They had pretty much taken the house apart and had run out of places to look. Neither King nor Hump would ever be mistaken for the next Einstein, but they had been thorough. They had run their hands along the exposed beams and joists in the attic and the basement, moved the furniture away from every wall, inspecting the plaster to make sure there were no hidden alcoves or secret little doors. They’d checked all the floorboards, pulled up the loose ones to see if there were any hidden compartments. They’d looked inside every jar, poured out every kitchen tin and poured the contents back in, and checked the toilet tanks.
“I don’t got any idea of where to look no more,” Hump said, sweat dripping from his forehead.
“Me neither, Hump. Me neither.”
“But you said your guy was sure it was here somewheres.”
“I know what I said and I know what he said.”
“We been neat about our business till now, King, but should we start breaking things up? I’m good at that, breaking shit up.”
“You are, I know it. I guess we got no choice, huh? I thought we would’ve found something by now. If we were gonna break stuff up or if I knew the old lady was gonna crap out on us, I wouldn’t’ve wasted our time putting stuff back in place. But first things first, let’s cut the old lady down and put her in her bed.”
Hump liked that. He felt bad about the old woman dying on them. He felt bad about leaving her there the way they had, propped up against the metal pole in the basement while they looked at her old love letters, touched her underthings, and emptied out her medicines. It wasn’t right to do that stuff, but they had money coming, at least five grand each, maybe a lot more.
“You think we’re gonna get all the money if we don’t find what we’re looking for?” Hump asked as he followed King down the basement steps.
“We’re gonna find it. We’re gonna find it!”
King used his pocket knife to cut through the duct tape and the old woman fell into Hump’s arms.
“She’s as light as a feather.”
“Come on, let’s get her upstairs and get back to work.”
They had her halfway up the steps when the doorbell rang, followed by insistent knocking at the front door.
“Holy crap, King. What are we gonna do?”
“You’re gonna stay here and keep the old girl company and I’m gonna see if I can tell who’s at the door. That’s what,” he said, reaching around under his jacket and grabbing the nine-millimeter he had wedged in his waistband.
At the top of the basement stairs, King hesitated, hoping whoever was at the door would just split when no one answered. He might as well have hoped to sprout wings and fly away. The bell rang again and the knocking continued. King slipped out of his shoes, put his back to the wall, and moved silently toward the vestibule.
“Mrs. Cain. Mrs. Cain, I’ve got a package for you. Mrs. Cain.”
The bell rang a third time, followed by rapping on the front window. King didn’t quite panic, but he realized that if the guy got a good look inside, they were screwed. The furniture in the parlor, like in all the rest of the rooms, had been moved, the rugs rolled back. And now with the old lady dead and without having found what they’d come for, there was no turning back if things went wrong. It wasn’t until King got to the edge of the stairs to the second floor that things really went ass end up.
“Fuck!” he screamed as he stepped on one of the porcelain shards in his stocking feet. He could feel his sock soaking through with blood.
“Mrs. Cain, are you all right? Are you all right? Should I call the police?” The delivery man’s voice was frenzied.
King, dragging his sliced foot behind him, limped quickly to the inside door, opened it, hobbled through the vestibule, undid the lock to the front door, and pulled it open just enough to get the delivery man’s attention. Then King limped quickly back and waited behind the lace-curtained vestibule door. He pulled his T-shirt up to cover his nose and mouth in case he had to confront the guy. He heard the front door open, the thud of the delivery man’s boots on the vestibule floor.
“Mrs. Cain. Mrs. — oh my God!” He’d seen the blood on the floor. “You hold on, ma’am, I’m calling—”
“Put the phone down, hero,” King said, stepping out from behind the door.
But the man in the red, white, and blue coveralls, stunned at the sight of blood on the floor and the situation, didn’t react fast enough to suit King. For the sin of slow reflexes he got the handle of the nine-millimeter to his nose, the cartilage cracking with a sickening snap. The delivery man dropped the package and his cell phone to the floor. He crashed down himself shortly thereafter. King whacked the guy in the back of the head a few times until he was sure the man was unconscious. Then King grabbed him by the back of his collar and dragged him into the house, he relocked the front door, and called to his partner.
“Hump. Leave the old lady and get up here. We got more trouble.”
“Oh, shit, King!” he said when he saw the mess in the vestibule and front hall.
“You don’t usually have a way with words, Hump, but this time you said it all.”