“Where are you going?” Hildy asked. “You were supposed to take a right there.”
He glanced at her again and thought about his promise to her. “I know. Hold on.”
“Hold on? What kind of talk is that, hold on? Keep your eyes on the road, would you? Are you going to explain the ‘hold on,’ or what?”
The Taurus kept with them as Chase took occasional turns, running plans through his head and discarding them one after the other until his mind was made up for him. An old Dodge pickup burning a lot of oil crossed lanes in front of him, got directly ahead and started leading the Goat along, blowing clouds of blue smoke. Behind, the Taurus closed in doing its best to stick tight without really tailgating him. They started to box him in.
For a minute Chase thought it might be the Langan crew having caught up much faster than he'd expected. But he decided Sherry and Bishop just wouldn't play it this way. They wouldn't hire out to hit him twice in a row. The next time the Langans came at Chase, Bishop would come on his own and
Sherry would be in the room, trying to get a look into Chase's dying eyes.
It could just be another cheap scam. Guy in front hits his brakes, you crack into him, and then the guy in back speeds up to smash into your car. First guy takes off leaving you to pay out of pocket to avoid the cops or insurance hassles. It happened on American highways a hundred times a day.
Hildy perked in her seat, checking the side mirror. “So this is hold on, huh? You got clowns behind you.”
“And in front. Either of them Russ or Dex?”
She looked ahead, saw the Dodge braking for no reason. “I don't think so. How would they know you? It's an insurance scam.”
“I thought so too at first, but they're boxing me in too tight.”
“But we're barely doing forty. Maybe they're just really bad at the swindle.”
“Nah, they definitely want to pin us.”
“They want to pin you. I'm not the one who goes around looking for trouble. You ready for the .38 now?”
“Buckle up,” he told her.
“Oh shit. Jesus Christ, you could've had me if you'd wanted me, there's no need to show off now. What are you going to do?”
Chase said, “Put out his lights.”
“Isn't that like crashing?”
“A little.”
The wide street was empty. He sped up and nosed
the Dodge in the rear. He could push the GTO and put some real muscle into this race, do a lot of body damage, maybe crack the others up, but he wasn't in the mood to run these assholes around for a while. Chase had things he had to do.
The driver in the pickup was talking on his cell. Chase checked the rearview and saw the driver of the Taurus talking animatedly too. Jesus Christ, they were actually on the phone to each other, probably doing a countdown.
Pulling a gamble like this meant they wanted him out of the car. So he'd get out.
He slammed the brakes and the Taurus plowed into him from behind. The Goat rocked hard, but you had to love classic Detroit steel. Serious grillwork, solid as all- hell bumpers. Hildy barely bounced in her seat.
But a little tap like that and the Taurus's headlights exploded and its front end crumpled. The hood lock detached and the hood sprang open. The driver slammed on the brakes and the car slewed over the curb and tapped a fire hydrant.
The Dodge pickup slowed but didn't stop. It roared off as Chase watched it, the blue smoke dwindling in the sunshine.
Chase said, “Stay here.”
“Where else am I gonna go?”
He threw the Goat into park, leaped out, and ran to the Taurus. He got the driver's door open while the guy behind the wheel wrestled with the inflated air bag. They fill hard and fast and explode into
your face so that it's like a punch in the nose. The driver was dazed. Chase grabbed the guy by the collar and yanked him out of the car, threw him down in the street and kicked him twice in the stomach.
Okay, so it wasn't an insurance scam, wasn't Russ, wasn't Bishop, wasn't Mackie or Tons, and it wasn't Jonah. That left only one person Chase could think of.
Y
ou Kel Clarke?” he asked.
Chase got his first good look at the guy. He was young, even younger than Chase. Maybe twenty-one, still had crummy skin. Skinny, only needed to shave once a month tops, almost effeminate, with a lot of wild James Dean hair that smelled of fruity shampoo and spray. His nose was bleeding from the air bag.
He tried to roll to his feet and Chase slugged him in the chest. The kid's sternum rang like a bell and he let out a squawk of pain. Chase frisked him. The mook wore a deep concealment Kel- Tec P32 clipped to his belt and he kept trying to reach for it. As small as a dollar bill, the frame clip made it look like nothing more than a folding knife. Another sneaky fucker. Chase slapped the kid's hands aside and snatched the tiny gun away.
You had to love Sarasota for one thing besides the bikinis. Broad daylight, buildings all over the place, traffic at the cross street ahead, but everybody
minded their business. When you lived on the beach and always picnicked with your kids, you had even less cause to get in someone else's face.
“I asked you a question. Who are you?” Chase said.
“Like you don't know?”
“Like I don't know. Are you Clarke?”
“Yeah.”
“You ran with Earl and Ellie Raymond.”
“That's right.”
Clarke tried to stand and Chase put his foot on the guy's chest. “Just sit there.”
“Come on, man, in the street? The cops might show up.”
“Then talk fast. Who was in the pickup?”
“Nobody.”
Chase pulled one other name that he remembered from the guys who had crewed up with the Raymonds. “Jason … Fleischer?”
“No, someone else I work with on occasion.”
“Okay. So what do you want?”
It seemed to confuse him. “What do I want?”
“My very words. What do you want?”
“What you mean what do I want? What do you think I want? You wiped out my whole crew. I want you dead.”
It took Chase back a little. “Why?”
“You're asking me why?”
“Were you that close with them?”
“No. We only pulled a couple of scores together. Come on, let me get up.”
“Stay there. Did you get your cut from that diamond heist?”
“Some of it anyway.”
“So why come looking for trouble?”
“I thought you were after me too. I wasn't about to sit around and wait for you to come find me. Not after what happened in Newark. Not after what you did to them. That motel looked like fucking Beirut. You drove a car through a wall and ran over Slip in his goddamn bed!”
“That's not what happened.”
Chase did drive through a wall, but Slip and the others hadn't been crushed. The room was small but large enough for two double beds, with a nightstand between them. Earl Raymond had been behind the bed farthest away, his sister Ellie between the two, Slip Jenson closest to Chase so he was the one Chase popped first even though he didn't have anything against the guy.
“However it went down,” Clarke said, “you racked them up pretty good. Bodies in there, bodies next door in the other room. I did some checking. The old man killed his own woman. She was what? Twenty? Twenty- two?”
Not even. “How do you know that?”
“Like I said, I asked around. I called in favors on the circuit. I found out about you and the old man. You're vicious. You don't stop. You're maniacs.”
Clarke was one of those guys who couldn't keep anything bottled inside him. He liked to talk, let you know what was on his mind. He'd worry about the
consequences later, maybe have to go out and find somebody who had listened to him too closely and plug the leak. But he liked getting it all out of his system in a rush.
“I barely remembered your name. Earl pulled the trigger on my wife. You were there in the diamond merchant's shop that day. You saw what happened. All I ever wanted was him.”
“You still killed Ellie and Slip too.”
“I told them what would happen,” Chase said. “I gave them a chance to give up the driver. They didn't take it.”
“Why should I believe you?” Clarke asked.
“Why shouldn't you? I never made a move against you.”
“Maybe you were just working your way up to it.”
“You've got an inflated sense of your self- worth, kid. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't be standing around trying to convince you otherwise.”
“Maybe you just—”
“Shut up.”
He stared at Kel Clarke and thought that it only would've been a matter of time before Ellie Raymond had taken him out of the game. She had a knack for finding young stupid guys, and Chase could tell this kid hadn't been in the bent life for too long. He was dumb as hell and paranoid on top of it. He overreacted. No cool, no calm.
“So how did you find me?” Chase asked.
“I've been asking around.”
“Yeah, but nobody knows I'm here.”
Clarke's eyes started to shift. He wanted to come up with a story quickly but didn't have the imagination for it. No wonder he needed to partner up with people smarter than he was.
Chase smacked him in the nose and got a little blood flowing again. “Don't lie, just tell me.”
“I tracked the old man.”
“What?” No way did this idiot catch on to Jonah. “You? Impossible.”
“His girlfriend used to run with some people I know. I followed the story after Newark, started asking around, found out who she crewed up with, what scores she pulled, where her family lived.”
“And you found him?”
“No,” Clark admitted. “But it got me down here to Sarasota.”
“Be glad you didn't get any closer on his trail. If you had, you'd be dead.”
Chase glanced back at the Taurus again and something snatched at his attention but didn't hold. He couldn't figure out what it might be. Lila shouted something in his head so loud that it resounded painfully and made him frown. He turned as if she was standing beside him, shot her a look and wanted to say, What is it, honey?
He tried to piece it all together. “You've been following me since when? Since I checked out the Dash place?” Chase thought of the cleanly sliced police tape. Someone had tried to break into the house after the family had been murdered. Could this mook have been parked up the street, just waiting for
Chase or Jonah to come traipsing by? “You've been onto me that long?”
Smiling, Clarke said, “You're sloppy. Or crazy. You act like you want somebody to come after you. You don't take precautions. You're a suicide waiting to happen.”
“So why didn't you make your move sooner?”
“I was worried about the old man.”
“You should be.”
“I wanted to get you both. But I can't find him. And neither can you. So I figured I'd take you on today.”
“That was your big plan? Drive me off the road? You insulting prick.” Chase kicked him hard in the chest again. “Take my advice. Don't run with any more hot dogs like Earl. Don't rile the old man. And stay the fuck away from me.”
He got back into the Goat beside Hildy and drove on.
She said, “You're
letting him go?”
“Yeah.”
“Well that was stupid. I always thought you guys, the pros, you wouldn't ever let someone who crossed you just up and leave.”
“Where'd you hear that from?” he asked.
“From everybody. It just makes sense.” She frowned and gave him the look again. “You sure you know what the hell you're doing? When he comes back to waste you I hope I'm nowhere nearby.”
“You won't be.” He handed her the Kel-Tec. “Here, this suits you better.”
“It looks like a knife.”
“That's the idea.”
“You should keep it. Like I said, Russ, he's a little jittery sometimes, depending on how much speed he's taken and how much he's slept in the past few days. Tiny gun like this, he'd miss it. Dex won't, but Russ will.”
She spun the P32 around in her hand, looked in his face. “So what is it now?”
“What?”
“Something's on your mind. You were nice and cool before, even while you were kicking that guy around, but now your eyes are burning.”
The girl beside him, radiating heat and intent, muttering her wiseass humor like his wife used to do. That firm resolve always a solid weight pressing against him, like her warm hands as they rode, wherever, whenever they rode. He stared at the girl and kept flashing on Lila, straining to make sense of what she'd shouted at him back at the scene. If only she hadn't yelled, but the Lila in his head had been anxious in a way his wife had never been during her life. He sat there hoping she'd repeat herself. He kept asking, demanding, thinking, What? What, damn it. Honey? You there?
“I don't know,” he said.
Y
ou sure you don't want me to come with you?” Hildy
asked. She put a hand to his wrist. Not sexing him up this time, just going in for contact, being real and human and kind.
“No, you've done enough. I don't want you around in case anything goes wrong. I appreciate you getting me this far. Thanks for your help.”
“I really hope you know what you're doing.”
“We'll see.”
Chase dropped her off at Boze's place and then drove over to the bar to meet Dex's contact man, Russ.
Russ was a fidgety bastard all right. Looked like he hadn't slept in three or four days, pepped on uppers. Pretty much nondescript otherwise. Muddy eyes pressed into a muddy face. Greasy- dishwater blond hair. His left arm was so suntanned it was almost black. They called it trucker's arm. It came from all the miles of hanging it out the driver's window.
They got a booth in the back and made small talk
for a while. Chase didn't spot any other players in the bar. Mostly barflies and some early- duty whores waiting for happy hour. Russ commented on most of the ladies, intimately familiar with them.
Chase could sense the need to drive within the guy, the compulsion that would take over some wheelmen he knew when he was a kid. It wasn't about the getaway or the money or the action or the juice, it was about living behind the wheel. Some of those guys used to try to outrun roadblocks. They wouldn't hole up even after a big job. They'd get on the road and just break out on a highway and get nabbed crossing state lines doing triple digits. He figured Russ had tried to be a wheelman but nobody trusted him enough to include him on their scores.