Ken Bruen - The Max

In the car, Rufus was going on, telling her how great it was to be in the “outside” again and how the first thing he wanted to do was go see his mama in Syracuse. Angela was starting to zone out when she heard the word money.

Rabbit ears up, she echoed, “Money?”

“Yeah,” Rufus said, “from the job I pulled ’fore they sent my ass to Attica. Me an’ my crew we robbed a bank and shit. Got two hundred somethin’ thousand dollars, but they never found it ’cause I buried it in my mama’s backyard, that’s why. So when I get home, first thing I’m gonna do after I kiss my mama hello and eat some a her fine apple pie is I’m gonna dig up that money, then I’m gonna go off, live in Mexico.”

Suddenly Angela saw Rufus in a new light. He was no longer a scary, dangerous escaped convict who might rape and kill her. Now he was the sweet mama’s boy with two hundred grand in his backyard who was going to be her ticket to her new life. And, besides, she’d always liked black guys. Okay, not more than any other type, but not less either, and he was a big strong guy, he could protect her; and despite whatever awful things he might have done to wind up in prison, compared to some of the other men she’d dated he was practically a saint.

She wanted to make sure he knew she was available and interested. So she said, “Just so you know, I’m just here, helping Max out, for old time’s sake. We’re not together or anything like that.”

She could tell Rufus wanted her badly. Jaysus, it looked like his dick was about to burst though his pants.

He said, “Yo, that’s good, cause I like you and shit, yo. I think you fine. I never seen a set a titties on a white woman before like the ones you got. You got big ol’ black titties, know what I’m sayin’? They kinda like my gran’mas. Yo, I don’t mean I been lookin’ at my gran’ma’s titties an’ shit, but you know what I’m sayin’.”

Angela knew there had to be a compliment in there somewhere and said, “Thank you, I’m so flattered.”

Rufus continued, “But the way it is, yo’, I don’ wanna move in on the boss’s action, know what I’m sayin’? I know how much the boss love your titties too. ’Fore we broke out, every night he was goin’ on ’bout your titties, goin’, Wait till you see my bitch’s titties. I ain’t callin’ you bitch, that what The… A.X. be callin’ you.

He be goin’, You’re gonna love my bitch’s titties, they so big, they’re the best titties you ever seen. An’ wanna know somethin’? Muthafucka was right.”

Angela, thinking about that money, how it could change her fucking life, said, “Don’t worry about Max. If you want my titties they’re all yours.”

They pulled into the lot next to the 7-Eleven.

Rufus cut the engine, said, “Mind if I kiss you? Been a long time since I kissed a woman. Talkin’ about a natural-born woman, know what I’m sayin’?”

Angela batted her eyelashes, went, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Wow, Rufus knew how to kiss! He was tender and slow and he really knew how to use that big, long tongue of his. Was Angela imagining it or was she feeling a serious spark between them? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed something as simple as a kiss with man.

There was no doubt what she had to do: Ditch Max and go with Rufus. Max was broke anyway, so what use was he? And she had a feeling this Rufus thing had legs, it was the real deal.

Rufus waited in the car. Before Angela left he said, “I’ll be missin’ yo ass, baby.” He was such a sweet man, so thoughtful.

Angela stocked up on all the food Max had instructed her to buy: Yodels, Ring Dings, Fritos, Pop Tarts, lots of Slim Jims, etc. As she was paying at the register, she noticed a dark blue car pull up in the parking lot out front and just idle there. She didn’t think much of it, though, just collected her change from the guy at the counter and wished him a good night.

She was imagining life in Mexico, as Mrs. Rufus, when she stepped outside and noticed the guy walking toward her through the shadowy lot. She couldn’t see his face well but, fuck, there was no doubt he was Greek, and he looked familiar somehow. Then he passed under a lamppost and she saw why he looked familiar. He was a dead ringer for Georgios. She remembered the woman back in Santorini, vowing vengeance for Georgios’ murder, and she knew this had to be connected. A voice inside her head was saying, Oh, come on, stop with the paranoia, you’re starting to sound like Max. The Greek network for tracking people down is good, but it couldn’t be this fookin’ good.

But she knew that little voice was fooking wrong as soon as she saw the knife in the guy’s hand. He was coming at her, baring his teeth, and somewhere in the distance she heard a woman shriek. The man was almost on her, and he was saying something – it sounded like “she-devil.”

She managed to reach into her handbag, grab the gun. Before the guy could reach her she whipped the gun out and fired a shot, hitting him right in his goddamn face.

Then she ran, past the guy’s idling car, trying to get to Rufus. She didn’t make it. She had her hand on the door when she felt an intense pain ripping through her chest. The next moment she was on the ground, lying on her stomach with her cheek on the pavement. She saw a blurry image of a guy leaning out the open door of the idling car, holding a gun. It was Sebastian, that bastard.

Her last vision was of Sebastian, smiling, blowing spoke away from the barrel of the gun. She couldn’t believe it. Of all the guys who could’ve done her in, it had to be that useless fookin’ wuss? Talk about last laughs. That God, he had some fucking sense of humor.

Sebastian was getting a tad cranky, just how long were they going to follow this bloody car? They’d dropped back when Yanni had realized they’d been spotted, but then had caught up with Angela again a few miles further on, and as far as they could tell, no one in Angela’s car had noticed them since.

He had another shot of gin and realized he needed a piss and bad. Paula, awake now in the back seat, was scribbling notes – didn’t that make her sick, writing in a moving car like that? He hefted the Walther in his hands and by golly it was true, the gun maketh the man. That and a Savile Row suit, carnation in the buttonhole, of course. The car in front finally showed brake lights and Yanni stopped, cut the engine. They could see a trailer park, and Sebastian thought, A rather shabby one, my dear.

Darkness was coming but they could see Angela, the Fisher chappie, some brooding-looking white guy in a combat jacket, and the mammoth black guy. Yanni raised his gun and hissed, “Now you die, you whore.”

Sebastian could hear Paula take a deep breath and he put his hand on Yanni’s arm, a very risky gesture, and said, “Steady on, old bean, you do it now, it’s too quick, she doesn’t get to feel it – and most importantly we don’t get any money.”

Yanni withdrew the gun, muttering a string of obscenities. Sebastian could swear his own beloved Mummy was in there.

Paula said, “I didn’t know there was going to be, like, you know, shooting and stuff.”

Yanni turned to her, spat on the seat, said, “Shut your mouth, you harlot.”

Sebastian thought that was more than a little rude and really, wasn’t it crossing the line? He began to wonder if ol’ Yanni had just the tiniest issue with women.

The trailer door opened and Angela and the black chappie came out, got in the car and took off.