I Warned You_Welcome to Fall River

by Shawn Underhill

  “Not too much,” Ryan said.

  “Did I miss something? Is there a full moon?”

  “You missed something.”

  “Enlighten me, please.”

  “Long story short, Sharky caught that braindead guy cutting locks at my place. Looking for the money. I followed him back here. Found this car. Took it for a test run.”

  Chuck came up closer and said, “Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m testing it.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “They started it.”

  “I’m serious, Matt.”

  “These morons aren’t supposed to trespass and cut locks on my property. Lecture them, not me.”

  “What if this tattoo nitwit comes to and makes a statement? Did you think of that?”

  Ryan said, “Don’t get mad.”

  Chuck took a deep breath and looked up at the sky through the trees. He just wanted the night to be over and go home. Pat Butterfield had worn him right down.

  Ryan said, “Bad news.”

  “Did you trash this car?”

  “A little.”

  “Is that the bad news?”

  “No. The bad news is there’s a second guy.”

  “Wonderful. Can you point me in his direction?”

  “Don’t get mad.”

  “Where?”

  “Life’s too short to be stressed out all the time.”

  “Where, Matt?”

  “The trunk.”

  “He’s in the trunk as we speak?”

  Ryan nodded.

  “You put him in there?”

  “No. He climbed in.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “I’m assuming.”

  Chuck took the news fairly well. He stood there with his hands on his hips for a few seconds, looking around, shifting his weight, wondering why he hadn’t picked some other profession. The upside was that Ryan hadn’t shot the second guy. That much was good. There was always a silver lining.

  “Pop the trunk.”

  Ryan popped it.

  Chuck went back and looked. Spoke with the guy briefly. Then lowered the trunk lid mostly shut and came up by the window again.

  “How is he?”

  “Very sick, Matt. Very sick and very scared. There’s vomit everywhere. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

  “It’s always darkest before the dawn, my friend.”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks. The goal was just to make him never want to come back to Fall River again.”

  “Congratulations. You’re a roaring success. We might all get sued, but at least he won’t be back here on vacation.”

  “I could’ve shot him.”

  “True.”

  “He’s a heroin peddler. Driving without a license. Should we roll out a red carpet and give him a key to the State House?”

  “It doesn’t matter what we think. Someone will feel bad for him. You can bet on that.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Please tell me there’s some evidence at your place.”

  “The tattoo guy dropped his bolt cutters once he got a look at Sharky coming for his throat. He hurt himself trying to get away. I never touched him. You should have seen Sharky. He was so proud of himself for catching the guy.”

  “Worth his weight in gold, eh?”

  “He’s Rambo’s dog.”

  “Okay, so there is evidence.”

  Ryan nodded.

  “Good. Now you can help me deal with your buddy in the trunk.”

  “I’ll drive him to the station.”

  Chuck said, “I’m not worried about the driving. How are we gonna clean him up? We can’t put him in the cell like that. And who’s gonna cover the station while these two clowns are locked up? I don’t feel like waking up the chief and letting him hear all about this fiasco. You need to think about these things, Matt. You’re killing me here.”

  Ryan said, “We could dump the car beyond the town line. Let the troopers handle it. They’re more used to these sort of guys than we are.”

  “A few of those guys are my friends. I hate to do that to them.”

  “It’s their job.”

  Chuck paused. Looked around.

  Ryan said, “What?”

  “I can’t hear you,” Chuck said. “You’re not here. I’m here alone with a random guy I found in the road. That’s all. Just a cop doing his job, completely by the book.”

  Ryan nodded.

  “Fine,” Chuck said. “Take them out by the park and ride. Tell the driver to get on the highway. I’ll call a trooper, heads up on the car coming south. Two burglary suspects spotted fleeing, bolt cutters at the scene. You saw the car clearly, so I’ll need a signed statement after. Just make sure to get all your prints off the car.”

  “Already covered,” Ryan said, holding up his gloved hands.

  “If I get in trouble for this, you’re helping me out.”

  “Deal.”

  “Meet you there,” Chuck said and slammed the trunk on his way by.

  ***

  Ryan stopped shy of the park and ride. Only a few cars in the lot. The roads were empty. They’d be buzzing by sunup, but for now they were perfectly quiet. The perfect time. He wiped the key fob with his gloved fingers and got out and popped the trunk and went back there.

  The guy was cold, almost paralyzed with fear. He was a mess. Beyond miserable. A guy who spread misery and problems and caused huge expenses for others, now suffering like hell, all because he ran into the wrong person.

  Ryan smiled.

  “Get out,” he said, half looking at the guy, half looking at Chuck’s approaching cruiser.

  “Please don’t kill me.”

  “I will if you don’t get out.”

  The coyote came groaning and struggling out of the cramped trunk, crawling, sliding, a picture of human misery. He stood up and leaned on the car for balance.

  Ryan said, “Move to the side.”

  He did, slowly.

  Ryan closed the trunk as Chuck walked by, escorting the concussed tattoo guy. He could barely walk. He didn’t speak. Just sat in the passenger seat like a zombie.

  “Okay,” Ryan said to the albino guy. “Ready to go home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want me to toss you over the bridge into the river first?”

  “God, no. Please.”

  “So get in your girlfriend’s car and go home. Don’t ever come back here. I see you again, I’ll stop playing nice. Understood?”

  The coyote didn’t believe him about leaving at first. He stood there, hesitating, shivering, no clue what to do or say. He feared it was only more torture.

  “Get out of here,” Ryan said.

  A surprised look.

  “Before I change my mind.”

  “Really?” the guy asked.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  “Thank you,” the coyote whispered. Then he got into the warm car and adjusted the seat and dropped it into drive and started off south to the highway.

  “Let’s go,” Chuck said.

  They walked to the cruiser and got in as the Honda’s taillights faded in the distance. When the lights were gone Chuck did a U-turn and headed north for home.

  ***

  “Are you sure?” Denny asked, slouching in his seat.

  Crappy said, “I’m sure. That’s him. He’s DEA for sure. And now he’s working with the cop.”

  Fifty yards at most separated them from the cruiser and the Honda. Between them sat some sort of a bulky SUV that prevented the cop from clearly seeing their Ford Fusion.

  Denny said, “Why the hell did they let the coyote go?”

  Crappy said, “Maybe it’s a trap.”

  “This is crazy.”

  The quiet guy said, “Yeah.”

  Crappy said, “Don’t tell me they’re partners. This can’t be happening. Is our luck that bad?”

  “Could be,” Denny said. “Maybe the coyote’s
making new contacts, cutting us out in favor of these new partners. I’ll bet they split the money and secured future deals. They’ll get rich while we suffer.”

  Crappy said, “No way am I getting a paper route.”

  “Same with me,” Denny said. “But why was the coyote in the trunk?”

  “I don’t know. That’s a tough one.”

  “Could be mind games,” Denny said. “The DEA guy is putting on a show in case he’s being watched by his agency.”

  Crappy said, “This is getting complicated, guys. We gotta kill the coyote. Fast. Before he gets home. Grab his share of the money. Then we can come for these other two later. Maybe when they’re sleeping. We’ll show them not to cut us out.”

  “Can you shoot the coyote if I get next to him in the passing lane?”

  Crappy said, “Damn right.”

  “I know you can fire the gun. Can you hit him? Make him crash?”

  “I can hit him. We’ll grab the money and head back. Get some food. Then get the other two, plus their money. We’ll be rolling in it.”

  Denny straightened in his seat as the cruiser turned away and sped off out of sight to the north. When the taillights disappeared beyond the slight curve of the road he started the Ford and raced south after the coyote.

  ***

  They followed the Honda for a mile once they caught up. Denny sped up and gradually gained on it. Then he pulled out into the passing lane and drew alongside. Crappy buzzed down his window. Turned in his seat.

  “Careful,” Denny shouted.

  Crappy held out his pistol gangster style and started firing. The Honda’s window fractured and spider webbed. So did the windshield. Bullets were going everywhere. The cars were doing seventy. The Honda veered off into the breakdown lane. The brake lights never blinked. The car just veered off the road, its driver ducking and panicking, possibly hit by a bullet. Then it dropped off the pavement and went down into a slight ravine. Bounced off a tree, spun, rolled, smashed, and came to a wrecked halt just shy of entering the river. Both passengers were ejected yards before the Honda finally came to a stop.

  A second after the Honda went off the road, Denny caught a glimpse of flashing lights. A trooper, up ahead on the roadside, facing out into the lane. Ready to stop them. Another one coming north in the other lane, slowing by a little access road often used by troopers to change directions or run speed traps. He’d be there in a minute at most. Either to the crash scene, or behind them to pull them over.

  “Oh, no,” Denny groaned. “They saw.”

  Crappy faced forward, buzzing up his window. He saw the same sight. Two cruisers. Flashing lights.

  Denny said, “What do we do?”

  Crappy said, “We can’t stop now to check the car, can we?”

  “In front of the troopers?”

  “We’ll say we’re just witnesses.”

  “No, we’re screwed,” Denny said.

  The quiet guy said, “Stop and let me out.”

  “Go to hell,” Denny told him. “We go down together. We’re a team.”

  Crappy said, “We’re not going down. I say we kill the cops and go back for the money. We’ll be gone before more cops can get up here. This place is the sticks.”

  “Now or never,” Denny said, taking his foot from the gas pedal while reaching for his gun.

  Chapter 19

  Chuck examined the scene, using both the cruiser’s headlights and a flashlight. He counted eight padlocks cut, and noted the bolt cutters where they’d fallen.

  Ryan said, “Cozy, right?”

  “I know it pisses you off having people messing with your business. I don’t blame you for a minute.”

  “I went easy on them.”

  “Somewhat.”

  “They’re still breathing.”

  Chuck nodded.

  “You need me out here?” Ryan asked.

  “I could use a coffee, if you’d be willing to make one.”

  “I can’t make it as good as the Dunkin’ girls do.”

  “I’m not fussy.”

  Ryan walked up the grade and went into the apartment. Sharky was glad to see him. Ryan gave him a cookie and then turned on the coffee maker he barely used and started scooping coffee into a filter.

  By the time he went back out with two mugs and Sharky tagging along, Chuck was back in the cruiser. He was listening to dispatch and radio chatter. Ryan approached slowly, wondering if the troopers had pulled over the albino and the tattoo guy. Hoping they had it all sewn up.

  Chuck looked at him and slowly shook his head. Then he got out of the cruiser and took the mug and said, “They crashed a bit south. Another car apparently caused it.”

  “No kidding.”

  “The second car stopped and tried to fight the troopers. Got their asses shot up.”

  Ryan nodded. Said nothing.

  “Sounds like the two in the crashed car are dead. One of the shooters is dead. The other two are wounded and down. If they survive, they’ll be in the clink forever.”

  “Crime’s getting close,” Ryan said.

  “On the doorstep,” Chuck agreed. “I feel guilty about those troopers taking fire. I had those guys and chased them off.”

  “They would’ve dealt with guys like that one way or another.”

  “I suppose.”

  They were both quiet, sipping steaming coffee. It was cold out and the coffee was cooling fast.

  “So,” Chuck said. “I guess the other guys I chased out of town were up here to get the money from the two in the Honda. Three of them, three shooters. Had to have been the same guys.”

  Ryan said, “Cozy thought.”

  “Very.”

  “Did you run their plates or anything?”

  “Just a verbal warning.”

  “Well, it’s not your fault. And at least it’s over.”

  “We hope.”

  Ryan said, “Agreed.”

  Chuck took a long breath and said, “I’ll take pictures of the scene. You don’t have to stay out here anymore.”

  “I don’t mind,” Ryan said. “I’m not the busiest guy that ever lived.”

  ***

  The blonde in the motel room waited most of the night. She tried the coyote’s phone. Got nothing. She tried the guy with the tattoos on his face. Nothing. It was a bad feeling. He should have been back. At least he should have sent a text message.

  She was twenty-six and had years ago gone by the name Jo, for Joanne, before adopting several aliases to divorce herself from her past. She’d met the coyote two years prior, when he first arrived in New England, and she’d gotten to know him and had earned his trust. Once he began working with her and sharing his life with her she ditched her bartending job. She knew and understood the locals. She had connections, and therefore was very beneficial to his work.

  It worked both ways. He helped her financially, and kept her supplied with quality products for her own consumption. It was a good arrangement. Beneficial for both.

  But now it was over. Easy come, easy go. It couldn’t have lasted forever. She’d always known that.

  She assumed he had overstepped a boundary, made a fatal mistake. More for pride than for the money. He could have earned the lost cash back relatively easily. But for his own reasons he had chosen to go after it. Now the money was still gone. And he was gone. Never coming back.

  She knew that certainly by 3:00 am, even before she checked the news on her phone and realized that the Honda registered to one of her aliases was destroyed on the side of the highway. She felt it even before she saw it.

  She got moving right away, fearing that the police would eventually find her and question her about the Honda. Someone would talk, drop a hint. The trail would lead to her eventually, be it hours or days or weeks.

  So it was time to move. Always stay ahead.

  All she carried was a purse and a duffel bag of clothes to hold her over until she could get more. She left the motel and walked ten minutes to another motel. Paid cash. Re
gistered under the name Sherry Jones.

  After settling in the new room she took a long shower. Dressed in clean clothes and began scrolling through contacts on her phone. It was an almost identical list as the list in the coyote’s phone. He knew people through her, and she knew people through him. She went through mental checklists associated with the names. Some were reliable, some were not.

  She started with the best candidates and worked her way down to the worst. It was late. Very early, technically. No one was answering. She didn’t leave voice mails.

  The first one to answer was one of the poorest candidates. More bad luck. She had heard him called Joey.

  The fourth guy from Lawrence Street. One of the quiet ones. The one who had passed out watching TV rather than joining his three friends.

  “Hello,” he said in a groggy voice.

  “Joey?”

  “Who?”

  “Sorry to wake you.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “My name is Sherry.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m a friend of the coyote’s. I now your friend Denny.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re Joey.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you seen the news?”

  “What news?”

  “About your friends. Denny and the other guys.”

  He kept quiet.

  “They’re dead. The coyote is dead. It’s been a bad night. And the money still hasn’t been recovered from the storage place. It’s a bad deal all around.”

  “Oh,” Joey said.

  “Something needs to be done,” she said. “And I need your help.”

  He swallowed.

  “I pay as well as the coyote.”

  “My help?”

  “Yes. I need a partner for a job. Someone to watch my back. Think of it like revenge. Or finishing what our friends started. And a big payday.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you help me?”

  “I guess.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Now?”

  “Not yet. I mean in general.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll rent a car first thing in the morning. I’ll call you again and pick you up. Be ready. It’s important. There’s a lot of money in it for us both.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Cool,” she said and ended the call and immediately began scrolling through contacts again. There had to be someone better that would answer the phone.