by Sweet, Dell
"And the paper boy's not here. And I don't know how to read that. The drug unit says Richard Dean has a BMW, but it isn't here and there isn't one registered to him in his name or his Ex's name: Girlfriend's name; I even checked the oldest daughter. Nada. They think they have a surveillance tape that might have the plate number. But they're not too hopeful. If it was there they would've already gotten it and had it in their files. So I had jenny put out a description of it from their files. Best I could do, but we have no idea who might be driving it and no proof that it was used in the crime. So it's not statewide. Probably won't be either," Don said.
"Anything on the head, the hands and the... appendage in the bag?" Sammy asked.
Don nodded. "Carlos Sanchez. Fingerprints from the one good hand still in the bag: Long record and surprise, surprise, he was Jefferson Prescott's right hand man: Not a clue why most of him is gone or what the, uh... appendage was doing in there."
"So we don't know where anybody is. We know that Billy had something going on with Rich. He called. I doubt he'll call back. The cops have searched all three of Neo's places. Sanchez' too: Nothing and nothing; no bodies.” He flipped a page in his notebook.
“The two women, the DB in the garage and the girl out there at the state park: They were both low key so there wasn't likely to be anything there and there wasn't. And, anyway, nothing was found anywhere," Don said. He sighed, closed the cover of his notebook, rubbed at his temples, and then slipped the notebook back into his shirt pocket. "I gotta have a smoke, Sammy." He walked through the short hallway and out of the house. There were neighbors out on their lawns watching the show. Don walked around back and Sammy followed him. He stopped out of sight and lit up.
"This is a fuckin' mess, Sammy. And we don't even know where those kids are. Not even a rumor that's solid, although the route looks-if it was really them that bought the suburban in Ohio-the route looks to be south, but that's really a wild guess." He sucked in the smoke, felt the familiar ache in his lungs and ignored it.
"It's fucked up all right," Sammy agreed. "While you were on the phone I talked to Jenny. That Alice girl from the Shop and Stock was raped. I asked Dennis, he said it looks like all three of the women here were also raped. No anything from Alice's body. He had to have used a condom. No ID in the car, but two good sets of prints. So far nothing on them though. And we don't know if the car had anything to do with this, but we think it did with the girl. They're doing tire impressions out at the campground... Looks like a match though," Sammy said.
"I thought Jenny was off until tomorrow?" Don said.
"We're drawing attention. This is a major crime wave for here. The mayor's taking a lot a shit. Everybody's in and working for us. I mean the overtime overfloweth. That's what I was told anyway. Same goes for us, just turn the hours in," Sammy said.
"It's about time. They should've done it two days ago," Don said.
Sammy nodded. "Better late than never," he said.
Don sighed deeply and nodded. “Last thing.”
“Eh?” Sammy asked.
“A rumor, something the crime boys picked up, a rumor that there are more than just the drugs and the cash at stake: Something else that was sent along with it.” He shrugged.
“Nothing concrete about what it was?” Sammy asked.
“Nothing... Just an intercept on a phone tap on some low key bookmaker in Rochester: Something about the high grade pot that was sent along.”
Sammy nodded. “Something new maybe? I mean, we've seen it before... The body parts? This Carlos? Maybe there was a deeper reason for Prescott's number one man to wind up in pieces in a bag.” he shrugged helplessly.
Don nodded but said nothing.
Mobile
Jimmy West
Sunday night:
Jimmy sat alone in the guitar shop. He wasn't all that good at planning things on the cuff. But he had just hung up from talking to the kid and setting up the meet for tomorrow morning. Right here at Ronnie Lee's guitar shop.
He had heard back from Tommy. The cops were now looking for the suburban too. He'd told the kid to ditch it. That's just the way it went, Jimmy told himself. Sometimes you drew the dumb half-ass cop who went through the motions, other times you drew the worker. They had drawn the worker. Hopefully the kid would heed his warning about the truck. He'd told the kid he had a friend who had a friend, like that. And he had described the truck and told him the license number.
He could see that souring the whole deal, but if the cops picked them up that would also sour the whole deal. In fact, that would be the end of everything. So it was worth the risk to tip off the kid. No money, no drugs, no top secret military weapon that might or might not allow you to live forever.
If the kid was caught the cops would know the whole thing then. And Jimmy's ass would be out in the wind. He had no doubt that Tommy would have him killed: None at all, but he had absolutely no intention of turning any of it over to Tommy: Once he got it he was gone. Long gone. Tommy would never find him. Jefferson either. He might keep the girl alive for a while. She was supposed to be a looker. He'd take the kid out fast. He owed him that. He was a dumb fuck, but a ballsy dumb fuck. He had to hand it to him, for making the play. So he'd do him quick. A little honor returned, he thought.
He stared out the big front window at the nearly empty parking lot. Tonight sometime, he was nearly sure. They would come here. They would cruise by to take a look. He would if it was him. And Jimmy would be ready when they did.
Mississippi
Billy Jingo
"He could be lying," Billy said.
"Maybe so, but if nothing else, he knows what we're driving and even the license number. That alone is a reason to lose the Suburban," April said.
"I thought we did so well," Billy said.
"We did. Apparently the cops wanted Ben Neo, or us. It's just the way it went," April said.
They were in Mississippi. They had stopped and called after they had traveled all the way across three states and part of another with an APB out on the truck and hadn't even known it. They had seen cop cars several times, but not a single one had bothered them. If Ronnie Lee was telling the truth, they had been extremely lucky.
"Okay," Billy said. "We can't use any ID's that we have. Me, you, Neo or even Sanchez, because there is no way you can make me look Spanish... How about," he pulled the other set of ID's out that he had taken from the wrecked Toyota. One of the black duffel bags, the one that didn't have a surprise in it, he reminded himself as he took the ID out of his wallet. "Dan Gaynor," Billy said. He held the driver's license photo up to his face.
"Maybe," April said. She turned her head one way, then the other. "We'll need some stuff though." She looked around the parking lot that they were in. She spotted a drug store and turned back to him. "I'll be right back," she said.
Billy kissed her and she jumped out and headed across the parking lot. He sat, the window rolled down, waiting, when another Suburban rolled in next to his: The same color, lifted, a few years older. The old guy driving it gave him the thumbs up and walked over after he parked. His wife stood nearby him. "Brand new?" he asked.
"Yeah," Billy said.
"I'm thinking of a new one soon. Trading in, but the price tag is rough," he said.
"Yeah," Billy agreed. "But with the rebates, incentives, it knocked a big chunk right off the top. Plus I paid cash so I got an even better deal." Billy lied.
"Jesus Christ, boy, I don't know anyone that carries that kind of money around," the old guy said.
"I don't carry that much around, but I work off shore. It's just me and my girlfriend. It's easy to save the money," Billy told him. He had watched a documentary not long ago about an offshore oil crew.
The old man nodded. "Make it while you're young, kid. Believe me the age catches up to you."
His wife had waited for him for a few minutes, but now started toward the store on her own.
"Well I guess I better get, before I find myself in deep shit with t
he old lady. Nice truck, kid." He grinned and turned away.
Billy watched him until he was inside the store, then he climbed out with a screwdriver and switched plates as quickly as he could. He wondered whether the old man would notice right away or not. The plates were different. He just hoped that April came back out before the old guy did.
He lit a cigarette, inhaled, and let the smoke roll slowly out of his mouth. He'd seen the license plate thing in a movie, but he'd never done it before. With all the cameras there were these days, he wouldn't be surprised if one had caught him in the act, but they never checked on those cameras unless some serious crime happened, so he should be okay.
The old man and his wife came back first. Billy was nervous, but it turned out to be for nothing. The old man waved, climbed up into his truck and drove away. April came out a few minutes later.
He told her about the old man and switching the plates as she worked on his face. Twenty minutes later she showed him what she had done, and he was surprised how closely his face matched the face on the license.
"People don't realize that it's usually only a few key things that people see when they look at someone: If you can duplicate a few of those things you're good." April said.
"Where did you learn to do this though?" Billy asked as he started the truck and pulled out of the lot.
"School: We had a whole segment on identity theft. Two cops came in and talked to us. They showed us how it's done. I mean they weren't showing us so that we could do it, but I understood it and it interested me. I paid attention. They even showed us a video where they made an older policewoman look like a teenager. I mean you wouldn't have known it was the same woman," April said. She looked at the street they were cruising down. A used car lot was coming up on the left. A line of cars graced the cracked street facing lot. "How about there?" she asked.
The place looked a little tacky. "Santiago’s Buy Here Pay Here," a sign proclaimed.
"That Camaro would do if it's an eight," Billy agreed. He was eyeing a Camaro parked in the spotlights in front of all the other cars.
They spent a half hour dickering for the Camaro. It was late, Sunday night, but they had cash, so the young guy stayed to close the deal past the normal closing time. For an extra fifty bucks, he sold them an inspection sticker. "I don't suppose that you got a set of plates hanging around back there too, do you?" Billy had asked half joking.
"A hundred bucks," the young guy had said. "Clean. No problem... Need a fake insurance card?" he asked.
In the end, Billy slipped the kid an extra 500 bucks to make the car look legal: Plates, paperwork, insurance and title.
"You do this every day?" Billy asked.
"Fuck, man. I don't get paid shit. You gotta have a hustle, you know? This is mine. I can get it painted for you too... Cheap: Real cheap; but nice, fast too."
"No, I... What about my Suburban?" Billy asked.
"Yeah... I could get that done," the kid said.
Billy stopped and turned around. "See the bank man... The repo-guy," Billy shrugged. "A different color... Maybe bigger tires... A lift... Plates of course... Make it seem to be a different truck, you know?" Billy asked.
"You fuckin' serious, man?" the young guy asked. "Ese, I can get it done, but not now, today. It'll take a couple of days... Cost... Maybe two grand... Maybe a little less, a little more... If you're serious." He looked at Billy and tried to judge whether he was having him on or not.
"I'm serious. Let me get it unloaded right now, man, and I'll leave it with you." He turned away and then turned back toward the kid. "I'll give you fifteen hundred up front, the rest... Tuesday?"
The kid was nodding. "Except, Tuesday night: Can't be when the boss is here, you see?"
"Yeah," Billy said. "I see: Tuesday night then. Give me a few minutes to empty it out."
Billy and April worked together and moved everything over into the Camaro's trunk. Billy took about a pound of the weed and gave it to the kid along with the $1500.
"What's this?" the kid asked, taking the plastic shopping bag that Billy offered.
"A present... Do right by me and my truck and there will be more," Billy promised.
The kid peeked into the bag. "Shit, Ese." He closed the bag up tight. "See you on Tuesday night, Dude... Hey, man... What color?"
"What?" Billy asked.
"You know, your truck, man. What color?" the guy smiled and laughed.
"What do you think?" Billy asked April. "Red...? Black?"
"Green... Maybe metallic," April said.
"The boss has spoken," the young guy said.
They all laughed.
"My uncle had this green Ford Pinto: Metallic; I liked that color. It was... Deep, really rich looking: Expensive with a lot of gold flake in it. I remember it because that Pinto was a cheap car and they had this paint job that looked like it should be on a Lincoln instead of the pinto," April said.
"Green metallic it is," the young guy said. "Hey, my friends call me Dougie." He extended his hand and they shook. "Okay then. See you all on Tuesday night... You're gonna like your truck."
They said their goodbyes and left.
“You thinking to really come back for that truck,” April asked.
“No... But the way things are it's there if we need it and we know it's safe too,” Billy said.
“If he doesn’t steal it,” April said as Billy signaled and headed back for the expressway.
Billy nodded. “I don't get that from him. Yeah, I know, the kid is obviously a little under the table, but so are we... No. I think if we need it, it really will be there Tuesday night: If we don't the guy has himself a free truck.”
The Camaro felt good to Billy. He opened it up a little on the expressway for a few miles then let April drive it.
"Powerful," April agreed. She looked at her watch; 10:20 PM, the night was flying by. "We going?" she asked.
"I don't think so... It's a store in a mall, late night it would be tough to cruise by without being obvious. I say let's get a motel room and call it a night," Billy said.
"Sounds good, baby," April agreed.
Mobile Alabama
Rebecca Monet
Rebecca Monet turned over on the bed and opened one eye. She hated the little fleabag motel she was staying in. She hated Mobile. She hated being a weather girl. In fact she hated being referred to as a girl. And life was not always fair, she knew that, but she was damned if she would just wait for it to get better. She would make it happen. Life the way she wanted it to be. No sitting on her ass marking time.
The sun was up. It was early, but the early bird gets the worm. She stumbled from the bed, undressing as she went and headed for the shower.
On The Road
Pennsylvania
Brian and Liv
"Liv... Liv... Come on, Liv, you got to do this on your own. There are people watching... They'll think it's funny if I carry you... Maybe call the cops," Brian said.
"Oh God, I'm sick... I'm really fuckin' sick... Leave me the fuck alone, I mean it," Liv said.
"Liv?" he bent and pulled her upright from the car. They were in Pennsylvania: Near the Catskills; the night was not just cool it was cold: The cold air brought her awake.
"Okay, Okay... Where are we...? Where are we...? Fuck... Lead the way... I'm okay... Not so goddamn fast... Slow... I hate to puke," Liv said.
Brian had toed the door to the cabin open after he had unlocked it, and then edged it partially shut with his foot as he left to get her. He would get her into the bed, lock the door and set the alarm, and then he'd get the stuff out of the car after he got her settled... Maybe a shower first too.
He had rented the cabin for three weeks. It was the best he could think of and he thought it was pretty smart. They would have privacy while she got better.
He asked himself a dozen times today why he was doing this, but he didn't have any solid answers. Maybe because he had no family left: Maybe because he was tired of living in Foster Care with people who didn'
t want him; maybe because he had watched his mother die from this same shit. Crack had done her in instead of heroin, but it was all the same shit. Maybe it was Liv too. Maybe it was a little of both. He had never known anyone who had walked away from their life like this: Never, it was like starting over. Like getting a second chance. He had decided that, that was the main reason.
They passed one couple on the way to their cabin. He smiled politely, helping Liv along.
"A little too much to drink," he heard the woman whisper to her husband after they had passed by.
He smiled. Good. Let them think that, by the next time that they saw Liv, she would be on her own two feet. He helped her into the cabin and laid her down on the bed. She instantly curled up into a ball holding her stomach. He got her into the bathroom just in time.
Once he got her cleaned up and into the bed, it was close to midnight. He made his way back out to the car, retrieved the stuff he had bought today: Leaving her sleeping in the car; panicking the whole time that she would be gone when he got back, but she had still been there. It had been okay. He grabbed the bag of money too, and carried everything back into the cabin.
It took a few minutes to get the loose cotton pajamas on her. The room had a huge bathtub, and after he had helped her into the bath and bathed her, when she couldn't stay awake to do it herself he was a lot less embarrassed. Besides, there was no one else to do it. He put antibiotic cream on her knee and bandaged it up. She drifted in and out while he did it, mostly to tell him to leave her the fuck alone, but he knew she didn't mean it. He got some vitamins in her and got her to take a couple of aspirin and drink some juice: She was out cold a few minutes later. He turned the TV on low, smoothed her hair away from her brow and found something to watch.
Mississippi
Monday morning
Billy Jingo
April sat on the edge of the bed drying her hair. Billy was still in the shower, but the water had quit running. He'd be out soon. She had the television on low, a Mobile station, early morning news program. She was mostly ignoring it. They were both still jittery about everything and hadn't made up their minds what they were going to do. Stay or go, run or follow through.