“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t. And it was too late for a Halloween party, so it must have been someone else.”
They both laughed and the tension eased some.
After a brief silence, Tony said, “Where are you going?”
Jack wondered at the question and decided to take it at face value.
“Back to New York – ay-sap.”
“I meant in a more existential sense. You seem like a bright guy. You want to do this sort of thing the rest of your life?”
Existential sense? Yeah, this guy had more going for him than it seemed at first glance. But Jack didn’t want to get into that, so he turned it back on him.
“How long have you been at it? And as for brains, you seem like you should be running an operation instead of working for one.”
He shrugged. “I’ve done my share of running things. The details drag you down after a while. I’ve found I prefer to do my job, collect my check, and be able to walk away whenever I want. No strings.”
No strings…there it was again. Cristin… now Tony. He kept running into people who didn’t want strings.
“But I’ve got a lot more mileage on me,” Tony added. “Experience informs my decisions. I’ve been there, done that, and know what I don’t want to do again. You can’t say the same. You ought to think about going back to college and–”
Jack stiffened in his seat. “Back to college? How do you know I ever started.”
Had Tony been checking into him?
Tony laughed. “Easy, easy. I haven’t been backgrounding you. It’s obvious you’ve had some higher ed. Unless you’re an autodidact. All I’m saying is that this is the time in your life when you ought to be getting drunk and laid and sleeping in class.”
“Like you said: Been there, done that, don’t want to do it again.”
“What I’m telling you is there’s a big picture out there.”
“And I want no part of it.”
“You’re sure of that? Even if you could be part of it without strings?”
Jack looked at him. “What are you getting at?”
“Just roll with me here. If you could be a mover and a shaker with no strings, would you?”
Jack didn’t have to waste even a nanosecond of thought on that. “Nope. Not interested.”
He found Tony staring at him… for too long.
“Um…” Jack pointed through the windshield. “The road?”
Tony focused ahead again, saying, “If that’s really true, you’re a rare bird. That Tears for Fears song doesn’t apply to you then?”
The reference surprised him. “You listen to rock?”
His mouth twisted. “John Lennon and I are contemporaries – or would be if some asshole hadn’t wanted to impress Jodie Foster. My generation invented rock. And let me tell you, Tears for Fears isn’t rock.”
“Yeah, well, no argument there.”
“But you didn’t answer the question.”
“Do I want to rule the world? Not even a little bit. In fact, I can’t think of anything I want less. How about you?”
He laughed. “Oh, I definitely want to rule the world. And as soon as I figure out a way, I’ll jump on it. You, on the other hand, are headed for trouble.”
His tone was light but Jack sensed a serious train chugging beneath it.
“In what way?”
“It won’t take Bertel long to get another operation up and running – rent a new warehouse, get a couple of guys to man it, contact his suppliers, and he’s in business. I mean, he’s already got his drivers and his routes. The money’s good, so you’ll keep driving for him. After a while you’ll get bored and start taking shortcuts and cutting corners, and that’ll lead to you getting caught. Then you’re in the system and your options start shrinking. Then guys like Bertel will be the only ones you can work for, because they’re the only ones who’ll have you.”
A grim scenario…but Jack considered Bertel a steppingstone, not a career – a way to build a nest egg that would free him up for the next step. Trouble was, he had no idea what that next step might be.
“Speaking from experience?” Jack said. “Was that your life story you just told me?”
Tony shook his head. “I’ve never been caught. I choose my work carefully. With Bertel my only exposure’s been when I help load the truck and drive it back to the Lonely Pine. Work a couple of hours every night, collect my generous check, and go home. The rest of the time I play an unemployed construction worker looking for work and having no luck in this bad economy.”
“Bertel is further on in years. If he quits, would you take over?”
Tony shook his head. “Uh-uh. That would mean strings – guys like you depending on me. I don’t want to depend on anyone, and I don’t want anyone depending on me.”
Jack understood perfectly, but didn’t believe a word.
Because he had seen Tony dressed as a Hasid. And that meant he had strings attached.
Who was pulling them?
2
When they pulled up to the house they found Moose waiting outside by Jack’s truck. He wore the same denim cutoff and torn black jeans. This was the first time Jack had seen his face straight on: his small eyes and lipless mouth seemed to have gravitated toward his large nose. A chrome chain swung between a belt loop and a back pocket. His skin looked fish-belly white in the sunlight.
“Tony, we need to talk,” he said as they exited the Bimmer.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Not here.”
“Okay. Let’s go inside.”
As they started to walk toward the first-floor door – the level reserved for “product” – Jack followed. Moose turned and pointed to him.
“Not you.”
Tony gave him a placating smile. “It’s okay. Be back in a minute.”
Jack faced the sun, closed his eyes, and leaned back against the Bimmer to bask. Probably wouldn’t have a chance again until spring.
After a few minutes he heard the screen door slam. Tony was walking his way, hands in pockets.
“They’ve got a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“They need two trucks for their haul and their other driver cracked up number two early this morning on his way home from a bar. They need a replacement.”
Jack saw where this was going. “Mine?”
“Yours. And you. The cops ran a check on their driver after the crash and found a warrant on him, so he’s in some local clink inland. The route’s pretty much the same as yours except their drop is in Staten Island instead of Jersey City.”
“Why didn’t they ask me?”
Tony smiled. “Because for some reason they got the idea I’m your supervisor or something.”
Yeah, Jack could see that: an older guy driving a Bimmer, a “kid” following in a truck. No brainer who’s the boss.
“They’re offering double whatever Bertel pays you.”
“Two grand?”
Tony’s smile broadened as he leaned closer. “No, three. I told them you get fifteen a run. I figure two for you and one for me. Fair?”
A few minutes ago Jack had said he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less than rule the world. Now it had just been offered to him.
“More than fair. But I think I’ll pass.”
“Why? You’re making the trip anyway.”
“I don’t want to work for Moose.”
“Why not? He was our host. It would be the courteous thing to do.”
“I’ll leave him a nice tip.”
“No, tell me: What’ve you got against him?”
Jack shrugged, not sure how to put the feelings into words. “Something in his eyes. Or maybe, something not in his eyes.”
Tony stared at him. “You mean, like a soul?”
So…Tony felt it too.
“You could put it that way.”
Tony continued to stare, then said, “You know, in the unlikely event I ever start up my own operation, you’re the first one
I’m going to bring in.”
Jack took that as a compliment, but wasn’t so sure he’d accept. Tony seemed to be playing an open hand, but Jack sensed he was hiding cards – a lot of them.
“Yeah, well, right now all I want is Moose and Reggie watching the taillights of my empty truck heading down the driveway.”
Tony grinned. “I’ll tell them.”
As he returned to the house, Jack opened the truck and reached under the driver seat for the keys. The space felt empty. He pushed the seat all the way back and leaned inside for a look.
Not there.
His neck muscles tightened. Not good… not good at all.
He moved around to the passenger side and did the same. No keys there either. And Bertel’s car phone was missing too.
“Shit.”
He was almost to the house when Reggie appeared in the doorway.
“Hey, Archie.” He might have been smiling but his face was blurred in the shadows beyond the screen. “We need to talk.”
Jack wasn’t in the mood for talk, just wanted the answer to one question.
“Where the hell are my keys and phone?”
“In here. Shouldn’t leave them outside. Might get stolen.”
Reggie backed up as Jack pulled the door open. As he stepped in he saw a blur of motion to his right and a fist rammed into his belly. As his gut exploded in agony, someone kicked him behind one of his knees, dropping him to the floor. Jack’s ham-and-cheese sub threatened to hurl but he kept it down.
As his vision cleared and he straightened, he saw Tony seated against the opposite wall, duct-taped to a chair, tape over his mouth. His eyes were angry and a trickle of blood leaked from a nostril down over the tape.
“You’re gonna drive,” Moose’s voice said from close behind Jack. “Give us any shit and we start using your old pal here for target practice.”
Jack didn’t know what to say. “He’s not my ‘pal,’” he blurted. “I barely know him.”
Tony rolled his eyes.
Okay. Poor word choice. Bad thing to say. Even though he’d said it only once, he felt like Judas.
“Yeah? Reggie, get your bow.”
Bow?
Jack twisted and looked at Moose. He held a black semiautomatic casually pointed in Jack’s direction. Its slide had a dull finish and a composite look. A Glock?
“No, wait. That’s not necessary.”
Moose’s lipless mouth widened into a shark grin. “Oh, but it is.”
Jack watched Reggie exit through a door to the right and heard him pound up a set of stairs. He looked around for a way out. A pair of narrow windows, too small to crawl through, were set high in the outer wall; a door to his left – where it went he couldn’t guess; then the door to the parking area. He noticed a double-key Yale deadbolt, an odd choice for a door with no glass within reach.
Reggie returned a few minutes later with a quiver of arrows and a massive fiberglass hunting bow that looked like it had been designed by Rube Goldberg, what with the cams and pulleys and sights and other attachments. Whatever happened to the simple English longbow?
“Reggie hunts with this baby,” Moose said. “Killed a buck at eighty yards last week. Gave me a hind quarter. I love venison.”
“Me too,” Reggie said as he pulled out an arrow and notched it on the string. He maintained his happy-go-lucky demeanor as he spoke, which made his words all the more chilling. “But you know what I love more? Shooting this thing. It can release at over three hundred feet per second. At this range I should be able to put this right through pops here.”
“Not necessary,” Jack said. “I’ll drive.”
Reggie pulled the arrow back to his ear and aimed at Tony. Jack’s bladder clenched.
“I’ll DRIVE!”
The bow gave a soft thwang! and the arrow buried itself in the wall an inch from Tony’s left ear.
“Fuckin’-ay right, you’ll drive,” Moose said. “Just so you get it straight in your head that we’re not fucking around, I’m gonna lay it all out for you plain and simple. This is an important shipment for us. We ain’t playing games, and we ain’t taking no chances. It’s a bigger load of product than we’ve ever handled and it’s gotta arrive on time. And it’s all gotta go at once. Can’t leave none behind. To move it all we need two trucks, but shitty luck left us with only one. We can’t wait till tomorrow for a replacement truck because the product has to go out tonight as soon as it comes in. So your truck is now our truck, and you are now driver number two. You got that clear in your head?”
Figuring it was best to play along, Jack nodded. “Got it.”
“Good. Now get this: You will drive half our product to its drop-off point. You will lead the way. I will follow in our truck. You will not stop along the way. You gotta piss, you bring a bottle. If you stop, I call Reggie here and he starts target practice on the old guy. Got it?”
Jack was pretty sure Tony was bristling at the “old guy” remark, but old was relative, and he probably looked old to dumbasses like Moose and Reggie. Anyway, what they were calling him was the least of Tony’s concerns right now.
“Got it.”
“Good. And along the way you will not pull anything cute like speeding or running a light or anything that’ll get you stopped. If a cop pulls you over for any reason, even if it’s not your fault, I make that call. I’ll be checking in with Reggie every half hour.”
Reggie smiled. “And if I don’t hear the right code word, I start playing make-believe. Like I’m Robin Hood and he’s the sheriff of…” He looked at Moose. “Who was that sheriff anyway?”
“Who gives a fuck?” Moose looked at Jack. “We clear on all this?”
They had him pretty well boxed.
“Crystal.”
“When the delivery is made and the product is offloaded, I call Reggie and he lets Pops go.”
Jack pushed himself to his feet. His gut still ached.
“What guarantee do I have?”
That shark grin again. “None. You’ll just have to trust us.”
Like hell, Jack thought.
If these two were half as cold-blooded as they seemed, they wouldn’t be leaving a couple of guys with grudges in their wake.
How had he let himself get boxed into this? Oh, yeah. The lure of easy money. What about the next question: How to get himself out? And Tony too.
No easy answer for that one. He’d have to play it by ear and hope that an opportunity presented itself.
“What time does this ‘product’ arrive?”
“After dark,” Moose said.
“What do we do till then?”
“ ‘We’ don’t do nothin’.” Reggie opened a door behind him. “You stay in here until we need you.”
Moose shoved him from behind and Jack entered a cramped, windowless furnace room. The door slammed closed behind him, shutting off all light. He felt along the wall until he found a switch. A single bulb flared to life overhead.
Swell.
3
Shortly after 9:30, the door reopened. Jack had spent much of the six hours in the tiny room seated on the floor with his back against the cold furnace. Good thing the heat wasn’t on or the little room would have been a toaster oven. He might have dozed once – he’d kept an eye on his watch and he seemed to experience a gap along the way.
He’d spent the first hour or so looking for a way out. With no windows, that left the door. He’d scrounged around and found a few slim scraps of metal that he tried to fashion into lock picks, but no go. He’s learned to pick locks as a kid but hadn’t tried in years. But even at the peak of his skills, these bits of steel wouldn’t get the job done.
Reggie stood outside the open door, holding what Jack was pretty sure was a Glock. Now that he was a gun owner, he’d taken an interest in them, picking up copies of Gun Digest and the tabloid Shotgun News and the like. Among the nice things about living in New York were the huge newspaper and magazine stands that sold damn near everything printed in the US along
with lots of foreign publications as well. And Reggie’s pistol looked like a Glock. Jack wasn’t well versed enough yet to identify the model but the muzzle looked about right for a 9mm.
“Product’s arriving,” Reggie said as he stepped back and waved Jack forward. “You gotta move upstairs.”
Jack stepped out and found Tony still taped to the chair. Had he been there all this time? Their eyes met. Tony’s held a mixture of angry accusation and humiliation. What was that all about?
Then Jack noticed a wet stain darkening his crotch. Poor guy had peed himself. Jeez. Couldn’t very well ask for a bathroom break with his mouth taped shut.
“What are you doing with Tony?”
“We’ll move him after we get you settled. You’re only gonna be here a coupla hours. He’s gonna be here all night.”
Reggie pointed the Glock toward a stairwell and Jack led the way up to the second floor. He was prodded into a big, unlit bedroom with an ocean view.
“You bringing Tony up now?”
Reggie grinned. “Put the two of you together? You must take us for real dumbasses.”
“Worth a try,” Jack said.
Reggie sighed. ”No, it ain’t. Look. All y’gotta do is drive, just like you was gonna do anyway. Why you making such a fucking big deal out of it?”
Because it’s not my choice, Jack thought.
But Reggie wouldn’t get that.
“Why are you threatening to make a pincushion out of Tony?”
“Not my idea, but that’s your fault. You’da taken the money and made that run, everything woulda been cool.”
Was that behind Tony’s accusing look? This was all Jack’s fault?
Uh-uh. No one was going to lay Moose and Reggie’s thuggery on Jack’s doorstep. He’d never been a part of their operation. The failure of their second truck to show up put no obligation on Jack.
“Hey,” Reggie added, his voice edging toward a whine. “You think I want to shoot him up? I don’t. But I will. Because I gotta. Count on it. That’s how important this shipment is.” He gestured to the windows. “We don’t have a good place up here to lock you up. You can get out real easy. But don’t. Your buddy will pay the price. Guaranteed. Understood?”
Crap.
“Yeah, understood.”