Pavement

  His cell phone rang. Hector.

  “Hola.”

  “La mano que maneja el cuchillo,” Hector said. He spoke a coded message for about a minute. Ermano hung up and returned to his steak.

  The men had grown loud now from too much drinking. They were arguing about Guantanamo and due process. Ermano envisioned himself rising, getting his machete from the van, and going to work on the them. Maybe he’d start at the ankles on one and the wrists on the other. He’d explain to them how it was all an illusion. Once a little pressure was applied, rules and order went out the window. People tasted pain, and they would compromise their beliefs. He thought about hordes of men who pleaded with him to make the torture stop. He usually hadn’t even gotten started at that point. He enjoyed his work. A man who does not enjoy what he does lacks purpose in life.

  Suddenly, the men laughed, and Ermano gripped his cutlery until his knuckles turned white. He relaxed and forked another piece of steak into his mouth.

  He would channel his fury tomorrow.

  Larry stared at the nurse’s cleavage. He figured he was allowed after the hell he’d been put through. She spooned some more pudding and some of it fell down his chin.

  “Oops,” she said, and wiped it off, which meant she had to lean forward.

  It didn’t matter that she was a good forty pounds overweight and could use a few hours at a salon. That didn’t bother him at all. She finished giving him his dessert, made sure his water and straw combo was in reach, and left him for the night.

  Larry sat back in his hospital bed.

  He knew he should be happy to be alive. He was initially. Then he began crawling toward the hospital. The pain was so excruciating that he passed out. They had hooked him up to something called a PCA machine. He could dispense painkillers at the push of the green button. Just enough to take the edge off.

  Larry tried to shift. He had to be careful. Major movements still caused his teeth to chatter from pain.

  He was in a contraption that kept his shoulders pulled back. He had a cast like a chastity belt that went from his stomach down to his knees. Thank God he wouldn’t have to shit in a bag permanently. Slowly, he inched backward, with minor discomfort. He rested his head, then pressed the button to raise the bed.

  The police had stopped by to see if he wanted to fill out an incident report. He told them he didn’t remember anything. Said there might have been four or five opponents for all he knew, but it felt like baseball bats were hitting him.

  One of them left a card just in case Larry thought of anything.

  Shit, he wouldn’t have told them anything anyway. No need to get involved with a psychopath’s vendetta. Larry sensed that as long as he stayed out of this neck of the woods, he would be fine. There was plenty of open territory on the road. He could collect disability for the short term, plus some workers’ comp. A lesser man would want to sue anyone and everyone possible, but Larry just wanted to get back out on the road. He was beginning to feel cooped up in this room. He had a neighbor who’d been discharged earlier in the day, so it was nice to be alone. But, he knew that wouldn’t last.

  He pressed the button. Soon he’d get another dose.

  Ermano drove all night. He knew they were on a deadline. The cops would check the registration and track down their guy to the hospital. The trucker wouldn’t know anything, of course, and the company had just been filling an order. If anything, the police would find dead ends. Still, you never wanted to leave anything to chance. Plus, they needed some information before the police meddled too much.

  Ermano pulled into the hospital parking lot.

  The beauty of driving a landscaping truck meant you were above suspicion. Ermano got out and stretched his legs. Long rides wore on his body, and although he was in good shape, you can’t fight against age and time.

  Ermano took the phone from his pocket and pushed a button to dial a stored number.

  “Estoy aquí,” he said.

  The man on the other end of the phone was one of a dozen or so tech experts the syndicate had on payroll. He read off the trucker’s name, his room, his diagnosis, the layout of the floor, and when the nurses were most likely to do their rounds. Ermano listened patiently, then hung up. He grabbed the bag of supplies from the glove compartment.

  He shut his eyes and let everything settle into place before he walked to the hospital.

  He found the main entrance and waited. He wanted to make sure the nurses had finished their shifts checking on patients and administering meds.

  He could easily pass for a custodial worker, but he didn’t have to worry about cameras, since HIPAA would prevent them from being used. Hospitals were designed to be responsive to emergencies, not preventative.

  Ermano walked in through the front door.

  Larry felt a presence near his bed, and he opened his eyes. He was hoping maybe it was a nurse with a sponge bath. Instead, he saw a man in overalls. The guy was old, Latino, maybe the janitor. Larry tried to speak, but he felt like his tongue was covered in cement. His eyelids were weighted down and closed on him without his permission.

  “What happened to you?” the man said.

  Larry fought to regain consciousness and regaled the man with everything that happened to him, from pulling in to the burger joint, to being accosted by either a thief or pimp, and coming here. He even mentioned the police who interviewed him.

  “Nothing about the drugs?” the man said.

  “Drugs?”

  “Good. Thank you, my friend. Get some rest.”

  The man left the room, and Larry tried to keep his head afloat. Jesus Christ. He felt a surge of something more powerful take hold and render him mute. It burned like white fire. He stared up at the ceiling as it opened and light shone down upon him as if it was Judgement Day.

  Ermano departed as fast as possible from the room before the man’s coding vital signs were to alert the staff. He took the stairs down to the lobby and grabbed a Coke from the vending machine near the front. He learned over the years to hide in plain sight. A man moving quickly has eyes drawn to him. A man pausing to drink a soda, no one paid attention to. He walked through the sliding glass doors, surveyed the parking lot, and saw no one. Still too early in the morning. He took another sip of Coke, dumped the remnants of the liquid in the trash by the entrance, then slipped the used syringe inside the can.

  Odds were, the trucker’s heart would have stopped by now. He’d given the man barbiturates to loosen his tongue and keep him passive. Once he got the information he came for, he shot the man up with potassium.

  Ermano threw the can in the trash and went to his truck. Too early in the morning for any of the prostitutes to be out. He checked his watch. They probably wouldn’t start their stroll for another sixteen hours. Ermano figured he would check into the motel near where they worked and get a few hours of shut-eye.

  Always sleep when you can.

  The phone rang, and a waitress grabbed it.

  “McGill,” Gropper said. He waited. He could hear the phone bang against the wall as it dangled.

  “Shit,” he heard McGill say in the background, then some rustling.

  “Yeah.”

  “The trucker’s dead. Heart attack.”

  Gropper listened while McGill processed the information.

  “What do you think?”

  “They move fast. We’ve got to imagine they know what we know.”

  “Jesus.” McGill sighed. “You know, you try to help some people.”

  Gropper waited.

  “Think they’ll hit the motel?” McGill asked.

  “If they’re not already there.”

  “All right. See if you can take care of this without any collateral damage. But if it comes down to it, nothing comes back to me.”

  “You got it.”

  Gropper hung up the pay phone. He was at the bus station. Midday, the place was empty. He walked through the central terminal toward a bank o
f lockers. He found his, inserted the key, and opened it. Removing the gym bag, he shut the locker behind him and settled in a form-fitting blue seat near the corner. He checked the contents. He had about five grand in cash, a passport, a snub-nosed .22, a Karambit knife, and a travel toiletry kit. He carried the bag to the car, put it in the trunk, and got into the driver’s seat.

  He shut his eyes and sat in silence.

  Gropper remembered reading about the Stoics during his travels—philosophers who held that a virtuous person, who sticks to their beliefs, is unassailable by the outcomes of their actions.

  He drove to his house.

  Getting out of the car, he spotted John, who wiped his nose.

  Gropper raised his hand in acknowledgment and made his way to the side door. Inside, he found Ms. Bradley in the living room listening to her records.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired. I seem to get so tired these days.”

  “Get some rest.”

  Gropper sat down in one of the empty chairs, and they listened to Wes Montgomery. Together, they remained in silence until Gropper noticed she had fallen asleep. He picked her up and carried her upstairs to bed. The courtesy shuttle would be by in a little to help her to the hospital.

  Gropper placed his hand on her forehead.

  He held it there for a moment, then went downstairs, removed the record, and put it back on the shelf. He went through the efforts of wiping down his room for fingerprints. He removed the clothes from the armoire and his second bag from the foot of the bed and took everything out to the car.

  Gropper looked around for a moment, then got in and drove away.

  The door opened, and the little bell rang. Maurice hated that bell more than anything. As a result, he had developed an automatic response anytime the door opened. People checking in weren’t bad. It was people coming to complain about noise in neighboring rooms, or the hot water pressure, or the fucking ice wasn’t cold enough in the ice dispensary. Not to mention, he was still having stomach trouble due to the stress of the recent events. Thank God, they were over, but they still weighed on him.

  He looked up and saw the elderly Latino man. Maurice slipped into his business persona.

  “How can I help you?”

  The man walked to the edge of the desk.

  “That place any good?” he asked, and tilted his head in the direction of the burger joint.

  “It’s not bad.”

  “Ah, the opposite.” The man smiled and plucked one of the wrapped mints from a bowl on the counter.

  “It’s probably better than you’ll find in the immediate area, unless you want to drive.”

  “No, thanks. Too much driving already. Just need to sit for a while.”

  “Well, here’s a coupon. We have a deal with them.”

  “Gracias,” the man said.

  Maurice nodded, hoping this would conclude their conversation.

  The man pocketed the coupon, opened the wrapper, and popped the mint into his mouth.

  “Listen, if someone wanted some action, where would they go?”

  “Action?” Maurice tried to keep the surprise out of his voice.

  “Yeah, you know? Music? Movies?”

  “Oh, well, there’s a multiplex nearby, and in the next strip mall there’s a bar that does live music.”

  “Thanks again.” The man cracked the mint in between his teeth and walked out.

  The bell rang at his departure and Maurice groaned at the sound.

  The man at the desk was in on it, that much was clear to Ermano. The eyes had given him away when he reacted to the word “action.” He couldn’t have been the one to take out the trucker, so there had to be a third player. The desk man was probably on some sort of a payoff.

  Ermano went to his truck. He pulled the phone from the glove compartment and dialed a number. Hector picked up.

  Ermano gave him a report of his activities over the last few hours, including the trucker’s interrogation and disposal, as well as the encounter with the desk man at the motel.

  “So, this isn’t sabotage?” Hector said.

  “No, no one is making a move against you.”

  “Well, in that case, take whatever measures you see fit to end this.”

  “Sí.”

  Ermano put the phone in his pocket for any trophy pictures later. He had arrived at the best part of any job, when his handlers cut him loose and allowed him to do what he did best. He would wait for the cover of nightfall, then descend on them like a plague.

  Maurice got to his car and laid his crutches against the back door. He fumbled for the keys in his pocket and dropped them. He saw the shadow coming toward him, then he was out cold. He awoke again, and he was in the driver’s seat.

  “Just listen,” the person said from the back.

  Maurice didn’t say anything. The guy who’d been in earlier, looking for action. He felt the man’s left hand on his shoulder. It squeezed just enough to demonstrate the man’s strength. Maurice flinched a little from the pressure.

  “Don’t do anything at all. We’re just going to sit here for a moment while I talk. You may speak.”

  “Okay,” Maurice said.

  “I’m looking for a person of considerable skill who beat up a trucker here recently.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The man squeezed again, and this time Maurice felt pain.

  “I went through someone, alright? I don’t know the guy.”

  “Good, we’re getting somewhere.” The man relaxed his grip.

  “Now,” the man continued. “Drive around to the room you’ve been using. You’re going to contact this person.”

  The phone rang, and McGill didn’t wait for someone to get it. He had trouble wedging himself out of the booth at first, and vowed he would eat more greens, but he was at the phone by the fourth ring.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, it’s Maurice, there’s someone here.”

  The phone went dead.

  McGill hung up the phone. He walked back to his table. If they had gotten to Maurice, then they could get to him. Unless Gropper was as good as McGill thought. He returned to the table, spread butter on the pancakes and bacon, then poured the syrup.

  He took the first bite and chased it with Mickey’s.

  They could come for him. He was a survivor, after all. Or, he could go somewhere else and set up shop. Although, he doubted he’d be able to find a better diner than this.

  Ermano stood before them. Two girls were gagged, their hands and feet tied with sheets. They shook and cried, though it was muffled by the fabric. They kept trying to scream, but it was futile. The man from the front desk sat on the edge of the bed by the phone. He seemed haunted, as if he’d known this day was coming and was resigned to it.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “Well…”

  Ermano sat down on the bed. He put his arm around the young man. He could feel the kid’s heart beating through his back.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Maurice.”

  “What do you think will happen?”

  Maurice looked back at the girls on the ground, then he turned and stared at Ermano. Perhaps he wasn’t resigned, as there was fire there still. Ermano was impressed. He had put many people—perceived tough guys, capos, stone cold killers—in the same position, and those men could not maintain the same eye contact.

  “You needed us to serve a purpose, and now the purpose is over, so we’re expendable.” Maurice licked his lips like he was getting the up his nerve.

  “However, if you kill all of us, then it becomes a multiple homicide, which raises a bunch of questions. Plus, if you leave the state, you can forget police, we’re talking FBI. I don’t think you want to have to deal with that scenario. We’re all doing something illegal, so you can believe me when I tell you, we won’t say anything.
After all, you want the guy who took out your associate.”

  Ermano started to laugh.

  Perhaps he’d underestimated this kid.

  “You’ve got some huevos, I’ll give you that,” Ermano said. He patted Maurice on the back a few times.

  Ermano reached to his belt buckle. It was an ornate silver thing with intricate etching in the shape of a bull’s head. Both ends concealed push knives. He gripped the kid by the back of his shirt. His right hand shot for one of the handles and hit the kid in the stomach three times. Maurice hunched over, and his eyes practically bulged from their sockets. Ermano flung him back onto the bedspread.

  “You’ve no business in this world.”

  Maurice gripped at his stomach while blood seeped around his hands and crimson soon engulfed flesh. The girls started to convulse and slide on the ground like slugs when their cover has been removed.

  Ermano cocked his head to the side. He felt the familiar rush in his chest, and he approached them with renewed force.

  “Shhhh,” Ermano said. “This is all going to be over soon.”

  Stacy needed to use the bathroom, and she hated using the bathroom at the truck stop. The burger place wouldn’t let her use theirs unless she was a paying customer, and she’d be damned if she was going to buy a drink just to use the toilet.

  She walked out farther into the parking lot, to get a better vantage point, and saw the light was on in the room. Who knew if they had someone in there—that was the last thing she needed, interrupting Angel during a session, she’d never hear the end of it.

  Stacy walked back to her spot.

  Fuck it, she thought and headed toward the motel.

  Ermano had trouble calming down. The lizard part of his brain had overtaken him, and the fury still coursed through him. He flung the second girl’s body to the ground. He wiped the sweat from his brow. His enemy would come soon, then Ermano would finish the job and head home. The desk kid was smart, but he didn’t know shit.