Farrow said, “Bring our stuff here.”
Manuel returned with two large packs and dropped them at the feet of Farrow and Otis, who had gotten out of the car. Farrow and Otis removed their gloves and tossed them on the concrete. Farrow had retrieved the duffel bag from the trunk, leaving the lid open.
“You listen to the news, amigo?” said Farrow.
“Is on the radio already,” said Manuel. “You have trouble, eh?”
“My brother’s dead,” said Farrow, noticing a nerve twitch in Jaime’s cheek. “He’s in the trunk of the LTD.”
“What you goin’ to do about that?” said Manuel.
“I’m not going to do anything,” said Farrow. “You are.” Farrow picked up his pack and the duffel bag and went into the office. Otis hoisted his pack and did the same.
Farrow changed his clothes quickly – plain work pants, a lightweight short-sleeved shirt, and oilskin shoes. While Otis changed, Farrow took his shaving gear to the office bathroom, placed his Swiss Army knife, his Norelco electric, and a glass tub of black Meltonian Shoe Cream on a steel shelf welded below the mirror. He used the knife’s scissors to cut off the bulk of his mustache, then shaved his upper lip clean with the razor. He dipped his fingers in the shoe cream and massaged it into his hair until his hair was no longer gray. He looked five years younger – at least. He found a pair of nonprescription black-rimmed glasses in his shaving kit, put them on, and looked in the mirror: Now he was a different man.
Back in the office, Otis had changed into a brown-on-beige monochromatic shirt-and-slacks arrangement with matching brown weave shoes. He had tied his hair back tightly in a ponytail and wore wire-rimmed shades that darkened in the light.
Otis smiled when Farrow walked back into the room. “Lookin’ all Clark Kent on me now.”
“You take your share?”
“I took it.” Otis picked up his pack. “Too bad about that pizza boy. I know he would have talked when it got hot. Shame, though, we had to do him like we did.”
“We did have to. Come on.”
“Okay, amigo,” said Farrow as he and Otis reentered the garage. “Come on over here.”
Jaime ground a live butt under his boot and followed Manuel to where the hard men stood. Farrow chin- nodded in the direction of two cars parked in the back of the garage.
“That us?” said Farrow.
“Yes,” said Manuel. “The Taurus is yours.”
“I ask for a shitwagon?” said Farrow.
“You asked for something that would not attract attention,” said Manuel. “The body is rough, I admit. I did not touch the metal.”
“Does it run?”
“It will run, yes. It’s a SHO. I took the identifying bumper off. It looks quiet, like an old man’s car. But it is very quick. Redline it if you wish.”
“How about mine?” said Otis, looking at the two-tone brown-and-beige ’79 Mark V parked beside the Taurus.
“The Bill Blass model,” said Manuel, a glint in his eye. “What you asked for. Under the hood is -”
“I ain’t never gonna look under the hood, Man-you-el, you know that. Will it take me across country?”
“Were it not for the ocean, it would take you around the world.”
“What about the sounds? You put that unit in I was tellin’ you about?”
“Yes. You load the disks in the trunk.”
Otis said, “Always wanted me a box like that, too.”
Farrow reached into the duffel bag and tossed a thick stack of bills to Manuel. “Count it with your fingers,” said Farrow. “Go ahead.”
Manuel went through the money.
Farrow looked at Jaime and said, “Now you.”
Jaime shrugged, took the money from Manuel, licked his thumb and forefinger elaborately, and counted the bills.
Farrow said, “It’s what we agreed upon, no?”
Manuel regarded Farrow and nodded slowly.
“Give it here,” said Farrow, and when Jaime handed him the money he said, “I’ll just keep this stack as a souvenir. It’s got your fingerprints on it – in case there’s any question of who was involved in what.”
“We’ll keep it on file,” said Otis, “just like the FBI.”
“But let me make this clear,” said Farrow, “in case you get the feeling you want to unburden your conscience.”
“You don’ haf to worry,” said Manuel.
“Let him make it clear,” said Otis.
“Well, we all know the code. I mean, we all came up the same way. But to remind you… You and Jaime, you ever feel the need to talk, I want you to remember something -”
“Let me tell this part, Frank,” said Otis.
“Go ahead.”
“You talk,” said Otis, “we’re just gonna have to go ahead and fuck up your families. Comprende? ”
“Is no problem,” said Manuel, shaking his head, his eyes closed solemnly.
“Didn’t think it would be,” said Otis.
Farrow tossed a new stack of money to Manuel. “That’s yours to keep. Count it.”
“I trust you,” said Manuel, and Otis laughed.
“The keys under the mats?” said Farrow.
Manuel nodded. Farrow and Otis began to walk away.
“What would you have us do with the man in the trunk?” Manuel asked.
Farrow turned. “You keep old car batteries here, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do this: Drop a battery on his mouth until his teeth are busted out.”
“Now wait -”
“Pour battery acid on his face and fingers. Cut his head and his limbs off, and bury his pieces in different spots. Bury the guns and the gloves as well.”
“But… he is your brother. ”
Farrow did not reply. He and Otis walked to the cars.
“That fingerprints-on-the-money thing,” said Otis. “That was pretty slick.”
“They’re scared enough to believe it.”
“I think you put the fear into ’em for real,” said Otis. “So where you gonna be?”
“Remember Lee Toomey?”
“Sure. He settled in this state, didn’t he? Down on the Eastern Shore?”
“Right. He hooked me up with a straight gig.”
“Straight, huh.”
“For a while. You?”
“You need me, you can get me through my sister Cissy, out in Cali.”
“She still in the L.A. phone book?”
“You know it.”
Otis clapped Farrow on the arm, shook his hand as he would another black man’s.
“All right, Frank.”
Farrow said, “All right.”
Manuel had opened the bay door and was waving them on. Farrow drove the SHO out first, and Otis followed in the Mark V.
Manuel Ruiz closed the door and walked toward Jaime, who stood by the LTD’s open trunk. Jaime Gutierrez was staring into the trunk while trying to put fire to a cigarette. His hand shook, and it was difficult to touch the flame to the tip.
