At Their Own Game (24 page)

He finished getting his boots laced up. When he walked to the kitchen counter and scooped up his wallet and phone, I shook my head. “No. Leave the phone.”
 

He squinted at me. “Why?”
 

“Because they’ve got GPS in them.”
 

“So?”
 

“So if the cops are on to any of our numbers, you can bet they’re pulling the GPS history, too. I don’t know if they can view it live or only as an historical record, but either way, I don’t want them to pin down where either of us was tonight.”
 

Matt frowned. His fingers curled protectively around the cell phone. He cleared his throat. “It’s just that this girl, she –”
 

“You think with your prick way too much, you know that?”
 

“Boss—“
 

“Leave the phone. You can call her when we get back.”
 

Reluctantly, he let the cell phone drop onto the counter.
 

I smiled at him without any humor. “Good. Now let’s go solve our problem.”
 

Matt drove the rental car. I wanted to keep his mind occupied. He tried to ask a few more questions but I waved them off.
 

“Just head north on 395,” I instructed. “Toward Deer Park.”
 

“All right,” he said, his voice resigned.
 

We drove in silence along the highway. A few miles outside of Spokane, it narrowed to two lanes. Residential neighborhoods gave way to occasional homes, which gave way to open fields.
 

“Take Staley Road,” I told him.
 

This time, Matt turned without protest, heading east.
 

We rode another five minutes without a word before I let out a long sigh. “We have to be sure, okay?”
 

Matt glanced over at me, then back at the road. “Sure about what?”
 

I didn’t answer him right away. I just stared out my window at the green alfalfa field bathed in the late afternoon sun. I expected a rush of intense emotion, but all I felt was a low, cold anger.
 

“Boss? Sure about what?”
 

“Just sure,” I answered. I turned to face him. His boyish features bore that open, slightly perplexed expression that he always seemed to have. “Take the next left,” I told him. “It’s a dirt road, so slow down.”
 

“Okay.”
 

He found the dirt road, and turned. The roadway was straight for about a hundred yards, then began to twist
and turn as it entered a wooded area. The road itself was choked with weeds. I could hear them raking the underside of the car.
 

“What’s out here?”
 

“A place I used to camp,” I said. “When we didn’t have time to take off for a long weekend, we’d drive up here and pitch a tent.”
 

“Cool,” Matt said. “But I meant, what’s out here?”
 

“Nothing. And that’s the point.”
 

He nodded slowly. I could see the concern riding just behind his eyes.
 

“We’ll meet Brent here in about forty minutes,” I said. “And we’ll get the truth out of him.”
 

“Okay,” Matt said. “But how?”
 

“Leave that to me. Pull in there.” I pointed to a tree just off the roadway.
 

Matt parked the car and shut off the engine. I held out my hand for the keys. He gave them to me.
 

“Let’s go,” I said. “We’ve got work to do.”
 

I got out of the car and went to the trunk. When I popped it open, it was empty except for the shovel I’d retrieved from the storage unit. I reached in and grabbed it.
 

“Oh, man,” Matt breathed. “No way.”
 

“Relax,” I said. “We’re not going to kill him. We’re not bad guys, right?”
 

He shook his head. “No, we’re not.”
 

“Exactly. But we’ve got to scare him. And Brent’s no weak sister, either. He’s got to believe we’ll do it. And I figure there’s no better way to convince him than to show him his grave.”
 

“Oh, man,” Matt repeated. His lip quivered. “I don’t know if I can do that, Boss.”
 

“You’ll do it,” I said. “Or we’ll both end up in prison.”
 

“Shit,” he muttered.
 

“C’mon.”
 

“Shit,” he said again, but followed me.
 

I walked about twenty yards off the road, through the trees until I found what looked like a soft spot. Without ceremony, I drove the spade into the ground and scooped the dirt aside.
 

“I’ll start,” I said, “and you finish.”
 

“Okay,” he murmured unhappily.
 

“Keep an eye out for anyone on the road,” I said, and started digging.
 

The ground was as soft as it looked so I made good progress. In about twenty minutes, I had the beginnings of a shallow grave carved out of the black earth. Matt split his time between watching the direction we came and casting nervous glances at me. I played it cool, digging away.
 

Finally, I stopped and wiped the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. “Jesus, this is hard work. I should’ve brought some water along for us.”
 

“You want me to take over?” Matt asked.
 

I nodded. “Yeah, you can finish. I’ll watch for Brent.” I glanced down at my watch. “He should be here in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
 

I stabbed the shovel into the ground and held out my hand. Matt took it and pulled me out of the shallow hole. Then he hopped down, picked up the shovel, and started digging with gusto. I figured he was burning off nervous energy.
 

Time went by much slower than I expected. Five minutes. Then ten. Finally twenty. By then, Matt’s progress was deep enough for my purposes.
 

I reached into the small of my back and pulled out the Glock I’d retrieved from storage.
 

“That’ll work,” I said.
 

He stopped mid-shovel stroke, and looked up. His eyes bulged when he saw the barrel.
 

“Boss, no! I –”
 

“Shut the fuck up,” I growled. “I know it’s you. Don’t even try to deny it.”
 

“No, it’s not. I swear to God!”
 

“Stop it, Matt.”
 

“It’s not me! I swear it! Oh, Jesus, Boss, don’t –”
 

“The cops were waiting for me at Marconi’s, Matt.”
 

He hesitated, blinking at me. “That…that doesn’t prove anything. It wasn’t me.”
 

“You’re the only one I told.”
 

He stared at me for another moment, panic setting into his eyes. “Maybe they were following you.”
 

I shook my head. “It was you, Matt. And we both know it. So stop denying it.”
 

“It wasn’t me,” Matt said, but his voice fell to a whisper and lost all conviction.
 

We stood in silence for a few moments. I thought about shooting him right then but I had to know more.
 

“The whole thing was Falkner, wasn’t it?”
 

Matt just stared at me, his mouth hanging open as he drew in ragged breaths. Flecks of white phlegm dotted the corners of his mouth.
 

“Come on, Matt. Tell the truth and we’ll be friends again.” I gestured with the barrel of my pistol. “It was that fucking Detective Falkner, wasn’t it? You can tell me. It was him, right?”
 

Slowly, as if he was hearing my words from a distance or through water, Matt nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice cracking. “It was him.”
 

“Why?”
 

Matt tried to clear his throat, but it seemed to catch. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and gave me a half-hearted smile. “You were right about that
water, Boss,” he croaked at me. “I sure could use some right about now.”
 

“Tell me why,” I said, my voice sounding sadder than I felt.
 

“He hates you,” Matt said. “The guy is fucking obsessed.”
 

I shook my head. “No, I know that. I mean, why’d you do it?”
 

“Oh.” Matt dropped his eyes and looked at his feet. “It was that assault thing. Over in Idaho. He told me the guy I hit had a aphormism a couple of days later.”
 

I scowled. “A
what?
”
 

“You know, that thing where a vein or something busts open in your brain?”
 

“An aneurism?”
 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s it. A aneurism.”
 

I motioned with the gun for him to continue.
 

Matt tried to clear his throat again but didn’t have much more luck. He swallowed with some struggle. His lips made a clacking sound. “The detective said the guy had one of those aneurism things and he died. He said that I was going to be charged with murder and get life in prison. But he promised me that if I cooperated, he’d work a deal where it was just manslaughter.”
 

“You stupid son of a bitch,” I muttered.
 

“Please, Boss,” he croaked up at me. Tears rose in his eyes and streaked down his dirty cheeks. “I didn’t have a choice. He had me trapped.”
 

“You should have come to me,” I said.
 

“There was no time,” he said. “He hit me with it and then made me decide right there.”
 

“You should have told me. You know I could have fixed it.”
 

“Not this,” he said. “There was no way.” He hung his head and let out a sob. “Jesus. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
 

I lowered the gun and stared at him. He looked like a little kid who’d been playing trucks in the dirt all day and was late coming home.
 

I wanted to tell him that there was no aneurism. No dead victim. I was sure of it. Whatever paperwork Falkner showed him was manufactured bullshit. He’d been conned. But what did it matter? The damage was the same either way.
 

“What did you give him?” I finally asked.
 

Matt looked up hopefully. He wiped away his tears. “Nothing! I didn’t give him shit.”
 

I raised the gun again.
 

“Okay, okay!” Matt said, holding up his hands and turning away. “I told him little things, okay? But nothing big. And some of it was bullshit. I just jerked him along, you know?”
 

“No, I don’t know. Tell me.”
 

Matt met my gaze. “I fed him crap, Boss. I made shit up. I told him what he wanted to hear.”
 

“Does he know about the storage facilities?”
 

Matt’s face fell.  “Y-yes. But just the empty ones. I didn’t tell him about the ones in Airway Heights or the ones off Argonne. I just told him about the empty ones.” Tears sprang anew in his eyes. “I had to give him something he could believe, you know? Something he could prove, so he didn’t realize all the rest was lies.”
 

Christ. How much did he inadvertently give away in the process?
 

“What else?” I demanded.
 

“Nothing more. I swear.”
 

“And what was your deal with him?”
 

“Information,” Matt said. “That’s it.”
 

“Testimony?”
 

He squirmed. “Well, yeah. That, too.”
 

“And for that, for ratting out your partners and agreeing to testify against them, what did you get? Huh, you stupid fuck? I’ll tell you. You got a nonexistent murder charge bumped down to a nonexistent manslaughter charge. Nicely done, dumb ass.”
 

Confusion crept into Matt’s eyes, something I was getting more and more used to seeing there. “No. No way. The guy died. He showed me pictures.”
 

“Christ,” I muttered. “You really are stupid.
 

“No,” Matt said. “No, it’s true. I had no choice.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his grip tighten on the shaft of the shovel, his knuckles whitening.
 

“Everything’s a choice, Matt.”
 

The shovel twitched slightly. “Boss, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I –”
 

“Me, too,” I grunted, and squeezed the trigger.
 

The first round slammed into his chin. His knees buckled. He dropped the shovel as his hands flew to his face. Surprise and pain replaced the confusion in his eyes.
 

I fired three more times in rapid succession. All three shots ripped into his skull. His body swayed, listed, and collapsed in the soft earth. Blood gushed out onto the dark earth, turning it black.
 

I stared down at his body, watching while his foot twitched a few times and then became still. Then I slid the gun back into my waistband. The heat of the barrel radiated through my clothing. Carefully, I searched the ground nearby and recovered all four ejected shell casings. I put them in my pocket.
 

Covering the hole went quicker than digging it. The first ten or fifteen shovelfuls landed on his clothing and skin, making an unnatural sound. After that, though, it was just dirt on more dirt, and I liked the sound of that just fine.
 

When I’d filled it to the top, I stamped on the loose dirt, tamping it down. Then I used a branch full of leaves to wipe away the tread marks from my boots. I threw some more dirt on top, evened out the areas as best I could, and gave it another wipe with the branch. Then I spent a few minutes tossing debris over the top of the grave.
 

 When I’d finished, I stood and looked at my handiwork. To anyone but a hunter or a woodsman who was looking for it, the grave would be undetectable. And it was deep enough to keep animals from digging it up. Sure, if the cops knew the area to look in, they might find it, or use thermal imaging to detect the decomposing body. But there was no reason to believe they’d be looking for Matt, for a while at least, and no reason they’d be looking for him here.