“Huh?”
“Here’s how it could work. Somebody with the resources-maybe you guys-phonies up the supplies to look like trash and trucks it to the local garbage dump, after hours. We can work out some bullshit contract to make it look cool. Our guy loads it in his truck and delivers it when he runs his normal route. We cook, then the garbageman disposes of the waste back in the woods, then brings the product back to the dump. You pick up when you deliver the next load of supplies.” Sheryl savored the way Shank’s cool eyes appreciated her, like he’d just spotted a plump seal on an ice flow.
“No shit,” he said, steepling his fingers, sounding impressed. “A super lab.”
Encouraged, Sheryl’s voice raced ahead, “Yeah, and we take our time. We’re thinking next January and February. See, we need winter-”
Shank had sat patiently. Now he leaned abruptly across the table and silenced her speech with a medium harsh look. “No disrespect, Sheryl; but
“Absolutely,” Sheryl agreed, sitting up straight, grinding her teeth together. “How about we meet again tomorrow.”
Shank studied her for several long seconds, and Sheryl got this feeling she was like the chick in the stage show, strapped to a rotating wheel while the magician threw knives at her. Except these were icicles.
She continued carefully, “That’ll give me time to contact my partner. He’s the one who got the line on Broker. You’re gonna have to talk to him.”
“Sure, makes sense,” Shank said slowly. “Give us time to tidy up some details, think over your project. This, ah, place you got your lab; it’s way out in the sticks, right? Real remote…”
“Yeah, you’re gonna hear wolves,” Sheryl said.
“No shit.” Shank grinned spontaneously. “I never seen a wolf, except at the Como Zoo; they run along the chain-link fence…”
“Yeah,” Sheryl said, nodding, blindsided by his disarming easy smile. “I been there.”
“Okay. Cool. So your partner lives there…and there’s wolves.” He looked off, thinking. “Where’d you meet this guy?”
Sheryl heaved her shoulders. “When I got back from Seattle, I was bringing balloons into the joint. You guys put me on his list.”
Shank narrowed his eyes. “One of our members?”
“Nah, he was just, you know, paying his rent, so your guys wouldn’t jack him around. He was in Education, right. Practically lived in the Vo Tech Shop. He didn’t want to get stuck in seg. Did a year for transporting coke with intent to sell.”
“I need a name, Sheryl. We know you. But we won’t do business on this scale with strangers, you understand,” Shank said frankly.
“Anything about him we’d remember?”
“He’s got this alligator tattoo on his left forearm. Goes by Gator.”
“So it’s up north.” Shank gnawed his lower lip, running it in his mind. “So maybe he bumped into Broker near where he lives?” He raised his eyebrows.
Sheryl pursed her lips, balked.
Shank lifted his palms in comic exasperation, “C’mon, Sheryl, let’s put this motherfucker on the fast track. You got a lot riding on this. Whatta ya say?”
Sheryl’s palms started to sweat. She rubbed them together in a nervous reflex, then put them in her lap. It was rushing the plan. But they were so close. And she didn’t want to piss Shank off, not now. She brought her hands back up and placed them on the table and said, “North of Glacier Falls, near the border. And yeah, that’s where he is.”
“Where Broker is?”
“Yeah.”
“Good girl,” Shank said emphatically, reaching over and squeezing her right hand. “Okay, I’ll talk to some folks. But I’ll need a day. Tomorrow’s kind of tight. How about we…have breakfast Monday morning? Where should I pick you up?”
Instinct kicked in; Sheryl didn’t want to tell him where she lived. “Ah, I’ll be on the corner of Grand and Dale, in front of the drugstore.”
Shank stood up. “Monday. Eight A.M.; you handle that?”
“Sure, what’re you driving?”
It took Shank a moment to answer, like he had to think about it. “Gray Nissan Maxima; got all the bells and whistles,” he said. Then he gave her a thumbs-up, “You done good, Sheryl.” As he turned to leave, he grinned again. “Wolves, huh?”
“Lot of wolves,” Sheryl said, again catching some of his infectious smile.
“Sounds like my kind of place,” Shank said, then he padded off through the milling herd of grazing food zombies and vanished out the door.
Sheryl drew the moment out. Reached down and raised the coffee cup, enjoying the slight tremble in her fingers. Then she left the booth and put a medium swing in her walk going into the women’s restroom, where she jockeyed around with the lumbering herd animals to get some face time at the mirror. She removed the binder, shook out the ponytail, and leisurely combed her hair. Then she applied lipstick and a touch of eyeshadow. Walked out of that bathroom stepping like a Thoroughbred.
Two minutes later she stood in the parking lot next to her car, removing the Wal-Mart jacket, bundling it, and tossing it under the swayback rusted-out Honda Civic parked next to her. She thumbed the remote, opened the door, and pulled out her good leather coat, put it on. Then she got in, turned the key, and just sat in the Pontiac for a while, waiting on the heater, running her hand over the leather seat. Gonna miss this car, she thought. Took a deep breath, exhaled, and punched in Gator’s pager number in her cell. When the voice mail came on, she punched in seven sixes, so he’d know it was her.
Now give him half an hour to get to the phone booth at the store.
Longest thirty minutes of her life.
She sat and smoked and listened to people on Minnesota Public Radio talking about the dumb goddamn war. Then she took a roll of quarters, went back into the Country Buffet, and made the call on the pay phone.
He answered immediately, his voice shaking with excitement. Or maybe it was cold.
“They remember Broker being around at the time Jojo got killed. I think we’re eighty percent go. I just met the guy who’s gonna do it. You ever hear of the Shank when you were inside?” Sheryl said.
“Before my time. I thought he was just a story,” Gator said.
“No story. He’s real, I had coffee with him thirty minutes ago. He says if it happens, it’s going to happen fast. So start getting ready.”
“How soon?” Gator said.
“Dunno. I got another meeting to talk details Monday morning. If it’s on, how do you want to handle it?”
“Have him call me at the shop. He’ll say he’s interested in the restored 1919 Fordson I got sitting in front. Maybe he wants to get it for his dad or something. I’ll give him directions.”
“All right.” Sheryl paused for three heartbeats, wondering if she really could peel off the life she’d lived like the cheap Wal-Mart jacket and throw it away. Then she just said it. “Love you, babe.”
“Yeah,” Gator said.
“Later,” Sheryl said.
She ended the call, got back in the Pontiac, and put it in gear. Two minutes later, accelerating down the 494 ramp, she marveled.
Chapter Thirty-two
