“You want a choice. Okay, okay. Here goes. A solid half million dollars in cash. Hundred dollar bills. Think about it, Payton. You will
He made a good pitch. And he was right. I lived in a world of penny rolls and crumpled one dollar bills. I literally couldn’t even conceive of that much money being mine. It defied my imagination.
Ultimately, I had to tell him I accepted his offer. His choice was no choice. The problem was keeping a straight face as I did it.
“So what’s it going to be, Payton?”
“I don’t know. Right now I feel like I’m in your shoes, Matt, faced with the same problem you were, whether or not to latch onto somebody I figure is going down no matter what I say or do. You gotta know it’s only a question of time. Seven bodies, man—that’s a lot for anyone to sweep under the rug.
“But I guess they won’t get you today and probably not tomorrow, and who knows, maybe you’ll find some way to pull it off. If anyone can… So sure, what the hell, I’d love a half million bucks. It’ll keep the draft out.”
“So, what, is that yes or a no?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck, then say yes! That’s all I want to hear, yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, I got it now,” Matt said. “Just one thing.”
He nudged Elena, so she toppled over, landing on her side.
“Kill her.”
“Wha—no—what are you talking about?”
“Seal the deal. C’mon, why you think I let you keep your gun?”
“Let me keep…?”
“Do this, we’re solid. I’ll have something on you as bad as what you’ve got on me.”
“You’re nuts, Matt.”
“Maybe. Choose.”
“I’m not going to kill her.”
Elena was squealing. Her eyes were wide with terror, flicking from my gun to Matt’s and back. I lowered mine.
That was a mistake.
Matt swung his up to point directly at my chest.
“Eh—Payton—eh! Not a twitch. Pray as you like, but don’t genuflect ’less you’re done.”
He lifted the barrel higher and leveled it at my face. He started walking toward me, taking slow steps like a duelist measuring off his ten paces.
You never really see a gun for what it is until you stare down the muzzle of one in someone else’s hands, watch it come closer, closer, till it fills your line of sight. You watch, knowing it’s about to spit flame, that the split- second explosion will be the last thing you ever see. You know a bullet’s coming as soon as you blink, so you don’t blink. You freeze. Grow old looking at it. If it’s a big gun, you mark how small it looks. And if it’s a small gun,
I concentrated on that black hole approaching me. I didn’t blink. It became my whole world, my past future present. Funny that something so small could magnify and become huge, big enough to blot out the sun. It seemed to be sucking at me like a puncture hole in a pressurized cabin. I waited for it, knowing the moment I let my eyes shut I was done…
How quiet it was. Except for my heartbeat and Matt’s footsteps, there was no sound at all. Which was odd, actually. There should have been another sound, there had been one before, Elena’s muffled sobs. Glancing down, I realized I no longer saw her prostrate shape in the periphery of my vision.
Matt read something in my eyes, but he didn’t waver, didn’t look behind him. Maybe he thought I was pulling some trick to distract him. He gave me too much credit.
When I saw the movement behind him, I forced my eyes to lock on his, did my damnedest to hold him, make him focus on me. Not on the sliver of Sayre Rauth I could see behind him shifting her weight and raising her right arm out in front of her.
She fired. The .22’s dainty reports, even in the echo chamber of the parking garage, were like birthday balloons popping. The barrel gave off puffs of confectioners’ sugar.
Matt fell against me and I felt the slam of one of the bullets ripping through him. Then another, and a wetness like a sea mist on my face, only hot as molten wax. I clenched my lips against the animal urge to lick it away from my mouth.
She made no song and dance of it. Four times she shot him in the back, one got him in the neck.
I sidestepped his weight against me, shedding him like an overcoat. He landed on his face. I wiped mine on my sleeve.
Sayre lowered her gun, her cunning, little silver gun, the one that killed Windmann, the one I told her she should ditch. Thank god she’d ignored my advice.
She had dragged Elena over to one side, propped her against the concrete wall. I went and untied her, for something to do.
She gulped a free breath, her eyes tearing up. “He kill George,” she said, “and Jeff—” She started to cry.
Sayre came over and put her arms around her, helping her to her feet. They walked together to the stairs.
I checked on Matt, but there was no more Matt, only a silent body, a mound of lifeless meat on the ground. I patted his pockets but couldn’t find his cell. Finally grabbed a handful of coat lapel and heaved. Rolling him as easy as shifting a flood-sodden sandbag.
I found his cell phone, turned it on. A brightly lit animation appeared on the screen—crisp, vibrant—and the phone tootled a snappy tune. The first stored number was labeled JEANNE. I didn’t call it.
Instead I dialed 911. After the call, I slid the phone back inside Matt’s jacket pocket and rolled him back onto his face. I draped the belt with the gold coins in it over him. They would add weight to the story I’d tell the cops. Besides, they were his. If any man had earned his spoils, it was Matt. Then I went down to wait at street level for the cops to arrive.
The sidewalk was empty, both directions, not even a derelict or a roving wolf-pack of pumped-up ’bangers in sight. No sign of Sayre or Elena either. Disappeared into darkness together, the hard black-blue night.
I looked over at the East River, and the lights of Brooklyn beyond, and—
Cried my eyes out.
Only the sound of sirens brought me back. Wet goop was running down my cheeks. The night looked crystal clear and everything was starry.
The siren’s wail didn’t sound far off, but its crybaby cry grew fainter, not louder, more distant, farther away. Not my ride, someone else’s emergency. It was first come, first serve in the big city.
Me and my dead had to wait our turn.
THE END.
But here is a BONUS Payton Sherwood mystery story,
“East Village Noir”
(originally published in
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