said.
“A hundred and fifty and I throw in all the ammo I got.”
“You were gonna do that anyway.”
“But I got two hundred into it.”
“Bullshit,” Leo said. “I’ll give you seventy-five.”
They settled on a hundred bucks. Leo was on his way out with the pistol tucked into his waistband when Simon the Bartender called him back. He made him come close. He lowered his chin and he lowered his voice.
“If you gotta use it, drop it and walk. Don’t run. You call attention to yourself. Walk. Better if you can throw it down a sewer grate, toss it in some weeds or whatever, but remember, drop it and walk.”
This bit of advice must have been included in the purchase price. Leo wondered what had gotten into Simon the Bartender. Turned into a regular chatty Cathy right before his eyes.
Every light in the house was burning, but there was nobody inside. A drained 64-ounce Diet Dr. Pepper and a flattened pack of More 120s cluttered the coffee table, but Vicki wasn’t in her usual spot in front of the TV. The plate she’d been snorting from was licked clean, and it looked like she’d gotten a nosebleed at some point: a blood-spotted paper towel was wadded up next to the plate. None of her clothes were in the living room. Something wasn’t right.
Leo thought Vicki might’ve gone out with Beaumond and Fernandez, but Vicki didn’t go anywhere without Mimi, and the Chihuahua got car sick, so Beaumond wouldn’t let it in the Eldorado. That killed that explanation.
The bathroom had been cleared of her shampoos and her eyes shadows and her laxatives. The panties always drying on the towel rack were missing. The closet in the bedroom she shared with Fernandez was emptied of her sundresses and her shoes. Vicki was gone.
Leo dismissed the minor possibility that she went to the cops. Considering it was Vicki who helped them get next to Manfred in the first place, she was as guilty as any of them. He hoped she realized that. Plus, she was ga-ga over Alex Fernandez. No way she’d give up Alex. Not a chance.
But motherfucker. Now he had a whole other bundle of worries to deal with, just as he was on the verge of getting everything sorted out. He wasn’t going to let this setback throw him off. Oh no. He had work to do. He added Vicki to the list of potential problems that had to be dealt with, and he’d deal with her, too, in his own sweet time.
Using a wooden spoon to crush some rocks, Leo took a paring knife and diced the powder. He shaped the line into the curve of an S and sniffed it through the casing of a ballpoint pen, chilling to Gloria Estefan. She was singing in Spanish. Leo hardly understood a word. He wasn’t crazy about the music, but he loved this sexy Cuban babe. He bet he’d do all right with Miss Gloria Estefan, if he ever got the chance to meet her. He bet she’d be right on his tip.
He stuffed some blow into the end of a cigarette and smoked it like that, took a bump for each nostril, a freeze for his gums. This coke was the bomb, the best he’d had in months, from his own secret stash. Now what did those morons do with his pipe? Here was a nice rock that’d cook up juicy, give him a real buzz.
Leo originally saw himself standing behind the door and whacking Beaumond the second he came in, but the problem was, he didn’t know which door. So he sat on the couch with the automatic in his lap. Let Beaumond come to him.
The Eldorado’s headlamps flashed though the living room window, and after what seemed like a long time, Beaumond’s drunken voice came drifting in, warbling a current hit he didn’t know the lyrics to. He let go of a belch that sounded like it came from his heels.
They picked the sliding door. Came in through the kitchen. Fernandez first, mutely blasted, the opposite of Beaumond, who got stupider and louder the more booze you put into him. Fernandez didn’t say anything, blinking Leo into focus from the other room. He opened the refrigerator.
Beaumond was calling the
“A hundred and fifty and I throw in all the ammo I got.”
“You were gonna do that anyway.”
“But I got two hundred into it.”
“Bullshit,” Leo said. “I’ll give you seventy-five.”
They settled on a hundred bucks. Leo was on his way out with the pistol tucked into his waistband when Simon the Bartender called him back. He made him come close. He lowered his chin and he lowered his voice.
“If you gotta use it, drop it and walk. Don’t run. You call attention to yourself. Walk. Better if you can throw it down a sewer grate, toss it in some weeds or whatever, but remember, drop it and walk.”
This bit of advice must have been included in the purchase price. Leo wondered what had gotten into Simon the Bartender. Turned into a regular chatty Cathy right before his eyes.
Every light in the house was burning, but there was nobody inside. A drained 64-ounce Diet Dr. Pepper and a flattened pack of More 120s cluttered the coffee table, but Vicki wasn’t in her usual spot in front of the TV. The plate she’d been snorting from was licked clean, and it looked like she’d gotten a nosebleed at some point: a blood-spotted paper towel was wadded up next to the plate. None of her clothes were in the living room. Something wasn’t right.
Leo thought Vicki might’ve gone out with Beaumond and Fernandez, but Vicki didn’t go anywhere without Mimi, and the Chihuahua got car sick, so Beaumond wouldn’t let it in the Eldorado. That killed that explanation.
The bathroom had been cleared of her shampoos and her eyes shadows and her laxatives. The panties always drying on the towel rack were missing. The closet in the bedroom she shared with Fernandez was emptied of her sundresses and her shoes. Vicki was gone.
Leo dismissed the minor possibility that she went to the cops. Considering it was Vicki who helped them get next to Manfred in the first place, she was as guilty as any of them. He hoped she realized that. Plus, she was ga-ga over Alex Fernandez. No way she’d give up Alex. Not a chance.
But motherfucker. Now he had a whole other bundle of worries to deal with, just as he was on the verge of getting everything sorted out. He wasn’t going to let this setback throw him off. Oh no. He had work to do. He added Vicki to the list of potential problems that had to be dealt with, and he’d deal with her, too, in his own sweet time.
Using a wooden spoon to crush some rocks, Leo took a paring knife and diced the powder. He shaped the line into the curve of an S and sniffed it through the casing of a ballpoint pen, chilling to Gloria Estefan. She was singing in Spanish. Leo hardly understood a word. He wasn’t crazy about the music, but he loved this sexy Cuban babe. He bet he’d do all right with Miss Gloria Estefan, if he ever got the chance to meet her. He bet she’d be right on his tip.
He stuffed some blow into the end of a cigarette and smoked it like that, took a bump for each nostril, a freeze for his gums. This coke was the bomb, the best he’d had in months, from his own secret stash. Now what did those morons do with his pipe? Here was a nice rock that’d cook up juicy, give him a real buzz.
Leo originally saw himself standing behind the door and whacking Beaumond the second he came in, but the problem was, he didn’t know which door. So he sat on the couch with the automatic in his lap. Let Beaumond come to him.
The Eldorado’s headlamps flashed though the living room window, and after what seemed like a long time, Beaumond’s drunken voice came drifting in, warbling a current hit he didn’t know the lyrics to. He let go of a belch that sounded like it came from his heels.
They picked the sliding door. Came in through the kitchen. Fernandez first, mutely blasted, the opposite of Beaumond, who got stupider and louder the more booze you put into him. Fernandez didn’t say anything, blinking Leo into focus from the other room. He opened the refrigerator.
Beaumond was calling the
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