Division. Easier than Hawthorne, especially this time of day. That much he’d learned in the three days since he got to town.
“Did ya see her?”
Big Ed nodded. From a distance, but she entered the right house.
“And the boy?”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“What about the others? A man and an older kid too, right? That’s what Myra said.”
“Whole family is made of butter.”
“That ain’t no family.” But Hiram smiled grimly and leaned back in his seat. Ten minutes more, and Big Ed parked in the upper lot in Mount Tabor Park, a location that appealed to some primitive desire for symmetry. Too dark and too cold for anyone else to be around; he expected to be gone again before the sun rose. He opened his glove box, hefted the piece: A brushed chrome Desert Eagle chambered for .44 Magnum. He’d taken it off a Yreka meth cooker who’d crossed Hiram, one of many firearms he’d acquired from the less deserving over the years. Probably used in a dozen drugstore holdups, so if the cops ever got their hands on it, it would be tied to some NoCal shit.
But as he checked the magazine, Hiram’s face went red.
“Are you fucking nuts?”
“Just in case. I do not expect to need it.”
“That’s why you’ll be leaving it here, numbnuts.” Hiram’s cheeks twitched as he spoke. “I don’t want no one to have cause to come looking like before. No goddamn bodies. You got that?”
“Seems to me like you would want at least one body.”
“Not today, I don’t.” Big Ed looked at Hiram, saw the dark glint in his eye. “I’m a patient man, if you’re not.”
Big Ed didn’t want to argue with Hiram Spaneker, not after Hiram had announced his intention to offer Ed a second chance. He knew the rules, understood them better perhaps than Hiram realized. Back in Givern, bodies weren’t a problem. Local cops were a wholly owned subsidiary of Spaneker Enterprises, and the county guys knew to stay out of the way. But this wasn’t Givern. Hiram was out of his element. Big Ed could sense the old man’s discomfort in the city. Didn’t surprise him—didn’t disquiet him either. Big Ed was uncomfortable everywhere now, but three years on the run had provided a stern education in finding his way. His last trip to Portland, he’d come in big and cocky, looking for trouble. Found it, too. Took a bullet, almost lost his life. He was a different man now, no longer a man on fire.
He slid the gun under the front seat.
They locked the Suburban, then he and Hiram walked down into the neighborhood until he saw what he wanted parked on the street, a late-80s Accord, four doors with a battered left front quarter panel. He slim-jimmed the door and punched the ignition with his Leatherman. Hiram scowled as he climbed into the passenger seat; not as much leg room as the Suburban.
Daylight Savings had fallen back a couple of weeks before, but the sky was still dark when he turned off 60th into the girl’s neighborhood. A few short blocks, a right and a left. He drove past the house once, saw lights and movement through the window.They were up already. Folks with jobs and kids to get off to school were gonna be early risers on a weekday morning. He continued up the block until he found an empty space.
Mitch Bronstein was some kind of ad fellow, worked at a snooty agency downtown. Probably a queer. Loafers and cotton shirts. Big Ed planned to go in quiet and strong, do what they had to do quick. He told Hiram they’d be back in the Suburban and rolling south by the time the sun cleared the shoulder of Mount Hood. Drive straight through to Givern, sleep in their own beds tonight. Hiram promised Big Ed a big sack of money to use for a pillow if everything worked out. Big Ed smiled. Been a long time since he owned a pillow.
“Are you ready?”
“You gotta ask?” The old man cracked his knuckles. “What kinda car does this bastard drive?”
“BMW. Let me get up on the porch before you come up.”
The street was quiet. A few houses
“Did ya see her?”
Big Ed nodded. From a distance, but she entered the right house.
“And the boy?”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“What about the others? A man and an older kid too, right? That’s what Myra said.”
“Whole family is made of butter.”
“That ain’t no family.” But Hiram smiled grimly and leaned back in his seat. Ten minutes more, and Big Ed parked in the upper lot in Mount Tabor Park, a location that appealed to some primitive desire for symmetry. Too dark and too cold for anyone else to be around; he expected to be gone again before the sun rose. He opened his glove box, hefted the piece: A brushed chrome Desert Eagle chambered for .44 Magnum. He’d taken it off a Yreka meth cooker who’d crossed Hiram, one of many firearms he’d acquired from the less deserving over the years. Probably used in a dozen drugstore holdups, so if the cops ever got their hands on it, it would be tied to some NoCal shit.
But as he checked the magazine, Hiram’s face went red.
“Are you fucking nuts?”
“Just in case. I do not expect to need it.”
“That’s why you’ll be leaving it here, numbnuts.” Hiram’s cheeks twitched as he spoke. “I don’t want no one to have cause to come looking like before. No goddamn bodies. You got that?”
“Seems to me like you would want at least one body.”
“Not today, I don’t.” Big Ed looked at Hiram, saw the dark glint in his eye. “I’m a patient man, if you’re not.”
Big Ed didn’t want to argue with Hiram Spaneker, not after Hiram had announced his intention to offer Ed a second chance. He knew the rules, understood them better perhaps than Hiram realized. Back in Givern, bodies weren’t a problem. Local cops were a wholly owned subsidiary of Spaneker Enterprises, and the county guys knew to stay out of the way. But this wasn’t Givern. Hiram was out of his element. Big Ed could sense the old man’s discomfort in the city. Didn’t surprise him—didn’t disquiet him either. Big Ed was uncomfortable everywhere now, but three years on the run had provided a stern education in finding his way. His last trip to Portland, he’d come in big and cocky, looking for trouble. Found it, too. Took a bullet, almost lost his life. He was a different man now, no longer a man on fire.
He slid the gun under the front seat.
They locked the Suburban, then he and Hiram walked down into the neighborhood until he saw what he wanted parked on the street, a late-80s Accord, four doors with a battered left front quarter panel. He slim-jimmed the door and punched the ignition with his Leatherman. Hiram scowled as he climbed into the passenger seat; not as much leg room as the Suburban.
Daylight Savings had fallen back a couple of weeks before, but the sky was still dark when he turned off 60th into the girl’s neighborhood. A few short blocks, a right and a left. He drove past the house once, saw lights and movement through the window.They were up already. Folks with jobs and kids to get off to school were gonna be early risers on a weekday morning. He continued up the block until he found an empty space.
Mitch Bronstein was some kind of ad fellow, worked at a snooty agency downtown. Probably a queer. Loafers and cotton shirts. Big Ed planned to go in quiet and strong, do what they had to do quick. He told Hiram they’d be back in the Suburban and rolling south by the time the sun cleared the shoulder of Mount Hood. Drive straight through to Givern, sleep in their own beds tonight. Hiram promised Big Ed a big sack of money to use for a pillow if everything worked out. Big Ed smiled. Been a long time since he owned a pillow.
“Are you ready?”
“You gotta ask?” The old man cracked his knuckles. “What kinda car does this bastard drive?”
“BMW. Let me get up on the porch before you come up.”
The street was quiet. A few houses
Similar Books
