by Ben Sanders
People were getting out of cars now, trying to see what the holdup was. When he reached the intersection, he saw Henry’s white Cadillac parked on a diagonal with its front wheel chocked against the kerb, glass all over the street. Some old broad standing in the road crying, and a much younger, better-looking broad giving her a cuddle, trying to coax her out of the lane. No dead people, and no sign of Perry or the Impala. The Cadillac was missing both side windows and most of its windshield, but the engine was still running. No blood that he could see, but it was hard to tell with the wet street. He felt himself turning circles, taking it all in, and he forced himself to stand still. All that broken glass and no victim, he just got the feeling that Perry had fucked up. Gone trigger-happy, and then lost the upper hand. Probably squeezing off shots in a panic with his eyes closed while the guy came up behind him. What an idiot.
He could hear sirens too, blue-and-reds further back up Irving, probably that unmarked responding to the shots fired. Maybe a dozen folks out of their vehicles, the hearsay starting to circulate. Ludo kicked around in the glass for a second, weighing what to do. Then he said, ‘Fuck it,’ got into the Cadillac, backed up, and pulled out onto Menahan.
THIRTY-ONE
Marshall
He made another left and turned onto Wyckoff, heading uptown again. Perry was lying on the backseat, one hand on his jaw, one hand across his stomach. He had his eyes shut, wincing slightly, though Marshall didn’t know if it was pain or regret.
He tilted the mirror so he could see Perry’s face and said, ‘I’ve still got your gun, and it’s still got a round left. I was planning to use it on this Dexter Vine, but if you piss me off, you might get the honours. Through the knee, I’d say.’
Perry said, ‘You killed my brother.’
The guy in the stairwell.
Marshall watched him in the mirror as they braked for a light and said, ‘He took a swing at me with an axe, so he got what was coming to him.’ Trying to sound matter-of-fact, like the outcome was obvious. ‘And I would’ve said the same about you, too, if I’d killed you just now. But I didn’t. So I’d stop worrying about dead siblings and start being grateful for good luck. And by that I mean whatever quirk of chance’s put you in the car with me, and not dead on the road back there.’
He thought that was fair enough.
Perry opened his eyes, stared blankly at the seatback, maybe seeing all those bad moves stacked up behind him.
Marshall said, ‘Chasing down guys and trying to kill them is going to be fatal one way or the other, so I wouldn’t get too cut up about anything. And if it took you this long to realise I’m a real handful, you need to get your head checked. But, whatever. It’s not my problem if you didn’t spread the word. I’m sure you’ll think of something nice to say at the funeral.’
‘He’s got my wife.’
They were moving again. He could hear sirens a block over, no doubt cop cars heading down to that mess on Irving.
Marshall said, ‘You’re going to have to speak up, Perry, my ears are ringing pretty bad.’
‘He’s got my wife.’
‘Who, Dexter?’
‘Yeah.’
Marshall said, ‘This would’ve worked out better if we’d sat down for a quiet cup of coffee and talked it through, rather than you trying to kill me. Who’s the guy in the Honda?’
‘Uh. Probably Ludo.’
‘Who’s Ludo?’
‘He’s Dexter’s guy.’
‘Was he out at Henry’s this morning?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And down in New Mexico, too, kidnapping marshals?’
Perry swallowed and said, ‘Yeah. That was him.’
‘And I take it you and your dead brother were the backup crew?’
‘No, I didn’t do it. I was down there, but—’
‘You chickened out?’
‘Nah, well, you know. The others did it. My brother, and Terrence.’
Marshall looked at him in the mirror. ‘Yeah, Terrence was a piece of work, wasn’t he? Where’d you find him?’
‘Ludo knew him. He was at the diner with us a few months.’
Marshall said, ‘I’d love to be a fly on the wall in that place. Did you work on him a while, or did you just ask him straight up if he’d try his hand at kidnapping?’
Perry didn’t answer. They caught two sets of green lights, and then a third. Traffic slipping fast through the Brooklyn night, the clapboard low-rise bright with neon, slick ads for anything you wanted.
Marshall said, ‘Where’s Dexter?’
Perry mumbled, ‘Bay Ridge.’
Slowing down for a red, Marshall said, ‘I gave him an option where he could avoid being killed, but I think he’s missed his chance.’
He was going to remind Perry about staying on his best behaviour, lest he had to kill him too, but when he looked in the mirror the man was up and scrambling for the door, stumbling clear of the moving car and running by the time Marshall picked the gun up off the seat.
Marshall ripped the brake, the Impala rocking as it stopped dead, part of him marvelling that nobody hit their horn. He saw Perry running hard up the other side of the street and then making a Hail Mary dash back across traffic to the nearer sidewalk, still heading uptown. Marshall got out and ran around the hood of the car, jammed the gun in the back of his belt and sprinted after him. It wasn’t much of a contest; the gut punch was only a few minutes old, and Perry was still out of wind. Marshall caught him around the neck with his right arm, yanked him off balance into a straight left to the kidney.
Perry yelped and dry-retched, tripped and lost his footing, pedalled along limply in the headlock. People on the sidewalk turned to look at them, but no one stopped to help.
‘Oh shit. Lemme go.’
Marshall let him go and shoved him between the shoulder blades, Perry getting whiplash off the jolt.
Marshall said, ‘Shut up and walk.’
Ludo
He guessed whoever was in charge would want to head for Dexter’s. Most likely Marshall had the upper hand, and he was hanging on to Perry for directions and Q-and-A, or else Perry was taking Mr. Vine a trophy. Proof of success so he could get his lady back, maybe a head to mount on the wall. But whichever way it played out, they’d be going back across town.
He went left at Wyckoff, heading north and west. With its smashed windows the Escalade was like the Polar Express, freezing cold wind right in his face, making him teary. The night-lights blurred and merged. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, caught a couple of green lights, barrelled through Stockholm and DeKalb. Stores either side with their parade of frilly awnings, SALON and NAILS and CHECKS CASHED going by on his right, guys standing out under streetlights for the evening cigarette, power lines in a messy lattice overhead.
He was thinking this was stupid, better to head straight to Dexter’s rather than try to catch them, but then he hit traffic again, cars deadlocked for about half a block. He leaned out the smashed window, and he could see people swerving out in the left lane to get around something. He joined in with the tooting, and as he drew nearer he saw it was the Impala, just sitting there with no one in it, the lights still on like they’d had to jump out in a hurry. No cops around, so maybe one of them had made a run for it. It was the sort of no-balls move Perry would go for.
He stopped and set the brake and pulled the shotgun across from the passenger foot well, jumped out and walked up to the Impala and got in the driver’s seat. The engine was still running. He leaned the shotgun against the seat beside him and put the car in gear and moved away up the road, watching the sidewalks carefully. He didn’t see Marshall or Perry; they could’ve gone anywhere. He went through a red light at Troutman, punched the gas coming up toward Jefferson, and that’s when he knew where they’d gone.
Marshall
He took Perry into the Jefferson Street station, the Manhattan-bound entrance on the right-hand side of the street. A train was just coming in, braking with a long iron scream, and the
hot gust of it buffeted them as they went down the stairs: the smell of subway trash and a urine odour from a homeless man, holding out his hat for change.
He shoved Perry over to the turnstile and ran his MetroCard through the reader to get him on the platform, vaulted the barrier behind him.
‘Come on, move.’
Perry had lost all his fight, but it was still an effort to make him walk. Marshall grabbed him by the collar again and hauled him into a carriage, the doors jostling him as they closed.
He sat Perry down on the two-person seat by the door and stood in front of him, holding the overhead rail. It violated his hands-free rule, but he was tired enough he didn’t trust his balance. He hadn’t eaten anything since the eggs and bacon Henry gave him that morning. He should have had the yolks too, even at the risk of a mess.
There were only six other passengers in the carriage, low numbers by subway standards, but at this time of day most L-train traffic was heading east, not west. They started to roll, Marshall looking back at the platform sliding past, slow enough it seemed the train was motionless and the world itself was moving.
He looked down at Perry and said, ‘If you’d stayed in the car, we could’ve travelled in comfort.’ Talking under his breath, lips ajar but barely moving.
Perry said, ‘I don’t see why I gotta travel anywhere.’
‘Because last time I let you go, it was a mistake.’
Perry didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to have the hang of being captive. He kept glancing around, looking for a way out.
Marshall said, ‘Perry, it’s easy. If you run, I’m going to catch you like I did on the street, so unless you jump in front of a train, you’re not going anywhere. And heaven knows, I might even try to save you if you did jump. Odd as it sounds.’
Perry shook his head, put his elbow up on the back of the seat, rubbed his brow with a finger. He said, ‘Look. I’m real sorry I shot at you.’ Like something regrettable but necessary.
‘Well, great.’
‘But can’t we just go our separate ways?’
They were up to speed now, the carriage cradling gently and Marshall swaying with the motion as he stood there looking down. He said, ‘What way would that be?’
Perry shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Yeah. Neither do I. I don’t know if you’ll just hit the road and disappear, or tell Dexter and this Ludo character that I’m on the way. So it’s either you come with me, or I beat you to death.’
Perry didn’t answer.
‘He’s got my wife—’
‘Yeah, you told me that. And I won’t know if you’re lying until we get there. Have you heard of Schrödinger’s cat?’
‘No.’
‘Never mind. We’ll swap at Lorimer, get a G train.’
Perry didn’t answer. He dragged his hands down his face and shook his head slowly, eyes closed.
Marshall said, ‘Bit late for second thoughts. You fired at me five times.’
Perry carried on like he hadn’t spoken. He said, ‘Sometimes I think all this shit is like some kind of whaddya-call-it. Penance.’
‘Yeah? For what?’
Perry looked the length of the carriage and then back at him. ‘My uncle robbed this bank when I was a kid, Bank of America up in Concord? I drove for him, had to wait in the lot.’ He ran a hand down his face again. ‘And there were these two off-duty cops in there, just in the line, and they shot him. I heard it from outside, and I hid in the trunk of the car, and when the cops showed up I said I’s abducted.’
‘That was quick thinking.’
‘Yeah. And it worked.’ Looking up at him with a pained expression, like wanting his view on the matter.
Marshall said, ‘Perry. Karma didn’t send me here to get justice for something I never even heard of. I’m here because you’re an idiot and you tried to kill me. Don’t make it more complicated than it is. I gave you an out last night, and you didn’t take it.’
Perry put his face in his hands, and when he spoke his voice was muffled. ‘I didn’t know things would go this way. I was just doing a job.’
Marshall thought about that for a moment. He said, ‘Bad things take you to worse places.’ He liked that.
The train squealed again as they slowed for Morgan Ave, sooty tilework rushing past, the stairway at the far platform packed with people, filing out in lockstep. It was like a flash-forward to some dystopia, plebs dispatched to slavery.
Marshall said, ‘We’re heading there right now, probably. This train is a metaphor.’
THIRTY-TWO
Ludo
The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself Perry was in trouble, but when he called Dexter, Ludo said, ‘I think Perry’s bringing Marshall over.’
Warning him he might have guests, without making him blow a valve.
Dexter said, ‘What do you mean, you think?’
Ludo said, ‘We split up, but I’m pretty sure Perry’s got him.’
He was driving up Morgan Avenue, about to take the left onto Metropolitan. If he was fast, he could maybe get ahead of their train, pick them up at Graham or Lorimer. The backup plan being just hightail it to Dexter’s and wait for them to show, see what unfolded.
Dexter said, ‘I wouldn’t go assuming shit when it comes to Perry. If I was gonna assume anything, I’d say he’s fucked something up. And he can’t bring anyone here anyway, I got at least one cop outside.’
‘Well, I think that’s what he’s probably doing.’
‘Jesus Christ. Look, tidy it up, but don’t bring him down here. I want clean hands on this. When the issue’s fixed—you know what I mean by “fixed”?’
Ludo said, ‘Mmmhmm.’
‘When it’s fixed, I have to call it in, otherwise no one’s getting paid, you understand? It’s gotta be verified.’
Ludo said, ‘I might have to bring him to mine, I’ll let you know.’
Dexter said, ‘Whatever, just do it. But I don’t want to look out my window and see any dead people. I got enough on my plate as it is.’
Dexter hung up on him, and Ludo tossed the phone on the seat, rode someone’s fender to make the turn for Metropolitan on a yellow light. He hit the gas and swung out to overtake the car in front, caught a long, clear stretch all the way along to Humboldt. He sat in neutral toeing the gas until he got a green light, and then he zipped down the block, went through a red at Graham Avenue, and parked in front of a nail-and-spa place. He put the shotgun under his coat again, turned his collar up, pulled the beanie hat down low across his brow. Then he got out and locked the car, ran back along to the subway entrance outside a place offering back and foot rubs, trotted down the stairs into the hot air.
He didn’t have a MetroCard, and the station didn’t have ticket machines, but it didn’t have a security booth either. The barriers were just those little waist-high turnstiles. He put a foot up on the stainless-steel bar and stepped neatly up and then jumped down and walked out to the platform. It reminded him of one of those old Roman baths, but grimier. All that decorative tile.
His timing was OK: the text on the arrivals board read MANHATTAN 1 MIN. Blood red. How was that for an omen.
He headed down toward the eastern end, a female computer voice saying, ‘Ladies and gentlemen: the next L train is now arriving on the Manhattan-bound track.’ A man’s voice came on after and told him to keep clear of the platform edge. He did as he was told. That’d be bad luck: make it this close to the kill, and someone pushes you onto the rails.
A busker on the opposite platform was playing something twangy on a guitar, singing along in Spanish, and down on the tracks, black rats as fat as gerbils scurried in the trash. He could hear it now, the rhythmic clatter of the train approaching, the wind pummelling ahead, and before long he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. He stood and stared out across the empty tracks, waiting for the windows to start flashing past, the glimpses of people and faces, like some film reel gone haywire.
Marshall
Once Perry had shut up, the rocking of the train and the clack of the rail were almost hypnotic, and he was staring at the laminated network map as the train slowed, the computerised voice telling him, ‘This is. Graham Avenue.’
Reflections of people flicked past in the window, but after the stress of the chase he was running out of focus, briefly adrift in his own head, and he didn’t turn to look.
It was Perry’s reaction that tipped him off: he saw his head lifting, mouth open and relief in his eyes, and Marshall turned and saw a figure running, and when the doors opened the gun was raised, and he didn’t hear the shot.
Ludo
The boom was massive, and it almost took his hearing, screams hushed beneath the ringing. People were tripping and falling over each other as they fled, and he stepped into the train to stop them from looking back and seeing him. He raised the shotgunagain and fired twice on a sharp angle at the nearside windows, and blew them out onto the platform. The screams were louder now. There’d be a stampede at the gate.
Perry was still in his seat, looking up at him with his hands clamped over his ears, and Marshall was on the ground, bleeding from a cut on his brow. He’d dropped when he saw Ludo aiming, hit his head on the seat on the way down, and knocked himself out.
Ludo stood over him, holding the gun upright near the muzzle, the metal hot through his glove. He raised the weapon a foot off the ground, like breaking earth with a shovel, and smashed the butt down on the guy’s ear. Blood leaked out of his mouth. Someone had pulled the alarm, and it was quite a nice feeling, being the cause of all that chaos. The screams and the ringing.
Perry took his hands off his ears and shouted, ‘Thank you.’
Ludo said, ‘You’re useless, get out of here.’
He took the pistol from the guy’s belt and stuck it in his own waistband, and then rolled him onto his back. His head stayed turned to one side, and there was a line of bloody drool hanging out of his mouth. Ludo unloaded the remaining shells and pocketed them, and then knelt and threaded the barrel of the shotgun up inside the guy’s jacket with the muzzle poking out his collar and the butt against his inner thigh. He took the Impala keys from his pocket and hooked them on his finger and removed his coat and draped it over the guy. Then he picked him up under the knees and shoulders and walked out of the train toward the exit like a knight carrying his damsel.