was that crazy. Marvelli couldn’t risk letting that happen. He kicked the sidewall in frustration, anger swelling inside of him.
“Son of a bitch!” he yelled. “You’re a freakin’ son of a bitch, Krupnick. I hope you can hear me.”
Suddenly Marvelli could see, although the only thing he could see were his own knees. He arched his head back and blinked as he saw a rectangle of light right in front of his face. The hatch behind the armrest in the backseat was open. He could see the frontseat headrests and blue sky through the windshield. The head behind the wheel had straight jet-black hair—Sunny.
“Hi,” someone said, and a hand was waving in front of the hatch. A big face appeared, not twelve inches from his. It startled him at first, but he guessed from the fluffy, white blond hair that it was Dorie.
“Dorie?” he said. “Dorie?” But his words were muffled by the mask.
The curly, graying blond head in the front passenger seat turned around. “Unzip his mouth,” Krupnick said. “I can’t understand him.”
Dorie peered into the hole. “Bring your face closer,” she shouted.
Marvelli winced. “I’m not deaf.”
“What?” she said louder.
“Never mind,” he shouted.
“What did you say?”
I said, never mind! he thought loudly.
He used his legs to work his way closer to the hole. Dorie reached in and felt around for his face until her fingers found the zipper. He pressed his lips together as she worked the stubborn zipper, not wanting to get his flesh caught. When she finally got it unzipped, the air from outside suddenly felt cold compared to the clammy heat inside the mask.
“What did you say?” Dorie repeated.
“You don’t have to yell,” Marvelli said. “I can hear you.”
“Oh … sorry,” she said. “By the way, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Dorie.” She stuck her hand into the hole, blocking out the light.
“He can’t shake your hand, Dorie,” Krupnick said, his sarcasm barely disguised as patience. “He’s handcuffed. Remember?”
“Oh, you’re right,” she said, pulling her hand out. “Sorry,” she said into the hole.
“No problem,” Marvelli replied.
“So who are you?” Dorie asked, her big blue eyes wide and innocent. He felt like a bug looking up at a human.
“Yeah, who are you?” Krupnick echoed. He turned around completely and knelt on the front seat.
Even Sunny glanced over her shoulder to look even though she was driving.
“Take the mask off, and I’ll tell you,” Marvelli said. “Close the hatch,” Krupnick ordered. “He just wants to be cute.”
“No!” Marvelli said quickly. The terror of claustrophobia suddenly grabbed him by the gut. In the dark he’d been all right, but now that he could see light, the thought of being closed in again made him panic. He clung to that rectangle of light like a drowning man trying to keep his head above water.
“So what’s your name, chief?” Krupnick said. “Last chance.”
“Frank Marvelli.”
“Frank Marvelli … ” Krupnick nodded, scratching his beard in thought. “That sounds familiar. You’re not the guy Vissa left me with all those years ago back in Jersey? The guy who just let me walk away?”
“You remember me?” Marvelli asked.
“I remember the name.”
“Really?”
So who would have told him my name? Mavelli wondered, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to get Krupnick riled.
“I’m pretty good with names,” Krupnick said. “Better with names than with faces sometimes.”
“Not me,” Marvelli said. “Faces, I can remember. Names? Forget about it.”
“That’s fascinating,” Krupnick said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Close the hatch, Dorie. He’s boring.”
“Okay,” she said.
“No, wait!” Marvelli blurted, his heart beating like a tom-tom. He was worried about Loretta, worried that he’d never see her again. “Where’s Loretta? Is she gonna be all right?”
Krupnick looked annoyed. “You mean the fat broad? Is that who you’re talking about?”
“I thought you were good with names,” Sunny said snidely.
Krupnick sneered at her. “Just pay attention to the road.” But Sunny just laughed at him.
“What’re you gonna do with Loretta?” Marvelli asked. “That’s all I want to know. Just tell me she’s gonna be all right.”
“She’ll be fine. You happy now?” Krupnick said. “Now close the hatch, Dorie.”
“No!” Marvelli shouted. He was sweating so much under the leather jumpsuit he could hear himself squoosh. “Just tell me the truth. Is she gonna be all right? Tell me!”
No one said anything. Sunny kept her eyes on the road. Krupnick stroked his beard in silence.
Dorie put her face in front of the hole. “You love her, don’t you?”
“Of course, I love her.”
“That is so sweet,” Dorie said. “Men never say that kind of stuff out loud and really mean it. But you mean it, I can tell. Loretta is so lucky she found someone like you. She really is.”
“What’re you talking about?” Krupnick barked. “I tell you I love you all the time.”
“Yeah, but Frank means it,” Dorie said. “I can tell the difference.” All of a sudden she didn’t sound like an airhead anymore.
An awkward silence filled all the space in the car. It seeped through the hole and into the trunk. Marvelli’s heart wasn’t pounding, but he felt worse than before. He felt hopeless. “What’re you gonna do with me?” he asked quietly. “Am I ever gonna see Loretta again?”
Krupnick snickered. “Sure, you are.”
“In heaven?”
Krupnick laughed out loud. “You’re a funny guy, you know that?”
“You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Krupnick said. “Live in the moment.”
“Don’t worry about it? If you’re planning on doing me, I’ll start saying some ‘Hail Marys.’ Just let me know. Okay?”
Sunny sighed out loud to let Marvelli know how bored she was with this conversation. “Why don’t we just tell you everything? We’ll write a script for you. Don’t you believe in being spontaneous?”
“Not in this situation, no.”
Sunny turned around in her seat and raised her voice to a near shriek. “You want to know everything? Well, how about this?” she said. “We’re going to kill you and eat you. With carrots!”
“You’re a vegan, Sunny,” Dorie pointed out. “You would never eat him.”
“I’d force myself,” Sunny huffed.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Dorie said. “You’re very particular about what you put into your body. You won’t even eat Fudge Whirl.”
“That’s different,” Sunny said.
Marvelli noticed Krupnick giving Sunny a dirty look. “Can we change the subject?” Sunny said, trying to be bored again.
“Okay,” Krupnick said. He peered into the hole. “You, Marvelli.
Say something.”
Marvelli ignored him. “Dorie?” he called out. “I’m here, honey.” She waved her hand in front of the hole. “Dorie, if I tell you something, will you listen to me?”
“Sure, I will.”
“Dump this loser,” Marvelli said.
“Which loser?” Dorie said with total innocence.
“I wouldn’t exactly say Sunny is a loser,” Marvelli said, “even though she is weird.” He tilted his head so he could see the back of Sunny’s head. “No offense, Sunny. You may be a nice person down deep, but from what I’ve seen so far, you’re pretty freakin’ strange.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Sunny purred. “Dorie,” Marvelli said, “I’m not talking about Sunny. The loser I’m talking about is your boyfriend Krupnick.”
“Who? Arnie?”
“Yeah, Arnie, whatever you call him.”
Krupnick stared at him through the hatch. “Why should she dump me? I’ve been very good to her.”
“Because she’s gonna end up back in prison if she sticks with you. Is that what you want, Dorie?”
“No. Of course not.”
“You, too, Sunny,” Marvelli said, getting all worked up despite himself. “He’ll drag you down, too. If you kill me, you and Dorie will take the fall. Not him. He’ll slip out of it somehow. I guarantee you that’s how it’ll happen.”
“Shut the hell up,” Krupnick said lazily.
But Sunny was staring hard at her partner in crime.
“What’re you staring at?” Krupnick snapped. “Watch the road.”
Dorie said, “You’re not really gonna kill him, are you? He’s a nice guy. Loretta would be devastated.”
“Like I give a crap about her.” Krupnick was getting nasty, losing his cool.
“Let me give you some advice, Krupnick,” Marvelli said, gulping air and gasping for breath. “Just leave us. Go on your own. You’ll be faster that way. You’ll get away.”
“I don’t want your advice,” Krupnick growled. “So just shut the hell up.”
“Leave us here,” Marvelli insisted. “We’re baggage. All of us. We’ll drag you down. You’ll get caught.”
“I said, shut up!” Krupnick shouted.
“You know I’m right,” Marvelli persisted. “You’ve done time. If you go back, it’ll be hard time. You don’t want that. I know you don’t.”
“Shut the hatch!” Krupnick ordered, but Dorie didn’t listen, so he screamed at her. “Shut the friggin’ hatch, Dorie!”
“I want to hear what he has to say,” she said.
Sunny didn’t say a word, but her head was cocked, taking it all in.
“What’re you slowing down for?” Krupnick yelled at her. “Pay attention to the road!”
“Listen to me,” Marvelli pleaded. “Leave us here. Take the car and go on your own.”
“Don’t try to play mind games with me, Marvelli—”
“I’m not playing mind games,” Marvelli shouted. “I don’t give a shit about you. All I care about is living. You want your freedom, right? Listen to me and we both get what we want.” But what Marvelli really wanted was Loretta. He wanted to know that she was all right.
“Stop looking out for my welfare, okay? I can handle my own life. I’ve been doing it pretty well so far.”
“You know, Arnie,” Sunny said, “the I Ching says—”
“I don’t give a damn about the I Ching.”
“I think you should listen to him, Arnie,” Dorie said. “I think he’s making sense.”
“Okay, that’s it!” Krupnick exploded. His eyes were on fire. “Pull over!”
“Pull over?” Sunny said.
“Pull over! Right here!” Krupnick was a mad dog.
“Whatever you want,” Sunny mumbled.
Marvelli could feel her braking the car. He strained to look through the windshield, but it didn’t give him any clue as to where they were. All he could see was sky. They could be out in the middle of nowhere as far as he knew. Maybe down by the docks. Or on one of the big bridges.
All good places for a murder, he thought.
20
Barry Utley’s gun hand was trembling as he nervously shifted his aim back and forth from Loretta to Vissa. They were standing in Ira Krupnick’s crowded storeroom, crammed in with a hundred barrels full of heroin. Barry’s pistol was a dull metallic gray Luger, the kind of gun the Nazis always use in the movies. The tapered barrel looked like a deadly little viper.
“Put that stupid thing down,” Loretta said, annoyed that a yuppie slimeball like Barry would have the money and the nerve to buy a Nazi relic.
Barry gritted his teeth. “Don’t talk to me that way. I’ll shoot you.”
“Yeah, sure. You couldn’t shoot yourself with that thing.”
“Loretta,” Vissa said, her hands up over her big hair, “what in the hell is wrong with you? He’s got a gun, for God’s sake.”
“A Luger? Who’s he supposed to be, Colonel Klink? Who uses a Luger? C’mon, Barry. Get real. What is it? A cigarette lighter? A toy gun you had when you were a little boy?” Loretta was totally fed up. She was going to tell off anybody who got in her face.
“Oh, don’t worry, it works,” Barry said with quiet conviction. “It’s old, but it works.”
“Bull!” Loretta said. “Oh, yeah?”
Crack! The gun went off, and a puff of white powder jumped out of a bullet hole in the side of the barrel closest to Loretta’s leg. A thin wisp of smoke snaked out of the Luger’s muzzle.
“Son of a bitch,” Loretta cursed under her breath. The gun did work. She hated being wrong.
“Nice call,” Vissa said sarcastically.
Loretta gave her a dirty look.
“I’m going to have to do something about you two,” Barry said, but it sounded as if he was talking to himself, trying to put together a plan.
But the shot hadn’t changed Loretta’s attitude. She was still fed up. “Why don’t you just grind us up and put us in the ice cream? You can make a new flavor. Call it ‘Jersey Girl Supreme.’ ”
Barry narrowed his eyes. “Don’t joke around.”
“Loretta,” Vissa said through her teeth, “don’t get him riled up.”
“Don’t get me riled. You listen to me, Barry. Have you thought this through yet? I hope you don’t think you can just kill us in a room full of heroin and get away with it. Wake up, Barry. It’s your factory. The police will think it’s a little strange, and with Krupnick gone, you’re gonna be the one who’ll have to face the music. Am I getting through to you? You are in deep doo-doo, pal. You’re drowning in it.”
“The heroin isn’t mine. It’s his.” Barry’s face was dripping with sweat.
Loretta rolled her eyes. “Tell it to the judge. I’m sure he’ll be very understanding.”
“I’m serious,” Barry protested. “The dope is Arnie’s. It was all his idea.”
Vissa’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, it was his idea? Explain.”
Barry was breathing hard. “Arnie stole it from a drug dealer in Chicago. A guy named Batman.”
“Batman Jessup?” Loretta asked, taking a guess. “Yeah. You know him?”
“I’ve heard of him. Twenty years ago the Bat controlled all upper Midwest distribution—Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, Milwaukee.”
Vissa seemed skeptical. “Ira Krupnick stole this much dope and he’s still breathing?”
Barry shrugged, palms up, as if he didn’t know a thing about it. “All he told me was that he got some inside information that Batman was getting a trailer-truckload of smack, coming in by ship through Newark. He hijacked the trailer and took off with it.”
“When did this happen?” Vissa asked.
“Nineteen ninety-one.”
Vissa turned to Loretta. “Right after he was let out on parole in Jersey.”
“Typical repeater,” Loretta said.
“So how did it get here?” Vissa asked. Her fists were propped on her hips now. The woman wanted a
nswers.
“Arnie was afraid to put the stuff out on the street,” Barry said. “He figured Batman would find him if he tried, so he went to my partner, the real Arnie, who sold Krupnick his identity. I was totally against it at the time, but Ira Krupnick is hard to say no to—in case you don’t know.”
“Yeah, I know,” Vissa said with a sigh.
Loretta looked at her. Vissa’s expression was odd, more hurt than angry. Her interest in this story seemed more than just professional.
“I figured Krupnick was gonna keep a low profile and just let me run the company,” Barry continued, “but as soon as he gets here he starts doing Arnie’s job, dreaming up new flavors. I didn’t know that he was looking for a way to use up the dope. I only found out later on. His first batch of flavors was awful. Peppermint Twist, Halloween Scare—that was orange sherbet with black licorice swirls—Raspberry Ho, Java Jingle. Nothing would hide the taste of the heroin. Then he came up with Elmer Fudge Whirl. He’s got some secret formula for the chocolate fudge swirls combined with white chocolate in the base and who knows what else—he won’t tell me. He was test-marketing it in Portland before I even knew it existed. I found out from the regional distributor who called me up one day, screaming for as much as we could make. In no time Fudge Whirl was flying out of the stores. That’s when Krupnick told me he was spiking the ice cream. I should have tried to shut him down right then and there, but the profits were … well, how do you shut down a gold mine? Especially when you’ve got a psycho like Krupnick running the operation.”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” Loretta said. “You made a mint getting people addicted to your stupid ice cream.” She was thinking of Marvelli.
“There’s not supposed to be enough in it to cause a serious addiction,” Barry quickly pointed out. “Krupnick swore he was very careful about that. ‘Just enough for a little buzz,’ he always said. ‘Not enough to bug the fuzz.’ He puts extra heroin only in his own private stock.”
“You mean, he’s an addict?” Vissa asked.
Barry shrugged. “I suppose.”
Vissa’s brow was creased. She seemed very upset.
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