She could see the red Mustang in the rearview mirror, cutting in and out of traffic a few car lengths back. She saw the entrance to 1-75 up ahead and pressed down on the accelerator. She passed a Ford Taurus going maybe thirty, and took a hard right at the last second from the left lane. Wade's body slid across the floor, and banged into one side of the van and then the other as she turned the wheel and corrected her course, merging on 1-75. The Mustang was nowhere in sight. Karen let out a breath.
'Make it look like she's losing us,' Bobby said. He let Lloyd drive so he could keep an eye on the minivan.
'I don't have to,' Lloyd said. 'She is.'
As they were coming up on the left in the outside lane, the van swerved right, fishtailing up the expressway entrance ramp then gunning it, heading south on 1-75.
'All you had to do was hang back give her a little room,' Bobby said.
Lloyd downshifted and turned the wheel hard, making a U-turn over the double yellow, tires squealing, horns honking, cars bearing down on them. Bobby put his hands up bracing himself for a crash.
Lloyd said, 'What's the matter, afraid?'
For the first time since Lloyd met him, Bobby didn't say anything.
'You said follow her. That's what I'm doing.' Lloyd shot around a slow car and floored it, going left through a gap in oncoming traffic, speeding up the expressway ramp.
'If we'd a done it my way,' Lloyd said, 'we'd be splitting the money right now. But you wanted to create an element of surprise. Well surprise, she's gone.'
Chapter Fourteen
Samir was in intensive care, flat on his back in bed, and Ricky couldn't believe how lucky he was. The heart- rate monitor was beeping behind him, and the respirator made a weird pulsing sound. Samir had IVs in both his arms, and there was a plastic oxygen tube that snaked across his chest and disappeared in his nose. Ricky couldn't believe this incredible turn of events. He was happier than he'd ever been in his life. Samir was near death and he was in charge, the one calling the shots. He wanted to yell, he wanted to scream.
O'Clair walked in the room, ignoring him, eyes fixed on Samir.
'He's in a coma,' Ricky said back in concerned mode. 'May never wake up and if he does, who knows if he'll ever be the same.'
'Is that your medical opinion?' O'Clair said. 'Or is that what the doctor says?'
'Doctor don't know shit. Mentions things he calls scenarios, what could happen. Covering his ass,' Ricky said. 'I wanted you to see what they did to him.' The side of Samir's face was bruised and swollen. O'Clair put his hand on Samir's wrist and felt his pulse. 'I'm running things till he comes back,' Ricky said trying out his new role of authority.
'This ought to be good,' O'Clair said.
'Hey, fuck you.'
'I'll bet you know who did it,' O'Clair said.
Ricky said, 'What're you talking about?'
'Somebody you do business with,' O'Clair said. 'Or did. Maybe somebody who works for Samir. It could be you.'
'You got a lot of fucking nerve coming in here, saying that to me.' Ricky's right hand made a fist. God he wanted to hit him. Step in and drill him. Thinking about it calmed him a little. 'Maybe it was you,' Ricky said.
'Relax,' O'Clair said.
'You relax.' Ricky could feel the adrenaline pumping.
'I'm making a point. Whoever it was knew his routine.' O'Clair paused. 'Knew when to hit, who'd be in the house, where the safe was. It wasn't random, if that's what you're thinking. They happened to be in the neighborhood, picked the house with the lions out front.' O'Clair rubbed his knee. 'The neighbors see anything? Three guys dressed like cops rolling a welder's tank up to the front of the house.'
Ricky said, 'How do I know?'
'You talk to them,' O'Clair said.
Ricky paused, remembering he'd heard a girl's voice when he was on the kitchen floor, and it definitely wasn't Minde. He decided to keep it to himself, not say anything to O'Clair about it. Ricky didn't trust him, not when it came to a safe full of money.
The door opened and Dr. Kirshenbaum walked in the room. He had silver hair combed back, glasses balanced on the end of his nose, and an angry look on his face.
'Who said you could come in here?' he said to O'Clair. 'This patient's in critical condition.'
'That's what you're going to be,' O'Clair said, 'you say one more word.'
The doctor turned and walked out.
O'Clair said, 'He the one giving you the scenarios, can't make up his mind?'
'Yeah,' Ricky said, 'that's Dr. Kirshenbaum. You better get out of here before security comes,'
O'Clair moved for the door.
Ricky said, 'Hey, tough guy, you find Bobby yet?'
He didn't answer, just opened the door and walked out of the room.
When O'Clair told Ricky he could've been the one who robbed Samir it was as if O'Clair was reading his mind. No, Ricky didn't have anything to do with it, but he sure had thought about it-in debt up to his eyeballs, staring at that safe full of money every day. Ricky was still in the hole fifty grand to Wadi Nasser and the Iraqis were hounding him, driving him crazy.
Thinking about them gave Ricky an idea. Why not use the Iraqis to find Samir's safe? Proposition them. Christ, offer them a piece of the action. 'Whatever Wadi's paying you I'll double it,' Ricky could hear himself saying. But even if they were interested, where would he tell them to look? If he didn't know who stole the safe, how would they? Samir had enemies. There were plenty of people who might have a motive. But how many would have the nerve and ability to pull it off.
Maybe O'Clair had something to do with it? But if he did, why would he be hanging around? Johnny was another possibility. Ricky knew he had money problems, who didn't, but where the hell was he at? Ricky had been calling Johnny since the robbery. No answer. It was like he'd disappeared, vanished.
O'Clair left the hospital thinking about Ricky. He reminded him of the hothead son with the big dick in The Godfather. Sonny-that was his name-Sonny in a warm-up suit. He drove to Samir's and parked in the circular drive. There were strips of yellow police tape across the front door. He got out of the car and went around to the back. More tape crisscrossed the kitchen door. He turned the handle. It was locked. He punched in one of the panes, and unlocked the door.
There was blood everywhere on one side of the room, and holes in the wall from the shotgun, big ones, right through to the studs. He pictured Yalda, who didn't take shit from anyone, standing up to the robbers.
O'Clair went to the house across the street and told a woman with curlers in her hair he was with the West Bloomfield police, investigating the homicide of Yalda Naseem, who'd been murdered the night before, right across the street. The woman looked forty and had a mustache and reminded O'Clair of a guy he'd played football with at Bishop Gallagher. She was real sorry to hear about the poor man who was killed, and hoped Samir would be okay. He was a good neighbor. He didn't make noise and kept his yard nice. No, she hadn't seen anyone, although there was a minivan parked out front for about twenty minutes, a dark-colored one she'd never seen before.
O'Clair went to five other houses. Nobody saw or heard anything or even asked to see his ID. So far all he had was a minivan. Down the street, a teenager was washing a car in the driveway. At first, he thought it was a girl 'cause of the long hair and skinny arms and the way the kid moved. O'Clair walked up and said, 'Hey, how you doing?'
The kid didn't say anything, just stared at him, holding a big pink sponge dripping soap bubbles.
'I'm investigating the murder last night of one of your neighbors down the street, Yalda Naseem,' O'Clair said. 'Did you see anything?'
'No,' the kid said. His voice was too deep to be a girl and he had a bulging Adam's apple. He turned away
