Cut and Run

19

Whit awoke on the floor of the guest bedroom. He’d crashed on a sleeping bag, a blanket over him. He had thought at first he wouldn’t sleep at all, but the exhaustion zapped him hard until he awoke with a start. Looked up to see Eve watching him from the bed, her arms wrapped around a pillow. She was sleeping in an oversized T-shirt of Charlie’s that announced LAWYERS HAVE BETTER BRIEFS and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms dug from the bottom of a bureau.

‘I haven’t watched you sleep in a very long time,’ she said. ‘Traces of your face, they’re the same as when you were a baby. It’s weird.’

‘When did you ever watch me sleep, with five other kids vying for your attention?’ He rubbed his face. His whole body hurt: his eye, his jaw, his arms, his back.

‘I always watched you, Whit, you were always special to me.’

He wished he could believe it, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. ‘Did you sleep okay?’

‘Enough to function.’ She handed him a shopping list. ‘We need the stuff on here for our project. And I need clothes.’

‘Now you’ll make me feel like a son,’ he said. ‘Running your errands.’ He put his head back down on the pillow.

‘A step at a time. I’m not cooking you breakfast. Gooch is already up and I can smell bacon.’ She rose from the bed and he saw she was small, a little bent, and there didn’t seem to be enough of her for her absence to have left such a hole in his life.

Eve prodded him with her foot, leaned down and kissed the top of his head before he could protest or stop her. ‘Get up, honey. We’ve got a real busy day.’ After a moment, he did.

Friday midmorning meant the maintenance crews hit the manicured turfs of River Oaks, and Frank Polo, fuzzy from wine and painkillers, pulled a pillow over his head to ward off the invading buzz of lawn equipment. He was vaguely aware of his hand throbbing, a belch of cheap pinot grigio souring his mouth, the absence of Eve from the bed, then he remembered everything.

Morning light slanted through the windows. Frank heard a soft voice from the den, regular, even, quiet. He padded downstairs, scratching his balls under his boxers and his half-open robe, stumbled through the living room, and flicked on the kitchen lights. The room was spotless; Eve liked a clean house. Her devotion to tidiness and detail was part of the calm precision that attracted him to her. Nothing like him, all disarray and clothes jumbled on the floor.

He noticed before he clicked on the lights that the coffee machine was already on, a pot full.

‘A setback is an opportunity,’ the soft voice said. ‘A setback is a time to reevaluate our goals, our aims, and our methods in actualizing our achievements.’ The tape player was at Bucks’ elbow and Bucks sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in his hands.

‘Sleeping beauty,’ Bucks said. ‘Good morning. I had an unpleasant night.’ He turned off the tape, more of that self-help oatmeal he swallowed day and night.

‘I bet you’re gonna have a shitty day, too.’ Frank poured coffee into his mug. ‘So how’d you sleep?’

‘The situation has changed, Frank.’

‘Changed.’

‘Nicky Lott and Terry Verdine followed two smart-asses who came by the club last night looking for Eve. They tailed the guys to the Pie Shack on Kirby. Eve shows up. She met with both of the guys, then one. Nicky, being a fucking idiot, decided the fastest way to nail Eve and make Paul happy was to blaze guns. He opened fire on Eve and the guy through the restaurant window.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frank felt his heart drop to his feet.

‘The guys fired back, they got away with Eve. Killed Nicky. Shootout’s all over the news.’ Bucks ran his hand through his hair. ‘The cops will ID Nicky fast. He has a tiny possession record but nothing but hearsay to tie him to Paul. A woman got killed, people got hurt. This was exactly what we don’t need.’

‘My God.’

‘I got Max watching the Pie Shack. Her car is still parked there. The police are all over the lot, and they’ll be running a license check on every car. They’ll ask questions. So your penance starts right now, Frank. I want you to go pick up Eve’s car.’

‘Okay.’ Frank sat. ‘How do I explain leaving it behind?’

‘Tell ’em you were at the shooting, panicked, walked home, now you’re coming back to get it.’

‘That’s a bit of a walk,’ Frank said.

‘Frank.’ Bucks remembered Chad Charming’s Thinklt, Livelt! rule 23: Patience never wears thin, it’s always in style. ‘You got the keys that fit the car, they’re not gonna question you. Tell them you heard shots, didn’t see anything, ran. Tell them you were meeting a secret girlfriend there and you didn’t want your regular woman to know about it. I don’t care. Go get the car back. And try not to steal it.’

Frank ignored the jab. ‘Fine.’

‘Have you talked to her?’ Bucks asked. ‘Truth please.’

‘I tried to call her again. I couldn’t reach her.’ Frank set down his coffee, inspected the bandage on his hand.

‘Who are these new friends of hers, Frank? She had partners in stealing this money.’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Get one.’

‘If she was planning this and cutting me out, she’s not gonna use people I can point to in five seconds,’ Frank said. ‘Does MBA stand for Moron Boy Association, Bucks?’

Bucks threw the coffee from his cup into Frank’s face.

A cry caught and died in Frank’s throat. The coffee was cool, milky, sweet. Not hot. He blinked at Bucks, who smiled and went to the counter and refilled his cup. Steam rose around his fingers.

‘Chad Channing says you should contemplate before you speak. Very sound advice, Frank. Now contemplate harder. Eve has partners. Who could they be?’

Frank went to the sink, wet a paper towel, mopped his face. ‘Anyone who wants to take us down. The other drug rings in town. Jamaicans. East Coasters. A few people connected to the New Orleans cartels. Or even our buddy Kiko.’

Bucks’ mouth twitched. ‘Does the name Whitman Mosley mean anything to you?’

Frank frowned. ‘Whitman Mosley. No. Sounds like an ad agency or a law firm.’

‘You ever hear Eve mention guys named Michael or Leonard?’

‘No.’ Frank gave Bucks a crooked smile. ‘If it’s another crime ring that’s working with Eve and they’ve stolen Paul’s investment, you’re cooked. You don’t have the men, the resources to fight.’

‘I got every guy here in Houston to fight for Paul.’

‘Didn’t they teach you economics?’ Frank said. ‘Paul has lost five million. So no money, no cocaine deal. How exactly is Paul gonna keep the cash flowing? The club doesn’t make enough for the large-scale drug purchases he wants. How’s he gonna keep the muscle for enforcement, the money to grease the necessary palms?’ Frank shook his head again. ‘You like your balls in a meat grinder?’

Bucks clicked his tongue. ‘You know, my niece, she loves your records. She has those seventies-themed parties now and then. Of course to her it’s ancient history.’

‘That’s cool,’ Frank said.

‘She’s thirteen. That age of complete cluelessness. They dress in bell-bottoms, ugly shirts, gold chains. All that junk you used to wear trying to look like a bad-ass when you looked like a clown. They call the parties trash disco.’

‘Yeah,’ Frank said. Waiting.

‘You see, to her, it’s funny,’ Bucks said. ‘How stupid the clothes were. How bad the music was. Your whole life, it’s a joke to people, Frank.’

‘And you’re what? A supernoble Bob Dylan fan, one of those “lyrics matter” music Nazis?’

‘I don’t like any music,’ Bucks said.

‘That’s what makes you a freak,’ Frank said.

‘I’m going to offer you important advice,’ Bucks said. ‘Ditch the negativity.’

‘You got that from a self-help tape, didn’t you?’

Bucks’ eyes narrowed, and Frank saw the man’s eyes shift, the ugliness gather.

‘Every time I’ve killed,’ Bucks said, ‘I’ve used a gun. But Chad Channing says you need to expand your skill range, to meet new challenges. So if I kill you, Frank, I’m not using a gun. I’m beating you to death. First your kidneys, your major organs. Then your arms, your legs. Your throat. I’ll save your face for last.’ Bucks took a calming breath. ‘Her computer. Where is it?’

‘Upstairs.’ Frank’s voice was weak.

Bucks’ cell phone rang. ‘Yeah?’ he said. A pause, then naked shock on Bucks’ face.

‘All right,’ Bucks said. ‘Follow him if they let him have the car. Call me right back.’ He made his hand into a revolver, snapped fingers at Frank. ‘You got one minute to get your pants on and be out in my car. Some dink’s picking up Eve’s Mercedes.’

Frank ran. Bucks hurried out to his Jaguar and in thirty seconds Frank ran back out, pulling a shirt on, the pants not even zipped up all the way before he jumped in the car. Bucks backed the Jag out of the driveway, went past River Oaks Park, headed toward Kirby.

‘Who’s the guy? One of her partners?’ Frank asked, breathless.

‘Better be that son of a bitch that punched me,’ Bucks said under his breath.

‘I thought you fell into a railing,’ Frank said.