NINETEEN
W
ORKING FOR
Z
IG WAS AN UNPREDICTABLE BUSINESS
. When it paid, it paid well—fine restaurants, fancy clothes, buy yourself a cool stereo—but there were times when you’d be better off hoisting garbage cans with the sanitation department. Clem had been sitting in the car for the entire day—turning the wipers off and on, and his lumbar region going at his spine with a couple of shivs—and why? So he could keep an eye on this stupid girl. She was cute, all right—she had the kind of body Clem had never got close to without handing over hard cash. But the truth, at least as Clem put it to himself, was that this girl probably knew nothing about nothing.
In fact, when she got out of the cab, a suitcase and backpack got out with her, and she lugged them into the Ford dealership. This was not someone with a deep connection to the guys they were closing in on. But he had to sit there and wait while she examined all the Mustangs, and follow her when she took one out for a test drive. She didn’t take long to make up her mind, but then he’d had to sit there with his back screaming at him while she dealt with the paperwork.
It didn’t make sense. One minute she’s living in a trailer with a couple of thieves, the next she seems to have moved out and she’s buying a car. How does that work? Part of him wanted to pose this question to Zig, but Zig was in a pissy mood and Clem didn’t feel like putting up with it. While he was chewing this over, something interesting finally happened. The girl’s still inside finalizing her car when a beefy guy in a forest green Chevy Blazer pulls up right behind Clem and kills the motor but doesn’t get out of the car. He sits there staring across the street at the dealership as if he’s going to eat it.
It was the same guy he’d seen coming out of that broad’s driveway, same Chevy Blazer. So why is he sitting here watching her go car-shopping? Maybe he’s related to her in some way, a rich uncle. But if that’s the case, why is he just sitting there watching? Or maybe he’s got a jones on for the girl and he doesn’t want the wife to know. But if that’s the case, how did he know to find her at this dealership? He hadn’t been following her; Clem would have seen him.
Clem didn’t like having him right behind, so he got out of the car as if he’d just arrived and bought himself some time on the meter, put the ticket on the dash, and went for a little walk. Nevada plates on the Blazer, he noticed, and kept walking. Had he followed her here all the way from Vegas?
Clem went into a convenience store and checked out the magazines, keeping an eye on the guy and the dealership. He bought the latest
Woodworking
to read in the car.
When he came out, the guy was gone. Ten minutes later the girl came out. She put her backpack into the trunk, and Clem had to admit, watching her bend over, that she was one hot babe.
“I am so fucking sick,” he said under his breath, “of beautiful women.”
The salesman was looking happy as hell, trundling her suitcase. He hoisted it into the trunk, they shook hands, and she zipped right out of the lot.
Clem followed her out to Highway 80, and was wondering just how far he was supposed to stay on her tail when she pulled into the first motel that came up, a Red Roof Inn. Man, parts of Texas were about as ugly as a place could get. The glass towers of Dallas glinted in the background, but right here there wasn’t anything in sight that wasn’t concrete or cinder block, including this Podunk hotel.
Clem parked at a gas station across the street, pretending to be having pressure trouble with his tires, keeping an eye on the motel for half an hour, forty-five minutes. He thought of calling Zig to ask how long he expected him to watch this girl, when who should turn up again but the beefy guy in his forest green Blazer.
He swung into the parking lot and drove dead slow past the room with the fire-engine red Mustang out front. He stopped just for a moment, then swung back out on the highway the way he had come. This put Clem in a tough spot: should he stick with the girl or follow the guy? If the guy was a cop, Zig would want to know about that.
“Time to make a decision, Clem,” he said to himself. It wasn’t as if he was just a lackey. A man had the right to use his own judgment once in a while, even at the risk of sending Zig into a rage. The girl looked to be settling down for the night, and Mr. Beef could mean real trouble.
“Hell with this bitch,” he said. He tore out of the gas station lot and caught up to the green Blazer, careful to keep a car or two in between. He stayed on the guy all the way into Dallas, right downtown to the Hyatt Regency Hotel.
When Stu got to the Motel 6, Zig was waiting for him. Roscoe was handcuffed once again to the bathroom sink. Well, they could let the guy go now; they wouldn’t be needing him anymore.
“Where you been?” Zig said. “I’m starving. Sitting here listening to the
Jeopardy
meister in there.” He slipped his shoes on and started tying the laces.
“Wait’ll you hear,” Stu said. “I got some real interesting news.”
“Fine. Let’s go eat. There’s an A&W down the road. I got a sudden yearning for a root beer.”
“Great idea,” Stu said. “A little root beer sounds good about now.” Thinking,
Root beer?
A voice called from the bathroom: “Hey, bring me something back too, okay? No onions.”
“She ripped off the whole thing?” Zig said, wiping mustard off his mouth. They were sitting at a table in the A&W. Place was pretty deserted this time of night. “This girl totally wiped him out?”
“Totally.”
“Man, that guy should retire.”
“Exactly what I said,” Stu said.
“You sure he wasn’t playing you?”
“No way.”
“Because if Max figured out you were following him, he coulda invented this whole scenario just to put us off the scent. He’s old, but he’s no idiot.”
Stu took a slug of root beer. It was a lot sweeter than he remembered it. “No way, boss. He was completely hammered, crying in his beer. Had the kid with him, and the kid was smart enough to try and shut him up, but he wouldn’t listen. Poor bastard’s got no clue where the girl is.”
“Yeah, but we do,” Zig said, and pulled out his cellphone. “Lemme call Clem.”
Before he could dial, the phone rang in his hand.
“We’re at the A&W just down from the motel,” Zig said into the phone. “Where the fuck are you?” He shook his head, listening. “Tell me you haven’t lost the girl.”
Stu watched the corners of Zig’s mouth turn white.
“Well, that’s just great, Clem. Nice one … I don’t give a shit. Come to the fucking A&W.” Zig put the phone back in his pocket. “I don’t believe it. Asshole lost the girl.”
“We’ll find her again,” Stu said. “Let’s see what he has to say.”
Clem came in a few minutes later and ordered a burger from the counter. He brought it over to the table, in a surprisingly good mood considering the shit he was in with Zig. Zig hadn’t said a word since the phone call, replying to Stu’s attempts to cheer him up with grunts and sneers.
“There’s something weird going on with this chick,” Clem said as he sat down with a burger and a Coke the size of a bucket.
“Exactly,” Zig said. “So why the fuck aren’t you on her tail like I told you?”
“I hadda make a choice,” Clem said, taking a huge bite out of his burger. His words came out garbled and smelling of dill. “There’s some guy following her. Big guy in a green Chevy Blazer.”
“Really?” Zig said. “Green, huh. That’s fascinating.”
“No, listen. She leaves the trailer park in a cab, no one following her except me. I tail her to some dame’s place in a fancy neighbourhood: wraparound porch, driveway a mile long—you know those kinds of places? Anyways, I tail them while they shop in practically every store in Dallas. I tail them back to the fucking mansion. Couple of minutes later, this guy rolls into the driveway in the green Chev. I didn’t think anything of it at the time—figured he’s married to the older dame, big deal.
“Okay. Cab arrives and picks up the girl. I follow her to the trailer park, then to a Ford dealership. By now I’m thinking no way she’s connected to Max and the kid, ’cause she’s got her suitcases with her and she’s buying a car. Then this guy pulls up behind me and he’s watching her. There’s no other customers in the dealership. Same big guy, same green Blazer—Nevada plates, too, I notice.”
“So what?” Zig said. “What do we care where he’s from?”
“Lemme finish.” Clem took a chomp out of his burger, sucked some Coke from his straw, and chewed his way through the story. “Guy drives away, right? I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except for what happened later. Chick buys a bright red Mustang. I follow her. She drives outta town, not far, and checks in at the Red Roof out on 80. Ugliest part of Dallas you ever saw.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just tell the fucking story.”
“So I’m parked in the gas station across the highway, I’m wondering how long I’m gonna be sitting there, when the guy shows up again. Third time.”
“The guy in the Blazer?” Stu said.
“Same guy.” Clem nodded, wiping his mouth. “So, way I figure it, I got two choices: stick with the girl, or follow this guy and find out who the fuck he is.”
“What do I care who he is?” Zig said.
“He could be a cop,” Stu pointed out. “Or he could be working with Max, maybe. Somebody we missed.”
“I don’t think so,” Clem said. “I followed him to the Hyatt Regency. Room 3114. I don’t think any cop is gonna be staying at the Hyatt Regency while he’s on the job.”
“And the girl’s still at the Red Roof?”
“Okay.” Here Clem swallowed a huge bolus of burger and washed it down. “There we got a problem. I went straight back from the Hyatt, but when I get to the Red Roof the Mustang’s gone.”
“That doesn’t mean she checked out,” Stu said.
“I went into the office, asked around. I made it look like I just had the hots for the chick. Not hard to believe. Guy behind the counter gives me a smirk and says, ‘You’re too late, pal. She checked out.’”
“You lost her,” Zig said, very quiet.
“Well, yeah, but who the fuck expects her to check into a motel and check out an hour later? I mean, what is that about?”
“Maybe she saw the Blazer guy,” Stu said. “Recognized his car and got spooked.”
“Whatever,” Clem said. “Anyways, why’s it such a problem? It’s Max and the kid we care about, right?”
“As it turns out,” Zig said, “we care about the girl. Deeply. Why don’t we finish this conversation in the car, I’m a little sick of these A&W colours.”
The three of them headed out to Zig’s car, Clem still clutching his gigantic Coke, and Stu with a burger wrapped in foil.
“Christ,” Zig said. “I can’t believe you bought a burger for Mister Wizard.”
“Guy hasn’t eaten all day. Don’t see why he should starve.”
“Hate to see food go to waste, though,” Zig said. “We ain’t gonna be needing him anymore.”
Clem got in the back seat. “So why are we interested in the girl all of a sudden?”
“Because she’s got the score,” Zig said, still very quiet. “She ripped off the old man.”
Clem let the straw drop out of his mouth. Coke descended slowly down the tube.
“You’re shitting me.”
Zig eased his automatic out of his jacket. “Why, no, Clem, I’m not.”
“Maybe it’s not so bad, boss,” Stu put in, eyeing the gun. “This Blazer guy seems to know exactly where the chick is all the time. He’s right on her. We should have a talk with him.”
“Did I ask your opinion?”
“No, just let’s think this through.”
“I already have.”
Zig turned, and the noise in the confined space of the car was deafening. The bullet went through Clem’s Coke, exploding it, and into his chest. He slumped to one side, and Zig put another one into his head.
“Jesus Christ,” Stu said. “The fuck you doing, boss?”
“You want some too? Is that it?” Zig pressed the automatic into his rib cage.
“No, I’m just a little fucking nonplussed is all.”
“I knew I should’ve never worked with a loser like that. The fucker.” Zig put his gun away.
“Great, boss. Now what do we do with him?”
“Them, not him. You’re gonna take the
Jeopardy
genius over to that goddamn construction site we saw under the expressway and have him dig a grave. And make sure it’s big enough for two. They’ll lay that expressway over them and no one’ll ever know they’re down there in Hoffatown.”
Owen got Max back to the Rocket and left him crashed out on the bed. He lay on his own bunk, trying to read
The Magus
, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Sabrina. He wasn’t angry so much as bewildered. Bewildered? That did not seem the right word for the pain that was hovering inside his chest just now.
Max woke up a short time later, groaning theatrically and massaging his temples. He continued his lamentations over a pot of tea in the dining alcove. Owen was about to turn the light out when Max pounded a meaty fist on the table. “Of course!” he bellowed. “The very man.”
“Max,” Owen said, “it’s time to go to sleep.”
Max slapped the table smartly with both hands. “All those hotels we talked to, all those desk clerks, not one of them remarked, ‘Isn’t that funny? Someone else was asking after this girl just two hours ago.’ Not one of them said that.”
“Why would they?”
“Out of surprise, if nothing else. And when I asked each one, flat out, if anyone else had been asking after her, not one of them said yes. Not one of them even blinked or looked the slightest bit nervous about the question.”
“And you find this astonishing because …”
“Because of Bill. Preacher Bill, aside from being an intellectually challenged Jesus freak, is obsessed with that thieving, ungrateful siren. Pathologically obsessed, according both to she who must not be named and to sober observation. He followed her to Tucson. He followed her to Dallas. He showed up at her aunt’s. So my question is, why isn’t Bill looking for her now?”
“He probably is.”
“Then why isn’t he asking around about her? Why isn’t Bill, born stalker and monomaniac, lurking in hotel lobbies? Why isn’t he howling outside our door? I’ll tell you why—because he already knows where she is.”