‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so. I say so repeatedly. Gimme back my fucking lighter. Thank you. You know anything about computers?’
‘Not really.’
‘Rod owns a computer, likes to play those crazy, violent games. Death Chase, crap like that. You and me, we’re going to pretend we’re computer repairmen, so we can gain access to his house. That’s why you get to wear the nifty gold suit, Lewis. So you look like a bona fide computer technician. Once we’re inside, we’ll convince McGuire to leave April alone, just forget about her, write off the money she owes him as a bad debt.’
Wayne smiled.
‘How’s that sound to you?’
‘I’m not sure…’ Lewis was confused. He said, ‘Is there something wrong with the guy’s computer?’
‘How should I know?’ Wayne was exasperated. ‘The point is, we’ll tell him there’s something wrong with the damn thing. Or tell him the warranty expired, or some such bullshit. How the hell would he know otherwise? All he uses the damn thing for is to play a bunch of stupid, childish games.’
Lewis still didn’t get it. He was fairly sure his brain was only functioning at about 30 per cent, but even so, Wayne’s scheme seemed particularly harebrained. You couldn’t just knock on somebody’s door and tell them their computer was broken and you’d come to fix it - especially in the middle of the night. A person would have to be a certified moron, to believe something that unlikely.
Wayne, too, was thinking it might be a good idea to work up a plan ‘B’. The computer-repair pitch didn’t sound quite so rock-solid, now that he’d said it out loud. Maybe April could come up with something. That girl’s brain was as twisted as five miles of chicken wire. He said, ‘Don’t fret the details, Lewis. All you got to remember is that we’re going to do whatever it takes to convince Rod McGuire to leave April alone.’
‘Okay,’ said Lewis.
What choice did he have? None. Wayne outweighed him by about one hundred and fifty pounds, out-meaned him by a factor of about a thousand to one.
Wayne said, ‘Back in a minute.’
Lewis spent the time wondering where April was. How could he have any idea? Maybe she was with the dalmatians. Or, maybe she was somewhere else.
Wayne was back, with a cardboard box. He dipped into the box, and, no surprise, came up with the shiny gold jumpsuit.
‘Put it on.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘Hell, no! You go right ahead and tuck yourself back under the covers and snooze away. Sweet dreams, if that’s what turns your crank. Just don’t come whining, all runny-nosed and ugly, to me or April, next time you crave some dope.’
Wayne checked his watch.
‘Which should be in about two hours’ time, Lewis. So tell me, can you think that far ahead, or is it too big a challenge?’
The grizzlies, three of them, two adults and a cub, cavorted in the shallows of the wilderness river.
The eagle played with the winds.
The Jeep hurtled over a rise, skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust that slowly drifted away…
Wayne was staring at him, a brittle look in his eyes. Not saying a word. Waiting impatiently, breathing fast and hard.
Lewis mulled over his critically short list of options. He reached for the Mylar suit. As he wriggled into it, the shiny gold material rustled softly, like a roomful of conspiracies.
Behind him, TV Wayne was blasting away, having a wonderful time.
Chapter 28
The unmarked Ford was parked, grill out, in the driveway of a cooperative citizen who lived a little under a block from Jake’s mini-mansion. Willows was in the backseat, sleeping. Parker was slouched low behind the wheel. Her window was open a crack, to stop the car from steaming up. She had a clear view of the mouth of Jake’s driveway, and the brightly lit windows on the home’s second floor. Because they had no other solid leads, she and Willows had decided to stake out the house and hope for the worst. The continuing assault on Jake’s network of dealers had to be hurting him badly. Jake had never been the kind of guy who was content to sit around licking his wounds, and hoping for better days.
Sooner or later, Jake was going to figure out who was trying to run him out of town. When that happened, the old man would strike hard, with everything he had.
Inside the house, Marty lay on the sofa, reading the paper. From time to time he routinely glanced over at Jake, checking to make sure his supply of oxygen was getting to him, that the old man was okay.
Jake sat there in his big, wheeled chair, stolid as a rock, watching the late-night news. He wore baggy black silk pyjamas with a white silk monogram, and white silk piping. A foot of unlit Cuban cigar hung from his mouth. He’d watched the national news, and then the local, and now he was watching the sports reports. He seemed equally fascinated by whatever happened to appear on the screen, including the commercials, many of which promoted products the old man couldn’t possibly find any use for, or be interested in. But through it all, the entire hour, he never moved a muscle. Not that he had a whole lot of muscle to move, unless you counted the muscle standing at limp attention to either side of him.
When the news ended he glanced left and right to make sure the twins were paying attention, then lifted his mottled hand, a wrinkled finger.
‘Dave.’
‘Right here, Jake.’
‘Tell ya brudder, Danny, ta change da channel.’
‘Sure thing, Jake. Got a particular channel in mind?’
‘Leno.’
‘Right, Jake.’ Dave cleared his throat. ‘Hey, Danny.’
‘Right here, Dave.’
‘Change the channel, Jake wants Leno.’
‘Got it.’
The twins were given control of the TV’s remote-control device on alternating evenings. Sometimes Jake deliberately screwed up the rotation just to watch them wriggle and squirm. A year ago, he wouldn’t have been interested in such minutiae. Marty worried constantly about Jake’s dwindling horizons.
When Leno finally ended, Jake yawned and stretched, and told Marty he wanted a word with Harvey.
Marty folded his paper and put on his shoes. The twins watched him tie the laces as if they had never seen him tie his laces before, or perhaps assumed he would vary his technique in a way that would prove educational.
Harvey’s compact self-contained apartment was over the garage. Marty thumped heavily up the stairs, bringing his heels down hard. Harvey must have heard him, because he opened the door just as Marty reached the landing.
‘Marty!’
Harvey seemed surprised. Had he been expecting someone else? Marty tried to work up a list of heavy-footed people he knew, other than Danny and Dave. Harvey had faded back into the apartment, leaving the door open behind him. Marty wandered inside.
Romantic stringed music played softly. The table in the kitchen-dining area was set for three. A bottle of domestic ‘champagne’ stood fairly upright in a bucket of ice. A bouquet of flowers huddled in a blue glass vase. Harveys stainless-steel cutlery glittered in the light provided by a trio of sturdy pink candles.
Marty said, ‘Expecting company?’
Harvey killed the stereo, snuffed the candles, cleared away the dishes and silverware, and shoved the ice bucket in a cupboard drawer. ‘Not really.’
‘My mistake,’ said Marty tactfully. If Harvey had a secret social life, that was just fine with him.
Harvey wore a sleeveless T-shirt, black alpine climbing shorts, a pair of beach sandals, and a queer little green felt hat with a jaunty red feather sticking out of the band. He said, ‘I hope so. Jake’d kill me in a minute, if he knew.’
‘You got that right,’ said Marty.
‘Should I quit?’
‘Quit what?’
Harvey frowned, just then realizing how ambiguous his question might appear to someone who didn’t know what he was referring to.
Marty smiled. ‘Quit Jake? Seek employment elsewhere? It ain’t gonna happen, Harvey. Jake�
�s terms of employment were explained to you when you signed on. Didn’t you read the contract? Short-term or long, working for Jake is a lifetime commitment.’ He said, ‘The reason I dropped by, Jake wants to see you.’
‘Now?’
‘No, a couple minutes ago.’
Harvey reluctantly started towards the door. He veered away towards his bedroom. ‘Gimme a minute to change, okay?’
‘Good idea.’
Harvey was back in a minute, dressed for a funeral. ‘Jake say what he wanted?’
Marty smiled. ‘Be brave, okay?’
Harvey nodded uncertainly. He was still adjusting the lapels of his charcoal double-breasted suit as they entered the main house. Starting up the stairs to the living room, he turned and anxiously said, ‘How do I look, Marty?’
‘Slow.’
Jake thought so, too. He put aside his spreadsheet and made a show of dubiously scrutinizing his watch, giving it a shake. ‘Where ya bin?’
Marty said, ‘He was eating, Jake. Wanted to get dressed, make himself presentable. Brush his teeth… ‘
‘Yeah? What kinda toot’paste ya use?’
‘Crest,’ said Harvey.
‘Da paste, or dat new kind dey got, da gel or whateva?’ ‘Paste,’ said Harvey, sweating. He’d almost said da paste. ‘Wha’ flavour?’
‘Mint.’
Jake nodded judiciously. He said, ‘I gotta job fo’ ya.’
Harvey listened with ear-shattering intensity as Jake told him exactly what he wanted.
When he was reasonably confident that Harvey understood what was expected of him, Jake turned to Marty. ‘Da new vehicle arrive?’
‘Yeah.’
‘All da papawoik, da plates an’ insure, alia dat crap got taken care of, dealt wit’?’
Marty nodded.
‘Give him da keys.’
*
Parker saw headlights sweep across the road, and then the gate swung open. A few moments later a small white car crawled out of the driveway. The car came to a complete stop. The turn signal flashed. The better part of a minute later, the car turned on to the street. Parker reached behind her and gave Willows a shake.
‘Jack, wake up!’
Parker hit the switch that killed the Ford’s running lights, and started the engine. Willows climbed into the front seat.
‘Buckle up.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Late,’ said Parker. She ducked down behind the wheel as the car drove slowly past. She gave it a half-block lead, and then started after it. At this time of night, traffic would still be fairly heavy. Tailing the car shouldn’t be too difficult, once they were on the main roads.
Willows scrubbed his face with his hands. He popped open the glove compartment and got out the binoculars.
The white car signalled a left turn half a block in advance of the intersection. Parker checked the speedometer. They were cruising along at a steady forty kilometres an hour.
Willows lowered the binoculars. He punched the car’s licence-plate number into the Ford’s onboard computer.
Harvey signalled a right turn. They were on Fourth Avenue, following the same route that Willows and Parker had taken to 312 Main after they’d spoken to Jake. Willows suffered a weird case of the deja vus while he waited for the computer to get back to him.
Finally the data popped onto the screen.
Parker said, ‘What’ve we got?’
‘A’ninety-eight Neon. Harvey’s the registered lessee.’
‘The guy washing the cars?’
‘Harvey Corville,’ said Willows. ‘But I bet he prefers to be called ‘Harv.’
Harvey signalled a right at Fourth and Alma. The light was green, but he stopped anyway. Parker had to admire his consistency. He managed to chirp the Neon’s tires as he started off. Parker wondered if he’d decided to put the Neon through its paces. No such luck. Harvey was seemingly content with life in the slow lane. She followed at a discreet distance as he cruised sedately up Alma to Broadway, where he waited for all visible traffic to disperse before making a slow left and then a quick right, into the parking lot of a mini-mall dominated by a 7-Eleven.
Was he going to rob the joint? Parker doubted it, but fervently hoped so. Harvey’s ridiculously conservative driving had set her teeth on edge, and she was eager to blow off the accumulated tension.
She parked the Ford in the lee of a dumpster. Willows adjusted the binoculars’ focus.
Inside the brightly lit store, Harvey spent close to twenty minutes squinting furtively at muscle magazines, before finally settling on a copy of European Male. He also bought a copy of Forbes magazine, as well as a bottle of Turns antacid pills, and a large Slurpee.
‘What flavour?’ said Parker.
‘Green.’
‘Lime,’ said Parker.
Parker was reluctant to spend more time crawling along behind Harvey, but Willows insisted he was too tired to drive.
Harvey burned more tread off the Neon’s tires as he exited the parking lot. It was immediately apparent that his driving had markedly deteriorated. At first, Parker thought he’d overdosed on sugar; but it wasn’t the Slurpee that was at fault. Harvey had turned on the Neon’s powerful dome light. His nose was buried in his brand-spanking-new copy of European Male.
Not that he drove any faster. During the return trip, the Neon rarely achieved a speed of thirty kilometres per hour. A lucky thing, too, given Harvey’s penchant for drifting into oncoming traffic. Fortunately his snail-like pace gave other drivers plenty of time to adjust to the possibility of a head-on collision, and practise the avoidance tactics they’d learned watching Jackie Chan movies.
‘Maybe he skimmed the manual and misinterpreted the phrase ‘breaking-in period,’’ said Parker after a particularly close near-miss.
Willows didn’t respond. She glanced across at him and saw that he’d fallen asleep.
Harvey made it back to Jake’s against all odds. The gates yawned open and then swung shut behind him. Harvey parked the Neon in front of the twelve-car garage, killed the engine, and sat in the darkened car for a good fifteen minutes, before he finally delivered Jake’s copy of Forbes, and his bottle of Turns.
‘What took ya so long?’ Jake’s jowls quivered as he spotted something, and his head darted forward like a snake’s. ‘How come da crotch a ya pants is all wet?’
Harvey’s chunky face turned a peculiar shade of crimson. He shuffled from foot to foot.
Jake glanced at Marty, who shrugged warily and went back to the sports pages.
Jake said, ‘Wha’ da hell happened to ya, Harvey?’
‘I spilled my Slurpee.’
‘How’s dat again?’
‘Jake, I’m so sorry, but I spilled my Slurpee.’
‘Ya wha’?’
‘My lime Slurpee, Jake. I had it between my legs, and it spilled all over the seat. I was afraid the upholstery would be ruined, so I stopped to clean it up… ‘
Jake waved him off. What in hell was a Slurpee? He scrawled a mental note to query Marty. Jeez, but the world was spinning at a hell of a pace. He tried to keep up, but it was impossible. All those things on television. Products. But most of it, he had no idea what it was supposed to do. One thing for sure, he hated the beer ads. It exhausted him, watching all those kids running around like that, having such loud fun…
Harvey was standing there, awaiting further instructions. Ditto the glimmer twins, Dave and Danny.
He asked Marty to tell them all to go to bed, take a nap. They had a long night ahead of them. They should get some sleep while they had a chance.
His three hoods scampered out of the living room like so many hyperactive mice.
Marty sagged back onto the sofa. Jake marvelled at Marty’s ability to read a newspaper, any newspaper, for hours on end, his interest never flagging, as he slowly turned the pages.
Jake said, ‘You gonna get some sleep?’
‘A couple hours?’ Marty smiled. ‘What’s the point? I’m better off
staying up.’
Jake nodded. ‘Yeah, probably ya right.’ He stretched, his bones crackling, and adjusted the clear plastic tube that disappeared into his left nostril. ‘I’m gonna hit da sack. Wake me,’tings go sour.’
Marty nodded, and went back to his paper. He and Jake had pored over Marty’s list of recently deceased dealers, and quickly worked out that whoever was killing them had a linear personality. The murderer was working his way up Jake’s ladder step-by-step. Sammy Wu’s death had been entirely predictable. Jake figured, and Marty agreed, that there was a maximum of five upper-echelon dealers whose lives were now in immediate jeopardy. Jake had sent teams of guardian thugs fanning out across the city to watch over all of them but one - a dealer named Rodney McGuire.
McGuire had been out of town for the past few days. Jake had tracked him down in Vegas, where McGuire was getting a quickie divorce from a quickie marriage. His return flight was scheduled to land at 1:00 a.m. Jake had arranged to have people meet him at the airport, once he got through Customs, an arduous task that usually involved a strip search and verbal beating. Typically, the Customs hooligans detained known-but-unconvicted criminals like McGuire for upwards of four or five hours. The twins would have McGuire’s Fairview Slopes condo under wraps by 4:00 a.m., well before McGuire’s anticipated time of arrival. If he got in early, the punk at the airport would call Marty.
Jake went to bed secure in the knowledge that everything was taken care of.
At twenty to four, Jake’s front gate swung silently open. Willows reached behind him and gently shook Parker awake.
This time, Harvey was driving the monstrous Humvee. He had two passengers. As the chunky, low-slung vehicle passed beneath a streetlight, the dome light was briefly switched on. Willows and Parker caught a quick glimpse of flashing teeth, glinting diamonds, dully gleaming weapons, and a matched pair of small dark objects that just might have been the twins’ matte-black souls.
Then the light was extinguished, and the Humvee dwindled into the darkness.
Chapter 29
Wayne was in a hurry, but Lewis wasn’t going anywhere until April administered a little pick-me-up, via a hypo.
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