Private Heat (21 page)

Karen struggled frantically under a sheet that covered her from head to foot. I pulled the sheet off. She had a plastic bag pulled over her head and taped tightly around her neck. Her arms and legs were strapped to the gurney. A silent scream froze her pale face and blue lips. The bag alternately inflated and then shrink-wrapped her face as she struggled to breathe.

I pinched at the bag, but couldn't get enough slack to get a grip. The corner of the bag was just above her forehead so I bit through. Karen head-butted me. The blood vessels in her face starting popping, and she looked like she had a sudden case of the measles. I pulled and twisted the bag with my teeth like a dog worrying a sock, but I couldn't make a hole big enough to get a finger through. I pulled out the pocket knife my boys had given me for my birthday and sliced off the corner of the bag to make a hole big enough to get my fingers into. I pulled the bag apart and rolled it down her face like a sock. Karen's eyes turned to me as she made a great gasp of an inhale.

“Don't scream,” I said. There didn't seem to be any recognition in her eyes. She didn't scream. Her breathing was raspy. I worked two fingers under the tape around her neck and then sliced between my fingers to remove the bag. Her breathing evened out. I took the straps off her arms and legs and picked her up. Someone opened the passenger door of the ambulance.

I laid Karen back on the gurney and threw the sheet over her. The ambulance rocked as someone stepped into the passenger side. I sat in the jump seat with my back to the wall next to the window from the driver's compartment. The sheet over Karen's face flapped up and down with her rapid breathing.

“Shh,” I said, and whispered, “lie still.” Karen didn't make any movement, but it didn't seem like she was really aware, either.

The glove box was opened and someone rummaged. “I got some fuses and a flashlight,” I heard Chuck's voice call out. The ambulance rocked again and the door slammed. I picked Karen up and started for the back door.

“Who owns this Cadillac?” a squeaky male voice wanted to know. Ed Fenton. I heard the passenger door on the Caddy slam shut. Ron's van fired up.

“A couple pulled up and carried a child into the emergency room,” said Ron. His voice came from somewhere near the back of the ambulance.

“The keys are in here,” said Fenton. “I'm moving it.”

“I'll get the door on the back of the ambulance,” said Ron.

“Don't worry,” said Fenton. “There's a light on the dash; they'll see it and close the door before they pull out.”

Ron's arm snaked around the still-closed left rear door and deposited his K-frame on the floor. The door shut. I heard the Caddy fire up and the driver's door of the ambulance open.

Ron's van stopped.

“Now what the fuck?” said Paulie. The door shut again.

I did up the strap across Karen's chest. Her eyes were open and she turned her head from side to side. “Paulie,” she said.

“Yes, it's Paulie,” I whispered. I kissed her on the forehead. “You have to lie quiet.” I hooked up the strap across her feet, but left it loose so I could just snatch her out when we stopped. I threw the sheet back over Karen and picked up the K-frame. If I carried her out now, Ed Fenton would have Ron and me trying to explain the situation to the local police while Chuck and Paulie drove away with Karen. The only fingerprints on the bag were probably mine.

Ron's van fired up again and pulled out. Wendy had probably seen the Cadillac move. I sat on the jump seat. Chuck and Paulie were back. Paulie started the ambulance. I could hear them talk, but the sound was muffled. We were moving.

A stethoscope hung swinging from a hook to my right. I shoved the K-frame in my pants, picked up the stethoscope. With the cone of the device held to the wall between us, I could hear their voices over the steady tick of the diesel engine.

“I didn't get nuthin' to eat,” said Paulie.

“You knew what we had to do this morning,” said Chuck.

“We coulda done it later.”

“You heard her. She was coming around.”

“She never really knew shit anyway.”

“She knew about us,” said Chuck, “and about Fay, because neither one of you can keep your mouth shut while you're fuckin'.”

The ambulance slowed and made a right turn without stopping. We had to be on westbound M-57. “Hey, she's in the back man,” said Paulie. “Go take a turn and tell her anything you want.”

“You ever think that if you hadn't felt the
need
to take a
turn,
she wouldn't be back there, and we wouldn't be headed to the river to dispose of a dead body?”

“She's back there because Wayne Campbell took a turn and felt the need
to steal a half-million dollars in New York mob money, just to impress her.”

“Why the hell are you going this way for?” asked Chuck.

“I'm going down to Belding. There's a Mickey D's down there. I'm going to get some breakfast.”

“Are you crazy? We have a dead broad back there.”

“You're a wuss. Talking like that is the reason they hired that Russian cocksucker,” said Paulie.

“Fuck this up and we'll be the next ones on his list.”

“Yeah, he's the next one on my list.”

The siren came on and Paulie got his foot in it.

“What's the hurry?”

“I'm hungry,” said Paulie.

“Jesus Kay-ryst, Paulie, you see that building right there? You know what that is? That's the Greenville Police Station!”

“Fuck 'em, we're cops, too.”

“Cops with a dead body in the back.”

“Suicide, second attempt,” said Paulie.

The ambulance lurched around a right turn and roared into the straightaway. “So, why are we running full code away from the hospital?”

“Because Mickey D's is down in Belding,” said Paulie.

“You're nuts.”

“We'll go to the drive-thru. I mean look back there. The bitch is dead.”

The window popped open and swung in. I put my hand on the butt of the Smith. Karen lurched around on the gurney. I drew the weapon and held it across my body tight against my chest. Chuck's hand reached through and pulled the window shut.

“She could be doing the boogaloo, the way you drive.”

“Unless she can breathe through her asshole, that bitch is dead.”

Chuck said something. I didn't get it.

“Look, there's a hundred pounds of quick set in the barrel we left in the car at the boat ramp. It's like the Russki said, you put the parts in the barrel, put the lid on, and the current will roll it downstream. They're never gonna find her. She and Jimmy Hoffa are going to be havin' a picnic with Elvis.”

“What about the nurse?”

“We got an alibi. We wore gloves in the hospital, and when we're done, we torch this rat wagon and there's no evidence. Besides, we're cops. Who they gonna believe?”

“They got video cameras,” said Chuck.

“Not in Podunk. The Russki scoped it out. The only video is over the emergency room. We went through the lobby.”

“I just got into this for the bread. Nice and clean, you said. Just pick up the bet slips and money. Nobody gets hurt.”

“You worry too much,” said Paulie. “I whacked Randy boy without all the Russian's hocus-pocus, and they laid it on that dipshit private dick.”

“Yeah, well, he skated it, man.”

“Maybe for now, but the fix is in,” said Paulie. “He's gonna take the fall. That was the plan from the get. You think they fronted him five g's on his good looks?”

“He was supposed to take out Randy, and he boned us.”

The ambulance slowed and turned left. We had to be on 44, Belding Road. It was just a couple of minutes to the restaurant.

“Karen made Randy for the accountant, man, and she ain't ever gonna say anything else. I put the gun in Randy's locker. That's signed, sealed, and delivered,” Paulie said.

“Except you were supposed to leave the gun in the trunk with the bean counter. The Russian still ain't happy about that.”

“Fuck him! He walks in like some kinda prima donna and drops the dude. And then I got to get rid of the body? Hell, he was going to the airport anyway.”

“You got a badge,” said Chuck. “You get stopped, nobody's gonna run the title or search the car—professional courtesy.”

“The bastard emptied his bowels, man. You didn't think I was going to open that trunk again, did you? If someone didn't see him they would have smelled him—and maybe seen
me.”

“Shit, I had to put the rat in his mouth. All you had to do was drive the car and leave the gun.”

“Neater this way—now they made Randy for it.”

“Jesus, look at this, they're lined up around the building.”

The ambulance slowed, turned right, and lurched up a drive.

“The sign says the clearance on the drive-thru is eight-six,” said Chuck. “This rig won't make it through.”

“We'll go inside.”

“They're lined up to the door.”

“Screw it, all your bellyaching has ruined my appetite.”

The ambulance gunned around the building, listing heavily.

“That's fucking it! Pull over and let me drive.”

Paulie hit the siren again. The ambulance lurched down the drive and heeled to the right as Paulie turned left, and westbound on Belding Road. He had the lights on, I could hear them clicking as they rotated on the roof. He roared through the light at M-91. I fished the radio out of my coat pocket, held it up to my ear, and clicked the push-to-talk button twice. I got no reply.

Paulie Milton honked on it, and Chuck Furbie bitched about Paulie's driving, for the entire trip. The ambulance made one last turn, and I heard the tires crunch on gravel.

“Hot damn,” said Paulie, “fog off the river is just right.”

“Let me out and I'll check the outhouse,” said Chuck.

“And bring the car around and drop the barrel off down by the ramp,” said Paulie.

The ambulance stopped and Chuck got out. Paulie wheeled the ambulance around and started backing down a grade. I could hear water rushing. We hadn't been on the road long enough to reach the Thornapple River; this had to be the Grand. The Grand River winds swift and deep through Kent County, finally emptying into Lake Michigan some eighty or so miles west.

At the side of the ambulance, to the left of the gurney, a three-foot-wide
padded shelf had a set of rolled-up straps for use should the shelf be needed to transport a person. The shelf appeared to be the lid for a large storage trunk.

A car pulled up and Paulie got out of the ambulance. I stood up and shoved the pistol into my waistband. Lifting the shelf revealed that just over a third of the six-foot space was taken up by the wheel well. A white canvas duffel bag filled the remaining space. I lifted it out, set it on the floor. Scooping Karen off the gurney, I set her feet down against the wheel well; the rest of her body folded in like a puppet with broken strings. Her head rested against her knees. She was still asking for Paulie. I eased the shelf gently down.

I lay on the gurney and covered myself with the sheet. I wouldn't fool them for long—but I didn't figure on cribbing the punch line.

A loud, metal
thunk
out in front of the ambulance gave me a start. “Nobody in the shitter,” said Chuck.

“I'll wheel this to the back door,” said Paulie. “Get that saw and bring it down here.”

“I gotta take the car up there and block the entrance.”

“This is only gonna take a minute, four or five cuts and she'll fit. Besides, the fog's so thick off the river that if the grand jury pulled in, they wouldn't see enough to indict.” The gravel crunched as something was rolled along the side of the ambulance. “Just like packing pickles with your mama,” said Paulie. He laughed.

“Here's the lid and the saw. I put the gas can by the front bumper,” said Chuck. “Come and get it. I'll be up by the entrance.” I heard two slams and the car pulled off.

“Kay-ryst, you want anything done, you got to do it yourself. What a fuckin' wuss. Good thing I'm the one that caught Randy doing his double cross.”

Something metal banged onto the ground behind the ambulance. I heard
putt-putt-putt.

“Fuck's the matter with this?”
Putt-putt-putt.
“Aw, shit,” Paulie said, “I forgot to flip the switch.” A chain saw roared to life. I didn't hear him turn the catch on the door, just saw light and the roar of the saw got deafening. I thumbed the Smith's hammer to the cocked position.

Through the opaque sheet I could see him hulking into the back of the ambulance—a dark shadow surrounded by light. I sat up, snapped a shot at the hulk, and followed it with a double action pull for the second shot. The saw choked to silence. The shadowy hulk was gone.

I took the sheet off my head. I heard Paulie run up along the passenger
side of the ambulance. I turned over onto my stomach and shifted to my left. I felt a rod give way under the weight of my left foot. The gurney started out of the back of the ambulance. The side door opened and Paulie's hand appeared holding a snub-nosed revolver. He popped two quick shots into the back of the ambulance where the gurney should have been.

The gurney and I were already clear of the back of the ambulance. The legs automatically extended and the gurney rolled backward, pushing a weighted barrel down a paved boat-launch ramp. The sheet flapped back over my head, but as it spanked in the breeze, I caught sight of Paulie. Through the veil of fog he was just a dark hulk against the straight side of the ambulance. Where he leaned through the side door I could see his head clearly. I took a double-action pull at his head.

The weighted barrel must have hung up because the gurney jarred to a stop and toppled me to my right onto the cold, wet, and musty-smelling cement ramp. I could see Paulie's feet stirring the fog under the ambulance as he ran around the vehicle. He stopped near the front and all I could make out was the toe of a brown boot sticking out beside the left front tire. I rolled onto my right side so that all of my right arm—hand to armpit—lay flat on the ramp along with the butt of the K-frame. I thumbed the hammer, lined up the sights, and took the toe.