The Devil’s Share (11 page)

“That's good.”

“They didn't want to let me go at first. But I got my lawyer on the phone. He came up and got me. After they cut me loose, I went back to Ohio, did some private rehab there, PT. That's when this started.” He raised the cigarette.

“I feel like I'm screwing things up for you again,” she said. “I'm sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. I owe you.”

“No. It's the other way around.”

He looked away. “When are you leaving?”

“Tonight.”

“Then I guess we're down to it.”

“We are.”

“And you're waiting on me.”

She didn't answer.

He dropped the cigarette on the concrete, ground it out with a heel. “Where's your base for this thing?”

“Outside Vegas. That's where I'm headed.”

“Even if I come along,” he said, “you still need a couple more people, right? You have anyone in mind?”

“Not yet. I was going to reach out to Sladden, see who's up.”

“Any special skills you're looking for?”

“Just a cool head, and the ability to follow directions.”

“Ever work with a guy named Keegan, out of Boston?”

“No.”

“Irish, a few years older than us.”

“I thought you were out of the Game.”

“I am. But he and I did something together a few years back, up in Rhode Island. Before that mess in Lauderdale.”

“He good?”

“Yeah, he was. Things got crazy, but he kept his end together. We all got paid. Quiet, doesn't talk much, but a good guy to have around if things start going sideways.”

“You know how to reach him?”

“Sladden would. I don't know that Keegan's still around, but if he is, Sladden can find him.”

“I'll check with him.”

“Then I guess I better make up my mind, right?” He got out the cigarettes again.

“You can say no.”

“I could.”

“If things are going well here, why take the chance?”

“The truth? Kitty's getting low. I pay the mortgage on that farm, taxes, insurance, whatever, even though my name's not on it. Take care of Lynette, too, whatever she needs. Sooner or later, it's gonna be a forced call, I'll need to do something.” He lit the cigarette. “What kind of time frame are you looking at?”

“Three weeks, give or take. But if you do drive that truck, once you get it where it's going, you're done. There won't be anybody looking for you. Nothing that connects you to what happened.”

“How's the money work?”

“The banker moves the cash into an offshore account I keep. I'll pay you out of that, however you want it. Fifty K when you're on board, another fifty when we're done. I'm the buffer between the money man and the crew. He pays me, I pay you.”

“Can you trust him?”

“So far. He's already put up my half. But it'll be my responsibility to make sure everyone gets paid. One way or another, it'll happen.”

“How soon could I get that fifty?”

“A few days, I'd think.”

He rubbed his tattooed forearm. “It would soften the blow for Lynette, have a check for fifty grand show up.”

“More like six separate checks, all under ten thousand. Better that way. Spread it out, maybe different accounts. Keep a low profile.”

“Right.”

“I'll have a new cell tomorrow. I'll call you. You can give me your answer when you're ready.”

He looked at the ground, shook his head.

“What?” she said. She'd never seen him like this before. Wondered what it was he'd lost that night in Connecticut, those long weeks in rehab.

“I think I'd rather leave tonight, “he said. “With you. I'll call Lynette tomorrow from wherever I am.”

“Isn't that a little harsh?”

“It'll eliminate some drama, maybe. And to be honest, if I wait until tomorrow, I might change my mind.”

“I understand.”

He stood. “I'm going to head back now, get my things together.”

“You sure?”

“I'm sure. What about iron? I have that .38. A shottie upstairs, too.”

“No need,” she said. “Someone else is taking care of all that.”

He dropped the cigarette, ground it out. “I'll hit you on your cell tonight. Let you know when I'll be ready.”

“You don't need to do this.”

“I don't know,” he said. “I'm thinking maybe I do.”

*   *   *

She was having dinner in a coffee shop on the highway when her phone buzzed. Hicks's number. She looked at it, let it ring six times before she answered.

“I called you earlier,” she said.

“I know. I'm sorry, got tied up. How are things going?”

“Making progress. You?”

“Same. I'm looking over the equipment list you gave me. There's some things we'll need to talk about. You getting your people together?”

“Working on it.”

“My other man's here. He's good to go.”

“Once my people commit, we'll need to see those advances,” she said. “Sooner rather than later.”

“I'll tell him.”

Silence on the line.

What?” she said.

“It's just … Hell, I was thinking about the other night.”

“What about it?”

“Things are a little awkward, I know. And you have that situation down in Texas…”

“What's that got to do with anything?”

“It's just … It felt pretty special, you know. But at the same time, I don't want it to cause any problems.”

“That's not your responsibility. But don't worry about it. It won't.”

“I know, but—”

“Listen, Randall. What happened happened. We're adults. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it wasn't. Doesn't matter. All that matters now is the work.”

“I know.”

“So let's focus on that, and leave the rest for later.”

“I just didn't want there to be any misunderstandings.”

“There aren't. I'll call you when I'm in place.”

“All right,” he said, and she ended the call.

*   *   *

Hicks closed his phone, left the balcony and went back through the French doors. Cota was in a chair by the fireplace, cane across his lap, glass in his hand. The drinks tray was on the table. He looked up when Hicks came in, raised an eyebrow.

“She says it's moving along. But her people will need their money soon.”

“They'll get it. What's that look on your face?”

“Nothing.” He took another chair. “Just trying to figure some things out.” He dropped ice cubes into a glass, poured scotch.

“You're drinking more than usual. Should I be alarmed?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“I'll admit to some nervousness. But I have a good feeling about this. It may be early days, but the foundation is solid. And you can build nothing in the absence of a strong foundation.”

Hicks held the bottle toward him. Cota nodded. Hicks poured into his glass, set the bottle back down.

“And how is our Miss Wynn doing?” Cota said. “Unless, of course, your persuasive powers have gotten her to offer up her real name.”

“Okay, I gather, from what she said. She'll call me when she's settled.”

“I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like her. An unusual woman.”

“She is that.”

“You seem distracted.”

“Just tired.” He drank.

“Are you sleeping with her?”

Hicks looked at him.

“I wouldn't think that a difficult question to answer,” Cota said.

“Why would you ask?”

“It could become a complication down the road, don't you think? Perhaps it's something best avoided.”

“There won't be any complications. I'll make sure.”

“I'll remind you of that,” Cota said. “Down the road.”

*   *   *

She parked behind the pickup, got out, left the motor running. An owl hooted from the treeline.

Chance came out the side door, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. She opened the trunk. “How'd it go?”

“I said what I had to say. She did the same. I told her I'd call her tomorrow.”

“Sorry.”

He dropped the duffel in the trunk. She shut the lid.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. “It's done. Let's go.”

 

ELEVEN

Three days later, they were at a motel in Boulder City, thirty miles from Las Vegas. It was old-style, attached cabins arranged in a U, just off a two-lane that had once been a main road.

She and Chance had rented adjoining cabins the day before, reserved another for the two men from Boston. They'd flown in that morning. Keegan was barrel-chested, with thinning red hair swept back, sideburns, and a broken nose. McBride, the one he'd brought in, was smaller, younger, dark-haired, and barely spoke at all.

The four of them sat around the table in Chance's cabin. McBride was biting his cuticles. His skin was pale, and he'd yet to make eye contact with her. She wondered how long he'd been out of prison.

“How about a beer?” Chance said. “Cut the dust.”

“A grand idea,” Keegan said. He had a soft Irish accent.

Chance got up, went into the kitchenette.

To Keegan, she said, “Sladden recommended you. Bobby did, too. That's why I asked you here.”

He nodded.

“But I don't really know you,” she said. “Or your partner here. So don't be offended if it takes a while to get things sorted out between us.”

“Only natural,” he said. “And the two of them said some fine things about your own self. That's why we came.”

“I appreciate it.”

“We have other mutual acquaintances, I'm sure, back east. There's a fellow named Smith, out of Pennsylvania, that worked with you once or twice, I believe.”

“Smitty,” she said. “How is he?”

“Above ground and walking free. All any of us can ask for, isn't it? I met your Mr. Boudreaux once as well, in St. Paul many years back. We were looking at some work there, but it never came to pass.”

“Before my time,” she said.

“It could be. Had a patch of bad luck himself recently, I heard.”

“He did.”

Chance came back in carrying open bottles of beer, set them on the table.

“Ah, Coors Light,” Keegan said. “Like sex in a canoe.”

“How's that?” Chance said.

“Fucking near water.”

McBride laughed. Chance sat, said, “Sorry, I'll buy Guinness next time.”

“Not on my account,” Keegan said. “Never a favorite. Sacrilege, I know.”

He looked at her. “These two we're waiting on, they're army?”

“Marines,” she said. “Used to be.”

McBride looked at her for the first time.

“Feckin' soldiers,” he said. He turned to Keegan. “You didn't tell me that.”

“Used to be,” she said again. “Private now. They work for the man who's putting this together. He's paying them, but they answer to me.”

“Sean's got a thing against soldiers,” Keegan said. “British soldiers anyway. Hard to blame him. His uncle was murdered in cold blood on the Falls Road. Didn't even have a weapon on him. SAS. Bleeding assassins.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she said. McBride chewed a cuticle, said nothing.

“Well, it was all a long time ago, wasn't it?” Keegan said. “New life, new country. All the old sorrows left behind, right, Sean?”

“That's what they want,” McBride said. “They want you to forget.”

“Sometimes,” she said, “that's not a bad thing.”

Chance raised his bottle.
“Slainte.”

“Slainte,”
Keegan said. He and Chance clicked bottles. McBride lifted his and drank. She let hers sit.

They heard an engine outside, close by the door. She went to the front window, eased the curtain aside. A big Chevy SUV with smoked windows had parked next to her rental.

“They're here,” she said.

When she opened the door, Hicks came in, smiled at her, said, “Hey.” Behind him was a stocky, muscular Hispanic man in a tight V-necked T-shirt. He looked at her, then at the three men.

“This is Sandoval,” Hicks said. “Sandy. One of my guys.”

She shut the door behind them. Hicks nodded at the men. “Gents.”

Keegan crossed his arms, nodded back. Chance lifted his bottle by the neck, raised his chin. McBride did nothing at all.

“Long ride,” Sandoval said. “I need to take a leak.”

Chance nodded down the hallway. Sandoval went past them. He was scouting, she knew, checking out the rest of the cabin.

To Hicks, Chance said, “Couple beers left in the fridge. Help yourself.”

Hicks went into the kitchenette. When he came back out, a bottle in each hand, she said, “Everybody's up to speed. Mick and Sean got in today. We've covered the basics.”

“Good,” Hicks said. “Same here.” They heard the toilet flush.

“Chairs over there,” she said. “Go ahead and grab them.”

Sandoval came back out. Hicks handed him a bottle, then dragged in two folding chairs from the other room, shook them open. He uncapped his beer, sat. Sandoval did the same.

“Okay,” Hicks said. “What else can you tell us?”

“Bobby,” she said, and he reached inside the jacket hanging on the back of his chair, took out the folded map. He spread it out on the table. With a grease pencil, she'd traced the stretch of highway she'd picked, marked X's for the location of the cell tower, the largest of the boulders, the arroyo that ran parallel to the roadway.

“Desert,” Sandoval said. “No shit. That why I'm here?”

She looked at him.

“Because I'm Mexican, right?” he said. “You figure I know my way around there? That's a little racist, don't you think?”