Cut and Run (25 page)

‘They shot me up,’ Gooch said. ‘To keep me quiet, then to get me talking. My arms feel like stone right now and a while back
I had a conversation with Mahatma Gandhi. I’m pretty useless.’ He opened his eyes for a moment, closed them. He lay on the
couch in Charlie’s house. ‘There’s a spiderweb up there Charlie needs to clean. Or am I hallucinating?’

‘It’s a web,’ Whit said. ‘I’m not leaving you again.’

‘You didn’t leave me, I got caught. I was deeply moronic. If it ain’t too much to ask, could you check and see if I still
have both my balls?’

‘You’re not missing anything.’ But Gooch had been beaten, roughed up badly, blood dried on his lips and ears, and indigo bruises
on his torso, along the tender skin that shielded kidneys. A horrible contusion marked the back of his head, under the hair,
a hard knot. His skin was clammy, a connect-the-dots spiral of injection points along his arm, and Whit’s fear for him turned
into a stone-cold rage.

‘I’m taking you to a doctor,’ Whit said.

‘No. What am I gonna say, I got attacked by pharmacists?’ Gooch blinked. ‘I’m strong. I can process it out. Man, I got shot
in the head, sort of, and I’m okay.’

‘No,’ Whit said. ‘Doctor. Now.’

‘No,’ Gooch said. ‘Info. Now. Then doctor.’ He closed his eyes.

‘Kiko has Eve,’ Whit said. ‘Bucks works for him now.’

‘And someone else is on their side. Whoever killed Paul.’ Gooch opened his eyes, blinked once, twice, watched Whit.

‘That could have been Bucks. He finds out about the meeting between us and Bucks takes Paul out.’

‘And then Bucks steps into command,’ Gooch said. ‘Command of increasingly little.’

‘So how do I get my mom back, Gooch?’

‘We can’t assume she’s still alive, Whitman.’

‘Say she is.’

Gooch looked at him. ‘You’re the brother I never had, Whit. I love you, man, if that doesn’t sound stupid.’

‘You’re a doped-up idiot.’

‘Ask yourself if it’s time to walk away,’ Gooch said in a quiet voice.

‘No.’

‘Kiko will find out Eve doesn’t know where the money is, then he’ll kill her,’ Gooch said. ‘Maybe what’s left of the Bellini
ring and Kiko’s people shoot it out. Kiko can find other buyers in Houston, given time, or sell it himself. This doesn’t have
a good ending.’

‘I can’t just let her die.’

‘Then we call the police.’

‘We don’t know where she’s being held,’ Whit said. ‘Even so, do I save her so she can spend her life in prison for money laundering
and God knows what else?’

‘Man, straighten it out in your head,’ Gooch said. ‘You can’t save her.’

‘I’m taking you to a hospital. You need to be checked.’

‘Forget it.’

‘I’m serious, Gooch, you’re out of the game,’ Whit said.

‘I’m okay.’

‘They could have pumped you full of Clorox, man.’

‘In which case the blood froth would be a bad sign.’ Gooch sat up, blinked. ‘I’ll be okay. What do you want to do?’

‘I want you to go back to Port Leo.’

‘No way.’

‘This isn’t your fight,’ Whit said.

‘They kidnap me, beat me, drug me. Played Frank Polo music while they did it to drown out any screaming. Made it my fight
more than yours.’ Gooch attempted a smile.

‘Brace yourself,’ Whit said. ‘If you come with me, you’re gonna hear Frank’s voice at least one more time.’

Kiko Grace cut into the fat stack of pancakes, shoveled them into his mouth, and pointed the fork at Eve’s untouched plate.
‘You don’t have much appetite, I guess,’ he said. ‘Shame. This is genuine Vermont maple syrup.’

‘I’m dieting,’ she said in a very quiet voice, through her bruised and cut lips.

He chewed. ‘You’re skinny already. Pancakes are good for the soul.’ He glanced over at José, rinsing a skillet in the sink.
‘Isn’t that right, José?’

‘Comfort me with apples,’ José said, ‘for I am sick of love.’

‘Your boy Willie S didn’t say that,’ Kiko said. ‘That’s in the Bible.’

‘You getting smarter every day, boss,’ José said.

Kiko pushed her plate of pancakes a little closer to Eve. ‘Come on, it’s soft food. José made it special for you.’

‘I don’t want to eat with you,’ Eve said. She was handcuffed by her left arm to the chair, sitting up for the first time since
they had brought her to the condo.

‘Your loss. These are awesome.’ Kiko dug back into the stack of blueberry pancakes, apparently taking no offense.

That afternoon José had come into the room they stashed her in, gently climbed on top of her, asked her where the money was.
She said she didn’t know. He
produced a pair of pliers from a back pocket and asked her again. She said she didn’t know. So he pried open her jaw, worked
the pliers onto a back tooth and tried to pull it out. It broke and the pain lanced her jaw, blinded her thoughts like he’d
poured in hot coals. She screamed. He put the shattered tooth in his pocket and asked again. She begged, told him she really
didn’t know. Her tongue probed at where the tooth had been. He climbed back on her, worked the pliers back in and she fought
to keep from vomiting.
Crack
. He broke another back tooth, lacerating her gums; she sobbed, spraying saliva and blood, and he thought she spat on him.
José slammed the pliers into her jaw and mouth, tearing her lips, knocking out two side teeth. She screamed that she still
didn’t know where it was. Then he hit her with his fist, four deep blows, and she blacked out.

She woke up to the awful, sour taste of blood, wretched pain in her jaw, and the jagged stumps of teeth along her gums.

Then José had come in, removed the handcuffs, let her use the bathroom in privacy. Her jaw and face looked like she’d gone
nine rounds in a boxing ring. He let her wash her face with a bar of lavender soap he had unwrapped from delicate paper. The
bar smelled wonderful and she nearly wept, thinking of Whit and him asking about the gardenia soap she used when he was little.
José took her to Kiko’s table, blindfold off, which she could not consider a good sign, and pushed her down to eat. The clock
said it was close to eleven; night held itself against the windows.

‘You know what I want?’ Kiko asked.

‘What?’ she said, watching him chew blueberry pancakes.

‘Happy wife. A cure for cancer. Marlins back in the World Series,’ Kiko said.

‘No, think big. Chicago,’ José said from the kitchen. He wasn’t eating, but he stood at the counter, drinking a glass of milk.

‘Your mouth hurting?’ Kiko asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Jose, get the lady a pain pill,’ Kiko said. José brought her a pill, a glass of water. She palmed it and Kiko said, ‘Really,
it’s okay, we aren’t going to poison you.’ She swallowed the tablet, the water, hating herself for taking anything from him
but God her mouth hurt bad.

‘I know a guy. He really digs older ladies. Really.’ Kiko mopped a bit of pancake through the maple syrup. ‘He’s got unresolved
mother issues, Norman Bates-level nutzoid, and that’s a bitchin’ hard-on that don’t fade. Therapy can’t make a dint in this
bad-ass. You don’t help me, I give you to him. Actually, I sell you to him.’ He chewed, sipped at coffee. ‘He’ll fuck you
no less than a dozen times the first day. Everywhere. Then he’ll turn mean, get out the knife. We got these Albanian bosses
trying to move south from New York, horn in. One of ’em had a wife. We grabbed her, sold her to my friend. Let him have her
for three days. She lost the ability to speak. I put a bullet in her head. Seemed the kind thing to do.’

She said nothing, she didn’t want to shiver in front of him.

‘So, Eve. When you took the money, the Bellinis came after you. Where did you put it?’ Kiko said.

‘I didn’t take it,’ she said. ‘Over the years I’ve had plenty of opportunity to steal from the Bellinis. I didn’t do it.’

‘They seemed very sure you did.’

Eve took a careful breath.
Play the hand right
, she thought,
and they’ll see going after Whit as a no-gain. They’ll leave him alone
. She had not even had a chance to
say good-bye. ‘The most logical choice is that Bucks took the money and framed me.’

‘Why would Bucks betray Paul?’ Kiko asked almost idly.

‘For five million reasons,’ she said.

‘But you see, Eve, I had an arrangement with Bucks,’ he said. ‘He was supposed to steal the money for me. The money’s gone
but it sure ain’t in my pocket.’

She watched José inspecting a hand juicer. He made her nervous, futzing in the kitchen like an old woman. ‘So Bucks betrayed
both you and Paul.’

Kiko shook his head. ‘He was highly motivated not to screw me over, Eve,’ he said. ‘In fact, he would be an idiot if he screwed
me over. I know you don’t like him, but do you think he’s stupid?’

‘I suspect he’s a hell of a lot smarter than you, Mr Grace.’

Kiko laughed. ‘Who’s your partner? Bucks says his name is Whitman Mosley. That his real name?’

‘No,’ she said after a moment. ‘It’s a fake name. Two of his English professors in college.’ The answer sounded inspired.
A slowness crept into her limbs, the pain pill starting to kick in, fast and sweet.

‘What’s his real name? Where is he?’

‘Since I didn’t take the money, neither did he. He was trying to help me prove Bucks took it. Leave him alone.’

Kiko leaned over and stabbed her with the syrup-sticky fork, deep in the meaty part of her arm. She screamed as the dull tines
drove into her flesh.

‘Quit lying. He offered to trade the money for you. Made the appointment. So where’s the money?’ Now his voice was soft. She
turned to José; he was drying the juicer with a dishtowel, looking bored.

‘Whit doesn’t have it.’ Blood dribbled down her arm. The fork hung from her flesh. He leaned over and
shook the fork and agony bolted up her arm, searing every nerve, worming into her bones. She screamed again, nearly fell
from the chair. José moved in behind her, pushed her into Kiko’s reach.

‘Where’s the money?’ Kiko asked again.

She said nothing.

‘I used the fork,’ he said. ‘I still have a knife.’ He held it up, smeared with butter and a loose rope of syrup. ‘You want
to meet my personal Norman Bates? He’ll be on the first flight from Miami if I FedEx your picture and your panties to him.’

She closed her eyes. Oddly she thought of the small, close air of that Montana motel room, thirty years ago, the whiskey-and-hamburger
smell of James Powell, his idle threat against her children, the way the gun snuggled into his mouth like it was meant to
fit there, dark against the white of his teeth. The heady little rush of righteousness that soared into her heart when she
pulled the trigger. And she thought:
I deserve whatever I get
.

She spat in his face. He slapped her and the blast of pain against her savaged mouth nearly made her pass out. ‘Let Bucks
rob you blind,’ she gasped. ‘With that money he can hire enough muscle to send you back to Miami with your tail between your
legs.’

Kiko thumped the end of the fork. She tried not to wet herself. ‘I got serious dirt on him, Eve. Proof he’s a murderer, and
he’s scared to death of me sending it to the police. So you’re lying. Mosley’s got the cash and you’re shielding him.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘With that money, Bucks can put a big-ass contract on you, one you can’t escape from.’

Kiko tilted his head, studied her with a half-smile. ‘I heard you were smart once. Shame to lose the edge, ain’t it.’ He stood,
pulled the fork from her arm. Skin and flesh gave way, blood bubbled from her skin. ‘Same question.
This time I want an actual answer.’ He grabbed the back of her head, brought the fork close to her eye. One of the tines dug
into her eye’s corner.

She had gone down the wrong road in blaming Bucks. Kiko wasn’t rattled. Dumb thinking done fast. She wished she could suck
the words back in, turn back time five minutes. He would never leave Whit alone.

But then Kiko looking up past her shoulder, saying, ‘No need, man, going slow yields more …’ and then three pops in rapid
succession, three red eyes opening on Kiko’s forehead, the hair and flesh shearing away from the skull, Kiko toppling backward
against and then off his chair.

José stepped around her, a pistol in his hand, a silencer screwed on the barrel. He prodded Kiko with a foot.

‘ “Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway’d? Is the king dead?” ’ he said. ‘I would say, Eve, the king is pretty fucking
dead.’

Eve swallowed against a tide of bile in her mouth, waited for him to raise the gun to her.

‘Don’t I get a thank-you?’ José said.

‘Oh, my God,’ she said. ‘You killed him.’

‘It was a choice,’ José said. ‘You ever do that, Eve? Weigh your choices?’

He waited for an answer.

‘Yes,’ she managed to say.

‘Even for decisive people it’s difficult.’ José went to the kitchen, got a first-aid kit, grabbed a dispenser of antiseptic
soap. He came back, set the gun back in his shoulder holster, and started to clean the fork wound on her arm. She sat perfectly
still.

‘Now,’ José said. ‘I’m doing big serious weighing right now. I can either believe you or Bucks. You know the whole infrastructure
of the Bellini operations. That’s valuable information. I think I’ll believe … you.’

She continued to stare, glanced at Kiko, syrup still on his lips, the beauty mark by his mouth all bloodied, distorted wide-eyed
surprise on what was left of his face. ‘Is everyone turning on their bosses these days?’ she managed to say.

‘I did it because he was a drug-dealing animal. And I’m a good citizen. Consider it a public service.’ He laughed softly,
bandaged her arm, taped it, lowered her sleeve back over the dressing. ‘That’ll do for now.’

‘But I don’t know where the money is.’

‘I know you don’t,’ José said. ‘I believe you. Sorry about the teeth, but I did the least I could for him to know you got
worked over proper. We have a dentist we can probably get you. If you behave.’

She stared at him.

‘I’m interested in a lot more than five million,’ José said. ‘You know how much drug money is laundered in this country each
year?’