Heat

Chapter 58

Ruger had been at it for half an hour, and Charley Bottoms was no longer recognizable. He was alive, though, and occasionally, he spat out some blood.

Jesse stood, the gun dangling at his side, and tried not to watch. Ruger drew the pipe back again, and as he did, the door at the top of the stairs opened, and Ruger and Jesse both turned to look. Coldwater’s feet appeared on the stairs, and at that moment, Charley’s right hand shot out. He grabbed the pistol from Ruger’s belt and fired two rounds into his tormentor’s head. Then, without hesitating, he flipped the gun around, got his thumb on the trigger and stuck the barrel into his mouth.

Jesse’s shot went off simultaneously with Charley’s. Charley lurched backwards and sideways, leaving blood and brains on the wall behind him. Without thinking, Jesse fired a second shot into the body.

Just as Jesse’s knees buckled, Coldwater reached out and took the pistol from him, and he sagged into Pat Casey’s arms.

Jesse sat on the sofa in Coldwater’s study, his face in his hands.

“Feeling better?” Coldwater asked.

“I should have been faster,” Jesse said.

“I saw it all; you couldn’t have done better,” Coldwater replied. “He might have gotten me.”

Pat Casey handed Jesse a damp face cloth. “Here,” he said, “maybe this will help.”

“Poor Jesse,” Coldwater said. “And you weren’t feeling well to begin with. Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa for a while? I have a business negotiation to complete.” He turned to Casey. “Pat, see that the mess downstairs gets cleaned up.”

“Right,” Casey replied, then left the room.

“Are you really better?” Coldwater asked, concern in his voice.

“Thank you, sir,” Jesse muttered. “I’ll be all right in a minute.”

Coldwater clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You stay here; I’ll check on you later.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.

Jesse gave them fifteen seconds by his watch before he moved, then he got up, went to the bookcase and moved back the facade, exposing the safe. He put an ear to it and starting moving the tumblers. He couldn’t hear well enough, so he went to the bar, got an empty glass, pressed it against the steel, put his ear to the glass and tried again. Better. He glanced at his watch.

Forty minutes later, the safe door opened; it had been harder than he had thought it would be. The bottom of the safe was full of papers, he didn’t much care what, and the top shelf was lined with dozens of neatly banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

Jesse looked around the room, and his eyes fell on a large, wicker wastebasket with a plastic liner. Jesse ripped out the liner, emptied the trash back into the basket and began raking the money into the bag. He hesitated for a moment, then he packed the papers at the bottom of the safe into the bag, as well. He closed the safe door, twirled the knob and shut the bookcase facade, then he took the corners of the plastic bag and tied them into a secure knot.

There were voices from the front hall. Jesse looked around for a hiding place for the bag and didn’t see one. He ran to the windows, pushed one up and stuck the bag outside. He swung it a couple of times, then let go, tossing it in the direction of the road. The door behind him opened.

“Feeling better?” Coldwater boomed.

“Yes, thank you, sir; I was just letting in some fresh air. How did your meeting go?”

“A great success, I’d say.” Coldwater poured himself a brandy from the bar and one for Jesse, as well. “This ought to make you feel a little better, and close that window, will you? It’s freezing in here.”

Jesse closed the window and accepted the brandy. He took a good-sized swig, then sat down.

“Jesse,” Coldwater said, “I’d like you to take on some of Kurt’s duties.”

Jesse looked at him, surprised. The man had just seen his old friend and partner murdered. He moved his glass to his left hand, and scratched his arm with his right, made sure the recorder was going.

“That’s very flattering, sir. I’m afraid I don’t know much about finance.”

“You’re a highly intelligent and quick-witted man, though, and that’s my need at the moment, now that Kurt is gone. Pity about Kurt; good fellow.” He didn’t sound grief-stricken.

“Yes, sir.”

“Your first assignment is to take Wood Products away from Herman Muller; do it any way you can; Kurt showed me that balance sheet you got him, and let me tell you, that company is a plum.”

“I think I can handle that,” Jesse replied.

“As soon as you do, you’re going to become president of the bank,” Coldwater said. “No need to know anything about banking; I know more than enough about that. But I need my own man in there.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jesse said, trying to sound brighter. Then he thought, what the hell, last chance to find out. “Pastor—”

“Call me Jack Gene; you’ve earned the right.”

“Thank you. Jack Gene, I don’t really have any grasp of what’s going on here. I mean, what’s the bunker for?”

Coldwater laughed aloud. “I suppose you must have thought I was mad,” he said. “Well, I’m not. It’s a very fine weapons store, isn’t it?”

“It’s all about weapons, then?”

Coldwater grinned. “You really are very bright, Jesse. If I was going to deal in weapons on any sort of scale, I had to have a secure storage site, didn’t I?”

“But why all this religion business? Why found a church?”

“Think about it, Jesse; nobody can build something as big as what’s inside the mountain without one hell of a lot of people knowing about it. With the church, I got to control the people who knew about it; the people who, in fact, built it, saving me millions of dollars in the process. Of course, I’ve enjoyed taking over and running this little town; that was fun. But it was all to protect the weapons business.”

“And controlling the town meant that nobody asked questions about all the trucks that were bringing in and taking out the stuff?”

“Exactly. And there were a lot of trucks. We deal worldwide, you know — not just to people like those yokels who just left. Mind you, I’ve equipped just about every bunch of nutters in the western half of the United States of America, and some in the East, too. The profits have been mindboggling. I have bank accounts in every safe haven in the world — Zurich, the Caymans, Singapore — so does Pat; so does Kurt, for that matter. After I’ve moved some of the money, I’ll see that you get the numbers to his accounts. It wouldn’t be fair to give you everything Kurt had earned, would it? I’ll take half, give Pat a quarter, and you can have the rest. That number will approach ten million dollars.”

Jesse blinked. “Thank you, sir. I must say, I’m a little surprised that Kurt would let you have the numbers to his bank accounts.”

“Why not? I opened them for him and put the money into them. Casey’s, too.”

“So, if something happened to Pat—”

Coldwater smiled broadly. “Now you don’t think I’d let anything happen to Pat? Couldn’t get along without him.”

Jesse thought, You’re fucking well getting along without Ruger all right, aren’t you?

“You’re going to become as indispensable as Pat, Jesse, don’t you worry. Listen, if you don’t want to go abroad when this is over, I’ll give you Muller’s business. If you feel you must work, you can stay in St. Clair and play with that.”

“When is it going to be over?” Jesse asked.

“Well, it’s winding down already, isn’t it? I mean, Charley Bottoms is the third federal agent we’ve had in here in the past year and a half. Somebody must suspect something.” He chuckled.

“Doesn’t that worry you?” Jesse asked.

“Not in the least; the feds are very slow to catch on to anything, and I control the local law completely. No, I’ve got another year, at the very least, before I move on to greener pastures.”

“Well, it all sounds very exciting,” Jesse said.

“More exciting that you can imagine,” Coldwater replied, then his eyes lit up. “Maybe I should show you just how exciting.” He pointed toward the bookcase. “Remember my safe? There’s a million and a half dollars, cash, in there. It’s yours.” He made to get up.

Jesse threw up a hand. “Please, Jack Gene, please. You don’t have to do that. I trust you completely.”

Coldwater paused, half out of his chair. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” Jesse said.

Coldwater grinned. “I trust you, too, Jesse; you were different from the beginning. You knew what was in your interests, but you didn’t buy the religion, ever, did you?”

“I can’t say that I did.”

“The sheep,” Coldwater said contemptuously of his congregation. “It has always astonished me the number of seemingly normal human beings who will follow, even lay down their lives for, any man who shows them some leadership. Did I tell you about the abortion clinics?”

“No.”

“We’ve razed a good number of clinics in the Northwest, for no other reason than to get the congregation excited about something, and, not to mention, to incriminate a fair number of them.”

“Why abortion clinics?”

“Oh, they’re very fashionable among the faithful, you know, and they’re also wonderfully easy pickings. They attract big headlines, too, and lots of TV time. The faithful like to know that their good works are not going unnoticed.”

Coldwater put down his glass and massaged his temples. “Well, I’m a little tired; such a big evening. I think I’ll turn in.” He got to his feet.

Jesse rose with him. “I could use a good night’s sleep, myself,” he said.

Coldwater put an arm around Jesse and walked him to the front hall, then helped him into his coat. “Tell you what, why don’t you come to lunch tomorrow? We’ll break bread, drink a fine bottle of wine and talk about the future.”

“I’d like that, Jack Gene,” Jesse said, shaking the man’s hand.

Coldwater suddenly embraced Jesse. “We’re going a long way together,” he said. Then he stood in the door and watched Jesse walk toward his truck.

“Not as far as you think,” Jesse muttered to himself.