Until It's You (6 page)

Mark looked up from his desk. “You gonna need insurance?” he asked.

Landon shook his head. “I’ll take care of it separately.”

“We offer great rates—”

“I'll take care of it separately.”

Silence, then Mark gave a short nod and tapped his pen a few times. “How you paying?”

“Cash.”

Another hesitation, then Mark leaned forward over his desk. “Listen, I’ll knock a grand off the price tag if you do your insurance through us.”

Landon leaned back, very conscious of the envelope of cash in his pocket. “What do I owe you?”

Mark watched him carefully. “It’s gonna be twenty-seven k. When you coming with the money?”

Landon’s hesitated, then reached for his pocket. “Now. That a problem?”

Mark the Salesman sat back in his chair, his lips slightly apart. The seconds ticked away beat by beat of Landon’s heart. Something was off.

“Now’s fine,” Mark said slowly. “Just a little strange.”

“How’s that?”

“Lot of money to carry. Especially on your own.”

Landon put his hands out. “Obviously I came to buy.”

“I noticed that. You never even asked the price before you decided. I could have told you anything.”

“And I could have walked out and wasted your time." Landon leaned forward. "Are we really doing this?”

Mark put the pen in his mouth for a moment, like it was a cigarette. “What do you have on you, thirty k? Fifty?”

Landon kept his fists from clenching, but he could feel his heart jump. Was this about to be a fight? “None of your business,” he said steadily.

Mark licked his lips, a predatory gleam in his eye. “You running, friend?”

A pinch came up in Landon’s throat, and his heart started beating harder. How would this guy know? Wasn't the whole point of a place like this not to ask that kind of question? “No,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m buying a car. Unless there’s some kind of problem.”

“No problem.” Mark shuffled the papers on his desk. “It’s just that you look like a guy in trouble that ain’t used to being in trouble.”

“Is that right?”

Mark nodded, and motioned to Landon's pocket. “And you have a lot of cash on you.”

Landon paused, and anger boiled up inside him. “That’s true,” he said slowly. Now his fists clenched. “Are you threatening me?”

The door opened to their left. Landon saw Mark's eyes open wide before he turned his attention to the small room's entrance. 

He stood up instinctively, fists still in tight balls. Was this some kind of muscle for a shakedown? But why would Mark be startled?

A thickly built man stood in the door frame, then stepped in. The door shut behind him.

The man wore a black jacket with a white cotton button down shirt that had two buttons undone. He'd paired it with a pair of loose brown slacks. His dark hair was buzzed short, and he kept a well-trimmed goatee that had just started to gray. He folded some sunglasses down as he entered.

If he wasn't here for muscle, he looked like he could be drafted into the job pretty easily. No knowing how strong guys were when they were built like that.

He looked vaguely familiar, actually, but Landon couldn’t quite place where he’d seen him before. Somewhere recently, he knew. His mind was so jacked for a fight he couldn't quite focus.

An evaluating look was in the man’s dark eyes, seemingly sizing up. After a few seconds he tore his gaze away and looked questioningly at Mark.

“Just a minute, Roy,” the salesman said, standing up himself. “I was just finishing up with a customer.”

Landon froze. That name was familiar.

The Velvet. He’d heard it and figured it for the guy who’d been watching him. Who’d made him run. He looked different, in daylight and with no suit, but that was him.

What the hell was he doing here? Had he followed? And if so, why would he show his face now? Was Kristina’s disguise really holding, now that he was here?

If it was, he couldn’t blow it now. He needed a way to disguise his voice, so it didn’t ring true for what Roy was probably expecting.

He brought his hand up to his mouth and coughed hard so that phlegm caught in his throat. Then he shook his head quickly. “Actually I’m all set,” he said quickly.

Mark’s oily face fell. He turned to Roy. “Roy, can you excuse us for a second?”

“No,” Landon said, before Roy could respond. “I think I’ll keep shopping around.”

“I’ll knock two grand off the price,” Mark said, strafing around his desk to that he was face to face with Landon, between him and the door. “Come on, if you thought you wanted it before, you definitely want it for two grand less.”

Landon shook his head and then looked up at Roy, who was watching the scene unfold with attentiveness. Pressing his lips together, Landon stepped around Mark and walked to the door.

He came to where Roy was standing. The thick, stout man hadn’t stepped aside yet.

Landon’s heart thumped in his chest as he turned sideways to shoulder through. “Excuse me,” he said.

He couldn't afford a fight here, even if he could take Roy. Which he wasn't sure of. Guy could be strong.

Roy put his arm out, blocking Landon’s path. “I didn’t mean to rush you,” he said, his voice gravelly with the cigarette smoke he smelled of. Who smoked cigarettes anymore? “Why don’t you take the car?”

Landon’s jaw clenched. He steeled himself and squared up to Roy. “I don’t want it. Now get out of my way.”

A crooked smile twisted onto Roy’s face. Landon’s heart pounded.

Then the shorter man stepped aside, letting Landon through. “Another day,” Roy said, under his breath. “Another fucking day.”

Landon stepped through the door without another look and walked out onto the lot, the gravel crunching under the soles of his shoes. From there he made it to the sidewalk, resisting the urge to run with every step.

Was he free? It seemed like he was free.

He turned the corner, out of range. Finally, he chanced a glance back. Nothing.

He ran.

***

Roy watched the man walk through the dealership's glass door. Bastard looked Greek, kind of. Couldn't quite place it, but Roy thought he'd seen him before. Strange, because normally Roy would remember a Greek. He'd had a bad run with them lately.

He turned back to Mark, whose mouth hung open as he sat at his little metal desk.

Roy grimaced. Mark was pissed. Not a great start when you needed a favor.

“What the fuck," Mark spat. "That guy probably had like fifty k on him!”

Roy took a deep breath, slipped into gear. He needed this to come off.

“He looked pissed off when I walked in,” he said. “I don’t think I ruined shit for you.”

Mark shook his head. “I fucking
had
him Roy. Fucker was carrying cash to buy a car. Already had a ton on him. Who does that who ain’t in a bad spot? That shit was an easy shakedown if you just let me set it up for a few more minutes.”

Roy bit his lip. The bastard had looked slightly familiar, but he hadn’t been paying close attention. He replayed the incident in his mind. Maybe the guy had been slightly nervous, but only slightly. Mostly he’d seemed like a blank. The only thing Roy had really noticed about him was that he was tall and had pretty broad shoulders. That and the mole on his face.

Wait.

“What did he say his name was?” Roy asked.

“Eddie. Why?”

“Eddie what?”

“We didn’t get to that part because you barged in. We had just settled on a price and I was getting going on the paperwork.” Mark shrugged. "Probably some name with a dozen vowels I couldn't pronounce anyway. Who cares? The point is he was a mark in a bind and he had a ton of cash."

"Ain't you a charmer."

"Shut up. I had him."

Roy shook his head slightly. He tried to swallow but his mouth had gone dry. “He give you an ID or anything?”

Mark shook his head, though he seemed to be loosening up a bit. The shock of the lost sale—or shakedown—was fading. “No. We didn’t get there. Like I said we'd just come to a price.”

"But did he have an ID?"

"Roy, I don't know!" Mark yelled. "Quit fucking asking me. I'm pissed off enough about it as it is."

He huffed a deep breath, took the papers on the desk and tossed them in the recycler.

"Now what was it you came here for anyway?" he asked. "You just need a car?"

Roy’s heart pounded. It was Tatum, he just knew it. “You see which way he went?”

Mark shook his head, then looked up at the ceiling. “No," he said, his voice tired. "What the fuck’s the matter with you?”

But Roy turned and sprinted out the door, out of the lot and all the way to the street corner. His head swiveled around, scanning the sidewalk. Faces, forms, a few people, cars passing by with the wheels crunching the gravel underneath.

His throat closed as his nostrils flared. That had been Tatum. Had he let the bastard slip through his fingers again? There was nobody and nothing on the sidewalk that resembled the man he’d just seen.

Fuck.

Grudgingly, he turned from the corner and trudged across the car lot into the office. He needed a car. A base of operations, basically. If it came to bolting, he needed to be on the highway and out in the sticks as quickly as possible. Untraceable. With the cameras around train stations, the only way he could do that was with a car.

Before he ran, though, he wanted to give this job one more shot. See if he could come through and save his ass in this city. If he came up with the goods the boss wanted, everything would be forgiven. The worst case was if he got caught before he could come in on his own terms.

Mark was standing at the door, watching him as he approached. The little man’s eyes were flashing with anger. 

“Roy, what the fuck is the matter with you?” Mark asked. “You’re acting crazy, man.”

Roy shook his head. He’d known Mark for years, since they used to get into trouble together in high school. They’d been on the wrestling team together, though Mark had been a lot smaller then. Five weight-classes lower than Roy. They probably weighed just about the same now. Different kinds of weight.

Roy provided muscle sometimes for Mark when people needed convincing about whether they had just screwed the dealership one way or another. Suppliers, sellers, even city officials if it came to that.

Mark was hooked into some low level shit. Most of it was through Roy, but not all. None of it had anything to do with the boss.

“Listen, Mark,” Roy started, coming to a stop in front of the door. “I need an orphan. Fast. Can you do that for me?”

The anger on Mark’s face softened quickly, like butter melted in a microwave running on High. “Jesus, Roy, you’re really in some shit, aren’t you?”

"Yeah. And there's something else."

"Something else?"

"Yeah," Roy said. He took a deep breath and forced a half-smile onto his face, even though the last thing in the world he felt like doing is smiling. "Call it a contingency."

***

Kristina watched Landon walk out of the apartment until the door was closed, then got to work on her hair. She took the box of hair dye from its bag, read the instructions, and went to the bathroom sink to get to work.

An hour later, she was drying her hair with an impossibly plush white towel she’d only seen previously at the kinds of hotels she couldn’t afford to stay at. She’d chosen a cloudy gray for her makeover, like clouds that weren’t white but didn’t quite threaten rain either. More of an overcast color. It had been very trendy among celebrities and women in their early twenties in the last year.

A bit unlike her, but that was the point.

She did her eyebrows next, tweezing them thin and accentuating the arch slightly, since she didn’t have the tools to try to fake anything thicker. Decided against any tanner since her skin was neutral enough to be unremarkable. She was going for the opposite of what she’d done with Landon. Blend in. She knew from experience it was pretty easy for her.

From there, the makeup. She was quick and efficient, taking very little time in transforming herself with a bolder palette than she would normally use, including very red lips that stood out starkly against the muted pallet of her skin and hair. By the time she was done, the face looking back in the mirror was her own, but not quite.

It should be enough.

Her thoughts drifted to the office as she blew her hair dry. They would realize she had no-call, no-showed by now. Maybe the partners would be worried. For her safety. For the success of her investigation. Something. If nothing else, the people who worked around her office might be talking and wondering what was going on.

Or maybe the partners were angry. Brantley may have even tried to fire her by now, based on yesterday. It was hard to tell with them, sometimes. Dunn was just about unreadable and Brantley was constantly saying and doing things he didn’t mean. Which amounted to just about the same. Never knew where you stood.