Cut and Run (11 page)

‘I had no idea you were a mafioso from Detroit,’ Whit said.

Gooch turned his van into a diner parking lot. Pie Shack, off Kirby, the lot half-full of cars. ‘Lots you don’t know, hoss.’

Whit traced his finger along the phone number he’d written on a napkin downstairs in the club before heading for the doors,
suddenly afraid he’d forget it in the rushing thrill. Eve Michaels’ phone number. The combination of numbers that could open
a long-confounding lock. What if this woman wasn’t his mother? What if she was?

‘Bucks can figure out we’re not real mobsters with a couple of phone calls,’ Gooch said.

‘Yes. He’s strange. Bucks looks more like he’s a corporate lackey than gang muscle,’ Whit said. ‘You pushed him too far. I
saw it in his face.’

‘Because we hit a very raw nerve. He’s scared, and he’s willing to switch sides to someone who could outgun his boss. Maybe
Bucks is on precarious footing. Something’s rotten in Bellini-land.’

‘Or he’s an opportunist,’ Whit said. ‘This is one great ally you pick for us, Gooch.’

‘Fate picked him, not me. Surprised you punched him.’

‘He’s between me and my mother, and he would have shot me if we hadn’t been in a busy club.’

‘He would have shot you anyway. Those rooms are soundproofed. No one would have heard over the bump-and-grind. And they’d
carry you out after the club closed.’ Gooch kept his eyes on the parking lot, on cars coming in and out. ‘We weren’t followed.
That means he
doesn’t want the rest of Paul’s crew knowing about our chat.’

‘You spoke with authority back there, Gooch.’

‘Marine Corps. You learn how to speak properly. Hoo-rah.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Whit said. ‘You know this world, don’t you? These men. Organized crime.’

‘I watch a lot of movies.’

‘Which bear no resemblance to the real world,’ Whit said.

‘You hitting him was a smart move,’ Gooch said. ‘Act afraid of him, you’re dead. This is social Darwinism at its next-to-most
advanced. Only prison is more brutal.’ Gooch glanced over at him. ‘This is a side of you I didn’t quite expect, Your Honor.’

‘This is me …’ Whit stopped.

‘What?’

‘This is me finding my mom. It’s like training your whole life for a single event, like the Olympics or the Super Bowl or
the World Series, and now you can’t make a single misstep. If I screw this up …’ He could roll down the window, wad up the
napkin, toss the number into the street. Go home to his dad, take care of him. Walk away from clearly serious trouble.

‘Call her,’ Gooch said quietly. ‘Tell her you’d like to see her.’

‘What if she’s not my mother, then won’t I be a fool?’ Whit said. ‘I can think of one threat to get her here, and it’s not
how I want to start a new relationship.’

‘Let me talk to her,’ Gooch said. ‘I’m much more charming and refined.’

For now, she was Emily Smith.

Insurance came in many different forms, and for Eve, protection lay in a safe-deposit box at a branch bank on
Kirby, west of the Rice University campus and the sprawl of the Texas Medical Center. Inside the box, a black purse held
an Illinois driver’s license, a mint Visa credit card, a passport in the name of Emily Smith and five hundred in tidy bricks
of cash. She retrieved the purse after listening to news radio in her car to hear if there was breaking news about a double
homicide near the Port. There wasn’t. But it wouldn’t be long and she’d know how much of a description, if any, whoever called
the police had given of her.

At least the police won’t kill you. Why should Paul believe you after Frank’s skimming?

And the answer to that question made her blood race.

She’d seen what happened to thieves in Detroit. Pliers, blowtorches, broom handles were the toys of choice of the men charged
with finding where missing money lay. If they believed Paul and Bucks over her – and given Frank’s recent pilfering, it was
more than likely – they would torture her for days before putting a bullet in her head, even if she couldn’t reveal where
the money was hidden.

If she ran, she looked guilty and they would never give up. She had saved herself once before, taking the stolen cash back
to Tommy, and she figured it was the way to save herself again. Find the money, prove Bucks took it, get the money back to
Paul.

She needed a hiding place to wait out the crisis and hatch a plan. Paul might not be watching the airports yet; he would be
soon enough. He could pull Kiko into the search as well. Kiko would have a vested interest in getting hold of the cash. She
could drive anywhere in the country. But then that would leave Frank alone, and she was afraid of his bearing the brunt of
her supposed guilt.

She decided to stay in Houston, at least for the moment.

Hiding out at a dive motel was out of the question; her
car wouldn’t fit in. So late that afternoon she headed west on I-10, out into suburbia, took the Addicks exit on the edge
of Houston, and got herself a room at a nondescript Hilton. She used the Emily Smith card to pay, believing that paying in
cash would attract undue attention at a nicer hotel, holding her breath while the card was processed. She’d paid a lot of
money for the Emily cards and documents, getting them from an old friend in Detroit who specialized in false identities, and
when the desk clerk handed her back the card along with a slip to sign she nearly collapsed in relief.

She tried Frank on the phone. No answer. She showered. Put her clothes back on. Ordered room service, soup and salad, and
ate. She needed basics but she didn’t want to go to the nearby sprawling malls. She’d found her rock, her comfort zone, and
she wasn’t eager to get out of it.

Would you like to see one of your sons?

She poured a soda from the minibar, drank half of it down, wiped at the tears that chugging the fizz brought to her eyes.
Maybe the man wasn’t from one of her kids. Maybe it was a trick of Bucks’. He might have found out about her background. A
way to shock her into leaving the exchange.

But there were much easier ways. The guy who took her picture had to be legit.

Her sons. She did not think of them every day but she did on their birthdays, at Christmas, when classes started, although
they were all grown now and long past anxious first days of school. She had pictures of them, hidden in the house in Houston;
not even Frank knew about them. The thought of losing those photos, never seeing them again, made her ribs hurt.

Eve turned on the news at ten. It was the lead story: two people found shot in an office near the Port. The
glossy-lipped anchor faked a frown of personal concern. The two bodies have not been conclusively identified.’

Her cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID: Frank. She clicked it on.

‘Frank?’

‘They’re going to kill me because of you,’ Frank said. His voice was low, aching. ‘Paul sliced my hand open, You happy?’

‘I didn’t do it.’

‘I told them that. They don’t believe me.’

‘Bucks did it,’ she said.

‘I knew it, that bastard.’

‘He’s got the money.’

‘Can’t you prove he did it?’ Frank said.

‘No.’

‘He’s sticking to me like a horny fan,’ Frank said. ‘I’m calling from the men’s room on the second floor at the club. Hiding
in the toilet.’

‘Frank …’she started, then stopped.

‘They gave me a Valium shot; I’m a little fuzzed. I do love you, babe. Even if you did this. I’m having to act, though, like
I hate you. Or they’ll kill me dead. I told ’em you’d called me, wanted to meet at the Galleria. So don’t go there. Where
are you?’ he asked.

‘It’s better for you if you don’t know. I need to get that money back, Frank. Or prove I didn’t take it.’ She suddenly didn’t
feel tough or smart, she simply wanted to be at home in bed with him, watching an old movie, snuggled under the covers.

‘Make a deal with the cops. They’ll protect you.’

‘I’m not doing that.’

‘Eve. Baby. Then come in. Talk with me, with Paul.’

‘If he doesn’t already believe me, I’m dead. Or Bucks will shoot me dead to protect himself before I get two words out.’

‘You stay away, Paul believes even more that you stole it,’ Frank said.

Her anger at Frank boiled suddenly. ‘Your damn skimming. You’re half the reason I’m in this trouble. Why on earth did you
take money from the club?’

‘Everybody pinches,’ Frank said. He sounded as mournful as a schoolboy called before a growling teacher. ‘But this guy in
LA, he said if I could front the money, he could get me recorded and we could sell the CDs on eBay. Or get me guest backup
gigs. I still got a name, Eve. It would have worked. Then I would have fed the money back into the club, no one had to know.
I figured you’d help me do it.’

‘Frank. My God.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ But she heard resolve in his voice. ‘I messed up, so I’m gonna save your ass.’

‘How?’

‘I can find where Bucks put the money,’ he said.

‘Frank, you can’t find your dick most days.’

‘Jesus, you’re good to me. What a sweetheart.’

‘I’m scared. For once, I’m scared, all right?’ Her voice shook. ‘I don’t have a way out of this. I can’t even come home, Frank.’

‘I’ll meet you. Anywhere.’

‘No,’ she said.

‘What, you don’t trust me now?’

She didn’t, but she wanted to trust him so badly her need was a sour taste in her mouth. The fact he’d stolen money and Paul
hadn’t beaten him to a pulp … Paul wanted him healthy. To help find her. Frank might be bait.

‘You don’t love me,’ she said. ‘This ends it, doesn’t it?’

‘Sweetheart, I do. But I need you to tell me where you’re at,’ Frank said.

‘Frank …’ she began, then stopped. ‘It’s not a good idea.’

‘You protecting me or yourself?’

‘Both. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘Evie,’ he said, and his voice broke slightly. ‘I love you. Whatever happens … I love you.’ Like he expected to see her next
in a coffin, to set a rose in her cold, folded hands. She felt a distance begin to widen, a gap between them that hurt her
chest.

‘Has anyone … else been looking for me?’ she asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I …’ She couldn’t say it. Frank didn’t know about the husband and sons she’d walked away from; at the least she never told
him. Port Leo seemed now like a story that had happened in another woman’s life. ‘Never mind. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good-bye.’

He started to protest but she clicked off the phone.

She believed that, with all his faults and vanities, Frank did love her. But love didn’t bind every heart as tightly. She
loved her children, in a way, more as little playmates than as treasured responsibilities, but she had walked away from them.
Love was a condition you could get over, and maybe Frank had recovered. Fear could make him leave. She couldn’t trust him.
And she couldn’t put him in further danger.

She lay down on the bed. Her Beretta was at her side. Probably by tomorrow Richard Doyle would be identified, and the police
would naturally scrutinize his dealings at the bank. She and Doyle had been very careful. But if Houston Police Department
brought in the Feds, and Doyle had left any traces in moving money that she didn’t know about, it was probably over. HPD was
a smart force, very capable, and of course so were the Feds. She might have to run from the mob and from the FBI. She could
try and cut a deal for the Witness program, but
she’d known of people who went into WitSec and still got killed.

Her cell phone rang again. No caller ID. She clicked it on.

‘Ms Michaels?’ A man’s voice she didn’t know, low.

She said nothing.

‘Silent treatment, and you don’t even know me yet.’

‘Who is this?’ Eve sat up on the bed.

‘My friends call me Gooch. I met a gentleman tonight named Bucks who is very protective of you. We had to beat him up to get
your phone number.’

‘I don’t know you.’

‘Bucks seemed rather desperate to know why I wanted to find you. I got the impression you’d caused him to have a bad day.’

‘What do you care?’

‘I don’t like this Bucks guy at all. He’s got a black eye right now and he doesn’t like me either,’ Gooch said. ‘He’s a common
enemy to you and me.’

‘And why do you want to find me?’

‘I can explain,’ Gooch said. ‘Meet me tonight.’

‘I’m not meeting anyone I don’t know …’

‘You know the Pie Shack restaurant over on Kirby?’

She did. Pie Shack was an all-night eatery famous for delectable pies and big-plated breakfasts, an eclectic favorite with
the late-night bar crowd, Rice University students, night-shift workers. It was always crowded, presumably safe. If this was
a trick and Bucks was planning an ambush, it was hardly a good choice.

‘Go there. To the rear booth. We can talk. Tons of people around, no need to be afraid. Because you sound kind of nervous
and upset.’

‘I’m not meeting anyone I don’t know who calls me out of the blue.’

‘James Powell. Bozeman, Montana,’ Gooch said.

She let ten seconds of silence pass, her tongue drying into sand. ‘I don’t know that name and I don’t intend to continue this
discussion.’

‘The police in Montana would be interested in talking to you even after almost thirty years.’

She finally gave a coarse laugh of disbelief. ‘If you’re a blackmailer, buddy, you’ve picked the worst day possible.’

‘You have something I want,’ Gooch said, ‘but it’s not money. Skip meeting with me and I’ll happily give every bit of information
I have on you to the Feds and to the police back in Bozeman. I’ll see you at Pie Shack in thirty minutes. Come alone. No gun.’
He hung up.

She was scared, but she calmly checked the clip in her Beretta and put it in her purse. The leather of the bag was thin. She
could fire right through it. She had closed the curtains but now she opened them slightly, looking out across the coastal
plain, covered with strip centers and housing developments and chain restaurants that made this part of Houston practically
indistinguishable from any other major city. She could burrow deeper down in the sprawl, hiding in the anonymity of sameness.
Rain, starting, turned the lights of suburbia into smears.