“And you’re telling me you didn’t go back and get it?”
Strawberry ice cream was running down the side of the cone into a napkin that was wrapped around the base.
Jack said, “It’s gone.”
“Maybe you got the streets wrong.”
“Campbell and Hacienda,” Jack said. “It’s a strip mall now. Got a Starbucks, a Carl’s Jr., and a few new restaurants that cater to upscale professionals like yourself.”
“Huh?”
“Stop by next time you’re out there.”
They were walking by Johnston amp; Murphy, Jack checking out the expensive executive shoes on display, fancy ones with laces, in shades of brown and shiny black, and loafers with thin soles that looked like slippers. Teddy finished the cone, licked his fingers and dropped the napkin on the tile floor.
“I know you’re a stand-up guy,” Teddy said. “Didn’t rat out your buds, didn’t complain, did your time like a man. But it doesn’t change nothing, you still owe us our money. Now you don’t have it, we’ve got a problem.”
“I just did thirty-eight months trying to stay alive and keep my butt from getting augured while you’re out fucking around, having a good time, and you think I owe you, huh? What parallel fucking universe did you just step out of?”
Teddy grinned. “That’s pretty good. You make that up yourself?”
Jack pushed through the door, Teddy following and now they were outside. Wind whipped across the parking lot, blowing Jack’s hair back.
“You made a bad decision,” Teddy said. “You lost our money, now you’ve got to pay it back.”
Jack could feel the anger rising in him, coming up from his stomach, through his chest into his head, ready to blow.
“Don’t get all mad,” Teddy said. “Let’s get back together and get back what you lost and a lot more.”
“Not interested,” Jack said.
“Sure you are. Just don’t know it yet.”
Teddy went back in the mall and got another ice cream cone, chocolate this time. He was sitting on his bench checking people out when Celeste walked up.
“Whoever she is, she’s rich,” Celeste said. “Lives in a mansion like movie stars do.”
Teddy said, “Seen anyone around?”
“No,” Celeste said.
“Get a name, at least?”
Celeste handed Teddy a stack of envelopes. He took them in his lap, dripping ice cream on the top one.
Teddy said, “What the hell’s this?”
Celeste said, “What do you think it is?” She sat down next to him.
He looked confused.
Teddy said, “What’re you giving it to me for?”
“Take a look.”
He glanced at the envelope from Consumer’s Energy, read the name Owen McCall, 95 °Cranbrook Road, Bloomfield Hills, MI 48034. Owen McCall, the NASCAR guy? Had to be. Teddy was well acquainted with him. But Teddy’d swear the man had died. Remembered hearing it on the news, thinking that asshole got what he deserved. He looked up at Celeste who was standing next to him. “Who’s the girl?”
Celeste said, “I’d say she’s his wife.” She gave him her smart-ass, know-it-all look.
Teddy said, “What’s Jack doing with her?”
“That’s the big mystery,” Celeste said, “isn’t it?”
“Well, he’s on to something,” Teddy said.
“What’d he say about the money?”
“Doesn’t have it.”
“What I tell you?”
Teddy didn’t care for her tone but let it go. He slurped some ice cream, thinking,’ course Jack wasn’t interested in them. He’d got his own plan.
TEN
They were sitting in Shelly’s Jag in the church parking lot off Cranbrook near Lone Pine. Shelly turned sideways, leaning back against the door. She looked fine, DeJuan feeling a tingling in his manhood, thinking he’d like to get naughty with the bishop’s wife, show her some moves she ain’t seen before.
He imagined Shelly, cool, talking to the police, saying, “Marty had demons he couldn’t control.” Trying to explain why he’d taken his life. He bet she was a fine little actress.
It had been a couple weeks since Marty’s funeral, DeJuan giving her time to get her act together. But now he wanted his money.
“First, my condolences,” DeJuan said. “Sorry for your loss.”
“What’re you talking about?” Shelly said. Bitch in her tone.
“Your beloved life partner, Marty.”
“You said you were going to make it look like an accident.”
“No. You said that.” He remembered exactly what he said, could recite the whole conversation ver-fuckin- batim.
She crossed her legs, DeJuan staring at her thighs in tight jeans, the jeans tucked into black boots.
“Let me ask you something,” DeJuan said. “Did it work out or didn’t it?”
“Why’d you write that dumb letter? You could’ve blown the whole thing.”
Was she trying to get him to reduce his fee, or just fucking with him? He looked right at her and said, “Man like Marty take his life, he better have a reason, or the police going to get curious, start asking questions. They come over, interrogate you?”
“No,” Shelly said.
“That’s ’cause I took the time, wrote the dumb letter. It’s all in the details.”
She reached in her purse, took out an envelope, number ten-style, filled with money and handed it to him.
DeJuan said, “I don’t have to count it, do I?”
“That’s up to you,” Shelly said. “It’s the balance of the job, what we agreed to. Ten grand.”
“The fuck you talking about?”
She broke into a grin now. “I got you.”
“Yes, you did.” He liked that. Bishop’s widow fucking with him, showing a wicked sense of humor.
“You should’ve seen your face,” Shelly said.
DeJuan looked at the money.
“It’s all there,” she said. “Fifteen thousand.”
“Satisfaction guaranteed,” DeJuan said, “or your money back. That’s my motto.”
“More people should adopt that attitude,” Shelly said. “Stand behind their work like you do.”
He slid the envelope in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. “Got any other odd jobs you need done?” He reached over and squeezed her leg, felt her ankle through the butter-soft leather boot.
“I’ll keep you in mind,” Shelly said.
DeJuan was feeling good the way things had worked out, wanted to go downtown to the MGM, play some roulette. Only problem, Teddy was coming over with news about Jack. Jack, who was supposed to be in Arizona doing time. Jack, who had their money-$257,000 they were going to split three ways. Now maybe hoping it was all his and thinking he deserved it after doing three years and change, his sentence cut short for some unknown reason.
