Patrick Quinlan - The Hit

‘So you’re saying?’

‘I’m saying I’m going to do a little research on this company, see what I can find out. Then I might give them a call and try to talk to this guy Tyler Gant.’

‘Are you going to tell him why you’re calling?’

Gordo unlocked Jonah’s door, then went around to the driver’s side. ‘That’s the tricky thing. I want to find out if Foerster’s headed there, if I can, but I really don’t want to tip my hand and let this guy know we’re looking for Foerster. I mean, fifty grand is fifty grand. Better we get it than he does.’

They slid into the car, and Gordo started it up. ‘So let me get this straight,’ Jonah said. ‘You’re thinking of going down there?’

Gordo gave Jonah a wide-eyed look as if they’d got their signals crossed somehow, as if something so simple a child could understand it had been nonetheless misunderstood. ‘Of course I am. Aren’t you? I mean, if we find out that’s where he’s going. This is the biggest single score we’ve ever seen. We’re not going to give it up that easy.’

Jonah said nothing.

‘Are we?’

Jonah shrugged, hating the tight, petulant sound in his voice that he knew was coming. ‘It’s going to cost money.’

Gordo nosed into the traffic on Richmond Terrace. The new realities – the bikes, the scooters, the pedestrians, and all the rest – meant that if you were still driving a car it wasn’t always clear when you were free to merge. ‘Think of it as an investment,’ he said. ‘I mean, this is the big one. This is the white whale. We can’t just walk away from this, right?’

Jonah wasn’t sure. They had missed the guy twice already, even though the cops had caught him on more than one occasion. Foerster’s slippery moves had Jonah thinking maybe he, and maybe even Gordo, weren’t cut out for bounty hunting after all. Sure, they’d caught a couple of nickel and dime skips. But when they went for the real money, the guy juked them and jived them and faked them out of their shoes. Beyond that, what if the whole South Carolina thing was a decoy or some scam Foerster was playing? What if he headed west, or north, instead of south? They could go down there, spend at least a couple of thousand dollars they didn’t have, go deeper into the hole, and it could all be a washout, a big nothing.

‘Jonah, am I right?’

‘I think we should wait a minute and think about this,’ Jonah said, knowing his words were exactly what Gordo didn’t want to hear. Already Gordo’s face looked pinched, as if a painful cramp had seized his lower abdomen. Jonah plunged on anyway. He had an opinion, so he might as well express it. ‘I think we should be a hundred percent certain he’s headed down there before we make a move that way.’

Gordo followed the flow of congested traffic towards the bridge into Brooklyn. It was amazing to see that on this monster span, one that went so high in the air and had such wicked crosswinds, an entire lane in each direction was now reserved for bicycles. What was next – a lane for oxen?

‘Jonah, don’t kill it, man. We’ll never be one hundred percent sure of anything.’

‘OK, ninety-nine percent. Ninety-eight percent.’

Gordo sighed. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to put together enough evidence so you will know that going to South Carolina is the right move.’

‘Well,’ Jonah said, and again the sound of his voice irritated him. ‘I’ll be waiting to see it.’

Patrick Quinlan

The Hit

There was a delay with the plane.

The pilots were up front, dickering with some part of the instrumentation. At one point, Gant saw the younger of the two take out a screwdriver and remove a panel, then start poking among some wires inside there. Rather than watch these guys fool around with things they probably didn’t understand, things they would need to keep Gant alive and up in the air in the very near future, he went outside onto the tarmac.

It was just after eleven o’clock, and the sun was riding high and hot. Gant walked a little way from the plane and took out his cell phone. He had world service, so he could call Vernon from here. Three goons milled around over by the shed where Gant had stripped down yesterday, waiting for the plane to take off. A black SUV was parked there. The men eyed Gant with unfriendly stares. Did they have some way of listening in to his conversation? He thought not, but supposed it didn’t matter anyway. He could keep it brief and to the point with Vernon.

The phone rang three times. ‘Yessir,’ came the sunny voice. ‘I know it’s gonna be a wonderful day when I see this number calling.’

‘Vernon.’

‘That would be me.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m walking down the street. I just had my breakfast at the Charlotte Inn, and man, what a breakfast it was.’

Gant smiled. Vernon often took his meals at the best hotels and restaurants in Charleston – he had the money to spend, and he enjoyed the jarring contrast between himself and the alarmed gentry who ended up sitting at tables near him. Gant could picture Vernon strutting through the historic district like a peacock. Six feet, four inches tall in bare feet, the top of his white Stetson hat adding another four inches, the heels of his snakeskin cowboy boots adding another two. Tight jeans, a black T-shirt painted to his broad chest and shoulders, a riot of tattoos reaching from the razor wire tattooed around his neck, all the way down his shoulders and arms to his big rawboned hands. He was a piece of work, all right – toothpick in his mouth, huge jaw jutting out, daring just about any hard man to go ahead and try his luck. There probably wouldn’t be any takers today, or tomorrow, or any time this month.

‘You ready to work?’ Gant said.

‘I’m always ready to work.’

Gant glanced up and saw the stewardess, flight attendant, waitress, or whatever from the airplane. She clomped across the uneven paving in her high heels and skirt, waving to him. One passenger, one stewardess. Man, it was crazy.

‘Listen, I don’t have much time,’ he said. ‘I’m about to catch a plane here. That thing with the boat? The delivery? I need you to give the green light on that. It’s a go. So tell our supplier we’re ready and tell the boat it’s coming at them.’

‘Got it, boss.’

The woman came almost to within touching distance. ‘Mr Gant, we’re ready for you now. The plane is all set.’

‘Thank you. I’ll be just another minute.’

‘Of course.’ She turned and started clomping back. Without much interest, he watched her big behind move away toward the plane.

‘Also,’ he said to Vernon. ‘What’s the story in New York?’

He sensed a hesitation on the other end of the line. It was uncharacteristic for Vernon, to say the least.

‘Vernon?’

‘There ain’t no story in New York, I’m sorry to say.’

‘What?’

‘There’s no story. At least, none that anybody would want to hear.’

‘Vernon, I don’t have time to dance around. Out with it. The plane’s about to take off without me.’

‘All right,’ Vernon said, but his voice didn’t sound like it was all right. ‘Our man went to make the pickup late last night, and nobody was there. Our boy wasn’t home, even though he knew we’d be coming soon. Nobody was home, and there was no message left.’

Gant thought about it. He started walking toward the plane. ‘Maybe he went out last night to a bar and picked up a girl or something. Tell the guy to wait around a while.’

‘I already did. He’s waiting in the apartment. See, it wasn’t locked. In fact, the door wasn’t even closed.’

Gant felt his breathing become just a tiny bit shallower. ‘Shit.’