Jeff Abbott - Cut and Run

‘I pull the trigger,’ Cold Smile said, ‘and you’re riding a wheelchair for the rest of your life.’

Whit held his breath. Not hard; he barely had any air left.

‘It’s not been a good day at the office,’ Cold Smile said in a low growl. ‘I want to know why you’re looking for Eve, and I want to know in the next five seconds. Five. Four. Three-’

‘She owes me money,’ Whit said. It was the first thing that came to his mind, a blast of lightning through his brain.

The gun didn’t waver from nestling against his spine. ‘For what?’

Whit’s mouth dried. ‘I had money I needed moved offshore, cleaned up.’ Harry had said his mother worked in mob finance, this was a possibility. ‘But she didn’t return my money.’

‘That bitch is freelancing now?’ Cold Smile said. ‘Turn around.’

Whit did and Cold Smile socked him dead-on in the face and Whit staggered back. He closed his hand into a fist and lurched forward but the gun’s cool barrel abruptly pressed against his forehead.

‘How much money?’ Cold Smile said.

‘What does it matter to you?’ Whit said. The guy was being too artful, too fancy in his handling of the gun, in his stance right now, like he held a sword’s tip at Whit’s throat. Enjoying it now, not being brisk and businesslike.

The door eased open behind him.

‘Room’s taken,’ Cold Smile called, not glancing back. ‘Try one down, please.’ Spicing his voice with a little friendliness.

‘But I like this room.’ Gooch slammed the door behind him. Locked it. A knock immediately followed, a young woman’s voice barely audible on the other side of the door. ‘It’s the dorks-with-guns room.’

‘Get out, man.’ Cold Smile darted a glance back at Gooch but pushed the barrel’s point deeper into Whit’s forehead.

‘I will. And I’m gonna go straight back to Detroit and have a little talk with Joe Vasco. You know him. The guy who ran the Bellinis out of Detroit.’

‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Your better half,’ Gooch said. ‘You shoot my friend, Vasco’s guys fly down from Detroit, take your stringy ass out to the bayous, and feed you to the gators a pound at a time. Shouldn’t take more than three or four days for you to die.’

‘Vasco,’ Cold Smile repeated.

‘Yeah,’ Gooch said. Cold Smile lowered the gun. Whit didn’t move. The gun wasn’t screwed into his skull now. He started breathing again.

‘What’s your name?’ Cold Smile asked.

‘What’s yours?’ Gooch said.

‘They call me Bucks,’ the guy said.

‘Bucks?’ Gooch asked, a smile on his face for the first time. ‘As in money, or as in rhymes with fucks and sucks, like you’re a prison bitch?’

‘As in money,’ Bucks said in a dead cold voice.

‘I’m Leonard.’ It was Gooch’s real first name, rarely used. ‘The guy you’re threatening is Michael.’ It was Whit’s middle name, never used.

‘And you’re from Vasco?’

‘You’re catching on quick. Is calculus your hobby?’ Gooch asked.

‘I’ll go get Paul.’

Gooch shook his head. ‘No need to rush to Paul and tell him we’re here.’

‘He doesn’t know?’

‘That’s the way Mr Vasco wants it. Ever since Tommy’s in the hospital, Vasco’s wanting to see what Paul does. Wants to make sure he’s sticking by the agreement. Staying out of Detroit. Staying out of the business. No drug dealing, no money cleaning, no illegal activities.’

Bucks frowned. ‘Whatever we’re doing in Houston is frankly none of Mr Vasco’s concern.’

‘Pull your head out of your Brooks Brothers ass, son. If we tell Mr Vasco that Paul is stepping out of bounds, getting into lines of work that aren’t his to go into, then he’ll send a few ill-tempered gentlemen to straighten you dinks out and you’ll be one unhappy, mostly dead wanna-be,’ Gooch said.

‘That’s assuming you get back to Detroit,’ Bucks said, and Whit saw the momentary fear leave the man’s face, replaced by brittle anger. Gooch had gone too far.

‘Man, cool it,’ Whit said. He glanced at Gooch. ‘You cool it, too. Let’s talk, all right?’ His face ached and the skin under his eye was already beginning to throb. He was going to have a shiner, and a sudden rage boiled at him. This guy knew his mother, saw her, knew her business. He wanted to pound his fist into Bucks’ mouth.

‘Why’d you lie about the money? Why didn’t you say you were from Vasco?’ This thought, moments late, made Bucks’ voice rise and he turned back to face Whit. Gooch’s fist slammed into the back of Bucks’ head, drove him down to the floor.

‘Because you’re nothing but an ass wiper.’ Gooch made his voice more growl than talk. ‘Because we don’t owe you an explanation. You understand me?’

Whit knelt, took Bucks’ gun from him. Now pounding rocked the door, a key fumbled in the lock. Whit placed the gun on the table, his hand near it.

Two thick-necked guys came into the room, staring at Gooch, at Whit with his clearly just-punched face, at Bucks now sitting on the floor.

‘What’s going on, Bucks?’ one asked.

‘Friends of mine,’ Bucks said, ‘playing a joke on me. Everything’s fine.’ He gave a nervous little laugh.

The two muscles looked at Gooch and Whit again.

‘Sorry I had to keep Miss O’Malley out of the room after she brought me up,’ Gooch said. ‘Part of the joke.’

The two muscles looked at Bucks.

‘Nicky, it’s fine. It’s cool. Tell Desire we’ll give her a big tip for her trouble,’ Bucks said, standing.

‘Yeah, I got a big tip for her,’ Gooch said, and now the men laughed.

‘It’s all cool. We’ll be down in a minute,’ Bucks said, and the two men backed out and shut the door behind them.

‘You see how it is?’ Bucks said. ‘I give the order, they’d kill you.’

‘I see they’d try. Detroit’s watching,’ Gooch said. ‘You remember that.’

‘So what happens if Detroit doesn’t like what they see?’ Bucks asked.

‘I wouldn’t be too loyal to Paul,’ Whit said. Bucks looked over at him again, as if for the first time. ‘We want to talk to Eve Michaels.’

Bucks tented his cheek with his tongue, made a clicking sound in his mouth. ‘She’s not around the club often.’

‘Give us a home number then. An address,’ Gooch said.

Bucks didn’t say anything for several seconds, as though chewing over his choices. ‘She’s out of town for a day or so.’

‘Do you have a cell phone number for her?’ Gooch asked.

‘No, sure don’t,’ Bucks said. ‘Call me later.’ He took a pen from his pocket; Whit could see the bulge of a cell phone inside. As Bucks jotted the number on a napkin, Whit took a step to one side.

‘One question,’ Whit said and as Bucks turned toward him Whit popped him with a right jab, below the eye, left of the nose. Then another. Hard. Bucks staggered back, fell on the floor.

‘Now we match,’ Whit said. He grabbed the gun from the table, pointed it at Bucks, and reached into the man’s coat pocket for the cell phone.

‘Hey…’ Bucks said.

‘Shut up or I’ll dig this in your forehead like you did me.’ Whit turned on the phone, found the address book, clicked through the numbers listed inside, EVE CELL was one. He committed the number to memory and dropped the phone on Bucks’ chest.

‘You did have her number,’ Whit said. ‘That’s one lie you’ve told us. You don’t get two, asshole.’

Bucks found Tasha in the dancers’ changing room, buds nestled in her ears, swaying to music in front of the mirror. He yanked out an ear bud, heard the thin thump of her song. ‘Where the hell is Paul?’

‘Up in a private room. Alone.’ She glared at him over her shoulder.