Jeff Abbott - Cut and Run

‘Bucks worked with the three guys who got killed, and I’m wondering if he knew details that they knew. But he doesn’t know the information’s dangerous, you see, he wouldn’t necessarily know that the Bellinis were involved in the deaths.’ It was a neat little theory, constructed out of nothing, but she wondered if it would resonate with the young woman. A complete lie that had a terrible, recognizable possibility to it.

Robin frowned, the silence drawing out, and then a key slid into the front door.

‘He’s home,’ Robin said. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

‘They shot me up,’ Gooch said. ‘To keep me quiet, then to get me talking. My arms feel like stone right now and a while back I had a conversation with Mahatma Gandhi. I’m pretty useless.’ He opened his eyes for a moment, closed them. He lay on the couch in Charlie’s house. ‘There’s a spiderweb up there Charlie needs to clean. Or am I hallucinating?’

‘It’s a web,’ Whit said. ‘I’m not leaving you again.’

‘You didn’t leave me, I got caught. I was deeply moronic. If it ain’t too much to ask, could you check and see if I still have both my balls?’

‘You’re not missing anything.’ But Gooch had been beaten, roughed up badly, blood dried on his lips and ears, and indigo bruises on his torso, along the tender skin that shielded kidneys. A horrible contusion marked the back of his head, under the hair, a hard knot. His skin was clammy, a connect-the-dots spiral of injection points along his arm, and Whit’s fear for him turned into a stone-cold rage.

‘I’m taking you to a doctor,’ Whit said.

‘No. What am I gonna say, I got attacked by pharmacists?’ Gooch blinked. ‘I’m strong. I can process it out. Man, I got shot in the head, sort of, and I’m okay.’

‘No,’ Whit said. ‘Doctor. Now.’

‘No,’ Gooch said. ‘Info. Now. Then doctor.’ He closed his eyes.

‘Kiko has Eve,’ Whit said. ‘Bucks works for him now.’

‘And someone else is on their side. Whoever killed Paul.’ Gooch opened his eyes, blinked once, twice, watched Whit.

‘That could have been Bucks. He finds out about the meeting between us and Bucks takes Paul out.’

‘And then Bucks steps into command,’ Gooch said. ‘Command of increasingly little.’

‘So how do I get my mom back, Gooch?’

‘We can’t assume she’s still alive, Whitman.’

‘Say she is.’

Gooch looked at him. ‘You’re the brother I never had, Whit. I love you, man, if that doesn’t sound stupid.’

‘You’re a doped-up idiot.’

‘Ask yourself if it’s time to walk away,’ Gooch said in a quiet voice.

‘No.’

‘Kiko will find out Eve doesn’t know where the money is, then he’ll kill her,’ Gooch said. ‘Maybe what’s left of the Bellini ring and Kiko’s people shoot it out. Kiko can find other buyers in Houston, given time, or sell it himself. This doesn’t have a good ending.’

‘I can’t just let her die.’

‘Then we call the police.’

‘We don’t know where she’s being held,’ Whit said. ‘Even so, do I save her so she can spend her life in prison for money laundering and God knows what else?’

‘Man, straighten it out in your head,’ Gooch said. ‘You can’t save her.’

‘I’m taking you to a hospital. You need to be checked.’

‘Forget it.’

‘I’m serious, Gooch, you’re out of the game,’ Whit said.

‘I’m okay.’

‘They could have pumped you full of Clorox, man.’

‘In which case the blood froth would be a bad sign.’ Gooch sat up, blinked. ‘I’ll be okay. What do you want to do?’

‘I want you to go back to Port Leo.’

‘No way.’

‘This isn’t your fight,’ Whit said.

‘They kidnap me, beat me, drug me. Played Frank Polo music while they did it to drown out any screaming. Made it my fight more than yours.’ Gooch attempted a smile.

‘Brace yourself,’ Whit said. ‘If you come with me, you’re gonna hear Frank’s voice at least one more time.’

Kiko Grace cut into the fat stack of pancakes, shoveled them into his mouth, and pointed the fork at Eve’s untouched plate. ‘You don’t have much appetite, I guess,’ he said. ‘Shame. This is genuine Vermont maple syrup.’

‘I’m dieting,’ she said in a very quiet voice, through her bruised and cut lips.

He chewed. ‘You’re skinny already. Pancakes are good for the soul.’ He glanced over at Jose, rinsing a skillet in the sink. ‘Isn’t that right, Jose?’

‘Comfort me with apples,’ Jose said, ‘for I am sick of love.’

‘Your boy Willie S didn’t say that,’ Kiko said. ‘That’s in the Bible.’

‘You getting smarter every day, boss,’ Jose said.

Kiko pushed her plate of pancakes a little closer to Eve. ‘Come on, it’s soft food. Jose made it special for you.’

‘I don’t want to eat with you,’ Eve said. She was handcuffed by her left arm to the chair, sitting up for the first time since they had brought her to the condo.

‘Your loss. These are awesome.’ Kiko dug back into the stack of blueberry pancakes, apparently taking no offense.

That afternoon Jose had come into the room they stashed her in, gently climbed on top of her, asked her where the money was. She said she didn’t know. He produced a pair of pliers from a back pocket and asked her again. She said she didn’t know. So he pried open her jaw, worked the pliers onto a back tooth and tried to pull it out. It broke and the pain lanced her jaw, blinded her thoughts like he’d poured in hot coals. She screamed. He put the shattered tooth in his pocket and asked again. She begged, told him she really didn’t know. Her tongue probed at where the tooth had been. He climbed back on her, worked the pliers back in and she fought to keep from vomiting. Crack. He broke another back tooth, lacerating her gums; she sobbed, spraying saliva and blood, and he thought she spat on him. Jose slammed the pliers into her jaw and mouth, tearing her lips, knocking out two side teeth. She screamed that she still didn’t know where it was. Then he hit her with his fist, four deep blows, and she blacked out.

She woke up to the awful, sour taste of blood, wretched pain in her jaw, and the jagged stumps of teeth along her gums.

Then Jose had come in, removed the handcuffs, let her use the bathroom in privacy. Her jaw and face looked like she’d gone nine rounds in a boxing ring. He let her wash her face with a bar of lavender soap he had unwrapped from delicate paper. The bar smelled wonderful and she nearly wept, thinking of Whit and him asking about the gardenia soap she used when he was little. Jose took her to Kiko’s table, blindfold off, which she could not consider a good sign, and pushed her down to eat. The clock said it was close to eleven; night held itself against the windows.

‘You know what I want?’ Kiko asked.

‘What?’ she said, watching him chew blueberry pancakes.

‘Happy wife. A cure for cancer. Marlins back in the World Series,’ Kiko said.

‘No, think big. Chicago,’ Jose said from the kitchen. He wasn’t eating, but he stood at the counter, drinking a glass of milk.

‘Your mouth hurting?’ Kiko asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Jose, get the lady a pain pill,’ Kiko said. Jose brought her a pill, a glass of water. She palmed it and Kiko said, ‘Really, it’s okay, we aren’t going to poison you.’ She swallowed the tablet, the water, hating herself for taking anything from him but God her mouth hurt bad.

‘I know a guy. He really digs older ladies. Really.’ Kiko mopped a bit of pancake through the maple syrup. ‘He’s got unresolved mother issues, Norman Bates-level nutzoid, and that’s a bitchin’ hard-on that don’t fade. Therapy can’t make a dint in this bad-ass. You don’t help me, I give you to him. Actually, I sell you to him.’ He chewed, sipped at coffee. ‘He’ll fuck you no less than a dozen times the first day. Everywhere. Then he’ll turn mean, get out the knife. We got these Albanian bosses trying to move south from New York, horn in. One of ’em had a wife. We grabbed her, sold her to my friend. Let him have her for three days. She lost the ability to speak. I put a bullet in her head. Seemed the kind thing to do.’