Andrew Vachss - The Weight

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I can take one look and see if something’s wrong. Things don’t move themselves. I can always see this picture of how I left things. If the new picture doesn’t fit right over it, I know.

If these guys Lynda told me about were as good as she said, no point trying to sneak up on them. The bike was noisy, but it was quick. I hit the garage button while I was still riding up to the door.

The garage was exactly like we left it. But maybe they had another way in, so I took a few seconds to check down the hall. The place I’d stayed in, nobody had been in there since we’d left.

I jumped back on the cycle and rode it over the bumpy trail Lynda had shown me when we first took off. I didn’t even try and find the best spot, just laid the bike down flat and ran back to the house.

The Lincoln fired right up. I backed it out, clicked the garage closed, and took off.

Part of being a good thief is not needing a map to a place you’ve already been. And not writing anything down. The clock on the Lincoln said 10:15. Plenty of time.

I drove careful. Not too slow. And I was still twenty minutes to the good as I backed the Lincoln into a slot all the way across from where Lynda was. I could see the white Caddy, but nothing else.

Lynda didn’t know how these airport meets were supposed to go-Albie never told her details. Probably only told her anything at all so she wouldn’t get worried when he went out late at night.

Albie wouldn’t have a bodyguard. Or even a driver. So Jessop, he’d be looking for Albie behind the wheel. I eased the passenger-side door open, ready to break any bulb that lit up… but none did.

I thought of waiting in the back seat, leaving the door cracked. But it was too risky. Jessop might open the door, but he’d check the front seat before he climbed inside.

A man like Albie, he tells you eleven o’clock, you’re not there by one minute after, he’s gone.

Running through my mind: Was this Jessop smart enough to get there way early? No. If Albie saw a strange car, he’d just pull off.

I had Lynda’s pistol in the carry-on, but a gunshot in that open space would be loud. And the way airports are today, the place would be swarmed with fifty different kinds of cops in ten seconds.

Plenty of darkness, but if Jessop’s headlights picked me up…

I settled for crouching behind the trunk, all the way over to the right. The tire would give me a little cover-best I could do.

The tool I was carrying looked like a long, thin canvas bag with a loop on the end. It was filled with ball bearings, weighed about thirty pounds. I put my hand through the loop. Then I started hyper-tensing different muscle groups. Tense, hold, release. Tense, hold, release. Not as good as stretching, but it would keep me from getting stiff.

A wash of headlights. I heard a car door open and close.

Footsteps.

I snuck a peek. A man, walking straight toward the Lincoln. His hands were empty, but that didn’t mean anything-if you’re expected, you don’t walk up on a man with a gun in your hand.

Heavy shoes, but light-footed, not much noise. Little crunching sounds from the parking lot, louder as he got closer.

I could hear him breathing. Calm and relaxed. Probably did things like this a hundred times before.

One more and… yeah, it was Jessop, all right. He was reaching for the door handle as I came around the back of the Lincoln.

Damn, he was fast . But by the time he whipped around and reached for the gun in his belt, the lead-shot club was already on its way. Instead of the back of his head, I caught him full in the face.

The way he went down, I was pretty sure he was already finished-flat on his back, eyes wide open.

I took out a crowbar. Knelt down and held it across his throat with both hands. Then I rammed it down with everything I had.

I heard some kind of sound, but it wasn’t coming from his mouth; it was the little bones crackling in his neck. One of his eyeballs came way out of his head. I didn’t need the smell to tell me he was done.

I kicked the door shut and popped the trunk. Dragged Jessop’s body around to the back by his belt. Heaved him inside. Stuck the key to the Lincoln and the button for the garage in the outside pocket of his jacket. Closed the trunk.

I pulled the gloves off my hands as I walked over to the Caddy, moving easy.

“Jesus, I am rank ,” Lynda said.

“You’re fine.”

“Sure. It wasn’t you who was back there. I could hardly even breathe.”

“You’re not back there now , okay? Just tell me where to turn.”

By the time we got to the highway, she was a little calmer. But she was rank, for real.

Then she started shaking. Real bad. I had to light the cigarette for her.

“I guess I’m just a fraud,” she said, an hour later.

“How are you a fraud?”

“I’m supposed to be… I’m supposed to be what Albie taught me to be. He said, he said over and over, ‘Rena, a man has to believe in something bigger than himself, or he can never truly be a man.’ I thought I understood that. I thought I was doing that. But… what was he telling me, that it’s only men who have to do that?”

“It’s just the way people talk.”

“I… I guess that’s true. I mean, the Israelis, they have women in their army. In combat, I mean. And I know they had a woman Prime Minister once. But all I could do was… hide . That’s all I could do. Like a little kid in a closet, afraid of the monsters in the house.”

“What the fuck did you want to do?”

“Why are you mad at me, Sugar?”

“Why? You’re saying I’m nothing, and I’m supposed to just-”

“How could you even think-?”

“You’re better at things than me, right?”

“I never said-”

“Yeah, you did. And you are. But you’re not better at everything . This… this work that had to be done; you did your part, then I did mine. That’s what happened. And what’s coming out of your mouth? Ah, you’re such a piece of crap because you didn’t handle the whole thing yourself, like you’re supposed to, right?”

“I… I see what you mean. I was just being a bitch, Sugar.”

“I don’t think so.”

“All right, I was scared . Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No.”

“You won’t even say my name, will you?”

“Which name do you want?”

“You bastard !” She tried to reach over and slap at me, but the seatbelt held her in place.

It was another hour before she spoke to me again.

“He’s… dead? You’re sure?”

“Which one?”

“Oh. Jessop, I guess.”

“You guess? Jesus.”

“Sugar, please, stop. You’re thinking, ‘That’s the one she cared about,’ aren’t you?”

“What if I was?”

“And that makes you mad?”

I didn’t say anything.

She unbuckled her seatbelt, turned so she was kneeling on the cushion, and leaned over. To kiss me on the side of my face.

“Don’t be mad, Sugar. You’d be mad for all the wrong reasons.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. You think I still have feelings for Jessop, don’t you?”

“I don’t know who you’ve got-”

“Stop! I had feelings for Jessop, all right. I was terrified of him. When Albie died, the first thing that hit me was, Jessop’s going to come for me now. I think that’s why Albie kept him on. Working, I mean. So that when he… when he died -okay?- I’d know where to find him. Jessop. And kill him, like I should have done.