Slash and Burn (16 page)

‘No, I’ll take a cab. You guys follow and see if you can spot a tail. No one knows about you yet: I want to keep things that way.’

We arranged to meet at a motel off Route 80 on the outskirts of Arlington once we were sure no one was following me.

‘You ain’t going to believe what Harvey dug up on this Huffman character,’ Rink said. ‘Very interesting.’

‘I can’t wait.’

Chapter 23

Reunited with his Magnum .357, Larry Bolan stepped out of the rear of le Cœur de la Ville into the blizzard and saw the single set of footprints leading away up the street. The snow was coming down hard, and the prints had almost been obscured, but he could still make out the faint depressions in the snow. Hunter wasn’t that far ahead. He didn’t bother following him. There was only one place that Hunter would go, so he backtracked to the workshop where he’d left Trent.

Now that his blood had settled a little, he regretted killing Aitken and Wallace. His anger, and the whisky, had driven him to act irrationally. But he didn’t want anyone getting in his way. He wanted revenge. But now he didn’t have anyone to look after his little brother while he went after Hunter.

Trent was where Larry had last seen him. He was lying in the shadows at the back of the workshop. One knee was bent and an arm was crooked up as if he was waving, so he looked like he was in the first aid recovery position. But there was no way Trent was recovering from this. The two holes in his back were large enough to accommodate Larry’s fists.

Larry crouched down and touched his brother’s cheek. It was stiff with cold – maybe even rigor – and Larry drew his fingertips away. But then his hand went back to Trent’s face and turned it towards him. Trent’s pale blue eye was gone.

He laughed without humour. ‘Don’t worry, Trent, it’s actually an improvement.’

Larry sighed. He closed the eyelid to hide the mess.

Standing up, he looked down on his brother.

‘I’m gonna get the son of a bitch that did this to you, bro,’ he promised. ‘I’ll make him hurt before he dies.’

Then he got in the SUV they’d brought here earlier.

The stench inside was overpowering. Larry dropped the windows, deciding he’d rather endure the cold than the stink. He backed the SUV out into the loading area, then pulled down the shutter on the workshop and clicked the padlock in place. Trent would be as much at peace here as he would be anywhere. When he was done with Joe Hunter, Larry would see to a proper burial, but for now, the workshop would serve as Trent’s tomb.

He drove to the airport.

He didn’t go inside the departure building.

He parked the SUV in a position where he could see inside. He could look through the glass front, but anyone inside would see only their own reflection. The snow was coming down heavy, swirling in the draughts round the building, but he could still see the doors. If anyone came out, he’d spot them. He sat with his Magnum in his hand. Trent’s Mossberg Persuader was on the seat beside him. He didn’t want to use the guns, though. When he killed Hunter it would be with his hands. He’d only shoot him if he tried to run. Wing him in the leg, or something. Then he’d pull his head off his shoulders and crap down his neck.

Through the snow, he could see Hunter sitting in a far corner of the building, nursing a paper cup. The man had changed his clothes since their last encounter. But he would have had to: his other clothes were splashed with Trent’s blood.

A hundred times he almost got out the SUV. He could walk inside the airport and corner the bastard. But a hundred times he held back. His head was still full of liquor fumes. He wanted to be clear-headed when he killed Hunter. Crystal clear.

Before leaving the restaurant, he’d pulled on a heavy overcoat. But he was cold. The wind was blowing through the SUV, carrying snow with it. He tasted flakes on his tongue. But he didn’t close the windows. The stink of brains was sour in his nostrils and he could smell the whisky coming out of his pores. The cold was helping clear his mind for what was to come.

The snow stopped.

There was a bustle of activity on the runway as a plough and a truck with a heater mounted on its back set to clearing away the snow. Except for visits to a vending machine, Hunter didn’t move. Neither did Larry.

Larry was shivering by the time he watched Hunter stand up and pull a rucksack on to his shoulder. Hunter disappeared through the departures door. Finally, Larry stepped out of the SUV. He left the Mossberg where it was, but slipped the Magnum inside a coat pocket.

He went up to the booking desk.

‘When’s the next flight to Frankfort?’

‘There’s a flight preparing to leave, sir,’ said the airport rep. He didn’t meet Larry’s eyes. Larry was sure the man could smell him and was turning away to avoid the stink. The guy tapped buttons on a computer. ‘There are seats free. I can book you on it if you wish?’

‘How long until the next flight outa here?’

‘Two hours.’ He glanced up at Larry. Then his eyes quickly flicked down again.

‘Give me a ticket for that one,’ Larry said.

He paid cash from his billfold, took his tickets then went off to the public restroom. Inside he studied himself in a mirror. No wonder the guy had been giving him funny looks: he was still covered in dust and slivers of glass. He washed his hair and face. Then he leaned both hands on the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror for a long time. His eyes began to go out of focus, and for the briefest of seconds he saw someone else’s eyes staring back at him. One brown, one pale blue.

Trent was along for the ride. He wanted to be there when Larry ripped Hunter’s heart out of his chest.

Chapter 24

I was in my room at the motel outside Arlington when a knock came at the door.

I’d been sitting on the bed with my SIG on my lap. Standing up, I held the gun close to my hip as I walked across the room. I’d pulled the blinds shut on arrival, so had to peel one of the slats aside to take a look outside.

If I’d never seen the Bolan twins, I’d have thought the two guys standing outside were huge. Rink stands about six three and Harvey is a shade taller. Rink is built like Mr Universe, while Harvey looks more lithe and rangy, like a young Muhammad Ali. They were an odd-looking combination. Rink’s part Japanese and has the blue-black hair and hooded eyes of his mother. His muscular build is down to his Scottish ancestry on his father’s side. Harvey on the other hand was blue-black all over, from his bald head down. Rink had on a denim jacket and jeans over a white T-shirt. Harvey looked as slick as ever I’d seen him in a silver-grey suit with matching shirt and tie. Harvey had a laptop bag with him, which he’d hung from one shoulder. He was fixing his cuffs as I peeked out at them.

They were my best friends in the entire world and I was pleased to see them both.

I let them in. Harvey came in first, while Rink took a last look behind them. Harvey put out his hand and I shook with him. Then Rink followed and grabbed me in a bear hug. He squeezed me and I was reminded of the kicking that Larry Bolan had lain on my ribs.

‘Easy, big guy,’ I laughed. You’d think we hadn’t seen each other for years instead of the few days it had been. But that’s Rink for you.

‘Things looked clear on the way over here,’ Harvey said.

‘I was hoping that we would spot a tail,’ Rink said. ‘After coolin’ my heels at court all week I could’ve done with the action.’

Distracted by the fact that Kate was being held by dangerous people, I didn’t care much about Rupert Heavey. If his defence attorneys called for a mistrial due to the no-show of the key prosecuting witness, then to hell with it. It was like Rink said: there were more ways to skin Heavey than by putting him through the legal system.

Shutting the door behind them, I got the preamble out of the way. ‘You said you had something interesting about Robert Huffman?’

Harvey slid the bag off his shoulder and pulled out his laptop. He cabled it up to a socket in the wall. We’d chosen this motel because it advertised internet access in all rooms. Sitting on the bed with the computer on his thighs, Harvey began tapping keys. A minute later he turned the screen to me so I could take a look.

‘Robert Huffman,’ Harvey said. ‘Entrepreneur businessman. Multi-millionaire.’

Huffman was a good-looking guy. No doubt about it. He looked fit and healthy, and dressed the part. He was wearing a navy suit, white shirt, light red tie. He had a lot of upper-body definition that the suit couldn’t disguise. Long slim legs. He looked like an athlete who’d retired from competition but had kept up his training regime. He had short, immaculately styled hair. It was growing grey, but it gave him that ‘distinguished look’ that people talk about. His face was tanned and lean.

Whoever had taken the photograph had caught him smiling, but I didn’t buy the look. His lips were too tight and his dark eyes too cold. He had the black depthless gaze of a shark.

I stared at his photograph and I hated the bastard.

Harvey tapped keys and another shot of Huffman came up on the screen. He was younger in this shot. His hair was black. Still smiling without any emotion extending to his dead eyes. Except this time he was wearing an orange jumpsuit. There were numbers beneath his name.

‘He’s done time,’ I said.

Harvey pointed at the name of the correctional unit. Seagoville. A federal prison on US Highway 75 to the south–east of Dallas. Not far from where we were.

‘Minimum security,’ Harvey said. ‘Huffman did time, yeah, but it wasn’t hard time.’

‘What was he locked up for?’

‘He cut a man’s throat.’

‘And he only went to a minimum security prison?’

‘The charges were dropped from murder in the first when he hit the cops with a little quid pro quo,’ Rink explained. ‘He went state evidence against his former employers, the Texas Syndicate. In exchange for putting away the Felitta brothers, his charges were dropped to manslaughter. He did three years’ soft time at Seagoville.’

‘I’m surprised he made it out the other end. No one likes a grass.’

Harvey raised his eyebrows. ‘No one fucks with Quicksilver.’

‘Quicksilver?’

‘That was Huffman’s street name. He was the Dallas syndicate’s top enforcer. By all accounts he was a very capable killer. No one was going to go against him.’

‘Not when it was all a set-up,’ Rink added.

‘What kind of set-up?’

‘There’s an assumption that it was just a plot to get rid of the Felittas,’ Rink said. ‘His arrest allowed him to talk to the DEA out from under the eyes of his bosses. The Felittas were the supposed power in the syndicate, but Huffman was just bubbling away under the surface, ready to take over when he got his chance.’

‘So he gave the DEA all they needed to put the Felittas away,’ I said, ‘with the intention of taking over where they left off? Criminals don’t stand around when there’s a gap in the market, I’d have thought some other outfit would have moved in while he was away.’

Harvey shook his head. ‘It wasn’t like that, Hunter. The other syndicates stayed out of the way. They left Dallas alone for when Huffman could come back. His actions with the Felittas have been
forgiven
by the other syndicate heads, if you get my meaning?’

‘It suited them that the Felittas were out of the picture?’

‘Yeah,’ Harvey said. ‘The Felittas were old school: no one wanted to deal with them any more. When he was released from prison the other syndicate heads welcomed Huffman back with open arms. In some eyes his going down for three years was seen as heroic; like he’s some goddamn martyr to the cause.’

‘So he did his three years then walked out and into the Felittas’ shoes?’

‘Not exactly,’ Harvey said. ‘The syndicates left Dallas alone, but others had moved in. By the time Huffman came back the street gangs were running the narcotics and prostitution. But Huffman wasn’t interested in that any more. He saw his future in real estate. You’ve seen what he’s been up to around Little Fork, right? That’s only one of his ventures.’

‘There are others?’

‘Many others.’

‘So he has plenty of people in his pocket,’ I assumed. ‘Plenty of Bolans and Aitkens to pull on if need be?’

‘My guess is that there are lots of people at his beck and call,’ Harvey said. ‘But they’re not the ones we should be worried about. The other syndicates owe him. He did time for them. He can probably pull on any of the mobs, ask for their help. We could be going up against some of the top enforcers in the country.’

‘Bring it on,’ Rink said. He looked like he meant it.

‘Mob enforcers aren’t usually the type to work outside their frame,’ I said. ‘It isn’t as if every syndicate in the country is going to send their best man. You ask me, there’d be way too many competing egos. They’d probably spend more time fighting each other than they would looking for me.’

‘It only takes one,’ Harvey said. ‘If he’s good enough.’

‘Yeah.’ It was a sobering thought.

Huffman hadn’t been talking about only one man. He’d been talking plural. We really had no idea about how many men he was sending against me. But it didn’t matter; if they came I’d stop them. Simple as that. I wasn’t going to worry about them until they showed up. I certainly wasn’t going to run and hide.