The club where Kyle told Ralph Anderson to meet him was a hard-drinking dive not far from the river with a craps table in the room behind the bar and cubicles upstairs where the Quarter Girls, so called because they rented the space fifteen minutes at a time, could take their Johns. It was a place where nobody knew your name and they didn’t take American Express. Kyle settled into a corner booth an hour early and waved at one of the Quarter Girls to bring him a drink.
White, thin, and twitchy with slab cheeks that angled on a face like an axe, Ralph Anderson entered the club a little after nine. After a quick glance around he got himself a drink then headed to Kyle’s table.
“What’s up?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder toward the door.
“Latwan fucked up.”
“What else is new?” Anderson laughed. “What’d he do?”
“He got himself shot.”
“Dead?”
Kyle rotated his finger. “Circling the drain.” Anderson made another nervous scan of the bar. “It was on the news. He got pulled over for speeding or something and decided to shoot it out with the cop.”
“So, it had nothing to do with us?”
“We’re in the clear.”
“Then why the rush to get rid of my phone?” Anderson asked.
“Just being careful in case the cops ran the numbers on Latwan’s cell. With both him and Paulie gone we need to plan out what we’re going to do next.”
“Where’s Dion?” Getting twitchier by the minute, Anderson looked back toward the door.
“He’s not answering his phone. He’s probably shacked up with some whore. The thing is we’ve got a new job coming up and we need to get ready.”
“Just the three of us?”
“It’s at least half a million in cash and gold, probably more. Split three ways that’s a hell of a good payday.” For the first time that evening Anderson smiled.
“Sounds good to me.” Ralphie grinned and slugged down his scotch.
“You’re going to have to go in with us and get your hands dirty. Are you up for that?” Ralphie didn’t miss the menace in Kyle’s eyes. Anderson’s smile began to slip but he forced it back.
“Why should you and Dion have all the fun?” he said, glancing at Kyle then looking away. “When’s it going down?”
Kyle looked at his watch. “I’ve got a guy checking out the target. He should be getting back to me in a little while.” Kyle slid a bill across the table. “Go get yourself another drink.”
An uneasy hour trickled by. Barely a word passed between them. Finally, Ralphie went to the can.
“It’s set,” Kyle whispered to Anderson when he returned from the men’s room, then Kyle looked suspiciously around the bar. “Let’s talk outside.”
Kyle led the way south on Brewster then took a quick left into an alley between two decaying brick buildings. When Anderson hesitated Kyle roughly waved him forward and strode into the darkness behind one of the dumpsters. Ralphie reluctantly followed, nervously checking the shadows for hidden threats.
“OK, you’ll be driving so you’re going to have to plan out the route. Here’s the target’s name and address.” Kyle reached into his pocket then in one swift motion pulled out his Sig and pressed the barrel against Anderson’s chest. Ralphie’s coat muffled most of the noise and the shot came out as barely more than a muted “pop.” Anderson fell backwards, his face a mask of surprise. Kyle pulled a half-crushed soda bottle from the trash, shoved the barrel into the open end, placed the flat bottom against Ralphie’s forehead then shot him again.
Leave him here or put him in the dumpster? Kyle wondered. He wanted to delay the discovery of Anderson’s body as long as possible but getting Ralphie to his feet and heaving him over the dumpster’s lip would likely get blood and brains on his coat. Kyle compromised and removed Ralphie’s phone and ID then dragged him behind the dumpster and covered his body with flattened boxes and random trash. One more potential witness out of the way. Garbage to garbage, Kyle thought, then checked the street in both directions before fleeing the alley.
Almost time to run, he thought. Almost time to run.