Cut and Run

21

‘Is there a problem, Officer?’ Gooch said. ‘I just want to get my car and go to my meeting.’

Tell me again why you waited so long to come back,’ the officer said.

‘I ran from the restaurant when the shooting started. Headed to a friend’s house off of Westheimer. Drank a bunch. Slept real late.’ Gooch put a shake in his voice. ‘I haven’t touched a drop in five years. Last night knocked me off the wagon. But I’m okay now. Had two pots of black coffee.’ He wiped at his lip. ‘I got AA over at St Anne’s in twenty minutes, I really need to make it.’

The officer examined the license Gooch offered. It was in the name of Jim O’Connor, a license Gooch had acquired a couple of years ago for emergencies.

Gooch stood at the back of Eve’s car and rattled the Mercedes keys in his pocket. Eve had told him that the car, owned by Paul, was actually registered in the name of a company fronted by an investment broker who was in Paul’s pocket. The broker liked gambling over in Bossier City and Biloxi a great deal on long weekends, and he liked the hidden lines of credit Paul provided him even more.

The cop said, ‘One minute, Mr O’Connor,’ and headed to the patrol car.

Gooch sucked air through his teeth. He hoped that in the dives for cover and the mad run for the exits no one had seen him return fire or shoot the hostage-taker. The second gamble was that the in-the-Bellini-pocket broker would simply say, yes, Mr O’Connor is using my car, there’s no problem. Thinking that O’Connor worked for Paul and was using the car. But that broker would for sure be calling Paul as soon as he got off with the police. The Bellinis would know someone had grabbed Eve’s car from the scene. He was surprised they hadn’t yet, but they were allergic to cops, and there were several cars remaining in the lot.

The officer was taking a long time on the radio. There would be no criminal record for the policeman to access on Jim O’Connor. Gooch smiled. Finally the patrolman signed off, came back, asked Gooch for a statement of what he’d seen last night. Gooch said he’d seen the window shatter, and had run like hell with everyone else into the parking lot. He had not seen the shooters; they’d taken off.

‘And you left this really nice car sitting here?’ the cop said.

‘I thought more of saving my ass than saving the car.’ Gooch bit his lip, put on that anxious face that Whit seemed to wear so often lately. ‘It was nuts. I got to my friend’s house, started drinking, and lost myself in the bottle.’

‘Your car’s got what looks like a couple of bullet nicks in it.’

Gooch said, ‘Well, there was a lot of shooting going on. Y’all gonna get the guy who did it?’

‘He’s dead. It was on the news.’

‘I don’t watch TV much,’ Gooch said.

The policeman made a production of reinspecting his license, frowning again at the Port Leo address. He tapped it. ‘You’re a ways from home.’

‘I moved here this week to work for a company called Third Coastal Investments.’ He knew that was the name of the broker’s company. ‘I’m sure considering going back to small-town living.’

‘If you stay in Houston, you need to update your license. In thirty days.’

‘Yes, sir, I will.’

Fine. All right. Thanks, Mr O’Connor. We’ll be in touch if we need more information.’ The policeman nodded and his voice softened. ‘Good luck at your meeting. I’ve been clean eight years. You don’t want to slide.’

‘I know. One day at a time.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m gonna go to St Anne’s now. Thanks.’

Gooch drove the Mercedes past the police barricades and turned right onto Kirby. He headed away from River Oaks, toward the Southwest Freeway, toward West University Place. He watched the rearview mirror. Within four blocks, as he came to the intersection of Richmond and Kirby, a Mustang, inadequate-penis red, hovered up behind him.

‘Hello, goombah,’ Gooch said. He got out of the car, ignoring the braying honks from the cars stacked behind him. Went to the Mustang’s window, the driver behind it wide-eyed. Possibly reaching for a gun under the seat.

‘Hey,’ Gooch leaned down and yelled through the window. ‘You tell Paul and Bucks to back off, all right? And you’re gonna get the special served up last night at the Pie Shack if you follow me through this light.’

Fuck you, Mr Mustang mouthed through the window, but Gooch saw in the crinkle of his eyes that he understood. He was thirtyish, thick-armed, going gray early. Not bright-looking.

Gooch tapped on the window with one finger. ‘You I’ll deal with first. The guy last night? Once through the throat, once through the heart, once through the balls. I like the symmetry of it.’

The Mustang’s window started to go down.

‘Listen carefully, dick,’ Gooch said, ‘you shoot me, you got me dead next to a car that’s attached to Paul. Police gonna remember it for sure. They’re already asking me about Paul Bellini when I’m picking up the car. So they know. They know last night’s dead guy’s connected to him.’ The police had said nothing of the sort, but Mr Mustang couldn’t know. Let them sweat.

The Kirby light turned green. The honking behind the Mustang doubled, a big-haired brunette in a convertible Lexus leaning on her horn like the blare alone could make traffic disappear.

‘You understand the message?’ Gooch said, unfazed by the other drivers.

Mr Mustang, a molten glare in his eyes, nodded.

‘Good,’ Gooch said. Cars began to pass him, five inches away, in the other lane, a symphony of blaring horns. He reached down to his calf, hefted up his jeans cuff, pulled from a leg holster a stainless-steel knife with a wicked blade, and rammed it into the side of the Mustang’s front left tire. The air whooshed from the sidewall. Gooch got back into the Mercedes and drove through the light.

He reached for his cell phone, dialed Charlie’s house.

‘Hello?’ Eve.

‘I have your car,’ he said.

‘Good.’

‘Call Whit. I’m not being followed at the moment. I took care of the tail, but your old friends will spot him stuck in traffic soon enough, will collect him, and head back to your house. Whit should be done by now.’

‘Are you coming straight back here?’

‘Yes,’ Gooch lied. ‘I don’t normally do fetching. Getting this car back was a big risk.’

‘It got them out of the house.’

Gooch clicked off without a good-bye. Instead of continuing south he cut over on Bissonet to Shepherd, headed back toward Westheimer. Toward Eve’s house. He didn’t like the idea of Whit alone there.