Dead Cat Bounce (10 page)

“You kidding?” Harman said. “The guy's a cokehead, he'll work with anyone for the right price. But if you guys are thinking of running a game on Prior, you really gotta find out who he is, first. Otherwise, you'll never know for sure what you're dealing with. Poker's only a good game when you know what cards the other guy is holding. And from here on in, you're probably gonna have to find somebody smarter than me to get your information from. I think I already got everything I know how to get.”

“You did great,” Stoney said. “I appreciate it. I haven't talked this over with Tommy yet, so I don't know how he feels about all this. We're gonna figure out something in the next day or two. You interested?”

“Depends on what you come up with,” Harman said. “I'm retired. I'm just helping out an old friend, so far. I can't take another fall.”

“Neither can I,” Stoney told him. “Nobody planning to go to jail. Tommy tells me you're just in town for a few days.”

Harman nodded. “Visiting my sister. They've got her locked up in Downstate Medical. It's kind of tough for me to get in to see her.”

“Why's that?”

Harman sighed. “Family stuff, you know how it is. There are a couple of old warrants out on me, and if my father knew I was here, I'd be wearing bracelets before the day was out.”

“Nobody can do you like your family,” Stoney said. “I'm thinking this will only take a few more days.”

“I just have to stay out of the line of fire.”

Stoney glanced at Fat Tommy, who nodded. “Tell you what,” he said. “Before we move, we'll lay it all out, and then you can decide how you feel about it.”

“Fair enough,” Harman said.

 

Tuco wanted to hate the car, but it was impossible. Sure, the thing was a rolling cliché, it seemed that every second teenager in the wealthy Jersey burbs was driving one, maybe it was the upwardly mobile yuppie vehicle of choice, and yeah, you could buy two perfectly serviceable Hondas for less money, but still, the three-series BMW that Stoney had rented for him was beautiful, it was fast, and it seemed almost telepathically in tune to his intentions. He pointed it north on Route 17, sliding effortlessly through the throng of soccer moms driving elephantine SUVs. The dark blue Corolla he was tailing, six cars ahead, put its turn signal on and shouldered its way into the lane for the next exit, and Tuco followed suit behind it.

He had picked up the two girls at their high school. The school itself looked nothing like the ones Tuco had sporadically attended in Brooklyn. The place was a modern red-brick building that stood back from the street behind a wide spread of green lawn. From his spot under a tree on the far edge of the students' parking lot, Tuco could see the athletic fields out behind the place, where a bunch of kids in football uniforms ran up and down a practice field. Yellow buses were parked in a long half circle along the driveway out front. A flag flapped in the stiff breeze, and a bunch of flowers planted in a bed by the street out front nodded their heads to the cars passing by. God, he thought, what a fucking place. It didn't look anything like the five-story blockhouse he remembered on Pennsylvania
Avenue, surrounded by chain-link fences, with razor wire on the roof to keep the kids from throwing one another off.

He kept his eye on the blue Corolla. Stoney had pointed it out to him before he'd gone on his way. The kids came flooding out at the appointed time of their release, streaming past in groups, some headed for the parking lot, some for the buses, and more than a few straggling away on foot. There were none that looked like Tuco, they were predominantly white, with a smattering of Asians. But it wasn't Tuco's skin color or his economic status that separated his world from theirs, he knew that. If they had given you a free pass to this place, he told himself, it wouldn't have made any difference. You still couldn't cut it. The familiar bitterness rose up in his throat, and he fought to choke it back down, to keep from hating these children of privilege, these lucky souls trooping past on their way back to houses on quiet streets, off to their appointed and preordained futures on Wall Street, or wherever the hell else they might be going. So they caught a few more breaks than you did, he told himself. So what?

Get over it.

Growing up in Brooklyn, who knew that places like this even existed? It looked just like television out here, just like that neighborhood on
Desperate Housewives,
it was like a fantasy world, the kind of place where everyone seemed to have already gotten everything they wanted. How could you not hate them? Wasn't it only human to want to come out here and take something away from them, just so they could see how it felt, just that one time?

Two girls approached the Corolla. One of them was big, not fat but big, the kind of female that caught your eye, tall, long legs sticking out from under a short skirt, thick blond
hair that ran down over her shoulders. The other one was a little shorter, and thin, with pale skin and dark hair. He knew immediately that the thin one was Stoney's daughter. He would have known even without the picture Stoney had given him, he would have known from those eyes, from the expression on her face that told you nothing. She didn't look much like her father, but she had definitely gotten some of his DNA. She got into the Corolla on the passenger side while the blond slid behind the wheel. A moment later the car pulled away. Tuco gave them a thirty-second head start, then followed.

He had assumed, at first, that they were headed for a mall, because Route 17, the road they headed for, seemed to split the very center of the retail universe, but they continued past the thicket of new car dealerships, rug stores, diners, giant bookstores, and furniture outlets. Finally they got off the highway and headed into the neighborhoods.

The town they wound up in, Ridgewood, had a main drag that rose gently up a hill as it stretched from east to west. It was a long street, lined on both sides with stores that sold the kinds of things Tuco had never known he needed. The Corolla pulled into a parking spot as Tuco drove past. He took the next spot, a block and a half farther up the hill. He spent the next several hours tailing the two girls, pretending to be interested in store-window displays while he waited. Neither of the girls seemed to buy anything. Recreational shoppers, he thought, with some derision. And they've probably already got at least one of everything that's for sale in this stupid place.

He paid four bucks for a cup of coffee, parked himself on a bench in a vest-pocket park while Stoney's daughter and her friend ogled a jewelry-store window. The stuff was bitter and tasted burned, but he sipped at it anyway.

He heard a phone ring, saw Stoney's daughter reach into her bag, pull out a cell phone, and answer it. Her body stiffened and she held the phone out away from her ear. Tuco couldn't hear her voice, but as he watched, her pale face flushed and she stood rigid, Tuco could not tell whether from anger or fear. After a minute, her voice got loud enough for him to hear. “No,” she said. “Will you please stop?” She looked around, her eyes passing over but not stopping to rest on Tuco. “Just leave me alone.” She snapped the phone closed, ending the call. She glanced around again, checking behind her on the street, a frightened impala trying to locate the lions before she dares take a drink. Tuco looked around, too, wondering if anyone there besides him did not belong in this suburban Jersey paradise. She won't stay out here now, he thought, she's gonna head for cover. That call spooked her. He dropped his coffee in the trash can.

S
toney sat in the AA meeting next to Benny and wondered what in hell he was doing there. I don't know any of these people, he thought, I hardly even know Benny, truth be told. The speaker was up front, telling a story about his twin brother, who had, one month previous, hung himself from a rafter in his garage out in Islip, Long Island. “I don't know why he didn't call me,” the guy said. “But he couldn't get it. He kept relapsing, and I guess he got tired of it.”

Stoney's mind wandered. He could still hear the guy's voice but was no longer conscious of what the guy was saying. He wondered if he had gotten “it,” whatever it was, and what good it had done him if he had. He got up and went to the back of the room to refill his coffee cup. He stood there next to the big silver pot, turned, and looked at the backs of all the heads. It was an early morning meeting, and the place was full of people on their way to work. I know why the guy did it, he thought. I'm not on my way anywhere, and neither was he. He tossed his empty cup in the trash and walked out.

There was a bar just up the block, on the far side of the street. The sign over the door proclaimed it to be
MCGLOIN'S TAVERN.
There was an unlit neon beer sign in the single window. Apart from the sign, the place was dark, there was
nothing else to see, nothing to tell you if the joint was open or what kind of place it was. Yeah, you bet your ass the place is open, he thought, and you know exactly what kind of place it is. It was a place for serious drinking. It would be dark in there, and quiet, and he could camp out at the end of the bar all day long. He'd have to say ‘Old Grand-Dad' to the bartender just one time, and after that he wouldn't have to pass another single word to another living soul. Whenever he wanted a refill, a raised finger would do. Instant serenity, however short-lived it might be…

He walked straight on past the place. A sign in a bank window on the corner told him it was 7:45
A.M.
God, he thought, I don't have to meet Tommy until two this afternoon, Jesus, what am I gonna do until then? He turned when he got to the corner, walked north on the avenue, headed nowhere.

 

Tuco watched Stoney's house from the church parking lot at the end of the block. There was an old station wagon in the lot, and Tuco parked on the far side of it and watched through the wagon's back windows. He'd been there almost an hour when the Toyota Corolla turned up Stoney's street, stopped in front of the house, and honked the horn. Marisa came out carrying an overnight bag and jumped into the car. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day. No way I would do this, he thought, for anybody besides Stoney or Tommy. Whatever else they might have done, those two had rescued him from the street, they had taken him in, given him his chance to break out. He shuddered, thinking what might have become of him if they hadn't done it. He let two cars pass by before pulling out to follow the Corolla.

 

The sound of leaf blowers echoed throughout the empty house in the enclave of McMansions up on the hill in Alpine, New Jersey. “Sorry to drag you back out here,” Harman said.

I could have walked here, Stoney thought, and had time to spare. “Don't worry about it,” he said. “Tommy explain what we came up with?”

“Yeah,” Harman said.

“I wasa just cover the basics,” Tommy said. “Better to talk about when everybody's in one place.”

“We need five people, minimum,” Stoney said. “Maybe a few more, depending on how things break.”

“Sounds complicated,” Harman said. “Most I ever worked with was five, and it didn't turn out very good for four of them. I wouldn't want to have to go through something like that again.”

“I think you'll find us a civilized bunch,” Stoney said wryly.

“Easy to say that now,” Harman said. “Who would I be? Mr. A, Mr. B, or Mr. C?”

“I'm thinking you're a natural Mr. C.”

“Okay. And I would guess Tommy is your Mr. B.”

Stoney glanced at Fat Tommy, who nodded his assent.

“And who would you be?” Harman said, looking at Stoney. “You can't be Mr. A, you aren't even close to the right type. None of us is.”

“No,” Stoney said. “But a guy like Mr. A don't go far without his lawyer. It's the modern equivalent of carrying a six-shooter. I can be Mr. A's lawyer.”

“You don't look much like a lawyer, either.”

“Listen,” Stoney said. “All I have to do is stand there while Mr. A screams at me, anyhow. Nothing to it.”

“So who's Mr. A? You got anybody in mind?”

“Not yet,” Stoney said.

“Yes,” Tommy said, at almost exactly the same time. Stoney and Jack Harman both turned and looked at him. “Georgie Cho,” Tommy said.

“Mrs. Cho's nephew?” Stoney said. “You think he'll go for it?”

Tommy nodded his head. “I gonna ask. But he gonna do, you wait and see.”

“There's still one thing in all of this that makes me nervous,” Harman said. “We still don't know who this guy really is. I'd feel a lot better if we knew exactly what kind of animal we were dealing with.”

“We can still work on that,” Stoney said. “We do know a few things about him. Rich guy, living under an alias. He's got to be hiding from something or somebody, so that makes him vulnerable. We know he's a plunger, otherwise he wouldn't be into commodities. And we know he's got the bucks. Plus, at any time in this process, we can pull the plug if things start to get sticky. I have a plan B to fall back on.”

“Yeah, I'll bet you do,” Harman said. “Well, Prior's a candidate, all right. Bored, greedy, rich, and in hiding. But remember, he's willing to kill to protect his identity.”

“And good at it, apparently,” Stoney said. “I agree with you, it would be better if we knew exactly who he is, but it's not critical. And we do have some time, because we're gonna be rehearsing for a while, especially with Georgie. His part is the most important.”

“Georgie gonna be fine,” Fat Tommy said. “You wait and see.”

“So,” Stoney said. “We ready to go to Defcon One?”

Jack looked at Stoney, then at Fat Tommy. “I'm not
breaking in anywhere,” he said. “And I'm not putting on a mask and sticking a gun in anyone's face, either.”

“Yeah,” Stoney said. “I know, you said you were retired. That stuff is not our style, anyhow. The object of this game is to induce the mark into handing his money to you, and thanking you afterward for showing him a good time.”

“Nice work if you can get it,” Jack said. “I just want to make sure you understand, ahead of time, I have my limits. There are places I won't go any more. You know what I mean?”

“I don't have a problem with that,” Stoney said. “I'm not down for storming the barricades, either. Why don't we do this? Let's walk through it a few times, and you let us know if we're getting you into places where you're not comfortable.”

“All right,” Harman said. “Get everybody together, and we'll do a couple of dry runs. See how it feels. Won't cost nothing to do that.”

“No,” Stoney said. “It won't cost us much until we sink the hook in Prior's lip. That's when it gets expensive. Couple hundred thou, I'm guessing.”

“Maybe not that much,” Tommy said. “I gonna buy for you wholesale. Don' worry, you gonna like.”

“All right,” Stoney said. “Jack, do you need to work from a script?”

“No,” Harman said. “We'll just keep running over it until everybody's got it down cold.”

 

She paused just inside the back door, her heart pounding. Jeannette was still on, but Marisa didn't like to wait inside after her set, she preferred sitting in the car. They paid her in cash, it saved everybody trouble, and she had the bills tucked into the side pocket of her bag.

Prior had been there tonight. He'd almost swallowed his tongue when he saw her walk out on the stage. He usually had two guards with him, but she'd only seen one, the one who shaved his head. Prior had moved up to the edge of the stage, stared at her with that sad-faced dog look of his, sat there rubbing himself and getting redder and redder.

It had felt so good, watching him watch her, up on the stage.

She put her hand on the crash bar that would open the back door. Fear and exhilaration, adrenaline and noise, money and the joy of letting loose, finally, they all swirled around in her mind as she took one last look around, wondering if she'd ever see the inside of the place again. You can't keep doing this, she thought. This has to be it, really. She nodded to herself. Last time.

I'm done with it. I have to be.

She shoved the door open and went through.

Mercury-vapor floodlights bathed the parking lot in an eerie blue glow. Jeannette's car was on the far side of the lot. She paused in the shadows by the corner of the building, listening. The last thing she needed was to get pawed by some half-loaded loser who wanted more than he could get inside. She couldn't hear anything over the hum of the cars out front on Route 46 and the drone of a small plane vectoring in for a landing at Teterboro Airport, just on the other side of the highway. Her heart was beating wildly. God, she thought, please get me though this, get me to bed safe tonight and I'll never come back here again. I promise….

But you love it, she thought.

She started out across the parking lot, her shoes clicking on the pavement. She was just past the corner of the first row of cars, the ones parked up against the building, when she felt
him grab her. His hand clamped down on her shoulder before she even knew he was there. It was the bald one, she knew it from his aftershave. She dropped her bag as his voice rasped in her ear. “Mr. Prior wants to talk to you.”

She struggled, but she could sense the steel in his grip. “Let me go!” she said, looking wildly around the parking lot. She could see the cars going by on Route 46, but she did not see another human being out and walking. “I'm not talking to him!”

The guy chuckled. “You're not showing Mr. Prior much respect,” he said. “Shut up and come with me.”

“Let me go!” This guy could kill me, she thought, and her strength and will to resist seemed to drain out of her. God, what if I never gonna see my mother again, or Dennis, or even my father…. She began to think about all the terrible things men did to women, and she felt her knees go weak.

“Hey, asshole.” She heard the unfamiliar voice, then felt the impact. Then she heard the bald man's explosive grunt as something heavy hit him in the back. His arm flew off her and his momentum catapulted her away from him, throwing her down onto her hands and knees on the coarse pavement. She could feel small pebbles and grains of sand embed themselves in the skin of her palms as she fought to absorb the impact of the fall with her hands and not her face. She rolled over, wrenching her shoulder and banging the back of her head on the ground in the process. “Lady said to let go,” the voice said. She still didn't know who the speaker was, but she saw Prior's man swarming to his feet, turning to face a stocky figure that had stepped out of the shadows.

“Goddammit!” the guy yelled. “This is none of your business! You'd better hit the fucking road, pal!”

Get up, she thought, her anger returning, get up, goddammit. She struggled to her feet, slightly unsteady. The newcomer was shorter than her father, looked like he was in his early twenties. He had that same broad build her father did, that same physical presence. He had black hair, pale brown skin, and the face of a cruel Incan deity, the kind you saw carved into a temple wall. His nose started high up on his forehead and ran straight down, hooking slightly at the end, where it flared out at the tip. His eyes were so dark she could not distinguish pupil from iris, all she could see was black. He was just a kid compared to the guard, though, and now she was worried that Prior's guard was going to kill the kid, whoever he was. The bald guy seemed to wave his hand, and a black-bladed knife materialized in his fist. “I will cut you, boy. You hear me?” He sliced at the kid's midsection, but the kid danced aside, and suddenly he had the hand holding the knife in his grip. He bent the bald guy's wrist back at an unnatural angle, then, as the man shouted in pain, the kid punched him hard in the face. Prior's man staggered back, lost his footing, and went down, eyes wide.

Marisa stared at the kid. “Who are you?” she shouted.

Behind her, the side door to the limo opened and Prior's other guard got out. She half expected to see Prior, too, but he didn't show. “Run!” the kid yelled at her. “Go! Get outta here!” She kicked herself into awkward motion, saw the bald man on the ground latch onto the kid's leg as she went past. He's got two of them to deal with now, she thought, and she stopped and turned back. The driver was coming fast, and the bald one was struggling to maintain his grip on the kid's leg as he rolled up onto his hands and knees. She felt the rage rising up in her throat. It was two quick steps back to them, and she
put all of her anger in the kick. The guy let go of the kid and howled, curling himself into a ball just like a spider landing on a candle flame.

The second guard dropped one shoulder and dove into the kid's chest, and the two of them tumbled down onto the pavement. Baldie had a pistol in his armpit, she could see the checkered black grip stark against his white shirt. He was in no shape to resist, so she reached down and pulled it out. She'd never held a gun before, but she'd seen it in the movies a thousand times. She racked the slide back to chamber the first round, guessed that the tiny lever by her thumb was the safety. She flipped it up, exposing a tiny red dot.

Had to be.

The two fighting on the ground were still ignoring her, so she pointed the pistol at the limo and pulled the trigger. It went off, twisting skyward in her grip. They quit struggling, then, and she walked over and rested the end of the pistol against the side of the guard's head.