Elmore Leonard - Pagan Babies

"Get in the fuckin car, will you?"

The Mutt got in and Johnny took off before the door was closed, Johnny looking at the dark, dead street in his rearview mirror, nothing coming behind them. He said, "Jesus Christ, who was the other guy?"

"I never seen him before," the Mutt said, "some fella. He's the first one I done I didn't know." And said, "No, I take that back. I didn't know the Chaldean I did, the fella I told you ran a book? I never knew his name."

"What'd you take the gun for, wasting time like that?"

The Mutt held up a.38 with a short barrel in his right hand. "Mr.

Moraco gimme this snubby saying it's loaded, but they's only five bullets in it. I asked him did he have any more. He says if I needed more'n five shots I was the wrong guy for the job and should give him his money back. I said to him, 'Yeah, but I have to use some of 'em now,' and shot him in the head. Then I had to shoot the other fella and that left only one load, see, for the next job. So I was hoping the driver had a gun on him and he did, this one, a automatic."

"That's a Glock," Johnny said, "you got more 'n you need in there, like fifteen shots."

"Okay, Randy said get on Seventy-five and take it north to Big Beaver. You know where it's at?"

"Yeah, it's like Sixteen Mile Road. Then what?"

"Take a left on over to Woodward. I got to look at the directions for the rest."

"We're going out to Bloomfield Hills?"

"Yeah, he's staying out there with his brother."

Johnny braked, hit the pedal hard, rubber screamed on the pavement, the Mutt threw his hands out holding the guns, his hands hit the glove box and he dropped both of the guns. Johnny held on to the steering wheel looking at the Mutt bent over feeling around on the floor.

"Terry Dunn's the hit?"

The Mutt, still down there, said, "Yeah, the priest. Turn the light on."

"You can't do Terry, he's a friend of mine."

The Mutt came up holding one of the guns, the snubby, saying,

"Hey, I can't help it, I got paid to do him."

"He's my friend, Mutt," Johnny looking straight ahead now, past his knuckles on the steering wheel to traffic going both ways on Jefferson Avenue, maybe a hundred feet away. He said, "Jesus Christ," shaking his head.

The Mutt said, "You driving me or not?"

"You can't do this one, Mutt. Pass on it he's leaving anyway, going back to Africa."

"You driving me or not?"

"No, I'm not driving you-you crazy?"

"Then gimme my money back."

"Well, shit, I drove you this far."

The Mutt put the gun on him. "Gimme my money back."

Johnny got the wad out of his side coat pocket and handed it over.

The Mutt took it still pointing the gun at him, Johnny watching him now, watching the gun, the guy making up his mind, Christ, and right on the edge of what he was going to do. Johnny slipped his hand from the steering wheel, the left one, and laid it on the door handle. He said, "Okay, then the deal's off, you got your money… You find your other gun? Look under the seat."

The Mutt reached down between his legs, head bent, and Johnny shoved against the door, going out as it swung open and the window shattered with the sound of that.38 going off inside the car and Johnny was running back down the street into the dark, thanking Jesus, Mary and Joseph it was the snubby the Mutt picked up off the floor, one shot left in it, and not the other one.

By the time the Mutt had the Glock in his hand his ears were ringing, he couldn't hear nothing, he couldn't see nothing looking through the rear window at the dark street back there. No sign of Johnny, so no sense in chasing after him. What he should do, the Mutt decided, was get on the freeway and head north. Get to the priest before Johnny called him up and said he was coming.

VlTO BROUGHT TERRY INSIDE. HE said to a young guy in sunglasses standing in the hall, "Put your car around back." He said to Terry, "Wait in there."

The living room. Debbie turned from the fireplace as he went over to her. "You been here long?"

"A few minutes. Tony stuck his head in and said hi."

"He did?"

"I was surprised, too. He said, 'Be with you soon as the photographer gets set up.'"

"We're gonna have a ceremony, huh, the presenting of the check?"

Debbie's gaze drifted off. "What do you think of the 0ecor? Nothing's been changed or moved in forty years. Fake logs in the fireplace."

Terry put his finger to his lips and Debbie hunched her shoulders and made a face. Terry stepped in close. "The room could be wired.

I mean by Tony, so he can hear what people think of his house. They don't like it, he has 'em whacked."

"It's lovely," Debbie said out loud. "They have some beautiful pieces." Then dropped her voice. "Like my grandmother's place."

"Mary Pat wanted to know if you liked their house. I told her you loved it. Then she asked, did I think you'd stand by me if I fucked up.

Would you?"

"What kind of a question is that? Of course I would. But how can we luck up? We've got it made."

"That's what I told her."

"She guessed about you?"

"She knew. She said for whatever the reasons guys become priests, I don't fit any of 'em. She called Fran and told him. He didn't get home before I left, so I haven't talked to him yet." Terry said, "On the way here," and paused to glance at the door.

"What?"

"Vito asked when I was going back to Africa. I said I think pretty soon, and he said, 'I think so, too.'"

"Yeah…?"

"Like they're gonna make sure I go back. I told Vito I flew out of Congo-Zaire with a guy who smuggles in guns. Vito wanted to know if there was any money in it. I explained to him I got the hop to Mombasa, and then bought one-way tickets after that 'cause I was low on money. So I don't have a return ticket back. And Vito said don't worry about it."

"What's that mean?"

"What I just told you, they're gonna make sure I go back and spend the money on the orphans." He watched Debbie thinking about it.

She said, "They're not gonna send a guy with you, are they? We could meet somewhere like Paris-why not? And play it from there."

"Yeah, we could."

Vito appeared in the doorway motioning to them. They crossed the front hall with him to Tony Amilia's study.

Debbie looked at the ornate seventeenth-century desk-Oh, my God--and gave the mob boss a perky smile. She said, "Mr. Amilia, I can't tell you how much we appreciate what you're doing."

Tony was standing now, wearing a dark suit and tie for the photograph.

He said, "We're ready, let's get it done," and turned to the photographer testing his strobe, bouncing the light off a white umbrella on a stand. He looked over and said, "Hi, I'm Joe Vaughn," and edged toward them to shake hands, a young guy in his thirties, Tony Amilia's height; he seemed pleasant but maybe a little nervous. He said, "Father, if I could get you and Mr. Amilia to stand right against that wall-"

Debbie moved aside. She watched Joe place them in front of a commemorative plaque mounted on the wall:

The University of Detroit Mercy honors Anthony Amilia as a patron member of the Ignatian Circle in recognition of his generous financial support and dedication to higher education in the Jesuit and Mercy traditions.

"You see this?" Tony said to Debbie. "I went there when it was just U of D, before they went in with this other college and tacked the Mercy on. I don't think it helps the basketball team, you're U of D Mercy Titans. I was there they played football, Oklahoma, Kentucky, some good teams." He looked at the plaque again. "I want it to be part of the picture, show I do this kind of thing and it's not fake photography. Joe'll give it to the News and the Free Press and they'll run it. Joe takes my family pictures, different events, birthdays."