pencil in his ear. The older Clert, Terry, was taller, rangier, better-looking and twitchier, and he kept his finger on the trigger of a sawed-off shotgun aimed at Timmy's midsection.
'You two must be the Clert brothers,' I said, 'Bert and Ernie. And I guess you're Mack Fay. It was hard to recognize your voice without a six-pound pile of shit stuffed in your mouth.'
They all made stunned, ugly faces at me, and Timmy winced.
'What's in your coat pocket?' Fay snarled. 'Kevin, shake him down.'
I lifted my arms as Kevin removed my Smith amp; Wesson and examined it as if it were a moon rock. He carried it away dumbstruck.
'See,' I said, 'I didn't have an erection, I was just glad to see you guys.'
More stunned, ugly faces. Timmy gave me a pleading look.
'Where is it?' Fay snapped.
'Not far from here.'
'For your girlfriend's sake, hopefully it's in your car.'
'The money is in a hotel room downtown.'
'This asshole told you to bring it with you, you dumb fuck! I was right there when he said it on the phone. Now you get your ass downtown and bring it back here! You got fifteen minutes, you hear me?'
I checked my watch. Timmy was looking increasingly distraught, but this wasn't going to last much longer. I said, 'I can have it back here in ten minutes. But first I want an explanation in return for the money. Why did you have to kill Jack Lenihan?'
A dumb coy look. 'Who says I did?'
'You found out about the existence of the money in Pug Lenihan's house from Mrs. Clert-or was it from your father? — and you were planning to make off with it, but Jack stole it first. You grabbed him when he came back from LA, but he didn't have the money with him. You took him over to Flo Trenky's place Tuesday night to try to force him to get it for you. But why did you have to kill him? I want to know that.'
Fay shrugged and grinned stupidly. 'He told us you had it,' he said mildly.
'The dumb fuck wasn't gonna tell us anything, but he changed his mind when we told him some things we knew about his mom-some interesting shit I picked up over on Pearl Street. Then he spit it out real fast, oh yes, he sure did. He told us you had the money. And then he started thinking and putting two and two together and getting very pissed off and mad at the world and going kind of nuts on us and-shit, we had to protect ourselves, didn't we? I mean, shit, that guy was fuckin' apeshit. I suppose you could say it was too bad what happened had to happen, but I think you have to admit, Jackie was kind of a weirdo anyways. He could have been a real pain in the ass if he was around. So, what can I tell you, good buddy?' He shrugged again and looked at me with his lifeless eyes while the other two stood around looking bored. Kevin was picking his nose and sticking the produce behind his ear.
I said, 'How did you know I wouldn't arrive here with the cops? Why were you so sure of that?'
The dead eyes watched me. ''Cause then the cops would know you had the money and you wouldn't get to keep it. You'd lose it too.'
'Maybe I'd rather see it go back to Pug than turn it over to you.'
'Hey, did you hear that one, Terry? Shit, Pug can't take that money back from the cops, and you know it. Old Pug can't say it's his cause old Pug can't explain where it came from, right? The state would keep it. You aren't such a dip-shit you didn't figure that one out the same as we did. And if you were gonna bring in the cops, you'd've done it right away. But you didn't, did you, Strachey? Shit, mister, I had your number from the day one.'
I said, 'The money properly belongs to Jack Lenihan's estate. He inherited it from Al Piatek. There's a legal will. The money is Jack's, and with him gone, his mother, his legal heir, gets it. The cops would have to turn it over to her.'
He sneered. 'Shit, Joanie'd just give it back to Pug. He'd end up with it for damn sure.'
'Why?'
'Hey, just ask her, good buddy. My dad told me the dirt on Miz Joanie. Oh yes, Miz Joanie would have that two and a half million back on Pearl Street in no time at all. Hey, just ask her if she wouldn't do that.'
I looked at my watch again. 'The money is in a room at the Hilton. The desk clerk will hand over a key to either Timmy or me. One of us can drive over and pick it up, or we can all go over there together. However you want to do it.'
'We'll just hang around here,' Fay said. 'You got fifteen minutes. Miss Timothy here can bring out some liquor if you got any in the house, and when you get back we can all celebrate.'
'And then what happens to Timmy and me?' I said.
'Hey, friend, what can I tell you? Look at some TV? Call an ambulance? It's none of my business, right?'
My watch now said it was twelve-fifteen. I walked to the front door and opened it. Six clean-shaven men in flak jackets strode in wielding automatic weapons of assorted shapes and sizes. Two others came in the back door simultaneously and moved rapidly across the kitchen, through the dining room, and up behind Terry Clert, who spun around a couple of times but didn't shoot anybody. Fay and the Clerts made more ugly faces, out of which came vulgar protestations. Shiny DEA badges flashed in the light of the picture of the fire.
'What the fuck is this?' Fay whined. 'Narcs? You guys are fuckin' narcs?
What is this fuckin' shit?'
Someone read Fay his rights and made reference to a glassine bag of white powder under the seat of a truck parked outside and registered in Fay's name. The discovery was made, Fay was told, as a result of an anonymous tip. Fay's parole officer-one of the six armed men who had entered through the front door-had a legal right to enter Fay's vehicle to investigate, and he had done so. He said he was surprised and disappointed that Fay had taken up this new line of criminal endeavor, but there it was.
Fay repeatedly cried, 'Setup! Setup!' and demanded access to a telephone so that he could arrange for an attorney.
Timmy, who had placed atop the mantel the sawed-off shotgun previously aimed at his gut, asked, 'It's not a toll call, is it?'
Kevin Clert, drooling and trembling, said, 'Hey, I didn't off that faggot!
Shoot, I wasn't even there. I was at work that night.'
Terry Clert, mum until now, found his voice. 'I didn't hit him. Mack hit him!'
'Hit who?' said a narc.
'Hey, man, let's you and me go someplace and talk, huh? How about it, huh? We can deal, huh? How about it?'
At that point somebody suggested that Ned Bowman be called, and I volunteered to wake him up. Out of habit, Bowman spewed forth a stream of sour invective, but then I got a word in and he became quietly alert.
TWENTY-TWO
Timmy said, 'My bed. I am actually lying in my own bed again. Oh, this is sweet.'
'You sound as if you doubted you ever would.'
'There have been times in the past week when I wondered if I'd ever lie in any bed again.'
'I'm sorry you got dragged into this. I probably should have sent you off to Poughkeepsie after I got the first call from Hankie-mouth-Fay.'
'What do you mean, 'sent me off'? What am I, your foster child?'
'I hope not.'
'Well, there wouldn't have been any problem if I hadn't stopped by here this morning. That was my own fault and I feel pretty dumb about it.'
'Good.'
'To tell you the truth, the whole time they had me in that motel with the shotgun aimed at me, I never really believed they were going to hurt me. I was outraged and my pride was offended, and I was nervous about the gun going off accidentally. But I kept telling myself it was the money they wanted and they wouldn't shoot me as long as they didn't have it and could still use me for making you lead them to the money. That's why I didn't tell them where it was hidden.'
