worrying about getting whacked. I want a nice little house on a beach that doesn’t extradite.’
‘Where is she?’ Whit said.
‘A warehouse off Mississippi Street, not far from the Port. Used to be used by a South American importer who brought up fake pre-Colombian art, Guatemalan weaving, hippie crap,’ Frank said.
‘You know this how?’
‘Frank got a paid tip.’
‘It cost me a thousand in cash, Whit,’ Frank said quietly. ‘A regular dealer who is a good customer at the Topaz and liked Paul told me. Jose’s started to put word on the street he wants to deal the coke. The information is valid.’
‘I’d like to talk to this informant,’ Whit said.
‘He doesn’t want to talk to you, though. You can appreciate that, can’t you, Whit?’ Frank said.
‘Be cool, Whit. That warehouse, if they don’t have Eve there, we force them to tell us where she’s at.’
‘So our solution is simple,’ Whit said. ‘We call the police, have them raid the warehouse, arrest everybody.’
‘That will get Eve killed. Or in prison for the rest of her life. You don’t get your mom either way. Remember, Jose knows about your mom and… Montana, Whit,’ Frank said. ‘You don’t want Jose caught but cutting a deal with prosecutors, that hurts your mom.’
Bucks asked, ‘What about Montana?’
Whit said, ‘Never mind.’ He watched Frank.
‘No police,’ Bucks said. ‘Jose and I got our own issues to settle. He killed Paul, right?’
‘Whit, it’s simple. We attack the warehouse. Rescue Eve, force Jose to turn over the money. Jose has the money, Whit. You were right, it’s the only explanation. He’s got it all. He killed Doyle and your friend Harry. We get Eve and then we all part ways.’ Frank crossed his arms.
‘And the two of you are millionaires,’ Whit said.
‘You too, if you want,’ Bucks said.
‘But your mother is safe, Whit. She can be with you,’ Frank said. ‘The police don’t have anything hard on her. And if they do, we can hide her for a long while with that money. You won’t lose her again.’
‘I don’t want any of that cash,’ Whit said. ‘None of it.’
‘I like you more and more,’ Bucks said.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Whit said. Getting into bed with the devil.
‘You and me,’ Bucks said. ‘We go there, kick ass, save your mom.’
‘I’ll stay here,’ Frank said.
‘No,’ Whit said after a moment. ‘You come with us.’
‘I want to, Whit,’ Frank said. ‘But I’m not a young man, I’m not good with guns.’
‘You’re coming with us, Frank,’ Whit said. ‘End of discussion.’
Three a.m. Tuesday morning, and they were on the 610 Loop, and Frank Polo sat in the back of the Jag, fighting down the temptation gnawing at him. Bucks drove, Whit sitting next to him. It would be easy to blast Whit’s head open, nuzzle the warm, bloodied gun barrel against Bucks’ neck, get him to pull over, kill him, take the Jag and head down to Galveston Island. Wait for the bank to open in the early-morning light. Open the big safe-deposit box where he’d hidden the five million. That was a siren song that played constantly in Frank’s ear. But now was the time for self-control. To be cool.
Because the money without Eve was nice but not what he wanted.
If Frank thought about Eve too much, he would cry, and he hated that. He hoped it had ended quickly for her if she were dead. Painlessly, a single bullet in the brain. He knew she wouldn’t have screamed or begged, if she could help it. She was stone-solid, stronger and better than him, just as he had told Whit. But he believed she was alive. He wished it hadn’t unfolded this way; it wasn’t supposed to. His plan was to frame Bucks cleanly for killing Richard Doyle, plant a little of the cash in Bucks’ condo, a hundred thousand to make him look guilty, urge Paul to have Bucks whacked and then, within a year or so, part ways with the Bellinis, head to the West Coast, quietly vanish with Eve. But Paul decided to send Eve to the meeting and screwed up everything. Life twisted back on you, but a smart guy could make it work out in the end. It was the kind of self-boosting thought Bucks lived by, but it was true.
Five million in cash to see him through retirement, an extra bit to finance cutting a new record. Dance beats were back in. Tony Bennett, after all, still wowed the kids. He could be Tony Bennett with a beat. Have sexy backup dancers. Wear a suit that made him look cool and trim. Eve in the front row every night in Vegas, clapping for him. He could see it.
But saving Eve, maybe that wouldn’t work. All this was going to do was to get Bucks killed and Whit caught and maybe dead. Because that was his deal with Jose. Trade Whit and Bucks for Eve.
That was okay. Because if Jose won, Bucks and Whit were dead, and if Bucks and Whit won, they’d see Jose had no money. But they wouldn’t, couldn’t blame Frank. Bucks would still have to kill Whit. And Frank would kill Bucks, do it all in front of Eve so she’d think he’d avenged her son’s death. That’d be good.
Now he was halfway to free. Free, if he didn’t dwell on Richard Doyle begging him not to shoot, saying he was a father; didn’t think about the PI giving him a glare of such defiant bravery Frank almost couldn’t pull the trigger, didn’t remember how he’d wanted to vomit after he’d killed them, then how he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs as he drove away with five million in cash, knowing he and Eve would finally be on their way.
The plan hadn’t worked out exactly right, but it was going to work out tonight if he didn’t lose his nerve.
He watched the back of Whit’s head. Even the guy’s head reminded him of Eve, that slight tilt of it when he listened. Eve could never know he was behind her son’s death. He’d comfort her when this was done, take her shopping, get her a puppy, whatever she wanted.
Frank started to hum his favorite of his hits, ‘When You Walk Away,’ thinking that Bucks and Whit, each trying to out-macho the other in the face of what was coming, weren’t doing nearly a good enough job watching their backs.
A few cars streamed past them on the mighty highways, constellations of lights spread across the coastal plains bleared by fog and mist.
‘At another point in our lives, Whit,’ Bucks said, ‘we might have been friends.’ Bucks drove easily, fingertips barely on the wheel of the Jag. The night traffic was intermittent along the 610 Loop. Bucks had a tape playing in the console, but it wasn’t music. A low, thin, cajoling voice of a man on the tape: ‘… and when you visualize your goal, you actualize your goal. That’s how you make the life you dream
…’ – dramatic pause – ‘… the life you lead.’
Frank sat in the back seat. Mad about coming, scared, Whit thought, but making a real effort not to show it. Whit glanced back at Frank. He hummed, gazing into the night. Gave Whit a wan smile.
‘Friends. Yes. Perhaps as babies,’ Whit said.
‘How’s Gooch?’ Bucks asked.
‘Better.’
‘Him I like,’ Bucks said. ‘I could’ve used about a dozen of him with Paul. Kiko wouldn’t have messed with us then.’
‘But Kiko had you on his side,’ Whit said. ‘What else did he need?’
‘That was an extremely temporary arrangement,’ Bucks said.
‘You betrayed your best friend,’ Whit said. ‘You won’t have a qualm about shooting me and Frank and Eve if this rescue works out. So understand this. I took precautions. A lot of them before I stepped into the snake pit tonight. And if I get screwed over, so do you.’
‘Precautions,’ Frank repeated. A thin little smile came and went on Bucks’ face, like Whit was trying a high- schooler’s bluff in hopes of being cool.
‘The only precautions you need to worry about,’ Bucks said, ‘is doing what I tell you.’
‘Wrong,’ Whit said. ‘You’re not in charge.’
‘I know the warehouse,’ Bucks said. ‘You don’t. You want to walk straight in and get your ass shot off? Listen to me and I’ll tell you the layout.’
Whit waited.
‘These warehouses, the Bellinis used one like it before, a few blocks over. The layouts are all the same. It has two bays for the trucks, has a glass door on the side, there’s a little office space off from the storage area.
