The Bentley pulled up and slid in beside the 'Stang at one-thirty. Cruez must've really been off the map or else Tucco wanted Crease to wait, just so it felt like he was the one calling the shots. Crease was leaning against the driver's door, his. 38 on the hood in plain sight. Tucco got out of the back wearing a black llama wool sweater that looked three sizes too big. It swallowed him.
Man, one off the cuff comment and you could regret it forever. A woman, dead, because of Crease's big mouth. Morena had been right about everything, and yet Crease felt himself caught in the riptide, being dragged along with no way to stop himself.
'We looked, man,' Tucco told him, 'but we didn't find any llamas.'
'Forget it.'
'You sure they got farms? Like, they milk them things? The cowboys, they rope them? Run 'em across the country in llama drives, like cattle? Them we saw, the cows. Lots of cows up here. I think Cruez fell in love with one. He likes their eyes, you know? On a woman it's sexy, but we're talking cows here. He can't tell the difference. They got skiing. You didn't mention skiing.'
'I've never been skiing.'
'Those boarding schools, these military kids… after they learn all about rifles, becoming snipers, if it was me, first thing I'd do after graduation, I'd go home and waste my parents for sticking me in there.'
Morena said, 'He's been talking like that for two days. This is what you did to him.'
Crease nodded. He knew what it meant. Tucco was feverish. He'd taken a lot and enjoyed how far out on the rim he was standing, but now he'd been pushed far enough and was about to make his move.
'You shouldn't have snuffed the old lady,' Crease said. 'Since when do you care who I ice and who I don't?'
'Since you did it just to get back at me.'
Tucco grinned, barely showing his teeth, talking out the side of his mouth like he had a large audience. 'Now he's sensitive. Now the badge means something to him. Before, he'd cap anybody, clip 'em three, four at a time. How many wild shots do you think went out the window, killed some baby in a crib across the way? Just so you could bust some seventeen-year-old Colombian mule, throw 'em into prison forever?'
It was happening to Crease too, the feeling of being so far out on the edge there was nothing beneath him anymore.
Maybe that's why they'd become friends. Because once you found a player as good as you were you really didn't want to beat him, you just wanted the game to go on and on.
'You can't hurt me,' Tucco said. 'No matter how many old ladies I waste. You tried to hurt me and you couldn't do it. Nobody wanted to hear. You put a gun in my face and couldn't pull the trigger. How long we been together, huh? Two years?'
'Little more.'
'All that time you haven't hurt my business, haven't even put away any of my best guys.'
'I know,' Crease said softly.
'The coke keeps flowing, the pills, the H, the ladies do what they do, the johns are happy. The money keeps coming in. Got more girls on the street now than ever. You've cleaned up my messes, taken out my competition. I'm worth twice now what I was two years ago, maybe three times. You've made me what I am.'
'Don't say that.'
'It's true.'
'That doesn't matter.'
Tucco was hitting his stride. 'Of course it matters. It's all that matters. You know that.'
The back of Cruez's right hand gleamed with gun oil. Crease knew that he could walk right up to the monster and shoot him in the heart and Tucco would just smile about it, shake his head like it was a good joke. Nobody meant anything to him except maybe Crease, which made it all the worse.
'Come back with me, man,' Tucco said. 'I need you. I can't trust anybody else. They all got secrets. But you, you don't have any secrets now. I know you, all of you, inside and out. Loco bastard like you, we work on the same level. We need the same things. That's what I need in my partner. Just come on back.'
'I can't.'
Tucco waited. 'Well, why not?'
'I'm not sure.'
He waited some more. 'That's it, that's all you're going to say? You're not sure? That's it?'
Like it was easy, putting your life into words. Your contradictions, your guilt, your jones. Nobody else could understand what it was like carrying your old man on your back for seven years, loving him and hating him, sending your will into his heart hoping it would stop beating, for his sake. How much you could care about your wife and son and yet despise the position they put you in. To be the middle-class mook, the guy picking out wallpaper, trimming the lawn, reading fairy tales, going over the times tables. Anything that took you off the point of the knife just wasn't ever going to be good enough.
But so was going back to where he'd been with Tucco. It just wasn't possible. The engine had been screaming for too long. Even if you couldn't take the curve, you had to stomp the pedal and keep your weight on it. You had to.
'That's it,' Crease said.
~* ~
Tucco was going for the butterfly blade.
He knew Tucco had already started going for the knife even though he couldn't actually see him moving. Tucco was speeding along in his brain, willing it to happen. Nobody had shifted an inch and already Crease was being outmaneuvered.
Too slow, he almost let loose with a laugh. His hands started going for the blade but he was too slow, he'd lost a lot of his frosty competence screwing around with Edwards and the Jimmys. Crease had known it was coming and it still didn't matter. Even if you were a step ahead, sometimes that wasn't enough.
He couldn't help himself. His gaze shifted to Morena. He wanted to look at her, fill himself with a touch of her beauty, a little of his longing. Still trying to decide if they could really love each other. It was another mistake. He realized it at once but her eyes confirmed it. They didn't show any fright or even alarm. He could see the regret there, the dissatisfaction. Even a touch of pity.
He was surprised that he felt so cold. Jesus Christ, he was freezing. Where was the heat now that he needed it? His blood wasn't moving.
Tucco stepped in, his blade still not showing. Crease almost had his out. It was going to be close but not close enough. Crease stabbed forward a fraction of a second before Tucco completed his move. A surge of pride went through him.
It ended almost instantly. He'd gotten there first but all he'd cut was that fucking llama sweater. He'd missed.
Tucco's knife slid into Crease's stomach just above his bellybutton. It went in and in and Crease just watched it.
He didn't hurt yet. He'd already gone into shock. He dropped back and drew himself off the blade and leaned back up against the 'Stang.
The end of the game. The bop till you drop contest over. Tucco looked extremely sad, like he didn't want to do it but, maybe, this was the kindest thing for them all. He took another step forward, got ready to bring the knife in again.
Morena was near Crease but not next to him. He wondered what the hell that meant. He saw her glide away, her black hair roiling in the sunlight like liquid, as she spun to him. The shadowed curves of her body revived him for a second. He felt strong and righteous.
Then her hand was coming up, just a blur.
She was faster than Crease, faster than Tucco. Her eyes reflected nothing.
Tucco said, 'Goddamn, woman.'
She eased the barrel of Crease's. 38 against the back of Tucco's head, pulled the trigger, and blew his brains into the middle of the road.
~* ~
She said, 'You idiots and your knives.'
