Black Jack Point (26 page)

Whit felt the car come to a stop, heard the engine turn off. He had reloaded the toolbox, closed it, tucked the wallboard
saw into the waist of his khakis, tightened his belt. He hoped he could pull the blade out fast without slicing himself open.
He closed his eyes, thought of Lucy.

Her asking,
I’m safe with you, aren’t I?
And him saying,
Always, babe.
Jesus, she’d wanted reassurance – she’d wanted to know he loved her no matter what.

He was crouched, shoulders against the trunk’s lid.

C’mon, c’mon,
he thought. I
want you.

The driver’s door slammed; he heard footsteps against concrete.

‘Judge?’ Alex’s voice called, low, quiet. Even gentle.

‘Yes?’

‘I want you to lay facedown, hands laced on your head. You yell for help, you kick the trunk or me, you fart too loud, I empty
this clip into you. You understand me?’

‘Yeah,’ Whit said. He lay down as Alex ordered, the little wicked saw sharp against his hip.

A key slid into the lock, the trunk door opened. The muzzle of a gun pressed into the back of Whit’s neck.

‘Up. Slowly. Not a sound.’

‘You’ll be in hell in less than ten minutes,’ Whit said. ‘You don’t have a prayer against Gooch.’ He got up, felt the saw
hold in its place against his leg.

‘You got in over your head, Your Honor. I don’t hold greed against you. But you took on too much.’

He didn’t want Gooch to kill Alex. He wanted to do it himself.

He stepped out of the trunk, the gun still firmly at the
back of his head, and the two men walked to the warehouse door. An electronic keypad was by the door and Alex entered in
a code. The electronic locks on the door clicked open.

‘You first, Judge,’ Alex said.

Whit stepped inside the darkness.

‘Guchinski?’ Alex called. ‘Put the lights on. Now. Or the judge dies.’

‘Chill, Alex. It’s all right.’ Stoney Vaughn, a little rasp of voice in the blackness.

‘Where’s your new buddy?’ Alex called.

‘Barely breathing on the concrete floor. I bashed his head in.’

Alex waited. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Come in and see.’ Stoney’s voice shook.

Fear? Anger?
Whit wondered.

‘What are you pissed about? Jesus, he kidnaps you. I try to save you—’ Alex said.

‘You’re quite the hero,’ Stoney said from the dark. ‘You coming in or not?’

‘Do you have the Eye, Stoney?’ Alex said.

‘Right here in my pocket.’

‘Okay, we’re cool, right? I’m coming in now.’ And Alex did, pushing Whit along in front of him, not closing the door after
him in case he had to barrel out fast. No light on in the warehouse, just the smell of dust and machinery, and oddly enough,
the reek of greasy Chinese food.

‘Alex,’ Stoney’s voice called. ‘Shut the door.’

‘Turn on the lights. What’s with this fucking darkness act?’ Alex’s hands fumbled for the switches, couldn’t find them.

The lights clanged on, Stoney standing ten feet away, a gleaming pistol in his hand.

‘Nice gun,’ Alex said.

‘It’s a Shootyadickov,’ Stoney said. ‘I got it from Gooch. Hello, Judge. Sorry about this. Jesus, Alex, you beat the crap
out of him.’

Whit’s heart sank. The wallboard saw was a stupid, stupid idea. Gooch down. Him stuck between these two assholes, each with
a gun. He kept his hands down by his untucked shirt. ‘He shot Lucy,’ he said.

Stoney’s lips – clenched together in a tough-guy sneer – parted. ‘What?’

‘She’s dead,’ Alex said. ‘I didn’t want to bring them both.’

‘That … wasn’t necessary. I …’ Stoney said.

‘You what?’ Alex said. ‘You need her land to rebury the gold so you can discover it and, what, get your picture on the fucking
cover of
National Geographic?
Man, give it up.’

‘I liked Lucy,’ Stoney said.

‘Yeah, she seemed real nice. A shame. I hate what I have to do sometimes. Where’s the Eye?’

Whit kept waiting for Alex to say,
Well, Gooch is out of the game – don’t need you
and shoot him dead. But instead Alex kept Whit in front of him, still a shield.

‘Don’t worry about the Eye,’ Stoney said. ‘I promised you could keep most of the coins. I’d get thirty percent and the Eye.
That’s more than fair. Let’s just settle our accounts now, Alex.’

‘I can get the coins for you tomorrow. Jesus, I kind of had my hands full tonight.’

‘You’ll get them tonight.’ Stoney’s face reddened.

‘I can’t,’ Alex said.

‘Sure you can. They’re just about thirty feet away, in crates over there,’ Stoney said. ‘What I want to know, Alex buddy,
is how the hell you got the treasure into my own warehouse.’

‘Don’t know what you mean.’

‘The coins. They are all over there in that corner, crated, just as we left them in the storage unit,’ Stoney said.

The silence hung in the air.
Now,
Whit thought.

‘Alex,’ Whit said. ‘Stoney doesn’t have the Eye. He’s lying. He said it was in his pocket. Make him show the Eye to you.’

‘Stoney. That’s not a bad idea. I’ve missed seeing the Eye over the past couple of days,’ Alex said. ‘But slowly.’

‘I was not speaking literally when I said it was in my pocket,’ Stoney said.

‘That means he lied,’ Whit said. ‘You were right. He gave it to Gooch. But now he’s betrayed Gooch. You think he’s gonna play
clean with you?’

Alex took a step toward Stoney, keeping Whit close in front. Whit took a step forward in response, moaned, as though the pain
of the beating had caught up with him. He closed his hand over his shirttail and around the handle of the wallboard saw.

‘I didn’t give it to Gooch,’ Stoney said. ‘He kidnapped me, Alex.’

‘You seem to have suffered mightily.’

‘We have to stick together,’ Stoney said.

‘Do we?’ Alex said.

Late-night traffic was light heading into Corpus Christi. Claudia drove, finished a cup of hot coffee, the warm effect of
the wine fading. Ben said he was too nervous to drive so they took her pickup truck.

‘I think I would feel better if he’d actually apologized,’ Ben said. ‘On the phone. He sounded so cryptic’

‘Give it time. Maybe he thinks he didn’t do a thing wrong.’

‘How could that thought even live in his brain?’

‘You’ve gotten angrier during the drive,’ she said.

‘Knowing he’s okay, I’m finally feeling mad. I don’t let myself get mad enough.’

‘Not me,’ said Claudia. ‘I’m sort of comfortable with getting pissed off. You’re way too even-keeled.’

The port area was aglow with lights as they reached the Harbor Bridge, arching two hundred thirty-five feet above where the
Nueces and Corpus Christi bays joined. Claudia saw the blue lights centered on the USS
Lexington,
retired in the calm of Corpus Christi Bay, the Texas State Aquarium, the soft glow of downtown ahead of her. She barreled
onto the Harbor Bridge, the traffic in front of her thin.

Ben squirmed in his seat, as though trying to get comfortable, and suddenly she felt rather than saw the gun hovering close
to her head.

‘What—’

‘It’ll help if you’re even-keeled right now. I’m sorry.’

Her breath caught and Ben said, ‘Just keep driving, okay? You’re losing speed. Pick it up.’

‘Tell me what the fuck you’re doing or I’m going to drive the car off the bridge,’ she said.

‘No, you won’t,’ he said. ‘I know you.’ His voice quiet now, bled of the earlier anger.

‘Ben … this isn’t the way to help your brother.’

‘He can rot in hell for all I care,’ Ben said. ‘He would have gotten us both killed. You think I give a shit about him now?’
His tone softened. ‘You, I’m sorry about. I couldn’t help myself. Never quite got over you. If we hadn’t been kidnapped …
if you hadn’t learned about all this … I wish you weren’t a cop.’ The lights of the bridge flashed by them. His voice toughened.
‘Take the port exit. Then a hard right, then two more lefts until we get where we’re going.’

Hadn’t learned about all this
… ‘Are you saying you know where this treasure is?’

‘Just be quiet. Talking is only going to make it worse.’

‘What, you’re going to kill your brother? And me?’

‘I’m not going to kill Stoney,’ Ben said. ‘Even now, I’m not sure I could. My partner will take care of that.’

‘Partner,’ she said. ‘Ben, no. Please. Don’t do this.’

‘Take the exit,’ he said. ‘Or I’ll shoot you, and I’ll shoot whoever’s in the first car that stops.’

The bridge began its downward slope, toward Corpus Christi Beach and the port, and Claudia took the Port Street exit. It was
a very short exit, forcing a hard right turn, and she thought of letting the car just go straight, crash, although she couldn’t
risk the life of anyone else who might stop to help.

‘I really respect that you’re not crying right now. Or calling me names.’

‘I’m waiting for an explanation, Ben. Money? Jealousy of your brother?’

‘Money. You know what it’s like to be ten times smarter than Stoney and not have a hundredth of what he does?’ He sighed.
‘I wish you could come with me. But that’s not possible. Turn left here. Then the next left.’ She turned onto a side street
dominated by one large warehouse, the lot by it empty except for a battered red pickup – she recognized it as Gooch’s – and
a nondescript Ford Taurus. She parked on the other side of the truck, away from the Taurus.

‘Turn off your headlights.’

Claudia thumbed the switch and the little lot went dark.

‘Now what?’ she said. Her own service revolver was in the compartment between them. She couldn’t possibly reach it without
him blowing her head off. He opened the compartment, fished out her gun, put it in his lap.

‘You know,’ Ben said, ‘I’m grateful we made love. Truly. We’re going inside.’

‘So no one will hear you kill me?’

He started to reply, but gunshots sounded inside the warehouse, three of them in rapid fire. ‘Shit.’

The gun wavered for a second and Claudia flung open the door, threw herself out onto the asphalt, the driver’s-side window
exploding above her. She crabbed under the car as Ben scrambled out of the truck.

As Alex fired, his arm outstretched past Whit, Whit slammed hard into his arm, pinning him into the wall and trying to pull
the gun from his hand. He got his fingers around the grip, gouged Alex’s wrists but Alex grabbed the back of his head, smashed
it hard into the concrete wall.

Whit went down thinking,
Stupid, stupid.

Alex pressed down on him, knee in his back, and Whit saw Stoney lying on the floor, bone and blood and shredded jaw showing.

‘That was fucking stupid,’ Alex said. ‘You missing your girl? You want to see her?’

‘I know where Gooch hid the Eye, dumb shit. Shoot me and you’ll never get it.’

‘Bullshit,’ he screamed. ‘You would have told me to save Lucy.’

‘I didn’t think you’d really shoot her.’ His right hand closed over his shirttail and the hidden saw’s handle. But he couldn’t
pull it free, not with Alex’s weight on him. ‘Let me up and I’ll tell you.’

‘You’ll tell me now.’ Alex grabbed Whit’s left hand, flattened it on the concrete. Jammed the hot barrel of the gun against
the back of Whit’s hand.

‘I’ll show you,’ Whit said.

‘Show.’ Alex froze. ‘It’s here?’

‘Let me up and I’ll show it to you. Don’t shoot off my hand.’ Whit let out a scream, a sob. ‘Just don’t shoot off my hand,
man, please. I’ll show you. Please?’ He began to mumble and cry.

Alex hesitated for two seconds. ‘Okay.’ He eased up
into a squat by Whit. ‘Get up, you pussy.’ His voice was thick with contempt.

Whit got to both knees, holding his side, lips quivering, fresh blood smearing his broken cheek. Then, slowly, to his feet,
his hand under the tail of his shirt, like his side ached.

‘Please … please …’ Whit said, unsteady on his feet, like standing was an ordeal. ‘Please, I’ll show you …’

And then in one swift motion he slashed out at Alex with the little wicked blade.

Claudia had counted on Ben running around the car to finish her, hoping he’d think she’d try to put distance between her and
his gun. So instead she rolled under the car. She heard his feet pound around the truck’s back, trying to get a sight on her,
seeing if she was hit or running. She saw his feet – tennis shoes bright white in the dark – she let him race past her, peering
into the dark of the lot and the loading docks, listening for her running feet and looking for her moving shadow. She rolled
out from under the truck as he started to curse, the broken glass crunching under her shoulders. Ben turned and she barreled
toward him in a flying tackle. His gun blazed and she felt the devilish whisper of a bullet sear past her head. She slammed
hard into him, smashing her forearm into his throat, driving her knee into his groin.

He went down heavy, his head cracking against the pavement. She piled on top of him, one hand yanking his hair back and the
other hunting his eyes. He screamed and elbowed her hard, shoved her down onto her back.

It was dark, a dim gleam of lights from the warehouse and the port blocks away, and she saw faint shine on a gun’s barrel
– he’d had both guns; he must’ve dropped one when she kicked his feet out from him. The shine was
a half foot from her hand and she seized the gun, prayed the safety was off, swung it toward his face and fired.

Missed.

He stumbled to his feet, turning and running for the warehouse. ‘Freeze! Ben!’ He didn’t freeze and she fired twice in the
dark. She heard the wet-meat sound of a bullet striking him, heard him sprawl along the steps leading to the warehouse.

She ran to where Ben lay. In the thin light from the shuttered windows she saw the wound in the lower part of his back, blood
a black spurt. He breathed in sharp hitches, groaning.

‘Holy God,’ Claudia breathed. ‘Holy God.’

Gunshots inside, and she’d just shot a man. Gooch in there, maybe in trouble. She ran back to her truck, fumbled for the cell
phone.

Missed,
Whit thought in that split second.

The blade missed and Alex would shoot him before he could stab again. But then Alex’s eyes went wide, shocked, his hand went
to his throat and the blood fountained. Alex trying to scream and nothing coming but blood.

Alex’s eyes flashed with rage and fear and horror and he brought the gun back up toward Whit but then he dropped it, the other
hand going to his throat to stem the flood. He fell to his knees. Whit grabbed the gun, stood there.

‘How does it feel?’ Whit said, his voice breaking. ‘How does it—’

And he saw Alex’s lips forming the word
please.

The organic coppery smell of rupture filled the air, overpowered the scent of gunfire.

‘Gooch?’ Claudia’s voice called.

Whit saw her coming through the still-open front door,
her service pistol out, in a firing stance. He tried to speak, as silent as Alex.

Claudia ran to him, seeing Alex bleed out his life, toppling to the floor, grabbing at Whit’s shoes. She gasped at the sight
of Stoney’s body.

Whit didn’t let go of the saw; its handle felt burned to his hand.

Claudia tore Alex’s shirt off him, pushing the fabric around his throat, trying to stanch the flow of blood, apply useless
pressure, telling him help was on the way.

Whit said, without looking at her, ‘Gooch is here. Help him.’

‘Whit …’ Claudia started.

Whit set Alex’s gun on a table. He dropped the saw on the floor.

‘Let him die, Claudia. Just let him die.’

Alex paled, stared up at him, then through him.

‘I’m going to find Gooch.’ Whit’s voice didn’t sound quite right.

‘Jesus, Whit,’ Claudia said. ‘Jesus.’