The Whole Truth (31 page)

“One more time. Where were you planning to go?”

Okay, Mott was after something.
Play it very cool.
“I was heading back to Los Angeles, maybe look up some friends.”

“Don't you have any friends here?”

“I'm still the new kid in town.”

“That you are,” Mott said. “Mind stepping out for a moment?”

Hard to stay cool now. “Can I ask why?”

“I'd just like to have you step out.”

The other deputy, a younger version of Mott, with sunglasses on, stood on the passenger side of the Ark. To Mott, Steve said, “Sheriff, you know as well as I do there has to be some reasonable suspicion before you can stop a car or detain a driver. So far you haven't indicated anything of the sort.”

“Taillight,” Mott said quickly.

“What?”

“Busted taillight. That's why I stopped you.”

Steve had heard that one before.
Busted taillight
was a catchall if a cop really wanted to stop you and ask some questions.

“I'll be sure to have somebody check out the taillight, Sheriff,” Steve said. “If you want to write it up — ”

“Out of the car.” Sheriff Mott pulled his gun, held it at his side.

“Whoa, what is this?”

Mott put the gun to Steve's head. “Out now or they're gonna have to wash up the interior a bit.”

Steve got out.

Mott said, “Now you put your hands on top of your head.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

Steve complied.

“Now walk to the other side of the car and get down on the ground for me.”

“Wait a sec — ”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Why don't you just tell me what you want and we can clear this — ”

“I told you what I want,” Mott said. “I want you on the ground. I want you there now. You know I mean it.”

Steve walked around the front of the Ark, dropped to his knees, then face. He spread-eagled himself on the hot shoulder of the road.

“Resisting an officer in his duties,” Mott said. “That's cause for detention. Frank, search the car.”

“This is bogus,” Steve said.

“You have any weapons in the car?” Mott said.

“No.”

“Contraband?”

“No.”

“Keep your face down and arms out,” Mott said.

Steve breathed dirt.

Somebody had put out a false report on him. That had to be it. Somebody with a grudge. Neal Cullen maybe? Rennie?

Johnny?

“Uh-oh.” The voice of the deputy.

“What've you got, Frank?” Mott said.

“Take a look.”

What could it possibly be? An old Arby's bag? Loose change? Steve had nothing in the Ark but mess.

“My oh my,” Mott said.

My oh my
what?
Steve couldn't help himself. He lifted his head and looked back.

Then something slammed into his back. Like a knee. All breath left him.

His arms were pulled back. Two clicks. He'd just been handcuffed.

Wheezing for air, he was pulled up to his knees. The two lawmen got hands under his arms and yanked him to his feet.

Mott held something up to Steve's face. He tried to focus. It was a baggy, rolled up, the size of a maple bar. Full of white powder.

Steve opened his mouth. No sound but a sucking for breath. Mott pushed him toward the sheriff's car. Steve stumbled toward it, wondering if he'd black out.

And if he did, if he'd ever wake up.

Mott opened the rear door of the sheriff's car and pushed Steve in. He banged his head on the edge of the roof, then fell across the seat, still gasping.

Mott slammed the door.

FIFTY-NINE

The smell of vomit came from his cellmate, a fat guy passed out in the corner, breakfast all over the front of his shirt.

Steve thought it fitting. His life wasn't worth what was on the guy's shirt, and stank just as bad.

Rogue sheriff and partner plant coke in Steve's car. That would be it for the law career. License yanked. You're through now. Sorry, no parting gifts, but thanks for playing.

He'd requested his phone call an hour ago. They'd taken his cell phone and everything else. No one had come back for him. Violation of rights! Sure! And the only witness was snoring in the corner, not out of his stupor yet.

As soon as they let him, he'd get Sienna on the phone and start the ball rolling on hiring a lawyer. He'd have to hock everything to do it, but he needed somebody aggressive, somebody like Cutler, who'd defended John Gotti. A down-and-dirty New Yorker, a bare-knuckle brawler. Get him up to this one-horse burg and chew some rear, because without someone like that, he was dead.

What was Mott after?

It had something to do with Oderkirk's death. Or maybe just the fact that Steve was associating with the LaSalles and Mott didn't like the cut of his jib.

Steve sat on the aluminum bench attached to the wall and knew not even a Bruce Cutler would do him any good. They'd seen to that. Two law-enforcement officers, one former coke-addict lawyer.

His word against theirs.

He didn't need Cutler, he needed Houdini. He'd even settle for Penn & Teller.

The door to the cell unit opened. The young deputy, the one who'd arrested him with Mott, was standing there. Letting in Johnny LaSalle.

“Ten minutes,” the deputy said, then slammed the door shut.

“Johnny — ”

“Well, this is a fine howdy-do,” Johnny said. “I should be in there and you should be out here.”

Steve gripped the bars, just like in the movies. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm here to get you out, Steve. To take you home.”

“Bail?”

“They're gonna release you OR.”

“How'd you manage that?”

“Remember I asked you to trust me, Steve? You can, you know.”

“Do you know why I'm in here?”

Johnny nodded.

“Do you know it's all a setup?” Steve said.

“Trust me, Steve. I know. But it's all right now. I'm here for you.”

In Johnny's Jeep, heading toward Beth-El, Johnny said, “Mott has done this before. We know all about it. And that's what's going to get you out of this.”

Steve breathed in the fresh air, trying to get the cell smell out of his body. “What do you mean, get out of it?”

“Dropped.”

“How?”

“I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse.” Johnny tipped his head back and laughed.

“What do you have over Mott?”

“Why do you think he's where he is? Why do you think he keeps getting re-elected?”

“He's in your pocket?”

“Not without some wriggling, but yeah.”

“Why is he going after me then?”

“He's a guy who only understands one thing, and that's power.

Who holds it, who can get it back. Maybe he thinks doing this to you is a way to get some power back on his end. But I'm not going to let him do that, Steve. Not to you.”

SIXTY

Steve entered the large room where the infamous Bible study had been held, Johnny right behind him. There were several LaSalleites present, some of whom gave Steve a smile and even a slap on the back. Like it was a homecoming.

Which was not what he wanted. He hadn't changed his mind about pulling out.

But those plans were on permanent hold. Johnny held Steve's immediate fate in his hands. Johnny —

“Make yourself at home,” Johnny said.

— held his fate —

Johnny turned then and walked to the other side of the room. Where Neal Cullen was standing. Hadn't taken long for Cullen to get bailed out. He smiled at Steve and waved.

No way, could it really be? Could Johnny have been the one to set this up? Had Mott planted coke in his car, so he would be forced to stay?

Johnny was whispering to Cullen. The men in the room had formed an informal circle around Steve.

The big door opened and he heard the familiar whirring of Eldon LaSalle's wheelchair. Steve turned, and the men split like the Red Sea as Eldon wheeled through them, right up to Steve.

The old man stopped, looked at Steve, shook his head.

Johnny came over. “He's okay, Eldon. He's with us now.” To Steve, Johnny said, “You are with us, right?”

“You planned this, didn't you?” Steve said.

“Planned?” Johnny said, with an oh-so-innocent look in his eyes.

“Enough,” Eldon LaSalle said. Then, wonder of wonders, he pushed himself to his feet and stood eye-to-eye with Steve. The sight unleashed cold ripples through Steve's chest.

“Do you renounce Satan?” Eldon LaSalle said.

“Excuse me?”

“You are in the grip of the enemy, Son. Do you renounce him?”

Oh, this is nice, oh yes. Terrific.
“Sure,” Steve said. “Why not? I've got nothing else to do.”

Then Eldon LaSalle slapped him with the back of his bony right hand. Little white lights sparked behind Steve's eyes. He shook his head. And before he could do anything else, his arms were pinned behind him. Hard.

“What are you doing?” Steve said. “You crazy — ”

LaSalle slapped him again. “Quiet! You will renounce Satan now!”

Steve struggled in the arms that held him. The grip was iron. “Johnny, what is this?”

“You answer to me,” Eldon said.

The thought repelled Steve as much as the stench of the drunk in his jail cell. “I suppose you want me to get down and beg like a dog too,” he said.

“If I say you should, then yes.”

Steve stared into the dull, dark eyes of the old man. “Eldon, if I was a dog the only thing I'd do for you is lift my leg.”

LaSalle's head snapped back, almost like he'd been slapped himself. Then he gave Steve another whack across the face, this one with extra mustard.

Then he said, “ ‘And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.' ”

“I'll tell you what you can do with your lake of fire, you can take it and — ”

“Hang on a second!” Johnny said.

Eldon shot him a rebuking look. Johnny didn't back down. “I've got it all worked out,” Johnny said. “Steve knows we can take care of his legal problem. He knows he owes us his loyalty. Right, Steve?”

“I don't owe you or this motorized nutbag anything. And if I — ”

“Steve, please,” Johnny said. “Calm down and tell me you'll work this out with me. That you'll stay.”

Steve thought about it for two seconds. “I'll take my chances on the outside.”

“Steve — ”

“Forget it, Johnny. I'd rather flip burgers than work for you or this withered old whack.”

LaSalle hit Steve once more.

Steve's head rang. He was blind for a moment. Then he exploded by jerking his right arm free.

Without a thought he plowed his fist into Eldon LaSalle's face. It landed with a smack against skin and cheekbone.

LaSalle went down like loose change.

For a moment there was a stunned silence, a calm before the cracking of thunder.

Then they were all over Steve, throwing him to the ground, punching the side of his head, his back. They went at him like kids at a piñata.

This is it, he thought. Lights out.

Then they were being pulled off him. He heard Johnny shouting, “Hold off! Get him to his feet!”

Hands grabbed his hair and shoulders and shirt and yanked him upright.

Two other LaSalleites were helping the old man into his chair.

For a moment Steve felt sorry for Eldon LaSalle. The feeling passed. This was a guy who needed to be off the earth for good.

No one spoke as LaSalle breathed in and out, in and out, running a scrawny hand over his left cheek.

Then he looked at Steve and said, “Take him out.”

The ones who had Steve's arms almost pulled them out of the sockets. Steve tried to resist movement, but there was no chance.

He saw the smiling faces watching. He shouted, “If there's a hell, that's where you're going!”

They shot him out to the corridor, opened what looked like a large closet, shoved him in, and slammed the door.

Into complete darkness. Steve felt for the door handle, and of course it was locked.

He remembered being afraid of the dark. Remembered the night terrors, and when Robert was put in his room so he wouldn't be scared.

So much for that. Johnny LaSalle was a brother no longer. He may have had Steve's blood in him, but in truth he was the spawn of Eldon LaSalle.

Steve heard something scurrying near his feet. He put his back against the door and didn't move.

Okay. Okay. If there was any real justice, any real God, he wouldn't
let these things be done in his name. He would send down so much
lightning, he would light up Eldon LaSalle like a Christmas tree, then
let him burn and take the ashes and dump them in an Andy Gump
chemical toilet along with the remains of Johnny LaSalle, and then he'd
take care of the house and burn this whole mountain clean.

That's what he would do if he were around, but he doesn't seem to
be around and what are they going to do with you now?

They can't let you go. They can't just let you walk out knowing what
you know. They are going to take care of business is what they are going
to do, and you are the business, and just how much longer are they
going to keep me in here and where's that rat? If it was a rat. If it wasn't
something else and . . . night terrors are preferable to this. I'll take the
night terrors again.

SIXTY-ONE

The door opened. Dim light shot in, enough that he could make out three shadowy figures. Arms reached in for him, pulled him out. Turned him around. Yanked his arm behind him again — fresh burn in the shoulders — then they taped his wrists.

And his mouth.