Jeff Abbott: Cut and Run

But saving Eve, maybe that wouldn’t work. All this was going to do was to get Bucks killed and Whit caught and maybe dead. Because that was his deal with Jose. Trade Whit and Bucks for Eve.

That was okay. Because if Jose won, Bucks and Whit were dead, and if Bucks and Whit won, they’d see Jose had no money. But they wouldn’t, couldn’t blame Frank. Bucks would still have to kill Whit. And Frank would kill Bucks, do it all in front of Eve so she’d think he’d avenged her son’s death. That’d be good.

Now he was halfway to free. Free, if he didn’t dwell on Richard Doyle begging him not to shoot, saying he was a father; didn’t think about the PI giving him a glare of such defiant bravery Frank almost couldn’t pull the trigger, didn’t remember how he’d wanted to vomit after he’d killed them, then how he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs as he drove away with five million in cash, knowing he and Eve would finally be on their way.

The plan hadn’t worked out exactly right, but it was going to work out tonight if he didn’t lose his nerve.

He watched the back of Whit’s head. Even the guy’s head reminded him of Eve, that slight tilt of it when he listened. Eve could never know he was behind her son’s death. He’d comfort her when this was done, take her shopping, get her a puppy, whatever she wanted.

Frank started to hum his favorite of his hits, ‘When You Walk Away,’ thinking that Bucks and Whit, each trying to out-macho the other in the face of what was coming, weren’t doing nearly a good enough job watching their backs.

A few cars streamed past them on the mighty highways, constellations of lights spread across the coastal plains bleared by fog and mist.

‘At another point in our lives, Whit,’ Bucks said, ‘we might have been friends.’ Bucks drove easily, fingertips barely on the wheel of the Jag. The night traffic was intermittent along the 610 Loop. Bucks had a tape playing in the console, but it wasn’t music. A low, thin, cajoling voice of a man on the tape: ‘… and when you visualize your goal, you actualize your goal. That’s how you make the life you dream

…’ – dramatic pause – ‘… the life you lead.’

Frank sat in the back seat. Mad about coming, scared, Whit thought, but making a real effort not to show it. Whit glanced back at Frank. He hummed, gazing into the night. Gave Whit a wan smile.

‘Friends. Yes. Perhaps as babies,’ Whit said.

‘How’s Gooch?’ Bucks asked.

‘Better.’

‘Him I like,’ Bucks said. ‘I could’ve used about a dozen of him with Paul. Kiko wouldn’t have messed with us then.’

‘But Kiko had you on his side,’ Whit said. ‘What else did he need?’

‘That was an extremely temporary arrangement,’ Bucks said.

‘You betrayed your best friend,’ Whit said. ‘You won’t have a qualm about shooting me and Frank and Eve if this rescue works out. So understand this. I took precautions. A lot of them before I stepped into the snake pit tonight. And if I get screwed over, so do you.’

‘Precautions,’ Frank repeated. A thin little smile came and went on Bucks’ face, like Whit was trying a high-schooler’s bluff in hopes of being cool.

‘The only precautions you need to worry about,’ Bucks said, ‘is doing what I tell you.’

‘Wrong,’ Whit said. ‘You’re not in charge.’

‘I know the warehouse,’ Bucks said. ‘You don’t. You want to walk straight in and get your ass shot off? Listen to me and I’ll tell you the layout.’

Whit waited.

‘These warehouses, the Bellinis used one like it before, a few blocks over. The layouts are all the same. It has two bays for the trucks, has a glass door on the side, there’s a little office space off from the storage area. Probably that’s where they’re keeping Eve. We go in through the office door,’ Bucks said. ‘Frank, too, if he wants to go, if he’s got his dick screwed on now.’

‘Your dick’s on now, right, Frank?’ Whit said.

‘Ha ha,’ Frank said.

‘Walk right in,’ Whit said.

‘No,’ Bucks said. ‘Probably have guards watching the lot. We’ll take care of them first.’

‘Take care of,’ Whit said.

‘Shoot if we have to,’ Bucks said. ‘You want your mommy back, right?’ He didn’t quite make it a sneer. ‘You know, you must create your own moral center, Whit. You can’t get that from your parents.’

‘Then what?’ Whit said. ‘Storm the door?’

‘No. Go in quiet if we can. Shoot anyone we see we don’t like. Grab Eve, grab Jose, grab the money if it’s there. If it’s not then Jose’s my worry, not yours. He’ll talk.’

Whit was silent. He wondered how close a coffin would feel. If you were really, truly dead it was a mercy if you couldn’t know the tight quarters of the casket, the bare inch of air between your lips and the coffin silk. Then wondering if he could stand by and watch people get shot. Not innocent people. But still. He couldn’t. Not in cold blood. So he would have to change Bucks’ plan. ‘What if we get caught?’ Whit asked.

‘Don’t be dense,’ Bucks said. ‘They kill us.’

Bucks turned onto the Clinton exit off 610, turned right onto Mississippi. The warehouse was one in a long chain of dreary industrial buildings, the lamps giving off faint light.

‘That’s it,’ Bucks said. He drove on by, four blocks, then turned into a small office building. Two cars were parked far back in the shadows, men inside them. Waiting.

‘Oh, shit,’ Frank said. Whit’s guts turned to slush.

‘This wasn’t part of the deal…’ Frank said.

‘I took precautions, too, boys,’ Bucks said, and in the moonlight his smile was ugly.

‘You don’t need to know names,’ Bucks told Whit and Frank as the men stood in the cold of the night behind the office building. But Whit could guess. One man looked like the guy who’d shot at him on the chase on the 610 Loop, owlish eyes watching Whit with the careful regard of an accountant. Frank had said he was called the Wart. Two other men, one heavy, the other lanky and wearing dreadlocks. Associates of the dead MacKay, Whit guessed, looking for a little payback. No one said hello.

‘Too many,’ Frank said to Bucks. ‘Too much. Not what we discussed.’

Whit thought: too much for what, we need all the strength we can get. ‘Jesus, Frank, quit worrying about how much money’s left at the end.’

‘Frank, hush and let the men work,’ Bucks said. ‘Guys. Here’s the drill.’ He explained they wanted Eve alive, they wanted the money, mostly they wanted Jose Peron, who was responsible for MacKay’s death and who had stolen five million from its rightful owners. ‘We’ve got a goal, men. A goal we can reach.’ His voice deepened and Whit realized he sounded like the low murmuring on the tape in his car, talking in the same empty cadence of blank reassurance. He described how they would approach the lot, fast and silent. If Jose and Eve weren’t inside, they’d take what was of value and leave. ‘Keep an eye open for any DVDs. Jose stored info on them I need. I’ll pay a bonus for any you find.’

In the dark, behind Bucks, Frank nudged Whit.

Bucks turned to Whit. ‘You want to go first? She’s your mama.’

‘That’s fine,’ Whit said.

‘Don’t worry, Whit,’ said Bucks. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

They moved down a maze of alleys that reeked of dog piss and uncollected trash. Too many of the offices and warehouses had been empty for too long, dragged down in the latest economic stumble. A cloying mist hung in the night. Whit had the gun Gooch had given him, another gun tucked in the small of his back, and a small knife strapped above his ankle, all from Charlie’s weapons collection. But the heavyset Jamaican walking by him toted an assault rifle, and he felt unprepared.