Charlie Hustmyre - House of the Rising Sun

Ray chopped Tony’s right wrist with the edge of his hand. The. 38 popped loose. Ray locked both hands around Tony’s left wrist. Tony raised the Smith amp; Wesson, but Ray kept the muzzle away. Tony squeezed the trigger. The big gun exploded a foot from Ray’s head. Ray slammed his forehead into Tony’s face. The Smith amp; Wesson clattered to the floor.

Ray locked eyes with Tony. Then he drove his fist into Tony’s nose. Tony fell like a sack of wet cement. After he hit the ground he didn’t move. Ray reached for the Smith amp; Wesson. Then he stopped, his hand just a few inches from it. Tony’s fingerprints were on that gun. An idea popped into Ray’s head. He picked up the. 38 and shoved it into his pocket. Then he turned to the bed.

Vinnie lay sprawled on his back. The bullet had hit him just below his left eye. Under his hair the back of his head was misshapen where the high-velocity. 40-caliber bullet had blown out the back of his skull. Vinnie’s silk pajamas and the silk sheets under him were awash with blood.

Ray grabbed the nearest pillow. There were only a few spots of blood on it. He pulled off the silk case. Then he reached his hand through the case and held it over the Smith. 40. Using the pillowcase as a glove he picked up the automatic. Then he reversed the case, pulling the gun back through the opening and leaving the big pistol at the bottom of the pillowcase as if it were at the bottom of a sack.

Tony groaned.

Ray kicked him in the head.

Tony went back to sleep.

Ray stepped into the hallway carrying the pillowcase with the Smith amp; Wesson. Joey and Rocco were bounding out of the stairwell. They saw Ray and started lumbering toward him. Ray jerked Tony’s. 38 from his pocket and fired a wild shot at them. The two muscle heads dove for cover. Joey came up with a gun and fired back. Ray emptied the. 38 at them and bolted for the fire exit a few feet away at the end of the hall.

He threw open the heavy door and stepped out onto the metal fire escape landing. A rusted metal ladder ran up the side of the building. That ladder was how Ray climbed to the roof every morning to catch the sunrise. But this time he needed to go down.

Ray dropped the. 38 and stuffed the pillowcase containing the Smith. 40 into his waistband. He swung onto the ladder and scampered down two floors to the second-floor landing. The ladder ended there. Rust marks against the brick wall showed where the fire escape had once gone all the way to the ground. Ray peered over the metal railing. It was a ten-foot drop to the alley below.

A nearby metal drain spout ran from the roof to the ground. Ray climbed over the railing and leaned toward the drain spout. The spout was secured to the brick by thin metal bands screwed into the wall every five or six feet. The drain spout and the bands and screws holding it to the wall were covered with rust.

Ray grabbed hold of the spout with both hands. He braced one foot against the wall and swung away from the landing. His fingers almost slipped away from the sides of the square metal spout, but he held on. Tentatively, he took one step down. Then another. He shuffled his feet down the wall and worked his hands one over the other toward the ground. Halfway down, his right foot slipped and his knee banged against the bricks. He lost his grip and fell.

Ray landed on a metal trash can. He bounced off, did a half roll, and flopped onto the filthy alley floor, his ribs screaming in pain.

He pulled himself to his feet. He looked up at the fire escape. The fourth-floor landing was empty. The door still closed. Joey and Rocco had by now probably discovered Tony on the floor and Vinnie lying dead in his PJs. The two steroid guzzlers weren’t very adaptable. They would have to wait for Tony to come around and ask him what to do.

In the meantime, Ray had to get the fuck out of here. He limped out of the alley and turned toward Canal Street.

There was a pay phone on the ground floor of the parking garage next to the elevator. Ray picked up the receiver and dropped in a quarter. He called directory assistance. Once he got the number he wanted, the computer connected him automatically.

After a couple of rings a recorded voice thanked him for calling American Airlines. Ray pressed zero until a live ticket agent came on the line. He booked a flight and told the agent he would pay at the counter when he checked in.

“If you would like to put the ticket on your credit card, we can hold the seat for you,” the female ticket agent said.

“I’m paying with cash.”

“Oh,” she said. Airlines didn’t like dealing with cash. In a post-9/11 world, people buying last-minute tickets for cash were suspicious. Something Ray was counting on.

After nearly a minute of computer keyboard tapping, the ticket agent said, “To confirm, sir, I have you booked one way, departing New Orleans tomorrow at 1:25 PM, arriving in Miami at 4:10 PM. Would you like the confirmation number?”

“I don’t have a pen with me,” Ray said.

“Then is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, that’s all.”

“Well, thank you for choosing American Airlines, and I hope you have a pleasant flight, Mr. Zello.”

Ray rode the elevator up to his car.

It was just past one o’clock in the morning. Ray had to wait a few minutes for a group of drunks, out for a boys’ night at the casino, to climb into an SUV and drive away. Then he popped open the trunk of his Mustang and unzipped Tony’s leather carryall. He scanned the parking lot to make sure he was alone.

He took out most of the money and stashed it in the well beneath his spare tire. There was maybe $50,000 left in the bag, give or take. Ray dropped the blood-spotted pillowcase and the Smith amp; Wesson into the bag and zipped it shut. He pulled the bag out of the trunk and slammed the lid closed.

Ten minutes later, Ray strolled past Shorty’s parking lot on Decatur, the handles of Tony’s leather carryall clutched in one hand. Tony’s green Lincoln was parked at the back of the lot. Shorty worked days, and his twenty-year-old nephew, a kid named Milo, worked nights. Milo’s face glowed inside the booth from the light of a television screen.

Ray walked through the parking lot past Tony’s car. It was parked in spot number fifteen. When Ray circled back to the booth, Milo was still staring at the TV. Ray tapped on the glass. The kid jumped.

“Can I help you?” Milo stammered.

“I came to pick up my car, but I noticed my buddy’s Lexus over there.” Ray pointed to an ivory-colored sedan parked half a dozen spaces away from the booth. “Looks like somebody hit it.”

Milo stood up. He started shaking his head as he stepped through the door and ambled toward the car.

Ray hung back next to the booth. When Milo looked over his shoulder, Ray pointed toward the car. “Right there on the fender, just above the right rear tire.”

Milo looked at the Lexus from a dozen feet away. “I don’t see nothing.”

Ray said, “Guy’s kind of a hothead, and if somebody smacked into his car, no telling what he’ll do.” While he talked, Ray reached inside the booth and grabbed the keys that hung from peg number fifteen.

Shuffling closer to the car, Milo mumbled, “For sure nobody hit any cars while I was here.” The kid’s oversize jeans hung halfway down his ass, flashing his red and white boxers and making his shuffling gait look more like a duck’s waddle. When he reached the Lexus, Milo dropped to one knee and examined the back right fender. After several seconds he said, “I don’t see no damage at all.”

Ray had the keys palmed in one hand and Tony’s leather bag in the other as he walked back toward the Lincoln. “I’m sorry,” he said, nodding toward the pole-mounted halogen light standing over the parking lot, “must have been a trick of the light.”