‘You’re not funny,’ Stoney said.
‘If I were your brother I’d shoot you in the knees for what you did,’ Alex said. ‘I’m coming over there. I got a couple things I need to do, but I’ll be there soon.’
He hung up, weighed the options. Run. The mess had gotten deeper; it was now time to get the hell out of the entire situation. He thought about following this Gooch and Helen – and risk she’d see him? She might be even more dangerous than Stoney. No, it was too much right now; he needed to act but go on the defensive. He waited, saw them return to the truck, holding cups of coffee and a small plastic bag. They pulled out of the lot, drove down the street past the harbor to the curve of Port Leo Beach. He followed, four cars behind. Big Ugly’s truck turned in, parked. Alex drove by, did a U-turn, drove by again. Big Ugly and Helen walked to one of the picnic tables near the beach, sat down, pulled bagels out of the bag, a little plastic knife, cream cheese. A breakfast picnic by the bay.
He couldn’t get closer without parking near them, and he couldn’t risk it. He turned and drove off from the park, scared now for the first time and feeling mad. Stupid Stoney. Stupid Jimmy Bird. Alex went back to the motel, scarfed down his breakfast without tasting it. He went through the Encina County phone book, going through the yellow pages for the fishing guides. Most had pictures of sun-squinting men smiling next to gargantuan fish. No picture of Big Ugly. But one ad, small in the corner, was for Don’t Ask Fishing Services, just listed a phone number, and in little quotes below read: Go with Gooch. Alex dialed the number. A machine answered, ‘You’ve reached Leonard Guchinski and Don’t Ask Fishing. I’m probably booked, but leave a message and I’ll give you a call back.’ Alex hung up.
Leonard Guchinski. Now he had a name.
Alex applied the blond hair coloring, forcing himself to be consistent and careful, and while he waited twenty minutes to shower it off before finishing the treatment, he checked and rechecked the clips in his gun. He suspected he would need several. It was just shaping up to be that kind of day.
‘I got some business to tend to today,’ Gooch said. ‘Whit’s arranged for you to meet a guy who does criminal sketches. Describe Alex to him. He’s driving in from Corpus. Then the folks on the boat next to us, they invited you to sail with them while I’m gone.’ He slathered cream cheese on his bagel. ‘They’re friends of Whit’s, too.’
‘Business. About Alex?’
‘Maybe,’ Gooch said.
‘Do you know where Alex is?’
‘Nope.’
‘But you know something, Gooch.’ She frowned.
It was a little crazy. This girl could read him easier than most people, whom he presented the blank page to, and he’d only known her a couple of days. ‘I just think you’ll have fun with Duff and Trudy on their boat for a few hours.’
‘Duff? Trudy?’
‘Don’t hold their names against them. They’re bankers. They got to have names like that. FDIC requirement.’
‘Did Whit tell them what I am?’
‘What are you, Helen?’
‘I’m a…’ She stopped, as though the word had gotten harder to say.
‘See. It’s a blank. Fill it in with what you like.’
‘Do you not want to have sex with me because you think you’re gonna fix me?’
‘I haven’t known you long enough to have sex with you,’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘You’re a strange man, Gooch.’
‘You’re not the first to notice.’
30
This fake kidnapping isn’t going to work, Stoney thought.
He had hardly slept, and he picked up the phone once, to call home, to talk to Ben. But then he thought the phones might be tapped. And maybe Ben was at the hospital.
Facing the walls of the cottage, he wondered if prison would be so very different. He thought of his friends, the little social-climbing debs he got to bed, his house. He was a deal maker – it was how he made his money – and the long night made him think that perhaps he should cut a deal. The odds were shifting. Lucy was unstable. Alex was cracking. And if there was a woman in town who knew Alex from the time in New Orleans, well. He thought Alex was jumping at shadows.
He tried to construct a series of lies that would cover his ass more thoroughly, but could stitch nothing credible together that left him clean enough. He picked up the phone to call the police; no, he couldn’t do it. Not the police, they weren’t deal makers. A lawyer, yes. A lawyer to negotiate the deal. A high-powered lawyer.
He paced back and forth, trying to work up the courage. The worst was Danny. If he could convince people Alex had killed Danny, well, then… but the thought of not haying the gold, the Eye, made his chest hurt. Take it for the value, maybe, just leave the country and The knock at the door made him jump. Alex. The door had no peephole, and the small windows meant you couldn’t easily peek out of the curtains without giving yourself away.
So Stoney Vaughn opened the door. Not Alex. A big, ugly hulk of a guy stood there and he belted Stoney hard in the chest, landing him on his back on the floor. Breathing was a memory. He stared up at the ugly guy.
‘Mr Vaughn? How you doing? No, don’t get up. Don’t talk.’ The man closed the door behind him. ‘Catch your breath. You gonna puke? That’s a nice rug. Let me find a bucket. No? You okay?’
He picked Stoney up by the neck, like a schoolboy hauled by the scruff to the principal’s office, dumped him on the couch, pulled a wicked, fat black foreign gun out of the back of his pants and let Stoney see it.
‘Puh… puh…’
‘Please? I admire politeness. Are you asking me to please not shoot you?’
Stoney managed a nod.
‘I won’t. At least not yet. Not for the next two minutes. But we’re gonna talk – you understand me?’ The ugly man leaned down close. ‘My name’s Gooch. I think you’re trying to fuck around with friends of mine. You see this gun? That kills you in a second. Easy. You see this fist?’ Gooch held up a big, thick-fingered, closed hand that looked more like an oversize hammer than a fist. ‘That kills you slow. It takes its time. After about, oh, twenty or thirty punches, when the bones are all broken up and starting to stick out the skin, and I’m still pounding on you and my knuckles get abraded and I get in a fucking foul mood.’ Gooch smiled. ‘You don’t want the old fist of death, do you?’
Stoney shook his head, got the force of his breath back with a shudder. ‘How… how…’
‘Did I find you? That’s what I want to talk about. You and Lucy Gilbert.’
Stoney’s mouth moved.
‘And why you’re holed up in a cottage when lots and lots of folks are missing you right now.’
‘I… I didn’t do anything wrong,’ he managed.
‘Who knows you’re here?’
‘Lucy… that’s all.’
‘How about a guy who likes first names beginning with A?’
‘What?’
‘Alex. Albert. Allen. What’s his name this week? Asshole?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about-’
Gooch cocked the gun, jammed it into Stoney’s temple. ‘This is a Soviet-made Shootyadickov-69. Very sensitive. It misfires a lot.’ He pressed it harder, as if trying to reach Stoney’s brains. ‘Are you willing to put that much trust in Soviet engineering?’
‘Alex! His name is Alex Black. Oh Christ.’ Stoney’s eyes bugged.
‘Is the treasure here?’
