Drive

Chapter Nineteen

From a phone booth Driver called the number on the coupons. The phone rang and rang at the other end-after all, it was still early. Whoever finally answered was adamant, as adamant as one could be in dodgy English, that Nino’s was not open and please he would have to call back after eleven please.

“I could do that,” Driver said, “but it’s possible your boss won’t be happy when he finds you’ve kept him waiting.”

Too big a mouthful, apparently.

“It’s also possible that you could pass me along to someone whose English is a tad better.”

A homeless man went by on the street outside pushing a shopping cart piled high. Driver thought again of Sammy and his mule cart laden with things no one wanted.

A new voice came on. “Can I be of service, sir?”

“I hope so. Seems I find myself in possession of something that’s not mine.”

“And that would be…?”

“Close to a quarter of a million dollars.”

“Please hold, sir.”

Within moments a heavy, chesty voice came on the line.

“Nino here. Who the fuck’s there. Dino says you have something of mine?”

Nino and Dino? “So I have reason to believe.”

“Yeah, well, lots of people have stuff of mine. I got a lot of stuff. What was your name again?”

“I’d just as soon keep it. I’ve had it a long time.”

“Why the hell not? I don’t need no more names either.” He turned away. “I’m on the fuckin’ phone here, you can’t see that?” Then back: “So what’s the deal?”

“Recently I had some business with a man from out your way driving a Crown Vic.”

“It’s a popular car.”

“It is. What I wanted to let you know is that he won’t be doing any more business. Nor will Strong and Blanche. Or two gentlemen who checked out for the last time, though it wasn’t their room, at a Motel 6 north of Phoenix.”

“Phoenix is a hard town.”

Driver could hear the man breathing there at the end of the line.

“What are you, some kind of fuckin’ army?”

“I drive. That’s what I do. All I do.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ve gotta tell you, it’s sounding to me like sometimes you give a little extra value for the money, if you know what I mean.”

“We’re professionals. People make deals, they need to stick to them. That’s the way it works, if it’s going to work at all.”

“My old man used to say the same thing.”

“I haven’t counted, but Blanche told me there’s something over two hundred grand in the bag.”

“There damn well better be. And you’re telling me this because?”

“Because it’s your money and your bag. Say the word, both can be at your door within the hour.”

Driver heard something fizzy and sinuous, Sinatra maybe, playing in the background.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?”

“At what I do, I’m the best. This isn’t what I do.”

“I can go with that. So what do you get out of it?”

“Just that: out of it. Once the money’s in your hands, we’re even. You forget Cook and his Crown Vic, forget the goons at that Motel 6, forget we’ve ever had this conversation. No one steps up to me a week from now, or a month from now, with your regards.”

Silence beat its way down the line. Music started up again at the far end.

“What if I refuse?” Nino said.

“Why would you? You have nothing to lose and a quarter of a million to gain.”

“Good point.”

“We have a deal, then?”

“We have a deal. Within the hour…?”

“Right. Just remember what your old man said.”