Trust Me (31 page)

    Karen stood in the center of Schreiner's two-car garage. There were no cars so it looked big and almost empty. There was a built-in worktable with shelves over it against the south wall. Underneath, a cord of dry aged wood was stacked in rows. On the other side, lawn and gardening tools hung from hooks on a Peg-Board. There were three green trash cans lined in a row next to the door leading to the house. Schreiner had a big green and yellow John Deere riding mower and a red Honda track-drive snowblower and a black Schwinn mountain bike.

    Karen, on her knees, cleared a row of stacked aged oak logs, tossing them on the garage floor behind her. She cleared another row and could see the molding around the crawl space. She'd had one just like it at her place down the street. That's where she got the idea. Karen reached in and felt the strap of the Eddie Bauer duffel. She dragged it out and zipped it open on the garage floor, staring at over a million six in banded packs of bills.

    Chapter
Thirty-two

    O'Clair said, "Know where your sister is?"

    "If anybody did I would," Virginia said. "We're close. She'd tell me, but she didn't."

    "Ricky hired a couple Iraqi hit men to find her and they will," O'Clair said.

    "If you took money from someone like Samir, what would you do?"

    "Run like hell," O'Clair said. They were cruising south on Woodward in light traffic, passing storefronts in Ferndale, neon lights ablaze.

    "Exactly. That's what Karen's probably doing. I can't help you though."

    "You wouldn't be helping me," O'Clair said. "You'd be helping her."

    "I can't tell you what I don't know," Virginia said.

    "Where would you go?" O'Clair said. "Didn't you say you're a lot alike?"

    "I said we're close. You want to know where I'd go? I'd go to Argentina and you'd never find me."

    "Why Argentina?"

    "I've got a friend who lives in Buenos Aires."

    "Is that where your sister's at?"

    "I've already told you two times, I don't know."

    O'Clair was driving Virginia home from her mother's after hanging around the house, waiting for the police and then talking to two Garden City detectives, telling them what happened, and telling them he had been a Detroit cop for fifteen years, and then telling them about some of his exploits.

    When the police had gone, Virginia asked him if he'd give her a ride home. She sat with her body angled on the seat, facing him. He'd been thinking about her since he saw her at the store. She had a nice smile and nice teeth and perfect skin. Get rid of the lip stud and the purple in her hair, she'd be pretty.

    "I wish she hadn't shot him," Virginia said. "Fly did a lot of bad things but he didn't deserve that."

    O'Clair didn't think it was any great loss to mankind. In a flashback, he recalled the scene: he and Fly had walked in on the little blonde, who was holding down on Virginia and her mother. Fly had approached the girl, who looked like a teenager. She gripped the Colt Python in her hand like she'd never fired a gun in her life.

    Fly said, "You better hand that over puss before somebody gets hurt." He figured he could take it from her 'cause she didn't look threatening. He took another step and she shot him point-blank in the chest and he fell backwards and that was it. Fly was gone. O'Clair grabbed the gun from Megan and made her free Virginia and her mom and then sat her on the couch till the police got there. Virginia got on her knees next to Fly and cried for a while.

    "Are you okay?" O'Clair said.

    Virginia said, "I think so but I don't want to be alone tonight."

    O'Clair didn't know if she was coming on to him or not. "You got a friend you can call?"

    "Karen used to say 'Gina, you're a magnet for freaks and weirdos. What do you see in Fly?'"

    O'Clair wondered if he qualified as one or the other.

    "Sorry for hitting you with the skillet," Virginia said. "Is your head okay?"

    He had a lump the size of a golf ball on top of his head. "I've got brain damage," O'Clair said. "But with therapy they say I'll be able to live a useful life." He smiled to show her he was kidding.

    Now she broke into a grin. "You're not mad?"

    O'Clair shook his head. "No."

    Virginia said, "Are you sure? Fly would've been pissed."

    He turned right on Albany Street and cruised down and took a left in her driveway. He put it in park and looked over at her.

    She said, "Want to come in for a beer?"

    Tariq was driving the Jaguar well within the speed limit, exercising caution in a stolen automobile. They were on a street called Woodward Avenue, en route to the final address on Ricky's list, and if luck was with them, this is where they would find Karen Delaney and the money.

    Omar had his back to him. He was turned in his seat, looking for a street called Albany, which, as Tariq remembered from an American geography course, was also the capital of New York state.

    Tariq was more surprised than embarrassed by the strange turn of events. They had Samir's woman. All they had to do was deliver her and collect their money, but now they had nothing. Even the magnificent Cadillac Escalade was gone. Yes, certainly it was a concern. How would he explain this to his uncle?

    A more pressing issue, however, was recovering the money. He tried to imagine one million dollars and more than half of that amount again. With this money Tariq could live like a king. He could purchase twenty Escalades. Tariq saw himself wearing expensive clothes from Paris and New York. He saw himself in the company of many beautiful women.

    Omar said, "Is Albany. Turn here."

    Tariq did, driving slowly, looking for the address Ricky had given to them. According to the numbers the house would be on the left side of the street. There was a car with its lights on parked in a driveway twenty meters ahead. Passing it, Tariq identified the automobile as a Cadillac Seville, 1998 or '99. There was a woman standing at the open front passenger door of the vehicle, talking to someone inside. This was the correct address. The house was dark, no lights.

    He drove to the end of the street, and turned around driving back toward the house. When they were within fifty meters he turned off the lights, moving closer, parking behind a Toyota Tundra pickup truck, two houses away. Tariq saw a man emerge from the Cadillac and walk with the woman, who he believed was Karen Delaney's sister, to the front door and enter the house.

    Virginia said, "Do you like what you do, chasing people around, collecting money?"

    She opened a bottle of Miller High Life and handed it to him.

    "I'm going to retire and buy a motel on the beach. The kind with efficiencies." He sat at the kitchen table. She cracked a beer and sat across from him.

    "What're efficiencies?"

    "Rooms with kitchens. So people can go down and stay for a couple of weeks or a whole season, and they don't have to eat all their meals out."

    Virginia said, "Where is this motel going to be?"

    "Florida," O'Clair said. "Somewhere on the Atlantic side, Del-ray, or further south, Pompano, maybe." He'd rent out rooms and take it easy. No more muscling people for money. No more Detroit winters. O'Clair knew for a fact that he never wanted to see snow again as long as he lived. "Now's a good time to buy because most motel owners haven't seen a tourist since Easter."

    Every couple of weeks he'd buy the
Sun-Sentinel
at Borders and check out the real estate prices. He'd mix himself a cocktail and think of names for the place. He kind of liked Pirate's Cove. Get a sign with a pirate in a bandanna winking at you—a friendly pirate. Somebody you'd like to drink rum with and tell stories. He also liked Treasure Island for a name—another one where you could use a pirate on the sign, or a big treasure chest full of loot.

    "We went to Fort Myers once," Virginia said, "for a family vacation." She sipped her beer.

    O'Clair said, "That's on the Gulf side."

    "We'd drive straight through," Virginia said. "Twenty-four hours. My dad would only stop for gas."

    "I do it in two days," O'Clair said. "Spend the night in Valdosta."

    "Where's that at?"

    O'Clair said, "Southern Georgia. It's down near the Florida border. You think 'cause you're close to Florida you're almost there and you've got another eight hours of driving ahead of you."

    Virginia said. "Can I come down and visit you?"

    "I've got to get a place first," O'Clair said. He took a sip of beer.

    Virginia got up and came around and stood next to him. He wondered what she was doing. His chair was out about a foot from the table.

    She said, "Will you kiss me?"

    He was hot and sweaty and wondered about his breath. "I better not."

    "Come on," Virginia said.

    She sat in his lap and brushed her mouth against his. It was clumsy at first until she zeroed in on him and locked her lips on his, and stuck her tongue in his mouth. He noticed her eyes were closed. The kiss lasted about ten seconds. Then she pulled away and looked at his face.

    "You're a good kisser," Virginia said.

    O'Clair was thinking, I am?

    "Want to hang out sometime?"

    "What do you mean?" O'Clair said.

    "You know," Virginia said, "go to a bar or a club, hang out."

    "That'd be nice," O'Clair said.

    "What's your number?"

    "What do you want my number for?" O'Clair said.

    Virginia said, "Why do you think? So I can call you."

    He checked his shirt pocket for something to write on and pulled out a business card that said, Bobby Gal, Sales Consultant, Tad Collins Buick-Lexus. "Do you have a pen?"

    She got off him and went to the counter and got a pen and gave it to him. He wrote his number on the back of the card and handed it to Virginia. He got up and held her hands and looked her in the eye and said, "I'm going to ask you one more time. Know where your sister's at?"

    She smiled at him and said, "And I'm going to answer you one more time. No, I honestly do not."

    "Would you tell me if you did?"

    "Yes," Virginia said, "because I believe you'd help her."

    It sounded like she was telling the truth the way she said it. "I better go."

    She walked him to the front door and kissed him again.

    "Take it easy," O'Clair said.

    "Yeah, you too."

    He thought about her as he walked to the car, imagined her in a bikini, bringing him a beer while he cleaned the pool. O'Clair barefoot in a pair of Bermuda shorts, working the long handle of the skimmer. Or better yet, Virginia would do the cleaning. He'd watch her from a lounge chair, drinking a beer. He liked looking at her. He could sit there all day and look at her.

    Tariq watched the man exit from the house twenty minutes later. He watched the Cadillac drive down the street and disappear. Five minutes after that a light appeared in a second floor window. Omar saw it and pointed.

    He said, "You see?"

    "Yes," Tariq said. "I see." He was thinking about the money, Ricky instructing him: call me, update me, keep me posted. But what did Tariq have to update? Did he know the whereabouts of Karen Delaney? No. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard again. The time was 1:48 a.m. He glanced at the house and saw the light turn off. Omar looked at him and Tariq nodded.

    They exited from the vehicle, closing the doors as quietly as possible. They walked to the house. The air was still hot, the street dark and quiet. They moved along the side of the house to the rear. There was a door with four glass panels. He peered in and saw a stove and refrigerator. Tariq tried turning the door handle, it was locked.

    Omar had another idea. Occasionally, Omar would surprise him. He was ten feet away, removing a window screen with his knife. He stood on a patio chair and hoisted himself up and through the window and less than one minute later he unlocked the door for Tariq. They crept through the house to the front door. He was looking up the stairs ready to move when he heard a phone ring and stood there quietly. The phone was ringing. It rang five times before stopping. He could hear a woman's voice talking in the upper level of the house.