do!”
“What about Porter?” Devlin asked.
“Who?”
“Porter—the fork lift operator. Where does he fit in?”
“Christ, I don’t know. I never heard of the guy.”
“He’s selling pot.”
“A pothead? Scotty wouldn’t bring in a guy like that. Me and Johnny, we don’t use. That was part of the arrangement— no snorting on the job. Hell, we don’t even deal the streets, you know? We sell our stuff through a couple middlemen. Scotty told us to do it that way.”
“You’ve never heard of Porter?”
“No. I swear. We kind of keep to ourselves—if he ain’t part of the warehouse crew, I don’t know him.”
Visser crouched against the running board with his arms wrapped tightly around his shivering, naked legs. He looked up at the two men. The red glare of the dawning sun brought a palpable warmth to the air but Visser didn’t feel it. “Man, I told it all. You know everything I know.”
“Then I guess it’s time,” said Bunch.
“Aw, man, don’t do it. Please don’t do it.”
“How fast can you pack your ass out of town and stay out?” Devlin asked.
“Now, man. I mean right now.”
“It’s a mistake, Dev. We should wad this little fucker up and flush him.”
“Don’t do it, man. I can go. Nothing to keep me here, man.”
They loaded him up and Devlin drove to a telephone at the corner of a closed 7-Eleven. Visser stood in the phone hood, his pale underwear streaked with dirt and bagging against the puckered flesh of his blue thighs. He talked to his wife. “I don’t care what you got to leave behind—fuck the house! It ain’t ours anyway. We’re getting out, hear me? Now! Pack everything in the goddamn car and get up here. Now! We’re going and we’re gonna keep going!” He hung up and stared at Devlin, eyes wide and round above the pinched chill of his cheeks. “Fucking women! Want to know everything before they’ll do anything.”
“Dev, this son of a bitch is going to drop a dime on us as soon as he gets out of town. I think we ought to box him up.”
“No, man—I won’t do that. I promise. I been thinking of quitting anyway. Really! I got a stash saved up and I don’t owe Scotty nothing. I won’t do that—I swear!”
“There’s only one way to make sure he won’t, Dev.” Bunch patted the bulge of the Python’s barrel inside his jacket. “Nobody’s around to see it. He’d be just another turd lying in the gutter.”
“Hey, my wife and kids … .”
“You’re not a good influence, Eddie,” said Kirk. “They might be better off without you. Ever think of that?”
“Come on, guys—I swear!”
“We need insurance,” said Bunch. “The best insurance is to waste this little fucker.”
“Guys … .”
Devlin scratched around in the Bronco’s glove box for a pen and paper. “You write down what you told us about Tony and Scotty.”
“A statement for the cops?”
“No. For us to give to Martin if we find out you called him.”
“I said I wouldn’t!”
“Yeah. Honest Abe Visser. Write.”
He did, in a sprawling, shaky hand. He signed and dated it where Devlin told him to.
Kirk leaned over the man and gazed deep into the staring black of his pupils. “We can find you, Eddie. Anywhere you run, we can find you if we have to. And so can Tony. Understand?”
He nodded. A white, powdery tongue dragged across blue lips.
They left the man in his underwear, crouched against the wall of the closed grocery store and shifting from foot to foot with nervousness and cold.
Bunch twisted back around on the passenger seat after watching the figure disappear behind them. “He’s going to call Martin. I know how shit like that thinks—he’s going to call to get even with us and then haul ass out of town.”
Devlin tapped the statement folded in his pocket. “He might not. Besides, what can he tell Martin that Chris didn’t?”
“You think Newman spilled?”
“I would have. Wouldn’t you?”
Bunch thought that over. “Probably.”
“What about Porter?” Devlin asked.
“Who?”
“Porter—the fork lift operator. Where does he fit in?”
“Christ, I don’t know. I never heard of the guy.”
“He’s selling pot.”
“A pothead? Scotty wouldn’t bring in a guy like that. Me and Johnny, we don’t use. That was part of the arrangement— no snorting on the job. Hell, we don’t even deal the streets, you know? We sell our stuff through a couple middlemen. Scotty told us to do it that way.”
“You’ve never heard of Porter?”
“No. I swear. We kind of keep to ourselves—if he ain’t part of the warehouse crew, I don’t know him.”
Visser crouched against the running board with his arms wrapped tightly around his shivering, naked legs. He looked up at the two men. The red glare of the dawning sun brought a palpable warmth to the air but Visser didn’t feel it. “Man, I told it all. You know everything I know.”
“Then I guess it’s time,” said Bunch.
“Aw, man, don’t do it. Please don’t do it.”
“How fast can you pack your ass out of town and stay out?” Devlin asked.
“Now, man. I mean right now.”
“It’s a mistake, Dev. We should wad this little fucker up and flush him.”
“Don’t do it, man. I can go. Nothing to keep me here, man.”
They loaded him up and Devlin drove to a telephone at the corner of a closed 7-Eleven. Visser stood in the phone hood, his pale underwear streaked with dirt and bagging against the puckered flesh of his blue thighs. He talked to his wife. “I don’t care what you got to leave behind—fuck the house! It ain’t ours anyway. We’re getting out, hear me? Now! Pack everything in the goddamn car and get up here. Now! We’re going and we’re gonna keep going!” He hung up and stared at Devlin, eyes wide and round above the pinched chill of his cheeks. “Fucking women! Want to know everything before they’ll do anything.”
“Dev, this son of a bitch is going to drop a dime on us as soon as he gets out of town. I think we ought to box him up.”
“No, man—I won’t do that. I promise. I been thinking of quitting anyway. Really! I got a stash saved up and I don’t owe Scotty nothing. I won’t do that—I swear!”
“There’s only one way to make sure he won’t, Dev.” Bunch patted the bulge of the Python’s barrel inside his jacket. “Nobody’s around to see it. He’d be just another turd lying in the gutter.”
“Hey, my wife and kids … .”
“You’re not a good influence, Eddie,” said Kirk. “They might be better off without you. Ever think of that?”
“Come on, guys—I swear!”
“We need insurance,” said Bunch. “The best insurance is to waste this little fucker.”
“Guys … .”
Devlin scratched around in the Bronco’s glove box for a pen and paper. “You write down what you told us about Tony and Scotty.”
“A statement for the cops?”
“No. For us to give to Martin if we find out you called him.”
“I said I wouldn’t!”
“Yeah. Honest Abe Visser. Write.”
He did, in a sprawling, shaky hand. He signed and dated it where Devlin told him to.
Kirk leaned over the man and gazed deep into the staring black of his pupils. “We can find you, Eddie. Anywhere you run, we can find you if we have to. And so can Tony. Understand?”
He nodded. A white, powdery tongue dragged across blue lips.
They left the man in his underwear, crouched against the wall of the closed grocery store and shifting from foot to foot with nervousness and cold.
Bunch twisted back around on the passenger seat after watching the figure disappear behind them. “He’s going to call Martin. I know how shit like that thinks—he’s going to call to get even with us and then haul ass out of town.”
Devlin tapped the statement folded in his pocket. “He might not. Besides, what can he tell Martin that Chris didn’t?”
“You think Newman spilled?”
“I would have. Wouldn’t you?”
Bunch thought that over. “Probably.”
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