Джеффри Дивер - The Best American Mystery Stories 2006

Vladdy poured the last of the Jack Daniel’s that Cherry had stolen into a water glass and drank most of it. He waited until the burn developed in his throat before he dialed.

“What?” Bob answered. Vladdy pictured Bob sitting at a table in the K-Bar. He wondered if Cherry was watching.

“I have an important briefcase, full of water samples,” Vladdy said, trying to keep his voice deep and level. “I found it in your flat.”

“Who in the hell are vow? How did you get my number?”

Vladdy remembered a line from an American movie he saw at home. “I am your worst nightmare,” he said. It felt good to say it.

“Where are you from that you talk like that?” Bob asked. “How in the hell did you get into my apartment?”

Vladdy didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say.

“Damn it,” Bob said, “what do you want?”

Vladdy breathed deeply, tried to stay calm. “I want two thousand dollars for your metal briefcase, and I won’t say a word about it to anyone.”

“Two thousand?” Bob said, in a dismissive way that instantly made Vladdy wish he had asked for ten thousand, or twenty thousand. “I don’t have that much cash on me. I’ll have to get it in Cody tomorrow, at my bank. “

“Yes, that would be fine,” Vladdy said.

Silence. Thinking. Vladdy could hear something in the background, probably the television above the bar.

“Okay,” Bob said. “Meet me tomorrow night at eleven P.M. on the turnout after the tunnels on the Buffalo Bill Dam. East entrance, on the way to Cody. Don’t bring anybody with you, and don’t tell anyone about this conversation. If you do, I’ll know.”

Vladdy felt an icy hand reach down his throat and grip his bowels. This was real, after all. This was American business, and he was committed. Stay tough, he told himself.

“I have a partner,” Vladdy said. “He comes with me.”

More silence. Then a sigh. “Him only,” the man said. “No one else.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be in a dark Suburban, parked in the turnout.”

“Okay.” Vladdy knew the vehicle, of course, but he couldn’t give that away.

“If you show up with more than your partner, or if there are any other vehicles on the road, this deal is over. And I mean over in the worst possible sense. You understand?”

Vladdy paused, and the telephone nearly slipped out of his sweaty hand like a bar of soap.

“Okay,” Vladdy said. When he hung up the telephone it rattled so hard in the cradle from his hand that it took him two tries.

Vladdy and Eddie sat in silence on the couch and listened as Bob crashed around in his apartment next door. Had Vladdy left any clues next door, he wondered? Eddie looked scared and had the broken .22 pistol on his lap. After an hour, the crashing stopped. Vladdy and Eddie watched Cherry’s door, praying that Bob wouldn’t realize they were there and smash through it.

“I think we’re okay,” Vladdy said, finally. “He doesn’t know who took it.”

Vladdy kept his cheek pressed against the cold window as they left Yellowstone Park. He closed his eyes temporarily as the van rumbled through the east entrance, then opened them and noted the sign that read ENTERING SHOSHONE NATIONAL FOREST.

Eddie was still talking, still smoking. He had long ago worked his way into the front so he sat next to the driver. A second marijuana cigarette had been passed back and forth. The driver was talking about democracy versus socialism and was for the latter. Vladdy thought the driver was an idiot, an idiot who pined for a forgotten political system that had never, ever worked, and a system that Vladdy despised. But Vladdy said nothing, because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking, wouldn’t quit agreeing with the driver.

They went through three tunnels lit by orange ambient light, and Vladdy stared through the glass. The Shoshone River serpentined below them, reflecting the moonlight. They crossed it on a bridge.

“Let us off here,” Vladdy said, as they cleared the last tunnel and the reservoir sparkled beneath the moon and starlight to the right as far as he could see.

The driver slowed, then turned around in his seat. “Are you sure?” he asked. “There’s nothing out here except for the dam. It’s another half-hour to Cody and not much in between.”

“This is our place,” Vladdy said. “Thank you for the drive.”

The van braked and stopped.

“Are you sure?” the driver asked.

“Pay him, Eddie,” Vladdy said, sliding across the seat toward the door with the metal briefcase. He listened vaguely as the driver insisted he needed no payment and as Eddie tried to stuff a twenty in the driver’s pocket. Which he did, eventually, and the van pulled away en route to Cody, which was a cream-colored smudge in the distance, like an inverted half-moon against the dark eastern sky.

“What now?” Eddie asked, and Vladdy and Eddie walked along the dark shoulder of the road, crunching gravel beneath their shoes.

“Now?” Vladdy said in English, “I don’t know. You’ve got the gun in your pants, right? You may need to use it as a threat. You’ve got it, right?” Eddie did a hitch in his step, as he dug through his coat. “I got it, Vladdy,” Eddie said, “but it is small.”

Vladdy’s teeth began to chatter as they approached the pullout and he saw the Suburban. The vehicle was parked on the far side of the lot, backed up against the railing of the dam. The car was dark.

“Are you scared?” Eddie asked. He was still high.

“Just cold,” Vladdy lied.

Vladdy’s legs felt weak, and he concentrated on walking forward toward the big car.

Vladdy said, “Don’t smile at him. Look tough.”

“Tough,” Eddie repeated.

Vladdy said to Eddie, “I told you to look professional but you look like Eminem.”

“Slim Shady is my man,” Eddie whined.

At twenty yards, the headlights blinded them. Vladdy put his arm up to shield his eyes. Then the headlights went out and he heard a car door open and slam shut. He couldn’t see anything now but heard fast-moving footfalls coming across the gravel.

Vladdy’s eyes readjusted to the darkness in time to see Bob raise a pistol and shoot Eddie point-blank in the forehead, right through his stocking cap. Eddie dropped straight down as if his legs had been kicked out from under him, and he landed in a heap.

“Some fuckin’ nightmare,” Bob said, pointing the pistol at Vladdy. “Where are you boys from?”

Instinctively, Vladdy fell back. As he did so, he raised the metal briefcase and felt a shock through his hand and arm as a bullet smashed into it. On the ground, Vladdy heard a cry and realized that it had come from inside of him. He thrashed and rolled away, and Bob cursed and fired another booming shot into the dirt near Vladdy’s ear.

Vladdy leaped forward and swung the briefcase as hard as he could, and by pure chance it hit hard into Bob’s kneecaps. Bob grunted and pitched forward, nearly onto Vladdy. In the dark, Vladdy had no idea where Bob’s gun was, but he scrambled to his feet and clubbed at Bob with the briefcase.

Bob said, “Stop!” but all Vladdy could see was the muzzle flash on Eddie’s face a moment before.

“Stop! I’ve got the—” Vladdy smashed the briefcase down as hard as he could and stopped the sentence. Bob lay still.

Breathing hard, Vladdy dropped the briefcase and fell on top of Bob. He tore through Bob’s clothing and found the gun that shot Eddie. Bob moaned, and Vladdy shot him in the eye with it.

With tears streaming down his face, Vladdy buckled Eddie’s and Bob’s belts together and rolled them off of the dam. He heard the bodies thump onto some rocks and then splash into the reservoir. He threw the pistol as far as he could and it went into the water with a ploop. The briefcase followed.