Vengeance (20 page)

He glanced down toward his crotch to make sure I got his drift.

“Fucking shit. When I reached the bottom of the hill and started to slow down – and that let me feel each barb more slowly – I hit a tree. Hit it with my thighs. Brought me to a dead stop with half a dozen barbs smashed all the way into my legs. I couldn’t roll away from the tree because even leaning one way or another put more pressure on more barbs.”

The rattling of silverware from the kitchen sounded deliberate. His mother might as well have stuck her fingers in her ears, closed her eyes, and prattled some nonsense chant to drown out her son’s story.

“I started crying,” Wade said. “I couldn’t help myself. That much pain. I just started sobbing. I could hear them up there laughing their asses off, those fuckers. One of them shouted that they’d send someone to pick me up. I heard their car doors and the engine and then I kept crying, just quietly, you know, not really thinking I was going to die there, but still feeling left for dead. Anyway, a cop car pulls up maybe ten, fifteen minutes later. First thing they do, those crooked shits, they look me over, make some jokes and get a good laugh. The Brothers probably had these guys waiting for the call. Paramedics get there and cut me out of the wire. And maybe, I don’t know, an hour and a half later, I’m finally in an ambulance.”

“The hospital kept him for five days!” his mother added from the kitchen doorway. “We don’t have insurance. Five days!”

“Crazy thing is there was barely any blood loss. My jeans were covered with red spots, but it’s not like the life was draining out of me. Doctors were more worried about tetanus. Gave me a ton of shots,” he said. “Made the newspaper. First the crime report then an article the next day. That’s what he wanted. Publicity. Well, that and his money.”

“I had to sell my car!” his mother blurted out. It was more than bemoaning. It was as if she thought I could offer her some recourse. As if I were going to file a report or maybe tell the Brothers themselves that making her sell the car wasn’t fair and that they should get it back for her. “It was a Buick. I bought it with my husband before he died four years ago. Buick is a dependable car, he told me, because he never wanted me to have to worry.”

She caught herself before pursuing the digression. I thought I might drop off my own loaner Buick on my way out of town to ease her pain. Who knows? Maybe I was driving the car she’d had to sell to cover Wade’s drug debts. I decided it was good it was dark out so she couldn’t see what I got into as I left.

“I told you, Ma. I’ll buy you a new Buick. I’m going to pay you back and I’ll buy you a car after that.” He turned to me. “That’s why I gave up my place. Paid back everything I owed. Staying here until I save enough to get back on my feet.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t end up dead,” I said. I didn’t know if he had heard about Flash or Aiden or if he knew they were all connected.

“He didn’t want to kill me,” Wade said. “He wants me to talk. Got a hundred and fourteen fucking stab wounds. And most of those were multiple wounds in the same spot. Bet I got stabbed a thousand times in thirty seconds. He wants people to know that’s what happens if you don’t pay.”

Wade rubbed at the scabs on the back of one hand then the other.

“I know your dealer isn’t behind this. And the Brothers need to get paid.”

“The Brothers are just hired muscle and dealers come and go. It’s the supplier, man. That’s who runs the show. Some user on the street knows the same supplier is over all the dealers. That keeps them honest. It’s the only game in town.”

“What I don’t get,” I said, “is why he lets druggies get into him for what, five, ten thousand dollars? And expects them to suddenly start making wise financial decisions and pay up? Doesn’t sound like a smart business strategy.”

“I ain’t no fucking addict, man.”

“I didn’t mean any offense. Even decent people get tangled up in this shit.”

He settled back down when he gauged from my tone I was sincere. His mother hadn’t made the connection between what I said and her son right away. She didn’t see him as a drug addict, even after this. And I was inclined to agree.

“I think Sterling was looking for customers like me,” Wade said. “Risk analysis. He knows I can pay. He knows I’m no addict. So I’m the kind of guy he gives credit to. Not the junkies. I got back two weeks. Two fucking weeks. That big dump of snow late January? Cost me half a month’s business. No money coming in, so I couldn’t pay. I told him to add the points. That was the deal. And then he fucking sends the Brothers.”

“I know who your dealer is,” I said. “But it sounds like you were going straight through the supplier.”

“That’s how I got sucked in. The guy has some properties around town. I hung dropped ceilings in some office space for him last summer. He was working from one of the corner offices. He’d come out and chat a little. Seemed like a respectable businessman. End of the last day, my crew’s gone home and I’m walking him through the final inspection. We get to talking, grab a drink. Somehow we’re talking about parties and stuff and he tells me these parties of his where he sets out drugs. Everyone’s doing it, he says. Whatever. I don’t know. But he writes down D-Bag’s address on the back of a business card. Leaves it at that. Well, I’m having a party a few months later and I’ve still got the card. The idea’s been on my mind and I tell some buddies and decide to give it a try. When I show up at D-Bag’s, I’m holding Sterling’s card like it’s a ticket to get inside. He takes it and says something about the boss himself sending business his way. That’s the first I knew Sterling was a drug lord.”

I’d heard enough. Sterling was the man who had set everything in motion. He sent the Brothers after Flash and Wade, for certain, and I could safely assume Aiden, too. He was having people killed like he was cutting down weeds. If there was anyone responsible for Aiden’s death, this was the man. There were no clues left to follow-up. There was just the matter of hunting down the bastard and finishing what he’d started.

“You said he was setting up his office in the building you were working on?” I asked.

“I’ll get you the address.”

Chapter 24

Sterling probably wouldn’t be in his office at night. But after my first stop, I’d drive by just in case. Finding him there alone after hours would certainly make everything easier. But Wade said he didn’t think the building had rented out yet. So maybe the place would still be deserted the next morning.

The closest parking spot to Louis’ place was at the end of the block. I walked at a brisk pace, not out of fear from being in that neighborhood, but from resolve. I had made up my mind what I would do and I wanted to get on with it.

Doorman gave me his usual hard-ass routine.

“I was here with Casey the other night,” I said.

“The weasel?” he asked.

I think he just wanted me to say it.

“Yeah, the fucking weasel. Now let me in.”

He stepped back mumbling something about not needing to barge in with an attitude. Louis greeted me warmly in the next room. The atmosphere was less aromatic, if still pungent. Gina was nowhere to be seen.

“Getting’ her fix down the street today,” he said when I asked about her. I was glad to hear she wasn’t dead, even if her life wasn’t much worth living. “Could arrange a visit with her, if that’s what you lookin’ for.”

“I need something from the armory,” I said. I figured Doorman would at least appreciate I called it that.

“All right,” Louis said. “All right. Man on a mission.”

He led me into the back room and pulled the arched doors of the armoire open. An array of handguns hung upside down by their trigger guards on the peg board lining, swinging from the motion of the doors.

“We got some nice semis in here. Custom grips, nickel plated.”

“Give me a revolver. Thirty-eight.”

“Saturday night special! Man’s got a score to settle!”

He pulled open the top drawer. When it stalled in the track, Louis tugged, shifting the contents. A pileup of metal grunted various tones.

“Take your pick,” Louis said, stepping back to let me choose.

A handful of identical snub-nose models floated near the top of the dozens of handguns. I pushed a few out of the way until I found one with a 4-inch barrel. Stopping power that you could control, even if you hadn’t fired a gun for a while. Five round cartridges meant no worries about bad clips or shells jamming between shots. I didn’t need rapid, wild shots. This wasn’t going to be a shoot-out. Every shot was going to be up close and deliberate. I opened the cartridge and spun it, inspecting the cylinders as they passed. Then I flicked my wrist sideways and slammed it shut.

“How much?”

“Special’s on special today. Buck fifty to you. That’s an extra twenty off the top because you didn’t bring your friend in here.”

“Shit. That weed’s finally fried your brain, Louis. No way you think I’m that stupid.” My stare bored into his uncertain pupils. I wanted him to see the amalgam of Aiden’s earnestness and my father’s old-school savvy in my eyes. “Even a hundred is probably too much for this shit.”

He pursued the staring contest. I placed the gun on the inside of the armoire’s upper compartment. He needed to think I was ready to walk away.

“Well, seeing as how we are in good supply of that particular model,” he said, “and seeing as how you lost your brother, I can do a hundred.”

“With ten rounds,” I added.

He snorted as if to indicate what a hard deal I was driving. “Grab this man ten rounds,” he said to Doorman, who exhaled his own complaint. As Doorman ran his errand, Louis said, “The rules. You don’t load until you’re long gone. No returns or exchanges. No matter what. You want to test the merchandise, you get your ass under a rail bridge and put one in the water when a train comes through. And you never say where you got the gun. Not to anyone. No matter what.”

“Deal,” I said, solemnly, as if I had been deputized. Doorman was reaching around me to drop a handful of bullets into Louis’ open palm. I dug a pre-counted bundle of twenties from my pocket and extended it toward Louis. But he jutted his chin over my shoulder to indicate that Doorman handled the money. I held the cash up and he snatched it from behind. Likewise, I collected the revolver from where I had set it.

“Twenty, forty, sixty… eighty, a hundred,” he confirmed.

“Nice doing business with you,” Louis said. He held the bullets up in his fist to signal me to receive them. The cascade pummeled my open palm. If I hadn’t already considered the gravity of what I was intending to do, that moment might have been sobering. Instead, it was only the finalizing of a transaction.

The crisp air electrified my face as the door plowed into its jamb behind me. My hands were in my coat pockets, one wrapped around the handle of the gun and the other around the bullets. As I cut across the lawn toward the sidewalk, the rumble of a freight train burrowed through the sullen dark. It wouldn’t take me ten minutes to get down to the bridge, but I didn’t know if another train would be by, and I had chosen a revolver specifically because it should be reliable. Still, a few shots to get the feel of the kick wouldn’t be a bad idea.

I caught movement in my peripheral vision. Someone across the street, from behind a sycamore trunk. My gut told me it wasn’t a neighbor letting his dog out. I’d walked those streets for years in the block-long spans without working street lights. I knew when to worry. I spied him through the corner of my eye. He stepped into the street on a trajectory to intercept me. My car was on his side of the street. No way I’d beat him to it. Running would just accelerate the situation.

Another figure stepped from behind a tree on my side of the street. He came to the sidewalk and sauntered toward me a few paces before settling into the wide stance of a bully blocking my path. I stopped with two full sidewalk squares left between us. The only porch light nearby cast just enough light on him to confirm my suspicions. It was the Brothers. And I was caught between a rock and a hard place just as Aiden, Wade, and Flash had been. If I had loaded even a single round as soon as I knew I was in trouble I might have had a fighting chance. Now they were too close for me to load before they could jump me.

“End of the line,” Larry said. Moe was over my left shoulder.

“Just like old times,” I said. “Is Billy waiting around here to take a few cheap shots?”

“It’s just you and us tonight,” Larry said.

He started toward me, clenching and raising his fists, leather gloves taut across his knuckles. I pivoted to get both Brothers where I could see them as I pulled the pistol and aimed it across my body at Moe. “Take one more step,” I threatened, but Larry hadn’t even broken stride. My bluff was dead in the air.

Larry threw the first blow. It was clumsy, but still powerful enough I was glad he only glanced me. Something had distracted him, and now he stood erect, pointed toward Moe, and opened his mouth to shout a warning. I seized the opportunity and hammered the base of the pistol grip into the side of his jaw so hard his head pulled the rest of his body stumbling toward the street.

As I turned to intercept Moe, I saw what his brother had been alarmed about. Rook was approaching from behind. Moe turned and assumed a boxing stance. Rook marched on, arms swinging at his sides. Moe threw a punch, but Rook slashed with a roundhouse to the temple, knocking him to the ground.

“You need to come with me,” he said.

Out of the frying pan.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve got things to do.”

“Yeah. We’ll see about that.” He turned his back on me. The Brothers were getting back on their feet. I hadn’t loaded the gun, but with Rook there maybe I wouldn’t have to start shooting and risk getting arrested before I tracked down Sterling.

“This isn’t your business, Rook,” Larry spat. I knew he meant it as a warning, but it came out like a plea. The Brothers were about the same overall size as Louis, with some torso weight shifted into the shoulders. But Rook was bigger still, and clearly the more dangerous fighter.

“Everything in this town is my business, Lawrence,” Rook said. “And you know you don’t do business here.”

Unless Rook had read my mind and extrapolated, Larry’s name was actually Lawrence. His coincidental real name sounded like a comical castigation of the one I had made up. The Brothers were side by side, backed against a sedan. Moe was massaging the side of his face, opening and closing his mouth like a bass out of water.

“We’re working for your people!” Larry said.

“Someone told you wrong,” Rook said.

They stood there ten heavy seconds with their conflicting truths suspended between them like a snapshot of frozen breath. The Brothers looked into each other’s eyes, shared a silent council, and exploded toward Rook like the linebackers they were built to be. Rook side-stepped and caught Moe by the back of the neck, doubling him over as he thrust his knee against Moe’s jaw.

Larry stopped and turned to attack Rook. I rushed him from behind, clenched a handful of gritty hair, swept his leg, and face-planted him hard on the frozen turf, impacting ear-to-ear with his brother.

“Stay the fuck down!” Rook growled at the back of Larry’s head as I rolled off and got back to my feet. Larry stopped with one leg drawn up under his chest, both palms on the ground, not bothering to look up at us. I mulled a punt to his exposed ribs.

Rook took a step toward the curb and flagged someone. A parked car started up and its lights ignited. It pulled up next to us and two men got out. They scooped the Brothers up by their armpits.

“Get the fuck off us!” Larry said. “You ain’t over me! We ain’t goin’ nowhere with you!”

Rook shot a glance to the man behind Larry, who released the thug, took two steps back, and pulled a shiny semi-automatic from his belt. There was nothing in that moment but the muffled thunder of a train coupling its cars by river. Larry’s coarse mouth-breathing. And the sound of the semi-auto being chambered.

The night trembled with anticipation.

“You need to get in the car,” Rook told him. His voice was deep and steady as the river. “Or we can leave you here.”

Larry wiped the blood and saliva from his chin and looked to his brother to confer. Moe was barely conscious, mumbling behind closed eyes. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth, dripping off his chin. Larry’s eyes admitted defeat and he surrendered. Rook’s men escorted them to the passenger side of the idling car. I guessed these were the same guys who had been behind me that night in Andy’s bar. They were both an inch or two taller than me, but not brawny. One had on a mid-length leather jacket that gaped open and couldn’t possibly have been warm enough for the weather. That and his slicked back dark hair made him look like an Italian cliché. The other one had a square jaw and receding hairline. He wore a puffy jacket, navy blue, and a pair of red ear muffs. In my head, that image somehow translated into Moose. The Italian trained a gun on the Brothers while Moose handcuffed one captive at a time to their respective armrests. They sure liked their bondage. After Moose fished some keys from Larry’s pocket, he made the Brothers get in, one behind the other, awkwardly stepping in feet first, balancing their upper weight on the wide-open doors.

The Italian drove off with Larry and Moe. Moose walked up the street to a Chevy Impala whose black and white panels identified it as a retired police cruiser. The front door sported four messy vertical red stripes crossed by one diagonal, all painted with a brush. The kill count D-Bag had mentioned. I didn’t know if it was just a decoration to declare they were mean mother fuckers or if it was an accurate record. I didn’t know if one of those stripes was meant to brag of Aiden’s murder. My mouth was suddenly awash with the taste of copper and bile. I spat and wished I had loaded the gun and emptied it into the Brothers before they had been whisked away.

Moose used Larry’s keys to start the cruiser and followed the path of the other car. Rook turned back to me. He put one hand palm up and twitched his fingers. When I didn’t catch on, he said, “Keys.”

“What?”

“Give me your keys. I’m driving.”

All the commotion had left the neighborhood unfazed. No one was peeking out of curtains. No porch lights had been flicked on to ward off hooligans. It was just the two of us, and the sound of my breathing finally slowing back down. Not even a second surge of fight or flight chemicals was going to get me out of this.

“I’m parked over there,” I said, dropping my keys in his waiting hand. But he turned and headed toward my car before seeing where I was pointing.

“And the gun,” he said.

I cut across the street after him. I had no intention of using the gun on him, so giving it up wasn’t giving away an advantage. Still, I had paid a hundred bucks for it and told him so.

“You won’t be needing it,” he said.

“Yeah, well, they don’t take returns.”

He stopped at the car and turned to me with an upturned palm and a look that told me not to try his patience. I slipped the gun out of my right coat pocket and turned it over to my savior-cum-captor. He opened his door and waited for me to go around and climb in before he slipped inside. He started the car and let it warm up as he adjusted the seat and mirrors. I imagined him doing the same thing when he drove my rental car to the riverside with me unconscious in the trunk. Or maybe one of his crew had driven. The Italian, I guessed. I had to be running out of road trips that ended well with these people.