Mabel put him on hold. The parking lot was a zoo, with everyone trying to leave at once. Throwing the Mercedes into reverse, he backed out of the space, then threw the car into drive. With his hand stuck against the horn, he made his way to the front of the line. His neighbor returned.
“This has been an awful day,” she said.
“What's wrong?”
“Cujo attacked me.”
“You got the dog?”
“Yes. While I was fixing dinner, he tried to take a pork chop out of my hand. I hit him with a skillet right in the kisser and he started going at my ankles so I jumped up on the table so he couldn't get at me.”
“Where are you now?”
“I'm still standing on the table.”
“Why didn't you call the cops?”
“I did. There's a disturbance at the Seminole Indian reservation in Tampa. The operator said I would have to wait.”
“Maybe you should call a neighbor,” he suggested.
“Aren't you Mr. Helpful,” she said, and hung up.
33
The Death of
Tony Valentine
The stairwell groaned beneath Valentine's size twelves. The building that housed Yun's dojo had been ancient when he'd first started taking classes. At the second floor landing he stopped. The door was ajar, and he pushed it open and poked his head in. The dojo was a large, high-ceilinged room with padded walls. A naked bulb shone over the locker room door.
Only bare feet were meant to walk on the dojo's parquet floors, and he left his shoes by the door. Crossing the dojo, he drew the .38 from his pocket. Opening the locker room door, he stuck his head in.
The room was long and narrow, with lockers on both walls and showers in back. His teacher sat bound to a chair. The Mollos stood behind him. Big Tony, his right hand in a cast, was holding a Louisville slugger. Seeing Valentine, he took a cut at Yun's head. His teacher ducked, the baseball bat whistling past his skull. Joey, his face swathed in white tape, called, “Strike one!” Little Tony pranced around like a demented court jester.
Valentine's heart started to race. “Is this necessary?”
“Top of the ninth, two out, tying run at third base,” Joey said, egging his brother on. “Count on the batter is no balls, one strike.”
“This is for breaking my hand,” Big Tony said. He cocked the bat like Joe Morgan of the Cincinnati Reds, flapping his right arm as the pitcher started to throw the ball, his muscles twitching in anticipation.
“Don't do it,” Valentine said.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't.”
“I won't pay you.”
That got Big Tony's attention. He lowered the bat. For the first time, Valentine became aware of Yun's breathing. It was abbreviated, his teacher slowing his heart beat in an attempt to stay calm.
“You brought the money?”
“Don't have it,” Valentine said.
“Then how you gonna pay us?”
He took the Mercedes keys from his pocket, and let them dangle from his forefinger. “You can have my car.”
Big Tony eyed the logo. “You got a Mercedes?”
“SLK 600 coupe.”
“How many miles?”
“Sixteen thousand.”
“Leather interior?”
“No, plastic. Of course it's got a leather interior. You ever driven one?” Big Tony shook his head. “It's almost as nice as getting laid.”
“Put the gun in one of the lockers.”
“Do we have a deal?”
Big Tony nodded.
“I didn't hear you,” Valentine said.
“We have a deal,” Big Tony said.
Valentine put the .38 in a locker and shut the steel door. He'd been tapping into Neanderthals' wavelengths for years, and knew how the Mollos thought. Before anything else, they wanted their money. He watched Big Tony untie Yun.
Yun joined Valentine by the door. Valentine tossed the keys across the room. Big Tony plucked them out of the air. He showed the keys to his brothers. And then he kissed them.
“What about the title?” Big Tony asked.
“I'll send it to you,” Valentine said.
The Mollos followed them out of the locker room, with Little Tony doing a cartwheel as he came through the door. Joey now had the bat and pointed it in Yun's face.
“You're one lucky Chinaman,” Joey said.
Laughing, they disappeared into the stairwell. Valentine touched Yun's arm. “You okay?”
Yun rubbed his arm where it had been tied. “Whose car you give them?”
“Archie Tanner's.”
“Oh, wow,” his teacher said.
Blaring rap music disrupted their conversation. They went to the dojo's wall of windows and stared down. The Mollos had piled into the Mercedes and were hooting and hollering like teenagers. The car rocked up and down like a carnival ride.
“He got insurance?” his teacher asked.
“Of course he's—”
Valentine's eyes shifted to the other end of Ashton. Parked at the corner was a white van, its engine running. The driver's window came down. An arm emerged, holding what looked like a transistor radio.
The Mercedes pulled onto the street. Sitting in back, Little Tony had lit a joint. Big Tony turned, poised to take it from him. And that was the image that remained in Valentine's head when the car exploded.
A brilliant white flash followed, momentarily blinding him. His knees buckled. When he looked down at the street again, the Mercedes was in a thousand pieces. And the white van was gone.
Ashton resembled a war zone. Little Tony lay on the sidewalk and was now much littler, the lower half of his body gone. Joey lay beside him, his torso consumed by flames. Big Tony lay nearby, his head the color of a roasted chestnut. He was still breathing. Valentine took off his overcoat, and slipped it underneath Big Tony's head. Then he died, and Valentine put his overcoat back on.
“You didn't tell me somebody was trying to kill you,” Yun said.
“It's been that kind of week.”
“Turned out okay,” his teacher said.
“What do you mean?”
“This was your car. Cops come, I tell them one of these guys was you. Let them figure out which one. You dead, at least for a little while. That gives you advantage.”
“Over who?”
“Whoever trying to kill you.”
A police car's siren pierced the frigid night air. Being dead gave him another advantage as well. The police would stop looking for him. He touched his teacher's arm.
“I've missed you,” he said.
