holster. He dropped the rig onto the bed and phoned Thomas Wilson.
They discussed the specifics of the plan. When they were done, Karras said, “Pick me up at eight.”
Wilson said, “Right.”
Nick Stefanos phoned Dan Boyle at William Jonas’s house and got Jonas first. He exchanged a few words with Jonas and asked to speak to Boyle.
“You going to be there all night?” asked Stefanos.
“Yeah,” said Boyle. “Why, what’s up?”
“I might need to speak with you.”
“Something going on?”
“Sit tight,” said Stefanos. “I’ll let you know.”
Thomas Wilson sat at a small desk in the foyer of his house on Underwood. He broke the cylinder of his five- shot. 38 Special and thumbed shells into its chambers. He spun the cylinder and wrist-snapped it shut. The snub- nosed revolver with the narrow checkered butt and the worn-down bluing felt small in his hand. He held the gun under the desk lamp and noticed that his hand was shaking. He concentrated and tried to make his hand stop shaking, but he could not.
He laid the gun down on the desk and pulled the phone toward him. He dialed Dimitri Karras.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said when Karras answered the call.
“You can,” said Karras. “See you at eight.”
Wilson listened to the dial tone. He dialed Bernie Walters’s home number. Bernie’s recorded voice came through the speaker and then there was a long beeping sound.
“Hey, Bern… Thomas here. I guess you got a couple more days of that Jeremiah Johnson thing you’re doin’ down there in God’s country. I’m just callin’ to say hello again. Was thinkin’ maybe I’d drive down tomorrow morning and surprise you. Take you up on that offer you been makin’ to me these last couple of years. Be a good chance for the two of us to talk, buddy. ’Cause we need to talk, see? Anyway… listen, if I don’t happen to make it down there, man… I just wanted to tell you… I wanted to say that you been a good friend. I’m sorry for everything, but I’m fixin’ to try and make it right. You been a good friend, Bern. You, uh…”
Wilson found himself stumbling on his words. He said good bye to Bernie and cut the line.
“You all packed?” said Farrow.
“Ready,” said Otis.
“I got a meet point from Wilson. Says we’d get lost if we tried to find it directly. Behind a closed gas station near the industrial park.”
Otis nodded. “Here you go, Frank. This is you.”
He handed Farrow one of the two. 45s he had copped on Sepul-veda, back in L.A. Farrow hefted the gun and checked the action.
“Where’s your cousin?”
“Booker? He didn’t come home last night and I ain’t seen him all day.”
Otis didn’t want Frank getting angry over Gus’s little accident. Once they got on the road and headed back west, Frank would never know.
“Just as well,” said Farrow. “Leave some money on the table for him. That’ll be good enough.”
Otis pulled his hair back off his shoulders and banded it. He holstered his. 45 into his waist rig and put on a ventless, checked wool sport jacket over his clean white shirt. He looked in the living-room mirror and smiled, admiring his gold tooth, the cut of his jacket, his hair. The look.
He left money on the table – a fifty-dollar bill on top of ten ones, so Frank wouldn’t get suspicious. Wasn’t any point in leaving too much for a corpse lying in the woods, even if the dead man was your kin.
“You ready?” said Farrow as he walked back into the room.
“Yeah,” said Otis. “Let’s go.”
Dimitri Karras was waiting on the corner of 15th and U as Thomas Wilson pulled the Intrepid to the curb at eight o’clock. Karras settled in the passenger bucket and fastened his seat belt. “You finalized it with Farrow and Otis?” said Karras.
Wilson nodded. He drove east.
They crossed the city. They rode the Beltway for fifteen miles and exited at Route 4. Wilson slowed as they drove through old Upper Marlboro.
“Run through it again,” said Karras.
“I’m meeting them behind a Texaco that’s been out of business a couple of years. We’ll be passin’ it in a mile or so. After I get you settled, I’ll leave my car there and come in with them.” Wilson swallowed. “Afterwards, we’ll clean the warehouse, drive them back, and dump ’em behind the station. Get back into my car and split.”
“It’s simple. I like that.”
“Yeah, it’s simple. ’Cept the killin’ part.”
“You shouldn’t have any problem with that. Just try to remember what they did to your friend.”
Wilson’s face was grim and strained in the glow of the dash lights. “Only God should do what we’re plannin’ to do tonight.”
“You’re scared,” said Karras, “that’s all. Don’t cloud this up with talk about God.”
“Yes, I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”
“Neither do I.”
“You don’t have to worry,” said Wilson. “I’m gonna go through with this. But don’t you tell me not to think of God or whether this is right or wrong. If I live through this, I plan to beg forgiveness every day for the wrong I’ve done. Knowing it’s wrong is what separates me from Farrow and Otis.” Wilson looked across the bucket. “What separates you?”
“Nothing. I hope to be just like them. I hope to kill them the way they killed my son.”
Wilson spoke quietly. “You’ve lost your faith, I know. But if you make it tonight, believe me, you’re gonna need to have something to help make you right. I was you, I’d look to God. Promise me you’ll try.”
“All right, Thomas,” said Karras, staring straight ahead. “I promise that I’ll try.”
The road darkened as they went past the town. Wilson pointed to a boarded-up gas station with a pay phone out front. Then there was more dark road and signage for an industrial park. Wilson turned right, took the asphalt road that went along rows of squat red-brick warehouses starkly lit by spots.
Wilson drove straight to the back of the deserted park. He made a tight turn at a green Dumpster and went through the long narrow alley to the wide parking lot that ended at another set of identical red-brick structures. He parked in the middle of the strip, cut the engine, and removed the tarps from the trunk.
“What’re those for?” asked Karras.
“Gonna try to keep my uncle’s place clean. We’ll roll ’em up in these when we’re done.”
Karras waited while Wilson opened the warehouse door and hit the lights. The two of them stepped inside. Fluorescents flooded the space with an artificial glow. A single ceiling lamp flashed over a cheap desk.
Karras looked at the desk. “Doesn’t this place have a phone?”
“My uncle uses a cell.”
Wilson and Karras unfolded the blue plastic tarps and spread them out on the concrete floor. The warehouse was cold, and their labored breath was visible in the light.
“I better get goin’,” said Wilson when they were done. “They’ll be there pretty soon.”
“Go ahead.”
“Remember: You’re the man who made me the key. You’re looking for a payoff before they do the job. Don’t complicate it more than that.”
“I won’t.”
“Shoot Farrow quick.”
“All I want is to look in his eyes.”
“Don’t waste no time, Dimitri. Shoot him quick, hear? I’ll take care of Otis.”
“All right.” Karras shook Wilson’s hand. “You all set?”
Wilson nodded. He turned and walked out the door. Karras heard the Intrepid drive away.
It was suddenly quiet. Karras stood on the blue tarp in the center of the warehouse and listened to the low, steady buzz of the fluorescent lights.
“You got the directions?” said Farrow.
