by Mike Knowles
“No,” I said. “Not the police. One man. Unaffiliated.”
Saul laughed. “After hearing from you again, I get the sense that he had an affiliation once.”
“What did he offer?”
“That is between us.”
“Whatever it was, you agreed to it.”
“Did I?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s the only way this plays.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“The body count is too high for the pay to be low.”
Saul laughed again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective, but if you’re asking me to feel bad about the deaths of men who robbed me, I don’t think I can do that.”
“Tell me what you’re paying him.”
“Why would I do something like that?”
“You should play ball, Saul. After all, you’re hardly the only game in town.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about something your new partner missed. David wasn’t after diamonds. He told us a great story about being overlooked and underappreciated by a man who was set on going down with his sinking ship, but it was all bullshit. He didn’t care about the diamonds. What he really cared about was what was inside the second safe. David told us that you were senile and that you had been buying uncut diamonds to fill orders that were all in your head. But those were all lies. You’re not that guy, Saul. But David wanted into that safe all the same. I’m guessing he wasn’t lying about the uncut stones. I think he was telling the truth about that, but I don’t think the rocks in your safe were ever destined to be jewellery. Those stones are for a different kind of client.”
“It’s a good story,” Saul said.
“It gets better. I think there was something else in that safe of yours. Something that could be more valuable than diamonds if the right person was holding it. If I had to guess, I’d say it was your books — the real books. I think David was after the business. He was planning on climbing over you, and inside that safe was the last rung.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s fine. I told the same story to some other people, and they liked what I had to say.”
“I’m guessing he doesn’t mean us,” Monica whispered.
Miles ignored the playful jab and just shook his head. I was in his territory, and he wanted to see where the con was leading Saul.
“Is that right?”
“They liked it because they had heard it before from David. Apparently, he had been talking to these same thick-necked Russians about moving their money overseas using uncut diamonds. He assured them that he would have everything in place to make a seamless transition. He even offered a buy-in to show he was serious. I think that would have been what he did with his cut of the job. It was a lot of money, but he wouldn’t miss it; not with the numbers he would be pulling in when he was in charge.”
The whole story was bullshit. I had even plagiarized some of the words from the conversation we had had with Donny. My gut told me that his mysterious fence was Saul, but it didn’t really matter if my gut was right or not. Donny had a fence who laundered Russian money with uncut diamonds. Even if it wasn’t Saul, the story was plausible and plausibility was all I needed. I didn’t need to convince him that what I said was the truth, I just needed to convince him that what I was saying could be the truth.
The sound of me hitting the jackpot was no sound at all. Saul was suddenly on the losing side of a game he didn’t even know he was playing.
“Give me a number, Saul. How much are you willing to pay to get back what’s yours?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You think I’m calling you to gloat. There’s no money in the egg on people’s face. I don’t care about getting the better of you. I care about something else.”
“And what’s that?”
“I care about getting paid. Tonight I had planned to empty your safes and walk away, but things went sideways on us.”
Saul’s laugh had barely a trace of humour in it. “I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No? You should be. Had things played out the way I had intended, you’d have taken a hit on the stones, but you would have survived. As for the other things; I would have found whatever was in your personal safe and I would have left it behind.”
Saul didn’t believe me. “Really?”
“I’m a professional thief, Saul, not a blackmailer. The diamonds would have been enough. They still are. That’s why I want a number. Otherwise, I have to go with the only other bidder. They wanted whatever David was selling, and they are just as interested in what I have. Whatever is in that safe is enough to buy me a jugger on short notice.”
“Jugger?”
“A safecracker, Saul. Elliot killed mine after he talked to you, so I had to go with the backup plan. Want to guess what the Russians will do with what they find in that safe?”
Saul didn’t want to.
“My bet is you would find yourself a junior partner in your own business.”
“It’s a little late to pretend that you care about what happens to my business.”
“When I make the call to the Russians, what are my chances that they’ll play fair?”
Saul laughed.
“I’m not saying it can’t be done, but there will be risks. I’m confident I can manage the risks, but they’re there just the same. But no matter how it plays for me, you’ll lose everything.”
“Unless I make you a better offer,” Saul said.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, you don’t want an offer. I’ve been doing this for too long to think that you are waiting on me for a number. You know what you want, so just say it and stop wasting my time.”
My number was small. “One safe,” I said.
Saul laughed.
“You’re insured, so there’s no loss. After seeing how you operate, I wouldn’t be surprised if you made a profit.”
“In exchange for my safe?”
“You get an address where you’ll find your other safe.”
“Do you really expect me to trust you?”
“No.”
“I suppose this is the part where you tell me I have ten seconds to decide.”
“Ten seconds? No, you have until my call-waiting beeps. When that happens, I hang up on you and take my chances with the Russians.”
The line went quiet. I waited. Miles lifted his hands in a silent demand for an update, but I ignored him.
After three minutes, I said, “Time’s up.”
Saul gave me the combination.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Miles and Monica scrambled into the plow bed and moved to a safe. I repeated the combination out loud and Monica worked the dial. Miles lifted a thumb into the air the second the door started to open.
“Alright, I held up my end of the bargain. Where is my safe?”
I ended the call as I crossed the garage to the Toyota I had dropped off several hours before. I popped the trunk and pulled out two duffel bags. I threw the bags into the bed of the plow before climbing up to get a look at what we had stolen. The safe was six feet tall and contained twelve velvet-lined shelves. Everything that had been in the display cases had been stored in the safe.
“I can’t believe that worked,” Monica said as she cleared out the shelves dedicated to the rings. “I can’t believe he just let us into one of his safes.”
“It was a smart play,” Miles said.
“How do you figure?” Monica asked as she began grabbing necklaces. “How is handing everything over the smart play?”
“He’s already lost it. You saw those people hanging out their windows with their phones in their hands. YouTube is going be his alibi
. His insurance will have no choice but to pay up for everything. Wilson was right, a crafty guy like him will probably make money on losing his jewellery. Letting us into this safe is meaningless. Saul knew that all along, and he figured it was an acceptable gamble if it gave him a shot at the other safe.”
“Then why did he wait so long to give it up?”
“He was waiting on Elliot,” I said. “He was sitting in his house waiting, praying, for the sound of gunfire to break out. When I told him I was going to hang up the phone, he had no choice but to give up the combination.” I looked at Miles. “He didn’t give up the numbers because it was the smart play, he did it to keep the numbers manageable.”
Miles thought about it. “He didn’t want the Russians involved.”
“Not with only one man out there working for him. Giving us the combination means Elliot only has three people to worry about, and it keeps us occupied and in the same spot. The game isn’t over.”
Miles finished loading his bag and put it on his shoulder. He offered to help Monica, but she shoved him away. “So how do we play it?”
I looked at the two duffel bags. “He’s nearby, and he knows we’re going to move soon. The weather gives him an advantage because any car on the road will stand out and leave a trail. Elliot will set himself up in a way that takes advantage of the conditions.”
“So,” Miles said.
“So we take advantage of the one thing he can’t change.”
“What’s that?”
“He’s one man —”
“And?” Monica said.
“And we have two cars.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
“So we’re going to make a run for it?” Monica said.
I closed the trunk of the Toyota. “We’re not running. We’re getting away.”
I tossed the keys to the plow to Monica; she didn’t try to catch them. “We’re not getting away. Elliot is getting away.”
“The job is over,” I said. “It’s time to go.”
“No.”
“No?”
“He is not getting away. He did it once, and I am not letting him do it again. He doesn’t get to walk away, not after what he did to me.”
I looked at Miles.
“Monica,” he said. “We —”
She snapped her chin towards Miles. “What are you, his fucking dog? He says that it’s time to go and you start jumping up and down with your tail wagging.”
“It’s not like that, Mon.”
“Oh no? So was it both of your idea to leave me on the ground in front of the emergency room after Elliot stabbed me?” Monica turned her head and looked me in the eyes. “Or was it his?”
Miles stammered.
“You know what? Don’t even bother, Miles. I know what happened, and so do you. He left me there because I was inconvenient. I was damaged goods, so he cut me loose. I spent months trying to learn how to live with shitting in a bag, and you know what, Wilson? I never did. I never learned how to live with it. The only thing that made living possible was the thought that one day I would be able to pay back every motherfucker responsible. And now you’re ready to cut and run again because the job is over.”
Monica lifted her shirt. The knife that had been used on her had left a long fat scar that had healed raised and pink. Her smooth dark skin could do nothing to hide the evidence of the violation. On her side was a pouch affixed to a strap that ran over her shoulder like the strap of a purse. I looked at the wound and the bag, and then I looked at Monica.
She pulled down her shirt and adjusted it four or five times. “The job isn’t over — not for me; not with Elliot still out there.”
I nodded and walked over to the keys that had hit the ground. I went back to the Toyota and got out the two duffel bags. “You can keep the Toyota,” I said. “I’ll take my chances with the plow.”
Monica was caught off guard. “What?”
“I’ll put some distance between us and here and then find a car to get the rest of the way to the safe house. You can meet up with us when you’re ready.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’m sticking to the plan,” I said.
“You’re leaving.”
“The job is done,” I said. “It’s time to walk away.”
“’Cause that’s what you do best, right? You walk away and leave the rest of us to fend for ourselves.”
I opened the driver’s side door and tossed the first bag into the plow. “Miles, you staying or going.”
Miles looked at Monica. She saw the answer on his face before he said a thing.
“No.”
Miles looked at his shoes.
“Miles, no. No!”
“I’m sorry, Mon.”
She shook her head. “No. No, no, no.”
I walked to the garage door and pulled it up. The clatter of the metal sounded like robotic applause. Snow and wind forced its way into the opening and immediately began feasting on the heat.
“You’re doing it to me again,” Monica said. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me again. You — you —”
I missed the first half of the draw because Miles was standing between the two of us. When I saw Miles react, the gun was already on its way to being level with centre mass. Miles dove for the floor, but Monica wasn’t aiming at him. She was aiming at me.
The bullet hit me just above the right hip and folded me over. The next blow came from the concrete floor. With both hands occupied with the new hole in my torso, my head was left to fend for itself. The concrete caught my skull with a total lack of grace.
Time and space became unreliable after that. One second, Monica was across the room; the next, she was standing over me.
“Did you ever wonder why I signed back on for this? After what happened to me, do you think I care about the money?” Monica jabbed my chest with the gun. “I came back for revenge. I thought you understood that. I thought you were different. I don’t know why. After what you did to me, I don’t know why I thought you were. I see now that I was wrong.”
I lifted my head and strained to look at the wound. The blood that flowed out of the hole was dark in colour and seeped through my fingers with no sign of stopping.
“Monica, please, it’s not too late. We can get him to a hospital.”
She lifted the gun towards Miles. He backed away. “I wonder. Did you fight that hard for me?”
I took one slippery hand off my stomach and went for my gun while Monica was occupied. She saw me moving and kicked me in the stomach before I got the gun out of the holster. I howled into the floor and braced myself for another attack, but it never came. Instead of getting in a few more licks, Monica just picked up my gun and put it into one of her jacket pockets. “Hurts, doesn’t it? I think it’s good that you’re learning that.”
“Monica, you don’t have to do this,” Miles pleaded.
Monica pointed her gun at the con man. “Do me a favour, Miles. Shut up.”
Miles looked at the gun and did as he was told.
“Thank you. Now, use two fingers to take your gun out of the holster and slowly place it on the floor.”
“What happened to you?”
“I stopped waiting around for my revenge. It’s like I told you before, Miles. I do what I have to do, and I’m not waiting a second longer to get what’s mine. Now give me your gun.”
Miles did as he was told and then Monica shot him in the leg. The con man went down howling. Monica ignored him and kneeled next to me. Her breath on my ear was warm, and her voice as soft as mother’s lullaby. “I’m going to give you a choice, and that’s more than you gave me, so you should be grateful. You can take your chances here with me, or you can make a run for it.”
I turned my head so I could see her eyes.
“Run away, Wilson. I won’t try to stop you.”
I didn’t wait for the catch. I rolled onto my stomach and groaned. I placed two palms on the concrete and pushed myself up. I put a foot flat on the ground and promptly lost my balance. When I tried to reposition my hands, my palm found the pool of blood that had leaked from my body. The surface of the blood had been exposed to the cold air blowing through the open door, and a crust of ice had already formed on the top of the red puddle. My arm slid on the blood and my chest and face slammed into the concrete. I growled through the pain and crawled through the blood towards the wall. I used the chains next to the garage door to get me onto my feet.
I turned to look at Monica and saw Miles crawling towards me. His leg was painting a thick line on the floor.
“You’re staying, Miles,” Monica said. “Or would you prefer I use language you’ll understand? Heel, doggy.”
Miles looked at Monica. “Why are you doing this?”
“She’s going fishing,” I groaned.
“Fishing?”
“With live bait.”
I stumbled out the door and took the brunt of the wind against the side of my face. I let the wind choose my direction and put the blowing snow to my back. I cleared the garage and put my shoulder to the side of the building. Monica didn’t shoot me for revenge — at least not only for revenge. She shot me because she wanted me out on the street. The bullet was well placed; it was a walking wound. More importantly, it was a trailing wound. Behind me, the white snow was defaced with a sloppy red streak of plasma graffiti. Elliot was out here looking for us; Monica was counting on it. She was also counting on Elliot following the shots to me. She didn’t care what Elliot did with what he found; her only concern was that Elliot saw the fat red line leading to the garage, where she’d be waiting. I guessed that she had a plan to use Miles to her advantage, too.
Gut shots are often called walking wounds because you can walk with them; no one ever said how far you’d get. Wounded, on foot in a snowstorm, with no weapon — I had little chance of survival. I definitely wouldn’t make it past Elliot, but what if I could get Elliot past me. I turned and looked at the footprints in the snow. The garage was still open, and the light that spilled out made my boot prints visible. I counted over thirty. It was enough. I stopped fighting to stay on my feet. The snow caught me and held me tight while the storm began the slow process of burying my body.