Serpents Rising (23 page)

Minnis headed for the kitchen, walked between the two guys, who made room for him to pass. The one with the shotgun took two steps farther into the restaurant, turned, and aimed the shotgun at the kitchen door. If Minnis decided to come through there, gun blazing, he wouldn't get far. I was thinking to myself,
these guys are good
. I looked at Cobb. No way to tell what he was thinking.

“Okay, Cowboy, let's get to it,” Scubberd said. “You want to talk trade. Now even though there is no shipment, I appreciate that you came to me with what you thought was good information instead of going to the cops, so let me hear what it is you need and maybe we can work something out.”

“Jay Blevins.”

Scubberd waited, then said, “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“His old man is the guy who took out your boys in the house on Raleigh Avenue. Then you offed his old man. But I have a feeling you and your … associates might feel it's necessary to get the kid as well. Maybe send a message.”

“What makes you think I give a fuck about this kid?”

I was surprised that Scubberd didn't deny either the house on Raleigh or the killing of Blevins. Didn't admit anything but didn't deny either.

“Somebody very handy with a knife …” Cobb hesitated but didn't look at Moretti, “carved up one of the kid's friends. And there's been some patrolling at the girlfriend's former residence. Patrolling in an Audi.”

Scubberd's eyes flicked a half centimetre in Moretti's direction, then back. I saw it and I guessed Cobb saw it too.

“And you're thinking this person who is all handy with a knife might be one of my people. Along with whoever is doing the patrolling.”

“Seems possible,” Cobb said. “Bottom line, I don't see that you have any reason to bother with the kid. He was a customer, that's all. He wasn't in on the old man's deal, didn't know anything about it. And you already sent the message when you got the kid's dad. So I'm … requesting … that if your people happen to be on the hunt for this kid, you call them off.”

Minnis came through the kitchen door, looked at the shotgun, then walked the rest of the way to the table. Davy was right behind him carrying a tray that held six cans of Coors Light and six glasses. He set the tray on the table between Cobb and Scubberd. Neither made a move toward the beer. Davy picked up the plates from earlier, turned, and hustled back in the direction of the kitchen. Scubberd waited until he was gone.

“What's this Blevins kid to you?”

“Nothing. I've never even met him. Blevins came to me after he wasted the dealers, hired me to keep the kid alive. I'm trying to do that.”

“Even though your client is dead.”

“Even though.”

“An honourable man. Isn't that nice.”

Cobb shrugged, said nothing.

“And if I forget about this crack head kid, you'll forget about this
rumour
of some shipment that has no basis in fact anyway.”

“That's the deal. I don't hassle you, you don't hassle the kid.”

Scubberd leaned back in his chair and rocked a little, looking from side to side as he rocked. His eyes rested longer on his wife than on anyone else. I couldn't see any communication between them. He looked at her. She looked at him.

Scubberd thudded the chair back down to the floor and turned his attention again to Cobb.

“Okay, Cowboy. We can make that work. Now why don't you and the scribe beat it so I can get on with dinner.”

I think my breathing became a little more normal. I was waiting for Cobb to move so we could get the hell out of there.

“Not yet,” he said.

Oh, shit.

Cobb smiled. Scubberd glared at him. I swallowed.

When Cobb spoke again his voice was flat and cold, devoid of expression, a conveyor of information, nothing more.

“There's one last thing. Recently someone tried to get up close and personal with Mr. Cullen here. Drive-by, a little too close. Maybe a warning, maybe a near miss. Either way — unacceptable.”

Scubberd turned and looked at me a long minute, “You see this vehicle?”

I was hoping my voice would work normally. “Older. Eighties maybe, big sedan. It was dark, that's all I could make out.”

“None of my people have a ride anything like that. We ride Harleys.”

“Except for the Audi,” Cobb said.

“That don't sound like no Audi. And since it wasn't a fuckin' motorcycle that almost ran over your ass, it's got shit to do with us.” He turned to Cobb. “On top of which I've never seen or even heard of this fuck before tonight.”

A loud silence ensued. No one spoke.

Mrs. Smith spoke for the second time. To me this time.

“You're a writer. Is that right, Mr. Cullen?”

“I am, yes.”

Scubberd snorted. “What kind of shit you write? Letters? Kids porn? Poetry?”

Moretti snickered at his boss's humour. Probably part of the job description.

“Freelance. I write for newspapers when I come across a story that needs telling.”

Scubberd poured one of the beers into a glass, reached across the table, and set it in front of his wife. He poured a second into a glass, took a long drink, and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat.

Scubberd looked at me, not unpleasantly. “I hope you're not dumb enough to think that anything you've seen or heard tonight
needs telling
.” He drew out the last two words.

When I didn't answer right away, Scubberd emptied his glass, set it down and said, “Because when my guys drive by they don't miss.”

“No, I'm not dumb enough to think that.”

Scubberd nodded and took another beer but didn't open it.

“Let me summarize. Nobody talks about drug shipments, fictitious or otherwise, nobody kills the kid, and nobody writes anything that ends up in the newspaper That's our
arrangement
, Cowboy. I only use the word
deal
when there's money involved.”

Cobb nodded. They didn't shake hands.

Cobb said, “If it's all the same for you, we'll pass on the beer.”

“That's good because I wasn't fucking plannin' to offer you any.”

Moretti snickered again. Cobb stood up so suddenly that in surprise Moretti took a quick step backward, almost losing his balance. The snicker ended in a growl.

Cobb said, “For a badass killer, you're a clumsy little snake.”

Mrs. Scubberd made a noise that sounded like a laugh she was trying to hold in but I couldn't be sure. Moretti's face took on the colour of hail clouds and I knew if it were up to him the deal would be off right now.

Cobb turned to face Scubberd. “Here's how this is going to go. Your associates will sit down at the table. Mr. Cullen and I will walk out the front door. When we're out the door,
my
associates will leave through the kitchen. And we can all enjoy the rest of the evening.”

Scubberd nodded once but his lips were pressed together. He was not a man who was used to being told how things were going to play out.

I stood up trying not to look like I was overeager. I'm not sure I pulled it off.

Cobb and I started for the door.

A voice behind us stopped us. “That seems a little harsh, Mr. Cobb,” Mrs Scubberd said. I'd have put her voice somewhere between Elizabeth Taylor and Taylor Swift.

We turned back to face them. Mrs. Scubberd was smiling but only a little. “My husband is an honourable man. He's shown good faith. The courteous thing would be for you gentlemen to do the same thing.”

Cobb looked at her for what seemed like a minute but was probably five or six seconds. Then he turned slightly and motioned with his head for the two guys with the heavy artillery who were still flanking the door to the kitchen to leave. They did. Cobb turned back to the MFs, nodded once, and we resumed our move toward the door.

I resisted the urge to turn and see if everything behind us was going as Cobb and Mrs. Scubberd seemed to think it would. Cobb opened the door, held it for me, then followed me onto the street. The air outside was oppressively cold but it was the most welcome air I had breathed in a couple of decades.

We walked toward Cobb's Jeep. “Audi across the street.”

I looked where he was pointing. “That's the one I saw outside Zoe's building.”

“Let's hope we don't see it again anytime soon.”

Once we were inside and Cobb had started the Jeep, I turned to him. “Who were those guys?”

He knew which guys I meant. “Ex-cops, one retired, the other on disability.”

“And they do this sort of thing?”

“Freelance like you. I called in a couple of favours.”

“That's what the texting was about.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I got the impression Mrs. Scubberd isn't just eye candy.”

Cobb nodded. “I'd say she's a player. Maybe not on the same level as her husband but, as you say, a long way from a bad guy's bimbo.”

The Jeep's heater had kicked in and I leaned forward to put my hands next to the floor vent. “All we were missing in there was Doc Holliday.”

Cobb had been looking straight ahead. Now he turned his head to look at me.

“Something you need to understand, Adam. This isn't some Bruce Willis action movie and that wasn't make believe back there. I had my two guys there because I figured without them there was a pretty good chance that some very messy stuff could happen.”

“So why did you want to go face to face with Scubberd at all?”

“Desperation. I haven't been able to find the kid. And if they found him before I did, they'd have snuffed him out like a candle on a birthday cake. When I heard about the shipment of drugs destined for whatever warehouse the MFs use for storing their merchandise, I figured it was worth a shot.”

“Scubberd says there is no shipment.”

“That was bullshit. He couldn't acknowledge it to me because that would mean that I actually had something on him. This way he pretends he's making nice and sparing the kid out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Will he keep his part of the bargain?”

“I don't know. I'm guessing maybe sixty-forty in our favour. Honour among thieves and all that. Mrs. Scubberd assured us that he's an honourable man. We better hope she's right.”

“I still think it's risky. You made Scubberd look bad in there. He might be thinking payback.”

Cobb looked at me in the semi-darkness of the Jeep. “He might. But I played the only cards I had. What we better hope for now is that the cops don't find out about the drug shipment and stage a raid and blow the whole thing to hell.”

“Because if that happens, the Scubberds will think the information came from you and —”

Cobb shook his head. “I don't think so. He knows I wouldn't have gone to him asking for him to leave Jay alone if I was planning to let the cops in on what I know. But he would be worried that there are too many people in the know. And he might decide to start removing those people and anybody he even suspects of having some insider access to what's going on in the MFs world. Then it gets ugly.”

“I'm glad I don't have your job,” I said.

Cobb pulled out into traffic, driving slowly. “At the very start you told me you were in this for the story you'd be able to write when it was over. You want to write this story, you need to see it all, be part of it. Because if you're not, you could wind up dead in a Dumpster about four hours after your story hits the streets.”

“Memo received. Now what?”

“I drop you off at your house. We get a good night's sleep and give Jay another shot in the morning.”

I thought about that. “If you just made a deal with the MFs not to waste the kid then what difference does it make if you find him or not? Why bother?”

“I don't like stuff left unfinished.”

“Yeah.”

We drove in silence for a few more blocks. We came to the lights at 9th Avenue and 19th Street where you turn left if you want to get to the Deerfoot. Cobb didn't turn. Instead he drove on into an older residential neighbourhood for a couple of blocks then turned left, then left again, and one more left to get us back to 9th Avenue. I wasn't paying much attention. A lot had happened and I was still trying to process it. As Cobb turned back onto 9th Avenue heading back toward where we'd just been, I finally broke the silence.

“Cruising, are we? Hoping to see Jay just walking down the street?”

“No.”

“Okay … any ideas? It seems to me this kid is proving to be pretty elusive.”

“That's true and I'd like to discuss that with you, but not right now.”

That response made as much sense as everything else that had happened so far on this night. And, like most of what had happened so far on this night I didn't like it. “Look, if there's —”

He held up his hand to stop me. “We've got a tail.”

“What?”

“Don't look back there but someone is following us.”

“Shit. An Audi?”

He shook his head, casting a casual glance now and then at the rearview mirror. “Pickup. This guy's an amateur. Following too close. Easy to spot. He picked us up leaving the restaurant, which means he knew we were there.”

“How would anybody know that?
I
didn't even know that.”

“He followed us there.”

“But if the guy's an amateur how is it you didn't spot him back there before?”

“I was careless.”

“Just one guy?”

“Unless someone else is hunkered down in there out of sight. We've got a driver, male it looks like. Dodge half or three-quarter ton, not a dually, I'd say early 2000s vintage.”

“So what now?”

“So now we see if we can find out who this person is.”

As he finished speaking, Cobb swerved to the right and slid to the curb between a Chevy Nova and a MINI Cooper. As we stopped both of us tried to get a look at the driver of the pickup as it went by. The driver lifted his arm and covered his face as he rolled by so we saw nothing that would help identify whoever was following us.