by Sweet, Dell
"I am rarely here," Prescott said. "But I do enjoy the view when I am. My wife and daughters seem to like it too. My eldest daughter, Lita, seems to enjoy it more than my wife Esmeralda or my youngest Mia." His eyes slid to Carlos who met them with his own. "But we're working on that, aren't we?" His comments seemed directed a Carlos. Carlos nodded. Not sure what he should say or do. "We are," Prescott said. He sipped at his drink. "Are we all set for tomorrow?" he asked Carlos?
"We are," Carlos said. "We'll drive back to Rochester later tonight."
"You own a home there?" He turned to Neo.
"Yes. Everything is there; we'll take it from there to the meet in Watertown. Carlos will go with that, I'll pick up the cash and then meet your guys there," Neo said.
Prescott nodded. "It seems like Tommy and I should just dispense with all the drama and just deliver the stuff directly to each other," he said. He laughed, "But that would put both of you out of a job. And there are so many things I can't handle as well or don't have the time or inclination to handle as well as you two."
He was interrupted by Carlos' cell phone ringing. Carlos' dark face flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he said, obviously not about to answer it. He fumbled it out of his pocket ready to shut it off.
"No, no," Prescott said. "We were done. Take your call. It is all right, Carlos. Take it out here on the balcony. Benjamin and I will give you a little privacy... Won't we, Ben?" he asked.
Ben nodded and they both stepped through into the living room and pulled the sliding glass door shut.
"Hello," Carlos said, obviously upset. He listened. "I cannot believe you called me here," he said. His voice was high and panicked. "Are you crazy? Did you know he was here with me? Right here with me? He is in the living room separated by a few panes of glass. You are crazy. Crazy," he took a couple of deep breaths while she spoke. "No... That is even crazier! While he is right here? Meet you with him in the house? Are you trying to get me killed...? No? It seems as though you are... It does... No... How...? How will he not know?" He listened for a few minutes glancing nervously through the glass, but Neo and Prescott stood with their backs to him over by the bar.
"Lita," he said at last, "I will meet you... Nothing else... I have to leave later on..."
She continued to talk.
~
Ben stood silently drinking his drink. The two voices came clearly through the small scanner behind the bar. They listened to the conversation between Lita and Carlos.
"Did you know, Ben that they were simply radio signals and they can be picked up easily?" Prescott asked.
"Yes... I did... Although I did not realize it could be done this easily," Neo said.
"Cheap frequency scanner. I only need to know the frequency." He sighed. "I'm sorry you are a witness to this embarrassment. I treated him like a son... She is my daughter. He has obviously corrupted her... Take him down through the basement, leave that way... Bring me back what I requested, Ben. I would almost do it myself right now, but I will not bring murder into my home... Call me?" he asked.
Neo nodded. It was obvious that the conversation was over. Prescott reached behind the bar and flicked off the scanner. He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in a number.
"Yes... Bring Mr. Neo's car to the basement elevator... Thank you." He hung up just as Carlos came back in through the sliding glass doors, rubbing his arms.
"A little cool, eh?" Prescott asked.
"A little," Carlos answered. "About the phone call," he started.
Prescott held up his hand. "Not necessary. Besides, we have had a change in plans. Ben here, along with you will drive back now. A little earlier than we planned, but apparently Mr. Neo needs to take care of something for Tommy this evening... So... You see?" He shook Neo's hand. "Your car is waiting at the basement entrance." He looked to Carlos, but his face was a mask: Unreadable. Carlos said goodbye and followed Neo to the elevator.
On the road:
The idiot lights came on: Ben's Ford bucked twice and then died. Carlos looked over from where he had been watching the lights of Manhattan slip away. They were in an abandoned industrial area on their way across the city.
"Not good," Carlos said. "Especially here."
"Hopefully it's not a big deal," Neo said. "And who would be stupid enough to mess with us?" he asked. He laughed and Carlos joined in. "I think it's a loose wire. It happened once before," Neo said. He coasted the car to a stop and shifted into park. He reached down, pulled the release handle and the hood popped up.
"With all the money you make? You should buy a better car," Carlos said.
Neo nodded... "Too cheap, I guess. Will you pop that glove box and see if there's a flashlight in there? Should be."
Carlos searched briefly and pulled out the flashlight, held it to his chin and turned it on. He laughed. "Makes me look like a dead guy," Carlos said and laughed again.
Neo nodded. "Come and hold it for me and we'll get this baby fixed and be on our way."
They both climbed out and walked to the front of the car. Neo popped the second hood latch and pulled the prop rod into the air. "Back here," Neo said. He pointed to a block of wires and one loose red wire that had pulled free. "I knew it," he said. "Hang on, let me get the tape. Fix it a little better this time," Neo said. He ducked back into the car and Carlos stood holding the flashlight and thinking to himself; wishing he could have met Lita, but glad that he had not; if Prescott ever found out he would be a dead man. He felt the car shift as Neo got back out and came around to stand beside him.
"Hey?" Neo said in a soft voice.
Carlos looked over at him.
"It's not personal. I would have done her too," Neo said. His hand came up fast and he shot Carlos twice between the eyes before he could say anything. Carlos dropped straight down: Folding up as he went. Neo shot his hand out and snatched the flash light out of the air before it hit the ground. He bent down and checked the pulse at the side of Carlos' neck to make sure, but Carlos was gone. The silenced 22 was perfect. Not enough velocity to exit the back of his head, just enough to kill him dead. He walked around to the back of the car.
He unlocked the trunk and pulled out a plastic rain suit and slipped it on. The trunk was lined in plastic. All taped up the sides and ready. He walked back around to the front of the car, ran a piece of duct tape over the hole in Carlos' head and pressed it tight so there would be little spillage. He picked him up in his arms and carried him to the trunk. The plastic was there just in case. You never knew. He slammed the trunk, walked back around to the front of the car and slammed the hood shut. He got back in and flipped the small kill switch under the dash that cut out the ignition hot wire. You could buy them in any automotive supply store; wire them in to stop someone from stealing your car even if they hotwired it. He pulled back out onto the road and drove on into the blackness.
Manhattan
Jefferson Prescott's Penthouse
Lita watched the balcony. There were two ways to reach it: From her bedroom or her sister Mia's bedroom. Since Mia was rarely in her room it was the easiest way for Carlos to get to the balcony without being seen. Lita's bedroom door was on the edge of the U shaped hallway, her parents on the opposite end with their own balcony. It was divided from the girl's by the building's structure which protruded there, and Mia's bedroom was in the center where no one passing by would see him enter.
Her lights were off. The bedroom dark, but there was enough light to see dimly from the outside. She was bare beneath the thin sheets that covered her. She had no intention of letting him get away too soon: Once his hands told him what his eyes could not see he wouldn't think of leaving.
She saw the shadow move out on the balcony. It separated from the other shadows and came slowly to the door. The door whispered on its track. A breath of cold air swept into the room. Her nipples became erect and poked at the thin sheet.
He came to the bed and looked down at her from the thick shadows. She sat up slowly; letting the sheets s
lide away from her body.
He caught his breath. She laughed carelessly and her hands moved to his waist, her fingers working his zipper. His hand came up behind her head, a little roughly, but it was okay. Rough could be good as long as it wasn't too rough.
She realized something was wrong and she started to pull away. The feel, his cologne, something, all of it. It just felt wrong. This was not Carlos. The hand tried to bring her back, but she fought and started to crawl across the bed.
She had no idea who was with her; she only knew it was not Carlos. Even so something about him was familiar. The feel of his hands... Something... She tried to crawl across the bed and away for him, but he grabbed her roughly and pulled her back.
"I'll scream... I'll scream... I swear I will," she gasped. Fear causing her shortness of breath. “My father will kill you... Kill you...” Her voice was high and frightened.
"Scream, whore. No one will hear you. I sent them all away for the night!"
She stopped... Father, she thought? Sudden pain flared inside of her head as one of his hands flashed out and rocked her head back on her neck. Stars bloomed across her vision, she nearly blacked out.
"Filthy, Slut," he screamed as he hit her again. She collapsed on the bed, barely conscience. A phone began to ring somewhere as she slipped into unconsciousness.
~
Prescott answered the phone. He listened. "Thank you... Thank you, so much," he said. He closed the phone and dropped it into his trouser pocket. He looked down at Lita curled up on her side. Blood running from her nose. He reached down and removed his shoes one at a time, lowered his body to the bed and stretched out beside her.
TWO
12:01 A.M.
Thursday morning
The Deal Begins
Danny and Daryl
Daryl Jones had walked by the Toyota three times: If he walked by again he would probably attract the wrong kind of attention. Even though he was a black man in a black neighborhood, it just wouldn't sit right with someone. They might guess he was up to something, but it didn't matter, he didn't have to go by again he had seen what there was to see.
It was a big Toyota, not one of the little ones: Looked to be in good shape too; locked up tight, sitting at the curb right in front of Jessie Brown's pool hall: Which didn't really mean shit. It could be a player, it could be someone just having a quick drink in the underground bar in the basement, but it could also be one of the big boys in the poker games that went on all day and all night in the back room. That could be a problem, those guys, any one of them, would probably come out with their guns in their hands, shoot first and never even bother to ask questions.
He turned the corner and walked up next to Danny Gaynor where he sat on the steps of an abandoned building. Danny was probably the craziest white boy he knew. He was also the best car thief he knew, period.
"It'll work," he said to Gaynor. "Long as you're fast enough. They see me over there again I'll be fucked." He looked at his watch. "Got to get a move on too."
Gaynor nodded. "You know I'm fast. Tell me everything you saw," he said.
"Saw? I saw shit! There ain't shit to see," Daryl said. "Fuckin' Toyota: One of the big ones; you know I can't read so I can't tell you what the fuck it says… A big Toyota: I could tell from the symbol; it's blue. It's not tricked out, ain’t any bangers' car: Don't look like no old man's car neither... Doors is locked... Let me see... Got nice seats, looked comfortable. I can't think of nothing else I saw except these guys in the pool hall looking at me 'cause they might think I'm scoping it out, you see?" he asked.
"Yeah... Yeah, okay, man. I'll be right back." He got up and walked around the corner.
Daryl watched from the corner. Danny was good. So good that sometimes you didn't even realize what he had just done.
Danny walked up to the Toyota, the slim-Jim came up and sank into the window channel in one practiced move, so that it looked like he was simply bending to put the key into the lock. Even to Daryl it looked like Danny had simply slid a key into the Toyota's door lock. It was what your mind suggested because it didn't really see what happened: It was too fast. As he came out of the bend and straightened up, the slim Jim popped out and went back down the front of his pants and his other hand opened the door.
His head never dropped out of sight once he was inside the car. It just looked like a man settling his briefcase on the passenger seat, maybe, or a case-file, just getting ready to start the car and head off to work. He didn't hear it start, but he saw some dust lift from the curb of the roadway and the Toyota moved away and headed down the street.
Nothing: No one came out screaming and yelling: Whoever owned the car would find out later. He turned, jogged down to the next corner and climbed into the passenger side of the car when it stopped.
The ignition cylinder had a screwdriver sticking out of it. One of those cheap plastic, yellow handled ones. Danny said he liked them because they were easy to use without destroying the ignition. If you intended to peddle the car you simply went to the parts house, bought a new cylinder and door locks. All new keys, everything worked and there was no visible damage at all.
Danny held up a set of keys. "Under the fuckin' floor mat; should've looked. I know better," he said.
They crossed over into Brownsville and pulled into what appeared to be a vacant warehouse. Two guys that were roughly the size of gorillas loaded the trunk up. "Don't fuck with it," one said. "Give it to them, take what they give you, and bring it back." They both nodded and left the warehouse. They stopped long enough to switch plates and then they were rolling again.
Carlos had given them money to buy a used car to make the deal. Three thousand dollars, but they had spent that money on crack. It went so goddamn fast, Daryl thought. One minute you were a king, the next a piece of shit sucking some dudes' dick for more crack while the other guys laughed at you. He'd seen it: Never done it; it didn't have him by the balls yet, but it was creeping up.
It was worse for chicks. For chicks it was, "Sure I'll give you a rock, just blow my dog." Not, My Dog-My Boy, a real dog: That kind of shit. Crack was bad shit: Still bad shit, even with crystal. It had been for so long. Fuck, they were both bad, he supposed, but they were so goddamned good. It made you feel so goddamned good.
So the money got cracked up, that was all there was to it and Danny's solution had been to liberate the Toyota. There had never been any doubt that he could do it: None at all. If they could just keep their shit together for the next 24 hours or so they'd be fine. Back in the money: Sell the Toyota if they needed more.
"I don't know how to get there," Danny said.
"Well, first get us the fuck out of Brownsville before we get dead," Daryl said. "Let's go slow. It's a small town up north, almost in Canada. They got them country-ass farm girls up there. Cows everywhere, probably. Let's get out of New York and then we'll worry about getting up there," he said. “I got a fuckin' map. Take us out through Jersey. We got 'bout seven hours to get there... Plenty of time, I think.”
Danny nodded. He turned the radio on and headed out of Brownsville.
Rochester New York
Ben Neo
Ben had managed about four hours of sleep. Considering everything he had gotten done that was pretty good. No better or worse than his usual amount.
He wandered through the house to the kitchen. There was a huge walk in freezer in the basement, which, for some reason it would probably cost a lot of money to determine, had refused to kick on last night. So he'd had to take the racks out of his refrigerator and stuffed what was left of Carlos in there.
He opened the door to the refrigerator now and picked up the black duffel bag that sat in Carlos' headless lap and closed the door once more. The parts in the duffel bag had to go back to Prescott. What he intended to do with them Ben did not care to know; especially the other items: Head, two hands, one penis. Ben understood the symbolism of it, but the fact of it had been a little tougher to deal with, especially since he'd been the one
to have to deal with it, but as requested, it was in there. Jefferson Prescott could make a statue of it if that's what he wanted to do.
He carried the duffel bag to the back door and placed it next to the big brown suitcase. Just over fourteen and a half million dollars in untraceable hundred dollar bills. Jimmy had met him in a bar over on ridge road late last night and delivered it to him in the parking lot. It wasn't enough to tempt him, although if he didn't have what he had in his own accounts it might have been. The weight of it was enough to make any man consider, but there was always the reality of Tommy Murphy and crazy Jimmy West to consider too.
He left the duffel bag next to the suitcase, went to the kitchen table, it was a retro 1950s style table on a pedestal: He moved the pedestal, took out his pocket knife and carefully levered out the one foot by one foot square floor tile that sat directly under the pedestal to reveal a floor safe. He bent, worked the combination and opened it. He pulled a paper bag and three 9 MM handguns from the deep well, leaving it empty for the first time he could remember. The paper bag held traveling money. Emergency stuff: Enough to buy whatever he might need. The three handguns were cheap, flat-black Chinese weapons. Good in a fix, but not much more. None had serial numbers, and all had friction tape wrapped around their handles to impede finger prints in case he had no time for gloves and had to leave one behind. He was wearing an over-sized leather jacket. The cash went into one pocket the three handguns in the other. He had already pulled his car around back, so it would be no problem to load it. He opened the back door, made his way down the steps, set the duffel bag and suitcase down and unlocked the trunk. Clean, except a black suitcase that sat to one side. That was Carlos' suitcase he had set in the back seat yesterday. He debated on taking it out and decided to leave it; he'd take care of it later if he needed to.
He set the duffel bag and the big brown suitcase into the trunk and then shut it. He got in the car and opened the glove box, slipped the paper bag and one of the guns inside, stuck another gun under the driver seat when he went around, and kept the last one in his pocket. His silenced 22 was in an inside pocket of the same jacket. He went back; locked the kitchen door after one last look around. A few minutes later he pulled out of his driveway and headed down Lake Avenue. It was not yet dawn and the traffic was light and sporadic. The city not yet awakened. He decided on the long route and ended up driving East Avenue out of downtown before he crossed to ridge road and headed towards Watertown.