So maybe Charlie was right about Bobby, but he didn’t know shit about Alex. Alex had been a true friend. Sara, too. Now, one was dead and the other one might as well be.
And Luther was on the run.
The knock came again. “Hey, Dumbo, open up.” It was Charlie. Charlie always called him Dumbo. Ever since they were kids. Luther never really knew why. It wasn’t like his ears were any bigger than normal. “Come on, man, I got the pizza.”
Luther relaxed, stuffing the Smith into his belt. He was starving. All he’d had to eat was a half-melted candy bar that Alex had given him yesterday when he’d picked him up at the bar. He’d found it in the glove compartment of the F-150 this afternoon and scarfed it down right before he’d gone in to see Tony. He’d practically chucked it up again when the Feds tried to chase him down.
Fuckin’ Feds. All he’d wanted from Tony was a little something to supplement his income, and what did it get him?
Jackass Donovan.
After he’d hopped the fence, he’d wanted to run straight home and hide in his room. But he knew the Feds would put pressure on Tony and his days of anonymity were over.
So he’d found a pay phone and called Charlie, asking him for help. Charlie, his lifelong buddy. They’d known each other since they were ten years old, back when their moms had had a little lesbo fling, and they got stuck together playing Nintendo in Charlie’s room.
Charlie even let him win sometimes.
When Charlie had answered the phone, he’d sighed and said, “What’d you get yourself into this time? Don’t tell me you’re involved in that thing with the kid?”
“You know about that?”
“Jesus Christ, Dumbo. What’d I tell you about that psycho?”
“Alex needed my help.”
“Yeah, and now he’s off in la-la land and you’re headed down the crapper, you big, stupid jerk.”
“Jeez, Charlie, take it easy.”
Charlie swore under his breath, then the phone went quiet for a long time, Luther feeling panic rise, thinking he might’ve been hung up on.
“Just tell me this,” Charlie said finally. “You know where she is?”
“I helped him pick the spot. You remember that trip I told you about? When me and-”
“Don’t tell me, for chrissake, tell the goddamn cops. Don’t you get it? That’s your out, my friend. You give her up, you’re gold. She dies, forget due process. They’ll fuckin’ kill you.”
“I don’t know,” Luther said. “I don’t want to go back to jail.”
“What’re you gonna do, then? Run? You wouldn’t survive ten minutes on your own.”
Charlie was right. Luther wanted to keep running, but where would he go? He didn’t have a clue. He’d never been real good at taking care of himself. That had always been his mom’s job, and Charlie’s. And Alex’s.
“Get your ass out here pronto,” Charlie said. “We’ll figure this out together.”
So here he was, locked up in this room, packing a funky old Smith for protection and wondering if he should do what Charlie had said and tell the Feds where the girl was buried. Maybe they’d cut him a break.
After all, it wasn’t like he’d actually snatched her. That was Alex’s thing, and Alex was dead.
The knock came on the door a third time. Loud.
“Goddammit, Dumbo. It’s raining out here. Open the friggin’ door.”
“I’m coming,” Luther said, and reached for the knob, happy to hear his friend’s voice. It made him feel safe. Protected.
He pulled the door open to find Charlie standing there, pizza box in hand. He was about to break into a smile when he realized somebody else was with him, standing off to the side, the barrel of Charlie’s prized SIG-Sauer pointed at his rib cage.
It was Bobby. And his eyes were blazing.
Bobby took the pizza box out of Charlie’s hands. “Get inside.”
Charlie complied, pushing his bulk through the doorway, forcing Luther to back up. “I told you these guys were trouble.”
Luther was dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to make of this. “What the fuck, Bobby? What’s going on? I thought the Feds had you.”
“That was then and this is now, asshole.” He dropped the pizza box on the dresser, then put a hand on Charlie’s back and shoved him toward the beds. There were two of them, both soft and lumpy. Unless you were too drunk to stand, getting a decent night’s sleep on either one was next to impossible.
“Face down,” Bobby said. “Hands in view.”
Charlie did what he was told, climbing onto the bed closest to them, the box springs groaning under his weight. He kept his hands above his head, Luther watching him with his mouth hanging open, wondering how the hell Bobby had managed to get himself sprung, and what exactly the problem was.
He thought about the Smith in his belt, trying to decide whether he should go for it. Probably not a good idea. Bobby had a crazed look that made him uneasy. He’d seen that look enough to know when to tread lightly.
“What’s this about, Bobby?”
Bobby turned his gaze on him. “What do you think? My money.”
“Huh?” Luther had no clue what he was talking about. “How come they let you out, man? I figured you’d be locked up forever.”
“I’ve got a better question. How’d I get tagged in the first place? You have something to do with that?”
“What?” Luther said. “Why would I do that?”
“The money,” Bobby said, swinging the SIG toward him. “That a good enough reason?”
“Money? What money?”
“Cut the shit, Luther. Carla told me everything. You bust in on her like that, you think she’s just gonna smile and pretend it never happened?”
“I swear to God, Bobby, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bobby swung the SIG around and shot Charlie in the left thigh. Charlie howled, grabbing the wound, blood seeping between his fingers.
“Jesus, why’d you go and do that? Charlie didn’t-”
Bobby shot Charlie’s right calf. Charlie screamed this time, curling up into a ball as Bobby swung the SIG around toward Luther again. “You’re next, numb nuts. Give me my fuckin’ money.”
“I’m tellin’ you, man, I don’t have any money. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re the only one saw me take it. You’re the only one knew I had it. Carla tells me you bulldoze your way into her apartment for it, I got no reason to doubt her.”
“She’s lying,” Luther said.
“Why the hell would she lie?”
“Come on, man, I–I don’t even know her! I don’t even know where she lives!”
“Hey, moron,” Charlie groaned, staring at Bobby now, his face the color of cottage cheese. He looked like he was about to puke or pass out. “Listen to the kid. He’s telling you the truth.”
Bobby gestured with the SIG. “The first two weren’t enough? Shut the fuck up.”
Charlie winced. “It’s your girlfriend, dumb ass. Don’t you get it?… The bitch punked you.”
Luther saw a flicker of doubt in Bobby’s eyes, like he was thinking this over, thinking maybe it made sense. Luther thought again about the Smith stuck in his belt, wondering if he should make a move.
Charlie kept going. “She’s the dancer you told Luther about, right? Probably does her fair share of hooking, too.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered, still leaking all over the place.
It looked like he’d pissed his pants.
“Bitch like that’ll do anything for a few bucks,” Charlie went on, his voice getting weaker. “You hear that, Luther? The Pussy Prince got punked by a two-bit whore.”
Bobby didn’t say anything, like he was still thinking it over. Maybe everything would be okay. They could call one of Charlie’s paramedic connections, get him taken care of, and “Nice try,” Bobby said. “There’s just one little problem with that story.” He pointed the SIG at Charlie again. “I never told her about Luther. So how the hell does she know his name?”
