A Dead Issue (27 page)

Devereaux would know what to do, but I had already sold my soul to Lenny DiNuccio just to get out of handcuffs. I had to wait until Dusty returned from McDonald's with the tape to see how this played out. It could blow up in several ways, but the worst scenario was DiNuccio revealing to Devereaux that I agreed to do something about the tape. Meanwhile, I would have to rely on Lenny's APB to stop Tony.

Once at home, I popped a few pills to quiet the pain growing in my ribs where the seatbelt cut into whatever damage Cash had done. Then I poked around the Internet looking for Tony's address, knowing that someday I might have to hunt him down. My search didn't last long. The pills kicked in and I craved sleep—sleep that would cover me and protect me while my pain melted and I would be free from Cash Williams, Stomp Jessup, and Detective Frank Devereaux.

CHAPTER 46

I awoke to a fist pounding on my door.

It was past midnight. The whole day had disappeared, and when I found Dusty standing on the porch, I knew that my troubles had not disappeared.

“I got the tapes,” he beamed, holding out a blue Boscov's bag by the cord handles. “I didn't know which one to take so I took them all. You should have seen it,” he rambled, his devilish grin flashing with enthusiasm. “I booby trapped a container of oil so Dex would knock it over. Right at the end of my shift. I couldn't have planned it better. While everyone was running around yelling and screaming at Dex, I grabbed the tapes. I left before anyone knew I was . . .” he stopped and his brow furrowed. “What's wrong?”

“We have another problem. DiNuccio wants the tape.”

“He'll have to get in line,” Dusty said.

“He just moved to the front. You won't believe this—he thinks Devereaux is after him for accepting a free Happy Meal.

“Shitbird. What an asshole.” Dusty paused. “Wait a minute . . . why would he tell you?”

“I had an accident. He arrested me and then said he needed a favor. The tape for my freedom. I told him you'd find out about the tape.”

“Now what do we do? If DiNuccio gets the tape, doesn't that put Cash out of business?”

We were silent for a while as we considered the problem.

“It just keeps getting worse.” Dusty shook his head.

“Here's what we'll do,” I said. “You have the tape. I'll tell him it was taped over days ago. Then we'll burn it.”

“Maybe we should hang on to it just in case DiNuccio really believes this is all about him. Hold it over his head for a while.”

I didn't see any advantage to that. I wanted that tape destroyed. That would put Cash out of business.

Dusty peered over my shoulder, scanning the room with his quick eyes. “Hey, where's Liza?” He craned his neck as if he hoped she'd come parading in naked to see what the shouting was all about.

“She's gone,” I said and the tone in my voice must have told him that something was wrong.

“What happened?”

I told him about the accident—how Tony shot at us and dragged her from the car.

Dusty looked at me, concerned. “You think he'll hurt her?”

“No, he's going to take her out to dinner—buy her roses. He shot at us for Christsake! What do you think he's going to do? He's going to beat the shit out of her. We've got to help her,” I said.

Dusty looked at me blankly. “Why?” he finally asked. “Because you slept with her a few times?”

“Because we owe her,” I said.

Dusty considered that for a moment and shook his head. “No. It's none of our business. She's his wife . . .”

“She's not a wife. She's property. He doesn't care about her, and we killed the only one who did. We owe her.”

Dusty was still shaking his head. “We didn't kill nobody. It just happened.”

“It happened because we were there,” I said.

“We're better off without her around,” Dusty continued, ignoring my argument. “The first thing you know, you'll be falling in love with her with this big secret hanging over you. Then you'll let it slip some night that . . .”

“It's too late.”

Dusty stopped—froze, mouth hanging open.

“Too late that you love her, or too late that you let it slip?” he finally asked, looking like he was afraid of either answer.

“Maybe both,” I said and paused. “I told her.”

Dusty flopped back into the chair, quietly shaking his head in disbelief. “Holy shitbird and a half. I took those tapes for nothing. What if she goes to Devereaux?”

“She won't do that.” I said. “She trusts me even though she found Jonah's gun . . .”

“Where?”

“In my car! In my freakin' car! You stupid son-of-a-bitch!” I pulled the bullet from my pocket. “You left a loaded gun in my car!”

Dusty started backing away. “That's bullshit, Mark. I left it on the floor next to Jonah. You saw me.”

Dusty stopped when his back hit the door. I kept moving in until the bullet was an inch from his nose. “I saw you drop it next to Jonah. What I didn't see was you picking it up while I was holding off Billy and Ray. What I didn't see was you hiding it under my car seat. What I didn't see was you . . .”

“It was loaded?” Dusty asked incredulously.

“Loaded.”

“I thought it was empty,” Dusty continued. “He stopped shooting.”

“You're missing the point. It was fully loaded—with one in the chamber. You think Jonah popped in a new clip before he keeled over? No. He fell over dead, and then someone took the gun, and then someone reloaded it, and then someone ditched it under the seat of my car.”

“And you think that someone is me? How could I load the gun?”

“It's easy,” I said. “You take a fucking bullet and push it in the magazine—like this.” I stuffed the bullet into Dusty's left nostril and thumbed it home.

“You think I carry bullets around in case I find a gun? And why would I leave it in your car?”

“Who else would?” I glared at him, waiting for an answer.

“Well, it wasn't me.” He paused. “Maybe someone wants to make it look like you were there that night.”

“That's what Liza said just before the . . .” I looked at Dusty and stopped. “Dusty. Take the bullet out of your nose.”

Dusty plucked the bullet from his nostril and held it out to me. It glistened with snot and I shook my head. He dropped it into his shirt pocket and stared at me. “Let me see the gun.”

“I can't. It's gone . . . missing,” I said. “Liza was handling it when we had the accident. We hit the guardrail
and rolled. The gun must have flipped out because she didn't have it when Tony pulled her out of the wreck. Otherwise, she'd have shot him. It has to be in the weeds somewhere. Somebody's bound to find it, and it has my prints all over it.”

“Hers, too.”

“Yeah, my prints and then Liza's. It's going to look like she found the gun after I used it on her grandfather. And if Tony kills her, I could get the blame for that—like I did it to keep her quiet.”

Dusty took a while to puzzle his way through.

“Then you have to run,” he said decisively.

“To Where? Brazil? Jesus, Dusty, don't you understand? Running is like saying we did it. Brazil won't be far enough.”

“Well, it's far enough for me,” Dusty said. A slight grin appeared on his lips—a trace of his former self. “Carnival,” he added with a wink

I shook my head and smiled in spite of myself. “Look, before you jump on a plane, help me find that gun.”

I grabbed a flashlight in the garage on our way to the Lexus and we headed back to the scene of my accident.

CHAPTER 47

I knew it was hopeless as soon as we looked down the slope to where my car had landed. The night was black, the air crisp and cold, and the bottom of the bank was a pit of darkness. It was too low for headlights to be of any use. Dusty found another flashlight in the glove compartment with batteries so weak that reading a map would have been difficult. Nevertheless, we made a systematic search starting at the top the bank and moving laterally along the hill where my car went through the guardrail. Then, dropping down a few feet, we made another lateral sweep, and another until we were in the flat area at the bottom of the hill. The weeds were knee high and dense. The light barely penetrated beyond them and a pistol hidden by the weeds was likely to remain hidden unless one of us stepped on it.

Above us, a car rolled to a stop with a crunch of gravel—the police checking up on an abandoned vehicle. I flicked off the light, and we stood in the dark, waiting, listening for them to move on. A powerful beam of light snapped directly on us.

“Yo, Waldo!” The light held on us for a moment before Cash continued. “What you doing down there—lost in the weeds?” He chuckled gleefully. “And look what else we have—the original Shitbird.”

The light bounced as Cash made his way down to us. As he neared, he blinded us each in turn with his light. “Funny thing,” he said. “I was just coming to pay you two a visit when I see Shitbird's brand new Lexus sitting by the road. Thought maybe it was a pit stop. Never expected to run into Shitbird and Waldo.”

Dusty and I said nothing.

“What are you two assholes doing standing in the woods on a dark, lonely road, holding a flashlight. Lose something? Like maybe a bunch of tapes? Tell you what,
I'll help you find them. But first

”

The flashlight jerked as Cash's fist drove into Dusty's gut. Dusty let out an agonizing groan and crumpled from my peripheral vision.

“That's for the mess we had to clean up. What the fuck were you thinking?” Cash gave me an angry look, and without breaking eye contact, he gave Dusty a jab with his foot. “And while you're down there, see if you can find an envelope with about ten thousand dollars in it.”

I braced myself for Cash's next move, turning sideways to protect my balls and stepping out of range. This time, Cash would know he had been in a fight. And that's when the patrol car pulled up. There was no doubt about it this time. The light bar was flashing blue and red against the treetops.

Dusty rose to his feet, grimacing in pain. In the dull glow of the flashlight, I could see a huge gap in his upper teeth. Cash's sucker punch had popped out his partial plate—his front four teeth.

Cash cut his light and melted into the shadows at the edge of the clearing as a light appeared from above—the beam made Cash's flashlight dim by comparison. It swung from me to Dusty and then back to me and held.

“Mr. Cameron,” DiNuccio said, sounding like a vice-principal dressing down his favorite delinquent. He was either working overtime or was on a completely new shift.

“That's me,” I said trying to keep my voice steady and strong.

“Lose something?”

Jonah's pistol? Some bullets? A bunch of tapes? My mind whirled in search of something plausible.

“Some teeth,” I said nodding toward Dusty. Dusty smiled, displaying a wide gap where his four upper teeth should have been. The light glinted off the silver bead sitting on his tongue.

DiNuccio negotiated his way down the bank and came toward us and we met him halfway, about where my car had stopped after rolling over.

“Liza,” I said. “Any word on Liza?”

He shook his head. “Afraid not. Look, they probably made up. They might be in Virginia by now.”

Lenny aimed his flashlight at Dusty. “Did you ask
him?” and turned his attention to Dusty.

“He said it's gone, been taped over twice since that night. Nothing to worry about.”

Dusty nodded once.

Cash's light came on and Lenny jumped, swinging his light toward the woods. Cash approached and offered a casual, “How's it going, Lenny?”

“Cash? What's going on?”

Cash threw his head back toward the woods. “Had to drain the dragon.” He closed up the distance with a few more steps, and we stood in a loose circle, Lenny still not sure if there was something he should be concerned about. “Yeah, we just got off shift. I saw Numbnut's car and stopped. Thought he had a breakdown.”

“Actually, that's my car,” I cut in. “Stanley borrowed it.”

Cash gave me one of his looks, like he was about to jump into something he wasn't sure about. “I wondered what Stanley was doing with a Lexus. Thought he stole it.”

Lenny didn't smile. He trained the light on Dusty like he was going to arrest him for grand theft auto.

Dusty exposed the wide gap in his smile, “I loft my teef.”

Lenny kept his light in Dusty's face, waiting for more. I jumped in.

“He left his teeth in my car . . .”

“Vey were bovering me,” Dusty added.

“They must have been flung out when we rolled,” I added, pulling that little detail from my disappearing gun theory.

“Dumb son-of-bitch tried to work the drive-thru, talking like that,” Cash said shaking his head. “Couldn't put him at the counter with a mouth like that. Had to juggle people all night to keep him out of sight.”

We chuckled, and Lenny gave up an uneasy grin. Tension eased a little.

“This couldn't wait till morning?” DiNuccio complained. He swung his
light back and forth among the weeds. For a moment, I was lost in the lie and started helping Lenny
look for Dusty's teeth. And then it dawned on me that there was also a gun hidden in the weeds. As sure as I was earlier that we would not find the gun, I was now certain
that Lenny would trip over it.

As Lenny worked his way over to the bank, I nudged Dusty and drew him back to where he had been punched. A pink piece of plastic, oddly shaped with wire hooks and four well-formed teeth glistened in the grass, still wet from Dusty's mouth. We moved a few steps away from the teeth, keeping our eyes on DiNuccio who was beyond whisper range.