The Take (15 page)

“Oh
shit, what’s wrong with wanting nice things?” He started over. “It’s just that
there’s nothing wrong with wanting a nice car, now that we can afford one, is
there? I’m just tired of driving around in clunkers.”

“Well,
you better learn to live with it for a while longer, `cause you can’t make any
big buys with that cash. Not while you got the bloodhounds on your trail.”

“She’s
right, Eddie,” Felina said. “We don’t want to attract attention. We still gotta
lay low.”

“Aw, I
guess you’re right. Yeah, you’re right. It’s just that … I mean, shit, I got
all this money. When do I get to be rich?”

Linda
sat back and swigged on her root beer. “Rich ain’t drug money in a garbage bag,
little brother.”

No one
said anything. Outside, a couple of drunks did their best version of a
serenade, whooping it up down St Louis Street.

“Okay,
so we get a used car.” He looked over at Felina sitting next to him, eyeing her
smooth legs. “Where d’you wanna go?”

“Well,
maybe we could —”

“No,”
interrupted Linda, “it’s where do
you
want to go, Eddie?”

“Hey,
you know, I got something to say about this,” Felina said. “It’s my future,
too!”

“Yeah.
Your future and his money. Pretty good setup.”

Felina
was too tired to argue any more. She waved it off, letting it go. Instead,
Eddie spoke.

“Look,
Sis, we’ll figure out where we’re gonna go and we’ll be gone by tomorrow, okay?”

Linda
rose from the couch. “Suit yourselves.”

Without
looking at them, she went to bed.

As
Linda shut her bedroom door, Felina cuddled up next to Eddie, slipping under
his arm. He still wasn’t used to this kind of thing, having a package like her
always available, her switch always in the “on” position.

“So
where can we go, Eddie?” she said. It was practically a whisper. She continued
to adjust her breasts until they were rubbing just right against his side. He
loved it.

“I been
giving it a lot o’ thought. Once we get the car, we can go just about anywhere.”

“What
about Acapulco?”

”Acapulco?
That’s Mexico, ain’t it?”

”Oh,
Eddie, it’s wonderful there. I mean, I’ve never been
there, but I’ve seen pictures. It’s —”

He
shook his head.

“Uh-uh.
Mexico’s out.”

“But
why? It’s so beautiful.”

“I said
no. They got customs and shit down there, ready to search your bags. And if
they find that dough … baby, that’s where the story ends.”

“Yeah,
if they find it. But we don’t go there with the money in the suitcase. We hide
it somewhere in the car and go in looking like tourists. They won’t suspect a
thing.”

Eddie
shook his head again. “Too risky.”

“Oh
baby, will you just think about it?” She ground her breasts farther into his
side. “Acapulco is like paradise. You won’t regret it.”

There
it was again. That smile.

“Okay,
I’ll think about it. An’ while I’m thinking about Acapulco, you think about
Vegas. That’s what I’ve been thinking about.”

She
frowned. “Oh no. Eddie, Las Vegas? God no, not
there.”

“Why
not? It’s s’posed to be a great place. Lots of action, lots to do. I could set
up my bookmaking business there and be legal. All the gambling —”

“That’s
just it — the gambling. You know we can’t go there with this money. You’d
lose it in twenty-four hours. Then where would we be?”

“Aw
hey, I wouldn’t lose it. I wouldn’t even gamble too much. I’d set a limit for
myself. I’d —”

“No, Eddie.
We’re not going to Las Vegas. Period.”

”Shit,
now you’re beginning to sound like Linda,” Eddie said.

”No, I’m
not. Because Linda would want you to stay here
where she can keep an eye on you. Where she can keep you under her
thumb.” She took a deep breath, then added, “Where she can get to the money.”

“Hey,
no. Baby, that’s not Linda. That’s not her style.”

“The
hell it isn’t,” Felina said.

”You
heard her yourself. She wants us to leave town.”

“Yeah,
that’s what she said, but I know what she meant.
She wants me to leave town and you to stay here, or come right back
after you dump me.”

“Dump
you? Hey, I wouldn’t never —”

Felina
jerked herself away from him. “What’s the matter, you blind? She hates me. You
hear the way she talks to me. She’d do anything to split us up.”

“Naw,
that show don’t play, darlin’.”

“Hey,
this plays: she wants to control your life like she always has. And she wants
me out.”

Eddie
waved it off. “I’ve already told her what you done for me. What you meant to
me. What reason would she have for wantin’ you out?”

“There’s
a million reasons sitting in that garbage bag out there,” Felina whispered.

The
corners of his mouth turned down as his head slowly moved from side to side. “Off
the mark, baby. Way off.”

She
pulled back from him. “For cryin’ out loud, Eddie, hit your brights. She
figures you owe her. You know, for raising you and everything. For being the
brains of the family. For telling you what to do your whole life.”

“I’m
not buying it. She wouldn’t do me out of that money. She’s my sister, and she
looks out for me. She always has.” A spasm attacked his gut. Not a big one, but
enough to put him on edge.

“Sure,
when you were a kid, maybe. But how often have you seen her lately? Huh? Once
every few years? Eddie, I’m gonna be with you every day and night from now on.
For
keeps!”

She
resumed her snuggling, parking her breasts on his side again. She could feel
him softening as she lowered her voice.

“I’ll
always look out for you,” she said. “Just like I did the other day in Houston
when Val was gonna come blow you away.”

He took
it all in and looked it over. It checked out pretty good.

“I’ll
never cross you, honey,” she added. “Never …” And she reached up and kissed him
gently on the mouth.

After
the kiss, their lips remained very close. So close, her natural scent filled
his nostrils. It was a sweet scent, hinting of her own fragrant body oils and a
tinge of her sweat, subtle as a trace of rain in a Texas summer, yet more
powerful than the cheapest street-whore cologne. It was a scent he wanted to
follow.

Anywhere.

As she
whispered something else to him, he followed her straight into the bedroom.

T
he two Mexicans
crept up to the second floor. A light bulb dangled naked from the ceiling,
casting their long shadows up the staircase. About halfway up, they saw the
door to Eddie Ryan’s room at the other end of the dim hall.

As if
on cue, they simultaneously reached inside their topcoats, each hand emerging
with a .22 semiautomatic pistol, the weapon of choice for this kind of job. Then
from their pockets came the silencers.

They
remained stone-calm as they attached the metal cylinders to their gun barrels.
Neither broke a sweat. But a certain tingle did crawl over each of them, like
it always did at this point in their job. A certain rush — no, more like
a stimulus, a mental goosing they had to give themselves in order to lock into
the right mode, in order to do violent murder. It only took a second or two,
but each in his own way, had to remind himself of why this guy deserved to be blown
away, and how if they didn’t do it, someone else would.

And of
course, how it was all strictly business.

It’s
already been decided that this guy’s got it coming, so somebody’s gonna have to
give it to him. Besides, we’re doing it up right here. Professionally. It’s not
like some of these crazy assholes who get hold of a gun, they start shooting up
street corners, mowing down innocent bystanders and shit.

So for
the moment, they were inanimate. They were merely robots, “business” agents
setting the world straight, carrying out divine orders, from which there would
be no turning back.

Now
they were ready.

Without
making a sound, they reached the end of the hall outside Eddie’s door. Vega
tried the knob. To his surprise, it turned and clicked. A slight push and it
was open.

They
rushed in, weapons flashing, although they weren’t going to do any killing
until they had Chico’s money, as well as the whereabouts of this Val Borden
guy. But the room was empty and still, the only motion being the eerie glow of
the incessant on-and-off greasy spoon neon just outside the window. The bed was
disheveled, the closet door wide open.

Then
they spotted the empty gray metal suitcase, open on the floor. Vega bent down
to inspect it. It had been jimmied, and there was duct tape around it. Right
next to the electronic combination lock, an ornate engraving of a capital S.

Vega
was not happy. He removed the silencer, then placed the cannon back in his
pocket.

“Downstairs.
Let’s go.”

They
left the room, door open, and headed back downstairs into the diner just below.
A few questions here and there, and yes, they knew Eddie, he ate there from
time to time. No, they hadn’t seen him in a couple of days, but they did notice
his car parked illegally out front — was it last night?

No, the night before. Thursday, that’s
right. What kind of car? Why, it’s one of those Japanese cars, a Toyota, I
think. An older one. Bright orange. Okay, you’re welcome.

Back in
their car, Tomás asked, “What now, Ese?”

“We
start again tomorrow. We find him.”

T
he young
detective opened the office door, then stuck his head in.

“Car’s
ready, Lieutenant. So’s the black and white.”

Joe
Dunlap swung his bulky frame out of the swivel chair. “Awright, showtime,” he
said, as he threw on his cheap topcoat.

The two
men went downstairs to the police garage. There, an unmarked white Dodge with
no trim and blackwall tires waited, along with a regulation squad car and two
uniformed officers. Pushing the passenger seat all the way back, Dunlap finally
got comfortable. He gave a hand signal, and the two-car convoy pulled up the
ramp and into the dark street.

Downtown
was empty that hour of the night. They motored easily over to the East Freeway,
then headed south on the 610 Loop toward the Gulf Freeway and the Ship Channel.
All the way, Dunlap complained about the cold.

“Sorry,”
said the young detective, who was driving. He put a hand in front of the
dashboard vent. “The heater’s on full blast, but I guess it’s not working very
well. Just blowing cold air.” After a few seconds of silence, he added, “At
least there’s no traffic.”

Dunlap
checked his watch. Four-thirty. He hated getting up so early, unless it was to
make a pickup from one of his protected dealers.

“Hmph!
Yeah, the only time when there’s no fuckin’ traffic. You can have this fuckin’
graveyard shift.”

“Then
why’re we doing this at this hour? Why don’t we at least wait until the sun
comes up?”

Staring
straight ahead, Dunlap shifted his voice to a professorial tone, gesturing with
large hands. “`Cause when you do this kind of thing, y’see, you wanta make sure
the guy is not too alert. So it’s best to wake him up from a sound sleep. If we
went any earlier, like two or three, he might not’ve gone to bed yet. Any
later, he might’ve already gotten up. But now …” He turned to the young
detective and said through a mean smile. “ …now he’s dead to the fuckin’ world.
Right where we want him.”

Soon
they exited the freeway for Galena Park and drove straight to suburbia.
Moderately-priced one-story homes all over the place, laid out in a confusing
glot of look-alike streets and cul-de-sacs. But Dunlap knew exactly where he
was going. He gave precise directions.

“This
is it. Pull up here.”

It was
just another house in the slumbering suburb, but all four cops went up to the door
in full business mode. Dunlap made a motion, as one of the uniformed officers
rapped with his nightstick. Dunlap repeated the gesture, and the officer rapped
again. The message was sent.

“Who is
it?” a voice finally shouted through the door.

“Police
officers,” came the reply. “Open up!”

≈≈≈

Raymond Cannetta slid the gun into a drawer in the hall
table, then opened the door. He stood
there bleary-eyed in his pajamas.