Cut and Run

by Jeff Abbott

  ‘I … understand,’ she said, large black circles dotting her vision.

  He got up, helped her to her feet, eased her into a chair. She watched as he went to the bar and poured a glass of water, brought it to her. ‘You’ll have a distinctive bruise tomorrow.’ Like he was proud. ‘Wear a nice scarf. You got one?’

  She nodded, stunned. She took the water.

  Bucks knelt down before her, put both his hands on her knees. The intimacy of it was worse than hitting her.

  ‘Now let’s be friends,’ he said.

  She nodded, but seething, suddenly more mad than afraid. ‘I understand you and Paul,’ she said. ‘I understand the juice you got in your blood right now. This is exciting. Way more exciting than energy trading, right?’

  Bucks gave a slow nod.

  ‘But these guys, they will kill you and Paul without missing a heartbeat. They won’t grab your neck and play around. They’ll shoot you dead and not think about it again for the rest of their lives.’

  ‘That’s why I should kill those guys and get their goods. Now.’

  ‘That would start a war we couldn’t win.’

  ‘You’ve got to start thinking big, Eve.’

  She couldn’t help it. ‘You’ve got to start thinking, period.’

  Bucks frowned at her. His hand moved to his back where she knew he wore his pistol under his jacket. ‘You’re not being a team player, Eve, and I can’t support this negativity. It ends now.’

  The office door opened, Frank stumbling inside, the Miami wiseguys in tow.

  ‘Hey,’ Frank said. ‘They want to see that photo of me singing with Donna Summer.’

  Bucks stood and smiled, easing his hand away from his holster, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Great. Then you boys ready for a ride back to your condo? Me and Eve are done talking for the night.’ He grinned at her. ‘This is gonna be our best deal ever, isn’t it, Eve?’

  She nodded slowly, putting her hand on her throat and hating him.

  3

  A hundred and seventy miles south of Houston, Whit Mosley couldn’t sleep, and he walked from the guest house he lived in at the back of his father’s property, past the blue quiet of the pool, up to the main house. His father, Babe, sat at the kitchen table, finishing a chocolate milkshake, eating the sweet slurry with a spoon.

  ‘Hey,’ Babe said. ‘You want one?’

  ‘No,’ Whit said. ‘You won’t sleep if you eat that.’

  ‘Sleep is a thief of time.’

  Whit sat down across from his father. ‘Irina asleep?’

  ‘Zonked.’ Irina was his father’s much younger wife, a year or two younger than Whit, wife number five, a Russian girl Babe had met through a marriage-oriented service and brought to Port Leo from Moscow. ‘She’s tired all the time. Tired of me being sick.’ He shrugged. ‘She won’t have that much longer to worry about it.’

  ‘Daddy.’

  ‘Whit, it’s okay.’ No self-pity colored Babe’s voice. ‘She’s too young for death, to be a widow.’ He licked chocolate from his spoon, ran a hand over the blondish gray stubble on his head. ‘She’ll go on. And she’ll always love me. But she ain’t gonna go back to Russia, and she don’t have her citizenship yet, so if she remarries kind of quick, don’t hold it against her.’ He clinked his spoon back into the glass.

  ‘Can we talk about my mother for a minute?’

  ‘Not with food in my mouth. What brought her up?’

  ‘I want to know if there’s anything you never told us about her,’ Whit said. ‘For example, did she cheat on you?’

  ‘What possible difference would any of this make now?’

  ‘Don’t shield me. There’s no point in it.’

  ‘I believe she did. She got bored with me, frustrated with having so many kids so quick. I never had proof.’

  ‘You ever hear the name James Powell?’

  Babe shook his head. ‘What you up to, Whitman?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Whit picked up his father’s ice cream glass, rinsed it out in the sink.

  ‘Who the hell is James Powell?’

  ‘Nobody. You ever think about my mother? Wonder if she’s alive?’

  ‘Rarely.’ Regret in his voice, as though this admission meant weakness.

  Whit didn’t look at Babe as he loaded the dishwasher. ‘You ever want to see her again?’

  A long silence took hold, the kind that carries a weight with it.

  Finally Babe said: ‘This will sound nuts, but Ellen probably thinks about us more than I think about her, shug.’

  ‘But she left us. She didn’t care about us.’

  ‘Whit, you won’t remember this, but most of the time she was a real good mother. She held onto you boys tight. Like a life preserver. You all were her chance for normalcy. A life like people are supposed to have. But she liked … excitement. Once, right after we were married, I had to go up to the bank in Rockport. We pull up and she said, out of the blue, Babe, what if we robbed it? She had this glittery look in her eye. Like she was hoping to be Bonnie and I was gonna be Clyde. She gave me this sideways glance I’ll never forget. We went to Vegas on our honeymoon and she’s pregnant, I come back from the bathroom and she’s betting a grand – all our gambling money – on a single blackjack hand. She won and I got her the hell away from the table. It scared me. And the years after that I’m filling her up with babies and I guess that wasn’t excitement enough.’ He shrugged. ‘Finally she left. But you can’t leave a large family and pretend they never happened. I figure she died a long while back, otherwise she would have called you and your brothers.’

  ‘You said I don’t remember her,’ Whit said. ‘But I remember her scent. I never knew it was gardenia until I was older. I didn’t imagine it, did I?’

  Babe nodded, smiled. ‘Yeah. She used a soap that smelled like gardenia.’

  ‘Why did you marry her?’ Whit realized he had never asked before.

  ‘Because we got pregnant with Teddy. But the reason I loved her was …’ Babe stopped. ‘She’d walk into a room crowded with people and read it in an instant, like a map. Know who was mad at who, who was wanting who, hardly without two words being spoken. It was funny to me that she could do that. A little hypnotic, too. And she was smart. Pretty but not bitchy about her looks. After she was pregnant, and we’d only known each other about six months, marrying seemed like a fine idea. I loved her and she would have been a great partner in business. I figured I wasn’t gonna do no better.’

  ‘You didn’t feel trapped?’

  ‘No.’ Babe shook his head. ‘Sure, I had money, and she didn’t, but Ellen trapped herself. Wanted to be tied down. Forced herself into a structured life. Her mom and her weren’t much more than vagabonds, working jobs up and down the coast. She never knew her dad and her mama died right after Teddy was born, you know. I really didn’t have anyone else to ask about her. After she left, we all sort of felt we’d been fooled into knowing her.’

  ‘She got tired of normal.’

  ‘She never appreciated normal.’ Babe stood. ‘Shug, I’m gonna go and sleep next to my beautiful, sweet wife and not talk about Ellen any more.’

  ‘Would you want to see her, Daddy?’ Whit asked.

  ‘You mean see her face-to-face?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘I would. I don’t wish her ill. But I would like to know what was so goddamned more important than you boys. If she wanted to leave me … fine. But you boys only got one mama. She stole the most precious thing in the world from you and your brothers, Whit, and you deserve an explanation. An apology.’

  ‘I don’t need her apologies,’ Whit said. ‘Perhaps you do.’

  ‘It’s water on the moon to me.’ Babe stretched his thin arms above his head. Whit’s throat thickened. His father looked the worst he had since his drowning-in-drink days. The healthy glow of long-term sobriety had been replaced by the dimming paleness of the enemy within, chewing through his father’s liver.

  ‘Y
ou’re like your mother,’ Babe said. ‘I don’t mean it bad. But she had to kick over the anthill to see what would happen. You’re the same.’

  ‘We could look for her. So you could know what happened to her.’

  ‘Asking if I want to see her and actually trying to track her down are two different things, Whit. I wouldn’t waste my limited time on Ellen. I’m invoking the I’m-dying-so-I-get-to-be-an-asshole clause. I forbid you to look for her. In case you’re considering it.’

  ‘I never read that clause.’

  ‘Respect my wishes. Please.’

  ‘All right,’ Whit said. He could change his father’s mind later, if Harry Chyme found his mother. He knew he could. He hadn’t heard from Harry in a week. ‘It’s all hypothetical, anyway.’

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Love you, shug.’ Said more often now, in the sunset of life.

  ‘I love you, too.’ Whit watched his father leave the kitchen, in his slow, tired shuffle.

  I don’t have much time left to find her, Whit thought. Not much at all.

  4

  Paul Bellini liked to watch the girls dancing in the smoky, thin light. The tall redhead, Robin, was the best technical dancer of all the performers. Bucks liked her but wasn’t serious about her, and Paul’d called her up to the private suite to be sure she knew he was top dog. The other was the regal black girl, who danced wearing that custom-fitted computer gear on her body under the name ‘Geek-girl.’ The audience loved her. She kept her eyes locked on his eyes as she danced, perhaps as excited by the sight of him as he was by her. He took another long swig of Scotch as Red Robin doffed her leather bikini top and dropped it on the floor.

  He unzipped his pants, pulled out his penis, hardening in his hand.

  ‘Wait a damn second,’ Geekgirl said. She stopped dancing.

  ‘Keep dancing, baby,’ Paul said. ‘In a minute you can get down on your knees and do your best.’

  ‘Oh, can I?’ she said. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Don’t be snooty,’ Red Robin said with a good-natured laugh and shimmy. ‘Paul’s fun.’

  ‘Not me,’ Geekgirl said. She crossed her arms over her bikini top. ‘I’m not your whore. So fire me. I’m not worried about keeping my job in a place that’s getting robbed blind.’

  Paul didn’t get mad. He grinned, put himself back into his khakis, set his Scotch down on the table. ‘Hey, Robin, go outside for a minute. Let me talk to your friend.’

  Robin picked up the leather top, tucked her ample breasts back into it, turned and walked out of the room without another word. The black girl stood there, moved her hands onto her wide hips, frowning.

  ‘You know who I am?’ Paul said.

  ‘Yeah. You’re Paul Bellini.’

  He laughed but without humor. ‘I own the club. And if I want you to dance for me, then suck me off, sweetheart, that’s what you do.’

  She sat down, crossed her legs. ‘Actually, no, I don’t. And if you don’t pull your head out of your ass, sweetpea, you won’t have a club to play around in. Quit worrying about your dick. I told you you’re getting robbed blind and you’re worrying about whether or not you get a blow job tonight.’

  Paul shook his head and grinned. He’d have her arms broken in about five minutes. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Geekgirl.’

  ‘Your real name.’

  ‘Tasha Strong.’

  ‘You got a smart mouth, Tasha.’

  ‘I only use it for talking,’ she said.

  ‘So who’s robbing me?’ Amusement in his voice.

  ‘Frank Polo.’

  ‘Ah. For how much?’

  ‘Up to ten thousand a week.’

  Paul tongued his lip. ‘And how do you know this, Miss CPA?’

  ‘Most of the girls dancing in here, they’re sweet but not really planning their careers or futures. Like Robin. They’re now people. I’m a tomorrow kind of person. I keep my eyes open. I notice details. Like when I’m doing private dances in the suites for a bunch of drunk lawyers, Frank’s charging five grand on the credit card. But he’s reporting four grand on the books. That other thousand, it’s getting funneled into his pocket. That kind of money adds up real quick.’

  ‘You’re serious.’ Paul’s face grew hot.

  ‘I looked on his computer,’ she said. ‘Compared it to the credit slips I saw after my dances over the past month. I kept a little record in my head.’

  ‘Those files are supposed to be passworded,’ he said.

  ‘They are. It didn’t stop me.’ She shrugged. ‘His password is groove. That was a real toughie to figure out.’ She pointed to the CDs on her breasts. ‘I do the Geekgirl gig ’cause I used to work with computers.’

  ‘And now you’re a stripper?’

  ‘Job market’s better. And you got to follow your dreams.’ He couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic. ‘Can I have a sip of your Scotch?’ she asked.

  Paul handed her the glass, watched her take a dainty sip, cradle the crystal in her hands. God, she was stunning. ‘You had a stray impulse to look at the books?’ he asked.

  ‘Paul – can I call you Paul?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ He had decided to wait on breaking her arms.

  ‘I figured I could.’ Tasha smiled. ‘With your daddy in such bad shape, your mind’s occupied. You don’t realize people around here are jockeying for positions. Seeing where they can take advantage of you. Seeing where they think you’re weak.’

  ‘I’m not weak.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were. I said where they think you’re weak.’ She rose, set the Scotch down next to him, eased herself down into his lap. ‘And the club is a weak point.’ She started to rub his temples slightly. His erection returned, full force, despite the talk of lost money, with this weird-irritating-beautiful woman sitting on his lap.

  ‘The club makes a fortune,’ he said.

  She squirmed ever so slightly against him. ‘Oh, it does. So it’s going to attract attention. You got every male celebrity comes through Houston stopping off here. You got thousands being spent every night. You got the best-looking women in Texas dancing on your stage and doing private entertainments in the rooms.’ She kissed him once, feathery light, and when she pulled away he leaned a little toward her, wanting more. ‘But you got too much money being spent, too much being skimmed, too much sex being sold. It’s gonna … explode.’ She leaned down, kissed him again, let her tongue tease against his.

  ‘I shut the club down, you’ll be out of a job.’

  ‘Give me a new job,’ Tasha Strong said. ‘I’m gonna finish dancing for you. Then I’m gonna screw you good tonight. But because I want to. You try to give me money, I slap you into tomorrow. I like you. I like your smile.’ She ran a finger along his lips. He stopped her with his hand.

  ‘You’ve talked a lot,’ he said, and he put an edge in his voice, the way his father used to. He liked, no, loved the way she was talking to him but he couldn’t let her see that. ‘Where’s the proof against Frank?’

  ‘In your computers. I copied the files. In case Frank or Eve get wise …’

  ‘Eve’s in on this?’

  ‘She’s got twice the brains Frank does. No way she doesn’t know he’s skimming.’ Tasha Strong unhooked one of the CDs off her top. ‘I’m wearing the proof, baby.’ Her other hand strayed down to his crotch. ‘You want to go home with me and start it up?’

  Bucks suddenly realized he was outnumbered.

  Chauffeuring the Miami dumbasses wasn’t a big deal but he realized, as he pulled out into the thick traffic of Westheimer, he should have brought a buddy to watch his back. It was two against one. But Kiko and José were laughing, a little drunk, rating the dancers as if jiggling were an Olympic event. He decided to take the long way home, wanting to hear what they might say about the deal. He pulled onto Loop 610, taking it toward I-10 East, which would lead toward the glittering towers of downtown Houston. He loved the city, loved its happy chaos, loved the way people drove like maniacs,
loved the way the humid air held endless opportunity, even in the bad suck-ass years. Houston made you tough, tough to grab the chances that came your way, tough enough to persevere when the world soured.

  Kiko leaned over the dashboard, fiddled with the tape player, and suddenly Chad Channing’s confident voice filled the air. ‘Make your goals your friends, not your enemies. They are not to be challenged or overcome. They are to be embraced. Love your goals as you love yourself.’

  ‘What’s this peace, love, and understanding?’ José called from the back seat.

  ‘It’s Chad Channing,’ Kiko said. ‘Don’t you ever watch infomercials, man? He sells thousands of these tapes to’ – he paused as though searching for the word that would not insult – ‘people who need a little boost.’

  ‘Discover the goals within yourself as you discover your love for yourself,’ Chad purred on the tape. ‘They’re right under the skin, in fact. We’re all motivated by goals we haven’t even discovered or articulated yet.’

  ‘It’s better than coffee for getting me going,’ Bucks said, but suddenly he felt a little uncool. He felt Kiko’s gaze on him, amused, and he swallowed a thick lump in his throat. He clicked off the tape.

  ‘Oh, man, I wanted to hear more,’ José said. ‘I haven’t had a good arti-cu-lation in a long while.’

  ‘Hey, José, this tape is Bucks’ secret weapon,’ Kiko said. ‘How he stays so cool, so tough, all the time.’ Like it was funny.

  ‘That’s right.’ Bucks kept his voice steady. Greasy little bastards. He hated them both with a blackness that filled his chest. Thought they were clever when they were not worth the grit under his shoe.

  As he merged onto 1-10 Bucks felt a tickle at the back of his neck. He glanced into the rearview mirror and saw José smiling at him. Kiko, sitting in the passenger’s seat, said, ‘Because you’re so tough and cool, Mr Tight-Ass Executive, I know you aren’t going to freak.’