“When it’s over we could set her up,” I offered. “Agree to give her the bonds or put her with Cinnamon and record what she says. I think those two would like each other. But I need you to do somethin’ about Cicero. That mothahfuckah make a marble statue sweat.”
Lee smiled. That gave me heart about him. In my many years I had come to understand that humor was the best test for intelligence in my fellow man. The fact that Lee gained respect for me because of a joke gave me hope that he would come to sensible conclusions.
“He really came to you?” Lee asked.
“Right up in my office. Told me to give up Cinnamon or else my family would be dead.”
“He mentioned her name?”
I nodded. “Philomena Cargill.”
“And you have the bonds?”
“Sure do.”
“How many?”
“Twelve.”
“Was there anything else with them?”
“They were in a brown envelope. No briefcase or anything.”
“Was there anything attached?”
“Like what?” I was holding back a little to see how much he was willing to give.
“Nothing,” he said. “So what do we do now?”
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“You go home. Gimme a way to get in touch with you and I will in two days. In that time figure out what you need on Maya and talk to who you need to about J.C.”
“And what do you do?”
“Keep from gettin’ killed the best I can, sit on those bonds while they accrue interest.”
He gave me a private phone number that only he answered.
He rose and so did I. We shook hands.
He was sweating under that heavy coat. He was probably armed under there. I would have been.
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39
Thirty seconds after Lee left, a section of the wall to my left wobbled and then moved back. Mouse came out through the crack wearing a red suit and a black shirt. He was smiling.
“You didn’t tell me you had the bonds, Ease.”
“Sure I did. The same time I told Lee.”
The smile remained on Raymond’s face. He never minded a man holding his cards close to the vest. All that mattered to him was that in the end he got his proper share of the pot.
“What you think?” I asked as we emerged into the barroom.
“I like that dude. He got some nuts on him. An’ he smart too. I know that ’cause a minute after he walked in I figgered I’d have to shoot the mothahfuckah in the head he mess around.”
That was sixty seconds after Lee had left the room. We made 2 5 5
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it halfway to the bar. Mouse ordered scotch and I was about to ask for a Virgin Mary when six or seven cracks sounded outside.
“What was that?” Mike shouted.
I looked at Raymond. He had his long barreled .41 caliber pistol in his hand.
Then two explosions thundered from the street. Shotgun blasts.
I headed for the door, pulling the pistol from my pocket as I went. Mouse was ahead of me. He threw the door open, moving low and to his left. A motor revved and tires squealed. I saw a car (I couldn’t place the model) fishtailing away.
“Easy!” Mouse was leaning over Robert Lee, ripping open his overcoat and shirt.
There was a sawed-off shotgun next to the master detective’s right hand and blood coming freely from the right side of his neck. When Mouse tore the shirt I could see the police-issue bulletproof vest with at least five bullet holes.
Mouse grinned. “Oh yeah. Head shot the only way to go.”
He clasped his palm on the neck wound. Lee looked up at us, gasping. He was going into shock but wasn’t quite there yet.
“She betrayed me,” he said.
“Get the car, Easy. This boy needs some doctor on him.”
i s a t w i t h l e e in the backseat while Mouse drove Primo’s hot rod. I had the general’s namesake’s head and shoulders propped up on my lap while holding his own torn shirt against the wound.
