“Which we’ve got.”
“Which you’ve got.”
“What happened to Midwest Waste Products?”
“The surveillance company got cold feet after they got busted and went back to New York. That ended that. They’ve been trying to come up with the tape you’ve got.”
“In what way?”
“I heard you got broke into the other night …”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t Harlan Greene’s boys. It was Midwest.”
“And what do you know about Spicer’s death.”
“Nothing. Midwest didn’t have nothing to do with that.”
“So that was Harlan Greene?”
“You draw your own conclusions. All I know is, Midwest didn’t have anything to do with any killings.”
“Well,” Sam said. “This puts a whole new complexion on things, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean, Sam?” asked Betsy.
“Now we know the following: we know who carried out the surveillance, we know who the major players are, we know the deal for the waste facility down in Rock County is on hold, and we know, if we can believe Mr. Stillman, that Harlan Greene was behind Spicer’s death.” Sam stood up and walked to the bay window, standing next to Betsy. He stared out the window for a moment, thinking.
“What you want me to do with this piece of shit, boss?” asked Moon, pointing at Stillman.
“What do you think, Moon?”
“I think we better refrigerate my man Frankie, boss. Let him cool his sweet se’f fo’ a while, leastways till we’re finished with our bidness. I notice you got a barn over there.”
“Yes.”
“We could put him in the barn and restrain him enough to kind of discourage him goin’ anywhere till we done with our bidness, if you get what I mean.”
“Do you want to take care of that, Moon?”
“Me and Johnny be glad to,” Moon said. He motioned Stillman to stand up, and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. “C’mon, Frankie, me and Johnny gonna find you a nice post to cozy up to for the evenin’.” Moon handcuffed Stillman behind his back and led him across the barnyard with Johnny Gee following.
“You’re worried, aren’t you Sam?” Mrs. Butterfield asked, resting her hands on his shoulders.
“I’m worried, Ma.”
“Is everything going to be all right?”
“I think so.”
“Are you sure what you’re doing is right?”
“It’s the only thing right enough for me.” He stood up. “Come on, Betsy. It’s time to call Harlan Greene and get this show on the road.”
“We’ve got to get up there,” Sam said. He was sitting in the front seat of the Porsche, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel. Betsy was sitting next to him. The lights were off. The engine idled quietly in the dark.
Standing next to the Porsche, smoking a cigarette, Johnny Gee said, “I know, man.”
“I feel ridiculous,” Betsy said. She was wearing a leather skirt and an old fox stole of Mrs. Butterfield’s. Over her own hair was a black wig on which she had painted a gray streak with white tempera paint. Under the fox stole, a black silk camisole glistened in the dark. On her feet were the highest heels she had in her closet.
“I swear, I don’t know how the hookers do it,” she said. “Sheila for a day. Jesus.”
“You look stunning,” said Sam. “Hey. In the dark up there, you’ll look just like her. Close enough for government work, isn’t that what you say, Johnny?”
Johnny Gee nodded.
“You ride with Moon, Johnny.” He motioned over his shoulder. Moon was sitting in the modified, the engine fired up, growling, the body trembling, rattling to the engine’s idle.
“Where am I gonna sit, man?”
“Sit on the floor next to the fire extinguisher. I don’t care.”
“Yeah? You won’t have to ride them bumps on a damn steel floor,” said Johnny Gee.
“Let’s go,” said Sam.
He turned the key and started the Porsche and switched on the headlights. His mother leaned in the window and kissed his forehead.
“Keep an eye on Stillman, Ma. Moon’s got him cuffed hand and foot to that stall on the right, but if you go in there, take the shotgun anyway. It’s loaded, with the safety on.”
“I know, Sam. I’ll be careful. I just want you all to do the same.”
“We’ll be back in a couple of hours. I promise.”
The four-cylinder Porsche engine had a nice, tight exhaust note. He goosed it. The engine wound up and calmed down to a purr. He put it in first and gave it some gas. The Porsche leapt into the darkness. They drove to the quarry in silence. He watched the road unroll at the edge of the headlights.
The road was different at night, its grassy shoulders crowded the Porsche’s fenders, corners ran up on you, narrower, curved more radically than before. When he turned up the rutted dirt road, the headlights poked into the woods on either side of the car, illuminating strange shapes that didn’t look like the tree trunks and branches he knew they were. He drove into the center of the quarry. When he cut the lights and engine, it was even blacker and quieter than he’d thought it would be. He couldn’t even see the quarry walls. Up high was a lighter shade of black, almost a charcoal gray. He knew the moon lit the night sky just over the lip of the quarry.
“It’s spooky,” said Betsy. Her voice bounced off the quarry walls in the silence, echoing into the distance… . ooky … ooky … ooky.
“Weird,” intoned Betsy. Ird … ird … ird. “Listen to that.” … at … at … at.
“I’m going to back up the Porsche on the far side of that shed so it faces the center of the quarry,” Sam said. He put the car in reverse and carefully backed it next to the shed. Then he cut the engine and lights and got out.
He and Betsy joined Johnny Gee and Moon. His eyes now accustomed to the darkness, he looked back toward the sheds. The car was tucked into the dark alley so far back that he couldn’t see it. He walked around, looking from other angles. Still couldn’t see it.
“Okay,” he said. “You guys pull the modified in there between the sheds. When you get back there, switch on the camera and recorder like I showed you, and see if you’ve got me on the monitor.”
Moon backed the modified into the space between the metal sheds. The video camera was mounted on a tripod in the driver’s compartment, shooting straight out the windshield, which in the manner of all modified race cars, was open, without glass. Behind the camera, Johnny Gee crouched next to the recorder and monitor. He switched on the equipment. In a moment, he appeared next to Sam.
“Walk back there and have a look yourself,” he said. “Clear as a bell, man. Like it was daylight out here.”
Sam and Betsy walked over to the modified and looked in the driver’s window. On the video monitor, Moon’s face was in close-up. They could even see the pattern of his jacket.
“Amazing,” said Betsy. “Just amazing.”
Sam walked back to the center of the quarry where Moon stood. He carried a wooden box. He put it on the ground, lifted the top, and switched on a tape recorder that was inside. “Testing. Testing. Testing,” he said into the darkness. A tiny wireless mike under his shirt collar picked up his words. “Okay, Moon, now you say something.”
Moon stood a few feet away from Sam and spoke in a low voice. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, eight, nine, ten.”
Sam leaned down and punched reverse on the recorder, then punched play.
“Testing. Testing. Testing.” His voice sounded tinny but it was clear. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, eight, nine, ten.” Moon’s voice was thin, but audible.
“You got this shit down,” said Moon.
Sam picked up the box and carried it twenty feet back and put it down behind a pile of rocks.
“Get in the car. See if you can see the box.”
Moon walked over to the car and got in. In a moment, he called out:
“No, I can’t
see it. It’s too dark.”
Sam checked his watch. It was twelve-thirty. He walked to the car.
“Engine off. Headlights off. I want total silence, so if anyone comes in on foot, we can hear them. You’ve got everything straight, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I know my part,” said Johnny Gee.
“If anything’s queer, and I mean if it’s one iota different from what we discussed, start the car.”
“Sure, man. We got you.” Johnny Gee reached for a cigarette.
“Not now.” Sam grabbed Johnny Gee’s hand. “You can see the glow of a cigarette for a mile in this darkness.”
Johnny Gee put the cigarettes away.
Sam checked his watch. It was a quarter to one.
“We’re going over to the shed now,” he whispered. “I won’t go out there until I see Harlan Greene all by himself in the middle of the quarry, holding the car keys.”
“Okay, man,” said Moon, his voice steady.
“When you hear his car engine, turn this switch here, and press this button,” said Sam, indicating the recorder, and the on switch for the camera. “The FM receiver for the mike is already on. It’s voice-activated. You’ll pick up my voice on the monitor. The video equipment will do the rest.”
“What’s the box for, then?” asked Betsy.
“It’s a backup system,” said Sam. “If everything else fails, at least we’ll get a complete audio record.”
Behind the shed, Sam checked his watch. It was three minutes after one. He reached down to the box at the small of his back and turned on his radio microphone. He spoke softly into the dark:
“Moon. Johnny Gee. Can you hear me? Throw a rock against the side of the shed if you can.”
A rock hit the roof of the shed and rolled to the ground.
“Betsy, you know what to do?” he asked.
“When we hear the car, we walk out there and I wave my arm.”
“That’s it. That’s all there is.”
Darkness. Silence.
They listened. Nothing. Then, a low rumble and the sound of tires on gravel. Sam prayed silently that Moon was turning on the video system. He touched Betsy’s shoulder and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She pressed his hand and they headed for the center of the quarry. She walked precariously as her heels struck an occasional rock.
He watched the entrance to the quarry. He thought he saw something … a flicker … yes. There it was. A flicker of light. Car headlights, bouncing up and down over a rough road. Brighter, brighter, then focused into two level beams. The beams moved forward and stopped. A car stood at the entrance to the quarry, a single car, idling, headlights on.
So far pretty good, he whispered to himself.
The car’s headlights went out, and the engine stopped.
Keep it up, he whispered.
The driver’s door opened. The driver got out and closed the door.
That’s one. He looked around the corner of the shed.
The passenger door opened, and a second man got out. He closed the car door. He raised his arm and shook it. Sam heard the jingle-jangle of keys.
“That’s it, Harlan,” he whispered. “Now do it.”
The second man walked toward the center of the quarry. When he had gone about fifty feet, Sam called to Betsy:
“Okay, Sheila, you can go now. You brought us together. There’s no need for you to stay.”
“The whore stays,” said Harlan Greene.
“Okay. Okay. She stays right here.” Sam left Betsy’s side and walked over to the center of the quarry. He hoped the guys had the equipment working.
Harlan Greene was holding the car keys in front of him.
“I’m Major Sam Butterfield,” said Sam.
Sam halted about five feet from the man, close enough to see that he was short as well as quite fat.
“You’re the man I’ve been looking for,” said Sam.
“You’re looking for me? That’s a good one.”
“Harlan Greene.”
“Wonderful. You can pronounce my name. Now let’s get down to it. You’ve got something I want, and I want it very badly.”
“What happened to the other four tapes?”
“They’re in a safe place. They’re not your concern, anyway. Unless I’ve got you completely wrong, you’re not in this for the money, am I right, Major?”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re not exactly in this by choice.”
“I am now.”
“Let’s have the tape, and we’re finished.”
“Why is this tape so important, Mr. Greene? What is it you bought all those votes for? A waste dump?”
“It’s not a dump, son. It’s the largest toxic waste facility in a four-state area. And the votes? Hell, they were going to vote one way or another anyway. May as well vote my way, huh? It’s done every day, son. You’ve been in the damn army too long to understand. Your old man understood. It’s politics. It’s just politics, son. Plain and simple Illinois politics.”
“It wasn’t Illinois politics that had Spicer killed. Why, Mr. Greene? Why did you have to kill him?”
“He got in the way. No, I’m wrong. You got in the way that night you stepped in and interrupted my men going about their business at the diner. Spicer … you brought him into it.”
“Spicer wasn’t in your way. He didn’t do anything to you. He didn’t know anything. You didn’t have to kill him.”
Sam looked hard at the fat man. He stood only five-five or five-six and was dressed in a blue suit. An overcoat was draped casually over his shoulders. He had one hand in his pants pocket, and the other held the car keys. Sam could barely make out the man’s facial features, but he could see the shadow of at least one chin draped over the top of the fat man’s tie.
“You got a lot of nerve telling me my business, son,” said the fat man. “You got a lot of nerve period. What made you think you could hang on to that videotape? What makes you think you can tell people what to do? You got the same disease your dad had, the same one your mother’s got. You put your nose in people’s business where it doesn’t belong.”
“You’re the one with business where it doesn’t belong, Mr. Greene. You’re going to put a toxic waste facility right next to the new state park? Do you really think you’re going to pull that off?”
“It’s already done, son. The votes are bought and paid for. It’s a sweet deal. That is what people like you fail to understand about politics, son. In politics, when the game is played right, everybody gets a little piece. The environmentalists, they get their park. The feds, they get a new piece of national forest. And old Harlan Greene and his folks, well, they get their site for their waste facility. All the folks in Rock County, they get their jobs. Everybody’s happy. Everybody but you.”
“That’s right, Mr. Greene.”
“I’m supposed to be frightened, son? Intimidated? You and some cheap-ass ex-con punk out of left field start sounding off, and I’m supposed to shiver in my boots? You’re dumber than I figured you for, Butterfield. Even your old man was smarter than you’re acting.”
The fat man pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, tapped one out and lit up. He took a long drag on the cigarette, tilted his head back, and blew smoke into the night sky. He took another drag, held the cigarette in front of him, and flicked the ash off the tip with his index finger. The cigarette tip glowed orange-red in the darkness.
For an instant, Sam thought the cigarette might be some kind of signal, but it wasn’t. The fat man was too confident, too self-assured. For the first time since he’d driven up, Sam felt relaxed. Harlan Greene had arrived alone, with his driver, just like he said he would.
“What are we going to do about this situation, son?” the fat man asked.
“I don’t know,” said Sam, stalling for time. He didn’t know what was going to happen next. He wasn’t sure he had filmed enough to nail Harlan Greene, and because of this, he couldn’t take the next step. Suddenly, he felt very alo
ne. He glanced over at Betsy. She was still standing about fifty feet away. He knew that somewhere over there in the darkness, Johnny Gee and Moon were waiting for him. In Ranger school, they used to talk about the loneliness of command, and he had felt it before, but he never thought it could feel this bottomless, a black emptiness, a ringing in his ears… . He knew he still had the tape, and he figured the fat man wouldn’t do anything rash until he got it back, but who knew? He had killed before… .
“You’ve got something I want. Something that belongs to me. I think you ought to do the smart thing and give it back,” said the fat man.
“Why should I do that, Mr. Greene? Those surveillance tapes belong in the hands of the authorities. I don’t know what happened to the other four, but that’s where this one is going.” The words came out of his mouth before he could think about them.
“What are we doing here, son? You bring me all the way down here, and you’re telling me this? Who do you think you’re dealing with? You think this thing is a game, and the rules say, you make a move and I make a move, and some time goes by and you make a move and I make a move, and when it’s over we add up the points to see who wins? You think it’s like that, son? You inherited your father’s innocent bullshit? You figure you play by the rules and you win?”
“I know it’s not a game, Mr. Greene, but there are rules, and I abide by the rules and so will you.”
The fat man laughed, nearly choking. He spat on the ground and looked at Sam. Even in the darkness, Sam could see the fat man had laughed so hard his eyes were tearing up.
“You are priceless, son. You really are. Now let’s cut the crap. Tell me where the videotape is, and this thing will be done with.”
“I think you’re right, Mr. Greene. Let’s cut the crap. I’ve got the surveillance tape. As long as I’ve got the tape, all you’ve got is a plan for some kind of huge project down in Rock County and a bunch of empty threats. Now, you make one move to harm my family, my friends, or my associates, and we’ll see who understands the way the game is played.”
The fat man took a last drag on his cigarette, flicked it on the ground, and stepped on it.
“I’ve got one more thing to say to you,” Sam said.
“Bring her to me,” said Harlan Greene.
Rules of the Road Page 24