found a folded piece of yellow paper in the pocket of a green long-sleeve button-down. It was a receipt from a warehouse in Clawson. The name on it said 'Lloyd Henry Diehl,' with an address in Southfield. He'd stop by the warehouse in the morning check it out.
O'Clair hit the jackpot in the kitchen. He found $5,700 in a Green Giant Baby Sweet Peas box in the freezer. Found $1,800 more in a metal Johnson amp; Johnson Band-Aid box with a hinged top in the cupboard next to a bottle of aspirin. God people were dumb.
O'Clair figured the money, $7,500, was a bonus for all he'd had to put up with trying to find this clown. There was a bottle of Canadian Club in a kitchen cupboard. He made himself a drink and took it into the living room to get comfortable and wait for Bobby to come home, when his cell phone rang. It was Ricky all excited, saying Samir had been robbed and Yalda was dead. What?
O'Clair drank the whiskey, put the glass on the coffee table and went over to the fish tank and looked at the fish. It was still floating on its side close to the surface of the water. He reached behind the tank and pulled it toward him, the tank teetering on its metal stand before going over. The glass panels shattered as it hit the floor and water rushed out, flooding the living room, running into the kitchen, the bathroom. He didn't see the fish but figured it didn't have too long, riding the wave and then flopping around trying to find water. His finger still hurt like hell and he wondered if you could get any kind of disease from a fish.
Twenty minutes later O'Clair was parked in front of Samir's, watching the action. Four West Bloomfield police cars and two EMS vans were parked in the driveway, lights flashing, and an unmarked Crown Vic was parked on the lawn. It took him back- crime scenes flashing in his head. Dead bodies that had been shot, strangled, stabbed, beaten-and cops standing around drinking coffee, talking, waiting for the homicide detectives, the medical examiner, trying not to contaminate the evidence.
He got out of the car and went up to the house. Two paramedics wheeled a gurney out the front door. Samir was on his back, his face bruised and swollen, and there was an IV swinging from an attachment over his head. Now Minde came out of the house crying, hysterical, her face red and puffy on one side. The paramedics picked up the gurney, slid Samir in the back of the EMS van.
Minde said, 'I have to go and take care of him.'
One of the paramedics helped her in and closed the doors. O'Clair was surprised, thought she was in it strictly for the money. She could've gone back to her apartment, had a couple drinks and watched TV But she insisted on going with him. You could never be sure with women.
He moved toward the house. There was an acetylene tank, a big one on the front porch. At first he thought it was an oxygen tank the paramedics had brought, but now he knew what it was. The paint was chipped and it was dented like it had been used on construction sites. They'd wheeled it up to the front door and melted the lock. The molding around the front door was scorched black and smelled like there'd been a fire, that smell that got in your nose, you couldn't get rid of. The door itself was burned black on one end, and there was a hole where the lock had been.
In the foyer, a hardass West Bloomfield uniform asked O'Clair who he was and what he was doing there.
From the living room Ricky said, 'It's okay, he works for us.'
Ricky was on the white couch, talking to a detective.
'Give me a few minutes,' he said to O'Clair, trying to sound like he was in charge.
There was a bloodstain on the white carpeting, looking strangely out of place in the perfect room. O'Clair had never wanted to go in there, afraid he'd mess it up, track something on the carpeting. Why'd everything have to be white? Samir's living room, his kitchen, even his cars. And yet the man himself dressed in black. O'Clair couldn't remember him wearing anything else. He thought of Samir as the Chaldean Johnny Cash. He moved into the man's office. The cabinet doors were open and the safe was gone. Who'd have the balls to come in here and do that?
Chapter Thirteen
Karen was leaning against the side of the minivan, smoking a cigarette, still tense from the events at Samir's. She couldn't stop thinking about Yalda, who she'd always liked, and Samir, who she didn't, but now worried about. This had been her worst fear, something going wrong, and someone getting hurt, or worse. She'd called 911 on Samir's phone, from Samir's office, and hung up.
Now she was in the warehouse, staring at the safe in the middle of the bare concrete floor. It was a Mosler, with gold Arabic writing on it, and weighed six hundred pounds. She had watched Bobby, Lloyd and Wade struggle to lift it in the back of the van, and then struggle again taking it out when they arrived at the warehouse.
Bobby had his back to her. He turned and grinned and said, 'Next time I rob a Chaldean bookmaker with a safe I'm going to rent a Hi-Lo.'
Wade was on one knee in front of the safe, turning the combination dial. He looked like he was praying, and Karen thought it was an odd contrast for an ex-con.
Bobby looked over at her again and said, 'Well, without further ado,' swinging his arm toward her, palm open in a theatrical gesture.
'Do you want me to do a trick or something?' Karen said.
'Just open the safe,' Bobby said.
Karen said, 'What're you talking about?'
'I hope you're kidding,' Bobby said.
'I never said I could open the safe.' She'd implied it for sure but never actually said she could do it.
'I don't fucking believe this,' Wade said. He took a step toward Karen. 'You just get it out of there, I'll take care of everything else.' He turned toward Lloyd and Bobby. 'Remember her saying that?'
'I don't know,' Lloyd said.
'You don't know,' Wade said.
'Cut her some slack,' Bobby said. 'We'll figure something out.'
'I'm going to cut more than that,' Wade said, 'we don't get this thing open.'
There was a big construction toolbox made out of wood in the corner of the room. Wade walked over to it and came back to the safe with a sledgehammer and a crow bar.
Bobby said, 'Yeah, that's going to do a lot of good.'
He winked at Lloyd, pointed his index finger at his temple and rotated it, indicating that Wade had a screw loose.
Wade said to Bobby, 'Want me to come over there use it on you?'
Bobby didn't answer. Wade raised the sledgehammer and swung at the door of the safe, the head of the sledge pinging off the heavy steel. He swung again and again with no apparent damage-sweat popping on his face, finally too tired to continue.
Come on,' Bobby said. 'You're close. Couple more swings you'll have it.'
He grinned, having some fun, probably figuring Wade didn't have the strength to go after him.
'Get me the tools,' Lloyd said. 'I'll open her.'
'We're not leaving this safe full of money here with one of you,' Bobby said. 'Have it mysteriously disappear while we're gone. No offense.'
'No offense, huh?' Karen took a drag, dropped her cigarette on the concrete floor and stepped on it. 'Maybe we should all go. Stick together till we divide up the money.' She made eye contact with each one of them showing she had nothing to hide.
Wade said to Karen, 'How do we know he's not planning to have someone come by when we leave? He rented the place.'
'He said we could trust him,' Karen said.
'And you believe that horseshit?' Wade said.
'You got a better idea,' Bobby said, 'let's hear it.'
'Or you can try the sledgehammer again,' Karen said.
Wade threw the sledge and it skidded across the concrete floor. 'Don't put this on me. You're the one fucked up.'
