Ray Tate and Djuna Brown Mysteries 3-Book Bundle

by Lee Lamothe

  Preston got animated. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh, that fucking, fucking bastard.”

  Djuna Brown said: “You and Jerry ain’t pals no more?”

  “Not Jerry. Marko. He said he had her on ice, safe. Was going to bring her back for the variation, tomorrow.” He read Ray Tate’s watch, upside down. “Today, tonight.”

  Ray Tate completed circles in his mind. “Jerry wasn’t supposed to have her? Markowitz was?” He put the parts together. “They grabbed her up, didn’t they? That’s why you’re in the dope money business? They got your kid?”

  Preston said nothing. His face was murderous and his hands were twitching. Ray Tate whistled at the counterman and made a circle around the tabletop. When the coffees and shots were refilled, Djuna Brown looked at Ray Tate and raised her eyebrows. He widened his eyes and arched his eyebrows at her, like, fucked if I know.

  “Mr. Preston, you have to calm down, okay?” He spoke firmly. It was clear the beatnik laughs were gone. “We’re on the place by the airport and I have to tell you, there’s no sign of your kid out there. There’s Markowitz and Jerry Kelly and some mutts. Gurr was out there starting runs, but otherwise there’s been nobody we’ve seen that looks like your kid. Wherever your daughter is, she isn’t with Markowitz.”

  “Ah, Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ.” He looked at them and slumped back. “What now?”

  “Best thing is: you just tell us what’s going on. We all put it all on the table, move it around, and make it work for all of us.”

  Djuna Brown touched her hand to Preston’s. “Jerry Fucking Kelly’s obviously got a game on. What it is I don’t know, and you probably don’t know either. But together? Well, maybe we can finesse something here.”

  Preston nodded. “They got my kid pinched in Mexico. Marko got her out of jail, he had her put someplace safe. The deal is, if I get the money into Canada, I get Zoe back. Marko told Julia she wasn’t back yet, but she’d be up here in time for the border run. If you guys go now and take the money, she’s finished. Marko won’t hurt her, but if Jerry’s got her? No question.”

  “You don’t think Jerry’s just holding on to her for Marko?”

  Preston shook his head. “Why would Marko tell Julia he didn’t have her yet, but that he’d have her back in time for a swap at the crossing? Fucking Marko’s lost her and Jerry’s got her. I dunno why, but he’s got her.”

  Ray Tate thought for a moment. “A rip. Jerry’s doing a rip.”

  “No. The money belongs to … some other people. Marko told them Jerry had taken responsibility for the delivery. If the dough doesn’t go it’s Jerry’s ass on the line. And anyway, if Jerry was going to run a rip, he’d run it here with his guys, he’d’a done it by now.”

  “Unless he wants to rip it in Canada, after you cross it.”

  Preston shrugged. It didn’t matter to him. Money. Canada. Jerry Kelly. Marko. “I just want my kid back, whatever it takes.”

  They sat and thought for a few minutes, nobody looking at anybody. Then Preston glanced at Ray Tate. “You guys are going in, right?” His face was bitterness. “Grabbing up the money? Killing my kid?”

  Ray Tate thought about his own daughter. Djuna Brown thought about Mona, Sharon Sherriff. She saw similarities between Ray Tate and Preston. Both thinking hard, their faces naked. She loved Ray Tate then, for his empathy, his focus. His heart, as he loved her for hers.

  Ray Tate said, “Look, you don’t know us and we don’t know you. I’m gonna ask you one: trust us. We’re going to go outside for a few minutes and talk. This isn’t just about you and your daughter, right? You and your wife are bandits, and you jumped in with bigger bandits. You got a daughter and your life caught up to her. Maybe they’re worse bandits than you are, but you’re no citizen. It’s your own fucking fault, this. By who and what you are, you put your daughter in the sauce. So, give us a couple of minutes. When we come back we’re going to tell you what we’re going to do. You might not like it. In that case we’ll just all fuck off on our ways, and we’ll wish you well, keep an eye for your kid, and take down the warehouse, hope for the best.”

  Outside they stood with their faces away from the front of the restaurant, glancing back occasionally to check out what Preston was doing. He just sat, his face in his hands. Once Djuna Brown caught him looking out at them, trying to read anything he could from what he could see.

  “Fuck, Ray. This guy’s in the fucking switches.” She saw him shiver a little. “You must be freezing. Get your boot.”

  “Naw. The hootch there, in the coffee. Went right to my feet. I used to drink that when I was in uniform on cold nights. Guy’s’d pull up on a prowl car with a thermos. It really took me back.”

  “Ray. Ray in uniform. Ray the Whistle. You miss it?”

  “Yep. Real policing. Not this kind of stuff, chasing bits of paper, working with psychos, a guy’s kid’s life hanging in the balance.”

  “How we going to play this? Ten million, as advertised. More, if we get warrants on some of the places Gurr was dumping into today. We could go grab up all the dough, take down her network, be heroes to our kind, and who knows what we can parlay it into? Paris, at least.” She stroked his arm. “You were thinking about your own kid in there, right?”

  “Lots of stuff. This was easy until there was an innocent involved. Now? What do you think? How do you want to play this?”

  At the end of the day, even if they went back to the Cashman with their pockets empty, they could still retire, she’d do a little time, maybe restitution for the State fraud, and they’d head to Paris. But how much fun would it be if you could have stopped a kid from dying and didn’t?

  “Okay.” He made a decision. “We work for the kid. We’ll go back in and leverage that with him, as much as we can. Until his daughter’s safe, we don’t take the dough. You okay with that?”

  “Sure. How do we stall the boss?”

  “We do our own op. We keep him at bay with hints until the thing’s a go, then we bring him in. Last minute. It’ll mean some fancy footwork, getting creative.”

  She looked over his shoulder at Preston in the window. “He’s dying in there, he’s twisting. We gonna make him work for it?”

  “No, let’s just fucking tell him.” Suddenly his foot was cold and the arch was cramping. “I’m going to get my other boot from the car. You give him the good word.”

  Djuna Brown went inside and sat, nodding at Preston. “Okay, this is the deal. We’re going to hold back until your kid is safe, but we’re still going to want the money, all of it. We still got to ask you some stuff, we’ve got to work out a way to make everything happen without our boss jumping early.”

  His relief was visible, but not complete. “How? How you going to do it? Let me work the variation, get the dough across, then you take everybody?”

  “Bobby, Bobby, we can’t do that. The money goes through and the Canadians seize it, we’re fucked. We have to find a way to grab it on this side, get your daughter at the same time. You’re going to have to think on it.” She smiled at him, hoping her face was reassuring. “We don’t give a shit, everybody can walk, we just want the money. And, of course, your daughter safe.” She made the cat smile Ray Tate was in love with. “And I’d like to shoot Jerry Fucking Kelly in the nuts, but we’re not allowed to. What’s with Jerry, anyway? He nuts, or what? How come he fucks everybody but nobody fucks him?”

  “I don’t want to talk about Jerry. You guys must know about him. Take what you know and make it ten times heavier, and that’s him.”

  “What about your ex, there? Gurr?” She saw his mouth clamp. “Hey, I’m just trying to get a fix on the dynamics. She’s with you, then she’s out there with Marko and Jerry. All day she’s dealing with them straight money guys, then tonight you guys hole up there in the house.”

  Ray Tate, walking normally, came in and sat down. He looked into his empty cup but decided against any more shots. “You tell him?”

  She nodded. “We haven’t worked out how we
’re going to work together yet, have we, Presto?”

  “Lay it out, as best you can, your plan.”

  Preston explained the dead-end phones, how he kept himself remote from any threats from Marko and Jerry, how he kept Marko jumping around doing useless errands, just to gain some space to work in. “I had them thinking it was an overland transfer, using big cardboard boxes. I had Julia tell them to dump the boxes, buy knapsacks, an inflatable dinghy.”

  Djuna Brown leaned in, yawning, but remembering the city homicide file. He’d lost a few in the river. “Not the river, man. Find another way.”

  “I know, the river’s out. But I needed a plan that looked workable, so they’d bring Zoe to me.”

  “And?” Djuna Brown asked, “What did you come up with?”

  He looked at each of them. “If I knew how, I’d be doing it already and you guy’s’d be outside there rubbing on each other. Now I gotta find a way to get control of Zoe and get her loose when the money’s still on this side so you guys can grab it.”

  Djuna Brown said, “And? What did you come up with?”

  “Fucked if I know.”

  Chapter 30

  Marko Markowitz and Jerry Kelly slept in the van and the cube truck. The mutts laid themselves out on the concrete floor and grumbled. At dawn garbage trucks banged around the industrial unit, emptying dumpsters with a cascading clatter of metal waste. The mutts groaned. The air in the huge unit was rank and had an oily smell.

  Marko lingered in a half-sleep in the cube truck, thinking of Djuna Brown, feeling an excitement that had nothing to do with the millions in the factory. He wished he’d taken her phone number. This could all be over by midnight and after that the night was young with possibilities. She liked him. She didn’t know he was a crook, she just liked what he showed. He realized what he presented to her was honest and genuine, the real Marko. He felt good and wanted to sleep on in his half-awake world.

  Jerry Kelly climbed out of the van wearing his shirt and underwear, crossed to the cube, and pounded his fist on the side. “Hey, hey, Marko. Leave it alone, it’ll grow on its own. Dress up, we’ll go for coffee.” He dressed and went over to the polite mutt. “Me’n Marko are going out for a bite. We’ll bring you guys back some eats. Today could be payday. You’re in charge.”

  He went outside with Marko. The morning still had a night chill and a wind had developed overnight, cutting in from the west, defeating the heat of the morning sun. Together they huddled themselves inside their jackets and walked rapidly across the parking lot, heading for the Donut Shack. Neither spoke; both had grainy eyes and they walked stiffly, like bums rolled reluctantly out of a doorway. Inside the donut shop they headed for the washroom and spent a painfully long time at the urinals. They washed their faces and necks. Jerry Kelly was fully awake and playful. He splashed cold water on the grumbling Marko. “I’ll get some stuff, get a table.”

  Marko nodded silently. The mirror showed an old, disappointed man’s tired face but the eyes had a spark of something attractive, something that hadn’t lived in them before. He ran his hand over his gristly chin. Like a schoolboy, he thought of Djuna Brown, decided in his head what he’d wear, how he’d get himself barbered up at a good old-style strop shop downtown, where they used straight razors and hot towels. He’d show up looking like a millionaire gentleman, be her squire on the town. Another day, hopefully, and he’d start stepping away from it all, from Jerry Kelly, Pavo, the bikers, the traders, and the sharpies. One more day. He said it aloud: “One fucking day.” He wasn’t religious, he looked up anyway. “Jesus Fucking Christ, just one fucking cocksucking motherfucking day. That too much, after all I been through?”

  In the restaurant Jerry Kelly sat at the window, a cardboard tray of coffees on the table and a jumbo-sized bag of donuts beside it. He reached in and pulled one out, sniffed it, took a small bite, then put it back, licked his fingers, and continued foraging.

  Marko sat heavily. “You got one there that doesn’t have your choppers already in it?” He felt around and fished out an intact glazed donut and opened a coffee. “I think today’s gonna be it. We got some stuff to square, some problems and some housekeeping.”

  “Presto’s kid, right? That’s a problem. One of the problems we have to solve, if you don’t get her back pronto. I think The Mig’s put the fuck to you, Marko. Beaner’s sitting down there having a ball, probably put the girl in the ground already, downing his breakfast pail of margaritas. I mean, Marko, what are you going to do? It would take some hard men to go down there and take off The Mig. And if this thing is going to go off today, it ain’t gonna matter anyway. We’ve got no time.”

  “I gotta talk to the Presto. Stall him, but make him do the run.”

  “We’re fucked there, too. You can’t talk to him, he’s got that stupid fucking one-way phone thing going. You think Gurr can reach out to him? That he maybe set up some kind of a fall back?”

  “I doubt it. I really doubt it. I told you, there’s a tough side to the Presto. He’ll just shut off his mind, work the variations, and assume everybody else’ll do their jobs. Hard to do, to cut himself off. I mean, we’re the only connection to his kid, but he stays away.”

  “Smart, but as it turns out: dumb. He could be killing his kid here. If she isn’t already being nibbled on by reptiles in the desert.” He sat back with crumbs on his chin, sipping at his coffee and watching with satisfaction as Markowitz squirmed. “We’re going to have to get creative, Marko. We’re going to have to find some other way to get the Presto to run it. It’s sitting there across the road, guarded by three complete goofs. One of those stupid fucks is going to tell his old lady, and she’ll tell her hooker pals what a big man her old man is, sitting on the millions. Next thing you know, you’re hailing a cab and the driver says, ‘Hey, Marko, you move those millions out of Gherz’s warehouse yet?’”

  “The kid. That’s all he cares about. Zoe. We don’t have Zoe, we don’t got dick.” He scrubbed at his face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. What’d that fucker Mig do?”

  “That’s a worry for another day. Right now, all we got is Julia. We’re gonna have to put her on the cross, Marko. You see that, right? I mean, really put her on the cross. At some point we’re going to have to hand the Presto the dough for the run-over, and he’s going to want his kid. We tell him something got fucked up. Security at the border. She’s stranded in Texas, terrorist stuff. Something. But, we say, there’s a consolation prize. We drag Julia out for him to see. I can’t see him walking away, her being in the distress she’s gonna be in.”

  “No, Jerry. No.”

  “You want to see a chainsaw come up between your legs and start shredding your manly machinery, Marko? Maybe you got no plans for yours, but I got a sweetie waiting in the wings. If it’s Julia or me, well, fuck, ask me a really tough one, like what time is it.”

  “It was perfect, the thing with The Mig.”

  Jerry Kelly interrupted him. “Marko. Fuck The Mig. We’ll deal with The Mig. But not today, okay? Focus, pal. Today we make this fucking thing work, because if we don’t, well, when the dwarf fuck’s done with the chainsaw the only good news is you won’t have to buy the pants the next time you get a suit from Bumstead’s.”

  “I don’t want you going hard on Julia, Jerry. I mean it. Make it look, maybe, like it’s heavy, but I don’t want heavy.”

  “Leave it to me, Marko. I can be a subtle guy. That’s not well-known. I’ll go easy on her. I kind of like her, you know? You see her yesterday when she came by to swing with the fives? An all-new girl there, that Spicetown shit behind her, looking forward. Chin up. I admire that. Really, Marko. Come back from that kind of shit? She’s iron.” He shook his head in admiration. “Hope you guys are happy, Marko, I really do, once the Presto’s feeding the frogs in the weeds.”

  Markowitz didn’t want to update Jerry Kelly on his new love interest, that he was letting Julia go. “Speaking of Bobby. What I said about taking him out. Don’t. Fuck it, let them ride off into the sunse
t, after. I don’t get Zo’ back in one piece … Ah, fuck.” He had tears in his eyes. “That fucking Mig.” He rubbed the balls of his thumbs into his eye sockets. “That fucking fucking beaner cocksucker. But yeah, Bobby and Julia, they walk, after.”

  “You sure? I still get his end, right? I’m not in this for fun, Marko. I’m looking at a lot of dough, here. You put my nuts on the line with your bullshit story to Pavo’s cousin. All I’ve been through, I fucking deserve it.”

  “Okay, take your end out. But don’t do him, Jerry. I’ll take care of his end. Somehow, I’ll square him over Zo’.”

  “If you’re sure, then okay.” He leaned forward and folded his hands on the table, his pontificating pose. “Funny, Marko, how we’ve all changed through this whole thing, don’t you think? Myself, I’ve undergone something, I don’t know, profound? This sweetie of mine; I’m looking forward to it like nothing before. And you, you’ve got a gleam in your eyes, I can see that. A new life ahead of you. No midget Colombian, no cops after your ass. You’ve obviously come to terms with your love problems, there, the emotional stuff with Julia. And her, a whole new woman.” He sat back and shook his head as though dazed, nodding to himself.

  Markowitz wanted to tell Jerry Kelly about Djuna Brown. Not the cop stuff or that she was black. Just that he, Jerry, was right, something had changed. He wanted to say something in agreement with Jerry Kelly’s deep observation.

  But Jerry Kelly spoke first. “Okie dokie. Back to business. How we going to do the goofs over there? I can get two of them, no problem. But the third guy’s going to figure something’s up, we start piping holes in his two buddies. A light bulb, Marko, might go on underneath his stupid fucking ponytail.”

  “What? Those guys? Your guys? They’re good guys. Fuck it. Pay ’em off. No need to get messy, this close to the end.”

  “Marko, they’re going. They’re just day labour, freelance henchmen, cut-throats. And I saw them up late last night, they thought I was asleep. They were checking out the dough, whispering off in the corner there. Those are bad guys, wild cards. I know guys like this. Fuck, I used to be one myself, before I got myself straightened out.” He looked across the street at the warehouse. “Probably they’re in there now, putting the finishing touches together. We could walk into a crossfire, get our heads shot off, and then where would we be? Fucked, that’s where. We may be old and tired guys, Marko, but we’re not weak and stupid, right?” He looked back at Marko. “We’ve got three vehicles, and there’s three of us. You, me, and Julia. Soon as she calls and it’s time to move, we have to be ready, take ’em out before she arrives.”