Black Joint Point

34

‘As a kidnapper goes, you’re okay,’ Stoney said. ‘Jesus, at least the food’s tasty.’ He had his nerve back once he saw that Gooch wasn’t going to take a pair of pliers or a blowtorch to his feet or his balls. Right now they were eating Chinese takeout, sitting at a metal desk in the back of the warehouse.

After they had driven out of Port Leo, the truck ambling along, Stoney still crouched on the floorboards, Gooch had said, ‘Your choices are two. You either help me, or you end up dead in the Gulf.’

‘Tough call. I’ll help you,’ Stoney said from the floorboard of the car.

‘I expect complete honesty. I don’t get it, you’re dead. You understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘First chance for honesty. Did you kill Patch Gilbert and Thuy Tran?’

‘No. I didn’t.’ Thank God, he could say that and be honest.

‘Do you know who did?’

‘Yeah. Alex.’ A pause. ‘No one could have stopped him.’

‘A person of conscience would have stopped him, but we won’t judge you on your obvious deficiencies,’ Gooch said.

‘You’re right. I didn’t. But it wasn’t planned. They weren’t supposed to be there.’ Give a little ground, he thought. Dealing with Gooch was a negotiation, not so different from the deals he’d cut when he worked in venture capital. He thought suddenly that, yes, he could handle this.

‘How comforting. How deep in is Lucy Gilbert?’

‘She knew we were getting the treasure off Patch’s land because he refused to sell to me. I offered him too much for his land; he checked on me, found out I was into treasure hunting and he started wondering if maybe there was something valuable hidden on his land, what with me offering a price I thought he’d never say no to. He made the connection about Laffite, although he didn’t have any proof. It just dug his heels in that he wouldn’t sell. We’d used metal detectors to find the cache on his land. But there was no dealing with him, so I found out Lucy Gilbert needed money, approached her. She was going to sell her acreage to us and let us rebury it on her land.’

‘Alex wanted to rebury it?’

‘Not anymore. Maybe he never did. He gets a cut. I get the rest.’

‘You,’ said Gooch, ‘are a fucking piece of work, man.’

‘It seemed like a good idea at the time. Everyone would have been happy, no one hurt.’

‘Yeah, if Patch got his hundred thou together and conducted a legitimate dig, you or Alex would have had to kill him anyway, right?’

‘No,’ Stoney said quietly. ‘No.’

‘Jimmy Bird?’

‘He helped us. Alex shut him up.’ He prayed Gooch wouldn’t ask if he’d killed Danny Laffite. Maybe he would just assume Alex did.

‘You need a new hobby,’ Gooch said. ‘Where’s a place you and me can go and not be bothered?’

‘What, I get to pick my place of execution?’

‘I’m not killing you. I want a place where you and I can go and call Alex, set up a negotiation with him so I can kill him.’

‘You’re going to kill him?’

‘The chances are fairly good,’ Gooch said. ‘I don’t like him.’

‘Why don’t you just call the police?’

‘They like courtrooms. Those take time. I’m taking a simple, blunt approach to a complicated situation. It’s a public service.’

Stoney took a deep breath. Maybe this would work. Get Gooch to lure in Alex someplace private. Gooch could kill Alex. Then he could cut a deal with Gooch. Or maybe get rid of Gooch. He was afraid of Gooch but there was a bit too much cockiness in the big guy, and maybe he underestimated Stoney.

He thought of blowing off Danny’s head and his confidence returned.

‘You afraid of this Alex?’ Gooch asked.

Stoney was silent.

‘You say he’s got the treasure.’

‘He says he does. Or he’s lied and it’s still in the storage unit over in Laurel Point. But knowing Alex, he’s definitely moved it. So he and I are at a stalemate.’

‘Where’s the Devil’s Eye?’

Stoney took a deep breath. Now he needed to lie; he was going to lie because that emerald wasn’t up for negotiation; it was his. ‘I hid it on my property. Buried it deep in a flower bed, where the earth was already turned. It’s safe. Alex wants it bad.’

‘We’ll use that as our bait then.’

‘If you want a good place to talk to him,’ Stoney said, ‘I got one. I own a couple of warehouses down at the port in Corpus Christi. It’s quiet down there. Alex could meet us there.’

‘Stoney?’

‘Yeah?’

‘No tricks. It’s a death sentence.’

‘So what happens to me after you kill Alex?’

‘How much are you worth, Stoney?’ Gooch said.

Finally. Money. The universal language. Gooch could be bought; this was a sudden, warm comfort. ‘About two million, I guess.’

‘I can think of any number of local charities who need about a two-million-dollar donation.’

His gut tightened. ‘That’s extortion.’

‘Fund-raising. You can rebuild your fortune. But you let people die. There’s a price to pay for that. You can pick: prison, poverty, or pine.’

‘Pine?’

‘As in box, buddy.’

‘I would pick poverty, then,’ Stoney said carefully.

And so they had crossed the high Harbor Bridge in Corpus, the port to their right, the retired aircraft carrier USS Lexington docked to their left, grabbed takeout Chinese in downtown Corpus. The warehouse, in the heart of the port of Corpus Christi, was quiet on a Saturday, the streets deserted, the businesses mostly closed. Stoney unlocked the door with an electronic code. The warehouse was big but cluttered, a maze of tall boxes and crates and wrapped pallets. And now they sat, finishing the Chinese at a metal desk.

‘What do you keep here?’ Gooch asked around a mouthful of garlic chicken.

‘One of my companies buys up furniture and equipment from failed businesses, sells it at discount.’ Stoney shoveled in moo shu pork; he wasn’t sure when he’d get to eat again.

‘You’re just a full-time vulture, aren’t you?’

‘I am sorry about your friends. I am.’

‘Don’t worry. You will be.’

Stoney ignored him. Eating the last of his moo shu, he searched his memory for any weapons that might be in the warehouse. He couldn’t remember whether the old foreman kept a gun in the desk. He slid the metal drawer open a bit; the drawer was loose, came out too quick. No gun, just pencils and Post-it notes and a thin little flask of Crown Royal. He pushed the drawer back but it didn’t quite want to go.

That drawer would come right out in your hands, Stoney thought. Heavy. Metal. What do you know? He nudged the drawer back into place.

Gooch stood a ways off, talking on a cell phone, calling to Stoney if he were happy. Yeah, ‘I’m delirious with joy, he wanted to answer but he played along, said he was happy, nodded. The room echoed slightly with their voices.

Gooch said, ‘Let’s discuss how we get your friend Alex.’

A freaking useless wild-goose chase, Alex thought.

He had been following the Honorable Whit Mosley from the courthouse square. Alex earlier ditched the beige van in the Port Leo Wal-Mart parking lot, and walked along the rows of cars until he saw keys dangling in a Ford Taurus, windows slightly lowered to dissipate the midday heat. A bumper sticker announced CARPENTERS HAVE BETTER WOOD. He drove the Taurus to a quiet apartment complex, quickly but calmly switched license plates with a lonely little red Hyundai at the back of the lot, tore off the offending bumper sticker, and drove to a Dairy Queen for a soda and a burger. There he found Whit’s address in a local phone book and headed straight for the big Victorian house, thinking, I’ll just take him here. His buddy took Stoney. I’ll take him.

The woman who answered the door was blond and pretty in a melt-your-knees way and Alex thought, Or I’ll just take you, honey.

‘Hi, I’m looking for Judge Mosley.’

‘His place is out back. The guest house,’ the woman said. She looked to be a little younger than Whit, blue eyes wide enough to drown in, and her noticeable accent sounded funny. Russian, maybe. ‘But he’s not here right now. I’m his stepmother, Irina. May I help you?’

Stepmother? Jesus. He wished his dad had bothered to remarry. ‘Well, um, ma’am, I had information for him on a case. It’s kind of private.’

‘Ah. He was here but went to the courthouse. His office is on the first floor. If the building’s not open you could knock on his window. Fifth window on the left from the entrance. If he’s not there he’s probably with his girlfriend.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Alex let Irina Mosley live and headed for the courthouse. He waited for forty minutes, running the AC in the Taurus until he saw Whit Mosley come out of the courthouse, run – in this heat, running – to a white Ford Explorer and get in and roar off. He pulled out after him, staying two cars back, blending in with the busy summer weekend traffic.

The judge had driven past the old marina, an old, for-sale television studio, the high school auditorium. Like he was checking out real estate to buy. Following him was becoming more difficult if not impossible. He was looking for something and he wasn’t getting out of his car where Alex could grab him and run. He was hanging so far back he was not always keeping Whit Mosley in sight, worried he would be noticed, and finally the judge turned around and drove through Port Leo and north toward Black Jack Point. Alex followed.

Next to him on the car seat, his cell phone rang. Alex kept his eye on Whit’s car. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, asshole,’ Gooch said. ‘Want to deal?’