knife. But I’m not slow either, and we both know he can’t grab the steak knife and reach across the table and stab me before I can squeeze off a shot. Not only that, but he was counting on me for a big payday with minimal work.
He curses incoherently, glances around the room, shrugs, grips a fresh biscuit from his plate, dips it in the redeye gravy, and pops it into his mouth. Every eye in the diner watches him chew, waiting to see the transformation take place, as often happens when Yankees get caught up in the divine exhalation of Southern cooking. Sure enough, despite his annoyance over the forced feeding, a smile starts tugging at the corners of Jimmy Squint’s mouth, and his eyes light up like a preacher spotting cash in the collection plate.
“That’s damn good!” he says.
Farmer man cocks his head, waiting in case a smart-ass remark had has been left unspoken.
“I must apologize for my guest,” I say. “He’s from Detroit.” Farmer man and his wife look at each other and nod, as if that explained everything. “That a real gun?” she says. “It is,” I say. “Kinda puny,” Farmer man says.
“Glock 26,” I say. “Compact model, nine millimeter.” They nod again, go back to their table, and work their large bodies back into their small chairs. A table of elderly women gives Jimmy the hard stare before tucking back into their biscuits. A young girl sitting alone at the counter shakes her head in sympathy and begins Twittering the adventure to her friends. Macie, our cute little waitress, seems relieved. I put the gun back into my ankle holster.
“So what you’re saying,” Jimmy Squint says, “you’re being paid to basically fuck with this guy’s life, and you’re paying me twenty grand to, what—watch him? Follow him? Guard him?” “All the above,” I say. “When’s all this supposed to start?” I look at my watch. “About ten thirty, give or take.” Jimmy motions for our waitress. “Honey,” he says to Macie, “would you be a sweetheart and bring us another plate of biscuits?” Several sets of eyes look up from their plates. “And bring me a double order of that redeye gravy,” he adds.
Chapter 32
“This guy,” Jimmy Squint says. “Sam Case?” Jimmy nods. “What’s he drive?” “Audi R8.” Jimmy nods approvingly. “Sweet ride,” he says. “It is that.” “Where’s the rifle?”
“It’ll be in the front seat waiting for you. Shoot twice and jump in the car. Lou will drive you to the hotel. When you get there, he’ll show you your ride. Climb in, sit tight. Got it?”
Jimmy Squint nods. “I sure would like to drive that Audi one time.”
Jimmy used to be a getaway driver for Frank Carbonne’s crew back in Detroit. To this day, he harbors a fondness for fast cars. Along with his hands, Jimmy has fast feet that he used to tap out rhythms with the gas and brake pedals while being chased by cops or disgruntled mobsters.
“Maybe next time,” I say.
The word on Jimmy was he didn’t enjoy driving getaway unless someone was chasing him. More than once he’d angered his crew by taking unnecessary risks in order to provoke all-out chases. These acts included—but were not limited to—honking his horn, clipping the corner of a cop’s car, and even taking the occasional shot at one.
At 10:00 am sharp, fifteen men walk into the diner wearing police uniforms. One steps forward to do the talking.
“Attention, everybody,” he says. “My name’s Officer Glen Denning, and this …” He gestured toward me. “… is Donovan Creed, special agent for Homeland Security. We’ve got a situation about to go down in Seneca Park, and I’m going to ask for your cooperation, which means I’ll need you to finish up your meals and be out of here in the next ten minutes.” The owner of the diner pops his head through the order window and says, “Make sure they pay their bills, Glen!” Macie adds, “And tip me generous, in case they blow up the diner!” Everyone laughs.
Officer Denning continues, “I’d appreciate it if you stay at least a mile away from the park for the next four hours. My men will keep the area contained, but it’ll go a whole lot easier for us if you don’t tell all your friends and relatives. Last thing we need is a bunch of gawkers getting in our way.”
The patrons hadn’t panicked when I pulled my Glock on Jimmy Squint awhile ago, so I don’t figure they’ll panic over this announcement. I’m right. They busy themselves with paying their bills and leaving. “Give ’em hell, Glen!” says one guy, and some of the others chime in with similar words of encouragement.
Officer Glen Denning nods somberly and says, “We’ll do our jobs.” He pauses before adding, “You can count on that.”
After escorting the last of the diners to their cars, the cops change into civilian clothes and take up their positions along the perimeter of the park. A traffic control crew begins closing off the access streets, ensuring that Cannons Lane will be the only way in and out. Before leaving to join his team, Officer Denning looks at me and says, “How’d I do?” “That part at the end about doing your jobs,” I say. “How long you practice that?” “I know it wasn’t part of the script,” he says, “but I felt it added something, don’t you?” Jimmy Squint says, “What it’s worth, I think they all bought it.”
“Next time,” I say, “if there
The man playing the part of Officer Denning says, “Yes, sir?”
“Stick to the script.”
Chapter 33
Moments later, Salvatore Bonadello’s driver, Shane, calls me from the limo. “Lou’s got Sam’s keys,” he says. “The Audi should be there any minute.”
“Where are you guys?” I ask.
“We’re rolling,” Shane says. “We’re two miles from the Cannons exit. We’ll be there in about …” I imagined him checking his watch. “… four minutes.”
Sal Bonadello is crime boss for the Midwestern United States. Since this whole thing started with a phone call from Rachel to Sal, he gets a big taste (a high percentage of the take), but I’m making him work for his piece. He’s got a goon with him, a pasty muscleman with the street name Bald Eagle. Eagle’s real name is Herbert, but who’s going to take him seriously? Sal didn’t want to use either of his regular bodyguards because they’re too savvy. They might put together the size of the take and demand a lot more than Sal wants to pay. So while we wouldn’t trust Eagle in a major role (he can’t shoot for shit), he’s big and strong and should be able to handle a bit part like the one we’ve outlined for him.
Sam Case is a local computer whiz who came up with the most ingenious method of moving money I’ve ever seen. He takes your nest egg and makes it not just untraceable, but invisible. Over a killing career spanning twenty
