Stiffed (5 page)

‘What?’

‘Is everything okay?’ Gerlach asks from over my shoulder.

‘Everything’s fine,’ I answer. 
‘A misunderstanding.’

‘No mis …’
Paavo trails off.  He moves his gaze from my face to Sergeant Gerlach then to Anna who’s stepped into the hallway and is shaking her head.

Understanding finally dawns. 
‘A mistake,’ he says.  ‘Sorry.’

Shit. 

‘I’ll talk to you later, Paavo, okay?’ I say.

‘Okay.’  He glances between
us all quizzically then turns on his heels, heading to a large white van parked in behind Gerlach’s cruiser.

‘You ordered a van?’ Gerlach asks.

I leave the front door open as a hint. 

‘No.’

‘He seemed to think you did.’

‘I’ve known Paavo since school.
  He sometimes gets things … confused.  He’s meant to come at five o’clock this evening, not in the morning. 

‘So you did order a van.’

‘I’m clearing out some junk,’ I say, ignoring his observation.

‘Some junk?’
  Gerlach raises his eyebrows and glances around, making it clear he’s seen little evidence of any junk.  The house is pretty much as my mother left it, though a bit more worn and untidy.

‘Yeah, I’m givin
g it a makeover; going for a more contemporary feel.’

‘Do you know what I think, Tad?
  I think you were setting up an insurance scam.  You stage a break-in, then you load a bunch of stuff into your friend’s van, then you make a claim.’

‘An insurance
…’ I can’t help but laugh.  It’s a nervous reaction.  If the worst that happens as a result of the last few hours is I get prosecuted for an attempted insurance fraud then I’ll consider that a good result.  And Gerlach will have difficulty securing a conviction on the basis of speculation and the little circumstantial evidence he has.

‘You’
ll be laughing on the other side of your face if I decided to pursue the case.’

‘You’re not then?’ Annabelle asks.  ‘Not that there is a case.
  I mean, we would have needed to have reported a burglary to make a claim.’

‘
Except you hadn’t yet removed the “stolen” goods.  I’d say the whole thing’s been averted before it really happened.’  He steps forward through the front door, turning on the porch.  ‘But if I hear you’ve made a claim now or in the future, you can expect to receive our full attention.’ 

He set
s off for his car and I close the front door.

‘Fuck,’ I mutter.

‘Jason’s an idiot,’ Anna says.

‘Seconded.’
 

Scrap what I said about Jason being trustworthy.
  He’s a moron.  A three hundred and fifty pound moron that’s going to be covered in Chinese burns.

I tug Anna’s skirt back into line. 
‘I guess my club got caught dragging you into the cave.’

‘Shit,’ Anna
hisses.  ‘I hope he keeps that to himself.  How the hell am I going to live that down?  And how’re you going to explain why you’re wearing your balls as earrings?’

* * *

‘You need to phone Paavo,’ Annabelle says, ‘before Sergeant Gerlach gets hold of him.’

I’m washing my hands and arms
at the kitchen sink.  Marino’s clothes are now in a black garbage bag which is stashed at the end of the garden, a fresh bag lining the bin.  All his pockets had been empty. 

‘Did you hear me?’ she repeats.
  ‘And tell him to come back with the van.  We need to get rid of those bodies.’

‘Yeah.
  I’ll ring him now,’ I say with little enthusiasm.  Ultimately, we’re doomed.  Even though we didn’t kill either Marino or Junior, we’ve committed heaven knows how many other offences so far this morning.  If the only people who knew about Marino were Jason, Kate and myself, and the only three who knew about Junior was Barry White, Jason and myself, then covering things up might be possible. 

Might.
 

Instead
, both Annabelle and Paavo know and Sergeant Gerlach thinks we’re up to something even if he isn’t sure what.  Perhaps we should just come clean and take our chances with Pirelli?

‘You’re not slipping into one of your black moods, are you?’
Annabelle asks.

‘What do you think?’

‘I think the Irish passion for melancholy is over-rated.  When Paavo arrives it’ll be like a wake.’

Paavo takes intense, taciturn and direct to the
height of national stereotype; Finnish by name, Finnish by nature, despite being born in America.  His usual demeanor makes my black moods look like I’m high on Prozac. 

‘Jesus, we’ll get you a new dog,’ she says.

‘I don’t want a new dog; I want my old life back.’

‘With Psycho-B
itch?’

‘She’s not that bad.’

‘Not that bad?  She’s several degrees out from north.  You call Paavo and I’ll make a start on your bedroom,’ she says, pulling a fresh pair of washing gloves from a pack and taking a bottle of disinfectant from under the sink.

I wait for
her to leave the room then use my cell phone to ring the Finn.

‘Hello
?’

‘Paavo, it
s Tadhg.’

Silence.

‘Look, I’m sorry about earlier.  Can you come back to the house?’

‘Now?’

‘Yes.  If that’s okay.’

‘Okay.’

‘I’ll see you soon then.’

‘Okay.’

A typical conversation with Paavo.  Silence, one word answers, and few sentences more than five words long.

Women love him. 
Heaven knows why; he barely seems to communicate with them.

I head up after Annabelle.  I might as well try and move the mattress to the top of the stairs.  Once Paavo gets here, we can slide it down and out into the van.

‘Well?’ Anna asks.  She’s pulled out the bedside cabinet and is on her knees scrubbing the wall which I can see is still flecked with blood.

‘He’s on his way.’

‘Is he okay?’

‘Who knows?
’

‘What is it with men?  Why can’t you talk to each other?’

‘I’m going to move the mattress onto the landing,’ I say, ignoring her questions.  I leave the cover sheet on, grab hold of the corner and tug it off the base and onto its side.

‘Oh my
God,’ Anna mutters.

I peer round at the side facing her.

The top half is stained reddy-brown.  The wooden slats on the bed are similarly stained, as are the varnished floorboards below.

‘We’ll never get those
stains out of these,’ Anna says, scrubbing the slats.  They’re untreated pine and the blood has soaked into the grain.

‘The bed can go as well.  I’ll buy a whole new set-up.’

The front doorbell rings.

‘Jesus, that was fast,’ I say, heading for the stairs.

I open the door to find a man in his late forties wearing jeans, a checked shirt, cowboy boots and a Memphis Grizzlies cap.  He looks fit and his face is tanned and leathery like it’s used to the sun.

‘You, Tadge?’

‘Tadhg.’

‘That’s what I said, Tadge.’
  He has a Southern drawl.  ‘Katherine says you killed a man.’

My jaw drops automatically.

‘You don’t look like that kind of man to me, boy.  You look too chickenshit.’

‘I, er …’

‘You gonna answer me, boy?’

‘I, er …’

‘As I said, chickenshit.  And what kind of a chickenshit team is the Carrick Crusaders?’ He asks reading my cap.  ‘I’m here to collect the one million dollars.  One point three with interest.’

‘One million …
’  My mind struggles to find a gear.

One million … 

One million …

It finally finds some purchase.
 

What the fuck?
  One point three million dollars?  Who does this guy think I am, Donald Trump?  Except for this house, I have about seven thousand dollars to my name.

‘I’m waiting, chickenshit.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I say truthfully.

‘You don’t understand?  You take a million dollars that do
esn’t belong to you and don’t expect folk to want it back?’

‘I haven’t taken a million dollars from anybody.’

‘She says you have it hidden and if you don’t give it to me she’s gonna die a slow, painful death.’

‘Look, I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong person.’

What the hell is this redneck going on about?  This day isn’t happening to me.  It can’t be.  I’ve done nothing to deserve it.  I’m going to wake up soon.

‘You’re Tadge, ain’t you?’

‘Tadhg.’

‘Then you’re
exactly who I want to talk to.  Will this help jog your memory?’

He pulls a handgun
from behind his back and points it at my chest.

‘Now listen carefully to me, chickenshit.  We have that crazy lady you’ve been shacked up with.  If you don’t give me back what is rightfully mine, I’m going to kill you and then kill her.  Do you understand me, boy?’

I nod my head.

‘Well?’

A movement to my right catches my eye.  Annabelle is creeping past the front porch.  She must have used the same escape route that I had earlier.  What the hell is she up to?  She’s the kind of woman brave enough to try something stupid.

‘Is … Is
Kate, okay?’

‘Okay? 
Nothing a good plastic surgeon won’t be able to sort out.’  He chuckles at his own quip.  ‘Now, how about we step inside and you can confess all?’

Annabelle i
s now standing directly behind Redneck.  She has a spade raised high.  Rather than bringing it straight down onto the top of Redneck’s head, she swings it in an arc, the blade flat.  It slams into Redneck’s right ear with a loud thwack, slamming his head down onto his left shoulder.  He falls sideways, cracking his forehead on an old wooden chair, then the decking.  His black and blocky gun lands at my feet with a thud. 

It’s a good job she didn’t lead with the spade’s edge, she’d have taken his head clean off.

And t
hank heavens she didn’t actually give me the bump on my head.

‘Jesus, Anna!
’ 

I knee
l down next to the unconscious redneck.  At least, I hope he’s unconscious and not dead.  If this carries on I won’t have any more sheets or duct tape left. 

‘Are you okay?’
Anna asks. 

‘I’m fine.  I don’t think our friend here is doing so well.’

‘Let’s get him inside.’

‘What if h
is neck is broken?  If we move him, he could end up being paralyzed.  He’ll sue the shit out of us.’

‘And
if we leave him out here you could be sharing a cell for the next twenty years with a roomie who calls you “bitch”.’

Good point.  Shit.

‘Let’s get him in,’ I say, putting my hands under his armpits and tugging. 

He’s a dead weight.

We drag him into the front room and leave him lying in the middle of the floor.  Whilst I check for a pulse, Anna retrieves the gun.

My nausea has returned.  I turn to one side and
retch.  The only thing that erupts out of my mouth is burning bile. 

‘Tadhg?’

I turn to face Anna, wiping at my mouth.  She has the gun pointed at me, her face serious.

‘Tell me about the million dollars.’

‘I don’t know anything about a million dollars!’ I splutter.

‘That’s what I figured. 
How the hell would a loser like you get a million dollars?  I hope you’re going to clean that mess up,’ she says, pointing at the lining of my stomach.

* * *

Jason stares at Redneck.  ‘You killed him?’ he squeaks, his voice at the top of his range.

‘He’s unco
nscious, not dead.  You called Paavo,’ I say as an accusation.

‘You needed a van.’

‘Yes, but …’ I hold my fire.  There’s no point berating the giant idiot, it’s not going to help matters. ‘What exactly did you say to him?’

‘That you needed a van. 
As soon as possible.’

Jason’s mess
ed up and now he’s gone all sulky.

I point at Redneck.
‘Help me get him up on the chair.’

We’ve b
rought in the wooden chair from the porch.  The plan is to tie Redneck to it whilst we get rid of the mattress, the bed frame, Marino and Junior, their clothes and mine.  It should be one hell of a bonfire.