TWENTY

They’d parked the El Camino on a side street, with a diagonal view of a row of old homes. Three doors from the corner was the address Stimmer had given them, a two-story house with a small yard. There were lights in the front windows. No one had come in or out in the three hours they’d been here.

“How long are we gonna wait?” Terry said.

“Long as it takes.”

They were on the west side of Jersey City, new businesses and restaurants a few blocks away. Here, houses with sagging porches, sneakers hanging from telephone wires.

“What he told us,” Terry said. “It could all be bullshit.”

“Only one way to find out.”

A shadow moved behind a window.

“Someone’s in there,” Eddie said.

“What about the wife and kids? He’s supposed to have a wife and kids.”

“I’ll worry about that.”

The front door opened. A Hispanic man in a green flight jacket came onto the porch, cell phone to his ear.

“Give me your phone,” Eddie said.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to spook him when he sees the number.”

Terry handed it over. The man started up the block, still talking, then closed the phone and put it away. He went to a brown Chevy Nova, unlocked it, and got behind the wheel. They heard it start up, saw white exhaust swirl from the tailpipe.

Eddie punched in the number he’d gotten from Stimmer’s cell. The driver took out his phone, looked at it. Eddie pressed END.

“That’s him,” he said.

The Nova pulled out, crossed the intersection in front of them.

“Follow him,” Eddie said. “But stay back.”

The Nova stood out in traffic, was easy to keep in sight. Suarez led them out of the city, onto the Parkway, heading north. After a while, he moved into the far right lane and signaled for the exit.

“He’s taking us to Newark,” Terry said.

“Don’t lose him.”

They left the Parkway, wound through back streets into a warehouse district. Narrow one-way streets and no other cars. They could see the Nova’s taillights ahead.

“I don’t like this,” Terry said.

The Nova pulled up outside a tire shop.

“Drive past,” Eddie said. “Don’t slow down.”

As they went by, he got a glimpse of open bay doors, discarded tires. Salsa blasted from inside. He watched the shop in the rearview, saw Suarez get out of the Nova and go in.

“Make a left up here,” Eddie said. “Circle around. Kill the lights.”

Four left turns later, Terry pulled to the curb two blocks down from the tire shop. The streetlamp above them was out. The next one, a half block up, flickered on and off.

Light from the shop bled into the street, the music filtering down to them. Five minutes later, Suarez came out carrying an oversized gym bag, got back in the Nova.

“You think that’s money?” Terry said.

The Nova pulled away from the curb.

“Turn around here,” Eddie said. “I don’t want to drive past there again.”

Terry swung a U-turn, lights off.

“Go up a block, turn right,” Eddie said. “It’s dead around here at night. He’ll be easy to find.”

They traced a slow grid, headlights off. The warehouses and automotive shops they passed were dark. There was no sign of the Nova.

“Shit. Where’d he get to?” Terry said.

They turned onto a wide two-way street along a row of warehouses.

“Slow down,” Eddie said. He looked into alleys and driveways as they crept past. Not liking it, feeling too exposed.

“We can always go back to his house,” Terry said. “Wait for him.”

Near the end of the block was a narrow alley between two warehouses. Eddie saw the red glow of brake lights on a brick wall.

“There he is,” he said. “Keep going. Make a right here, go down a block, and pull over.”

They drove past the alley, made the turn. When Terry pulled to the curb, Eddie took Stimmer’s Ruger from his coat pocket.

“Wait here, keep an eye out,” he said. “In case I miss him, or I have to clear out quick. If you see him drive past, follow him, see where he goes. Then come back and pick me up.”

He held out the Star. Terry looked at it.

“You know how to use it, right?” Eddie said. “There’s a round in the chamber already. Just point it and squeeze the trigger.”

“No. I’m good.”

“What are you scared of? If things jump off, you want to be out here holding nothing but your dick?”

“I’ll be okay.”

Eddie shook his head, handed the phone back. “Keep that on, in case I need to reach you.”

He got out, tucked the Star in the back of his belt, under the sweater. The metal was cold against his skin. He kept the Ruger down at his side.

He started down the street, no cars in sight, every building dark and empty. A wide service alley ran behind the warehouses. Loading docks back here, Dumpsters, doors with security lights, alarm company signs. He counted buildings. At the fourth one, the loading gate was open enough for a man to climb under. Light from inside threw a yellow bar on the concrete dock.

He stopped one building short, staying close to the wall. The Nova was parked in the alley between the buildings, empty. Keeping an eye on the loading gate, he came up beside the car and looked inside. The bag was gone.

He waited a few moments, listening, then crossed to the loading dock. He looked under the gate, saw racks of metal shelving, boxes, an oil-stained concrete floor, fifty-five-gallon drums.

He crouched to get a better angle, saw a workbench against the far wall, a single rack of fluorescent lights above it. No one inside.

He pulled himself up onto the dock. With the Ruger in front of him, he ducked beneath the gate, stood up on the other side.

In the darkness to his right, he heard the unmistakable ratcheting of a shotgun. Knew it was pointed at his head.

“Hey, puta,” Hector Suarez said. “Where’s your partner?”

Eddie didn’t move. On the floor to his left he saw the open gym bag, loose shotgun shells inside. No money.

“Drop that shit, homes,” Suarez said. “Just toss it away.”

“We need to talk.”

“Toss it.”

Eddie bent, put the Ruger on the floor.

“Now ease out of that coat. Let it fall where it is.”

He shrugged out of the trench coat. It bundled at his feet.

“Walk forward. Center of the room. Safety’s off on this bitch.”

Eddie stepped forward, hearing Suarez behind him. There was the click of a switch, then the drone and rattle of the gate closing. He looked around. It was a big room, most of it lost in shadow. Shelves of cardboard boxes rose almost to the ceiling.

“Last time I’ll ask. Where’s your partner?”

“Out there somewhere. Easy, Hector. You don’t know what you’re dealing with here.”

Suarez came around, keeping his distance. Eddie looked into the muzzle of a pistol-grip shotgun. Suarez kicked the Ruger skittering into the shadows.

“What’s your name?”

“Eddie Santiago. I work for Tino Conte.”

“Bullshit.”

Eddie didn’t respond.

“You the one that called me before?”

“I needed to be sure it was you.”

“How’d you get the number?”

“How do you think? This has nothing to do with you, Hector. Don’t get involved.”

“I think you already got me involved, homes. Why don’t you kneel down there?”

“These are new pants. ”

“You think I’m fucking with you?”

Eddie knelt, felt cold concrete under his knees.

“You got a phone? To call your partner?”

“You can call him yourself. His number’s in your phone.”

Suarez took another step back, watching him over the barrel of the shotgun.

“Think this through, Hector. It isn’t about you. It’s about the money. And the woman.”

“What woman?”

“Lead me to her, and there’s enough cash to go around for all of us.”

“Man, you don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Holding the shotgun one-handed, Suarez drew the cell from his jacket pocket.

“Stimmer told me everything,” Eddie said. “We had a long conversation. How do you think I found you?”

“Shut up.” He thumbed numbers on the phone. The shotgun didn’t waver.

“That was Tino’s son-in-law that got capped down there,” Eddie said. “You know that, right? He wants payback. Can you blame him?”

Suarez set the phone down, stepped back. He’d put it on speaker. Eddie could hear the ringing on the other end.

Suarez pointed the shotgun at his head. “Talk to him. Tell him to come down here.”

“I can’t control him. He’ll do what he wants.”

“If he doesn’t, then I’ll just take you out right here, go looking for him.”

The line picked up on the third ring. Silence. Eddie said, “Terry.”

A pause, then, “Yeah?”

“Tell him,” Suarez said.

“Come down the alley to the loading gate,” Eddie said. “Fourth warehouse from the street, where the Nova’s parked.”

“You find him?”

“Just come down.”

“Tell him I’ll open the gate a little,” Suarez said. “Then he’s going to slide his weapon in first.”

“He’s not carrying.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“What’s going on?” Terry said.

“It’s okay,” Eddie said. “Everything’s under control. We’re just going to talk.”

“Hey,” Suarez said. “Can you hear me?”

“Who’s that?”

“Man who’s holding a shotgun to your partner’s head.”

Another pause, then, “I can hear you.”

“I’m going to open the gate one foot,” he said. “Whatever kind of coat you’re wearing, you push it through. Then you show me your hands. Hold them out and keep them there. You got it?”

“I got it.”

“You do anything besides that—or if there’s more than one of you out there—I take your partner’s head off.”

“I understand.”

“Then do it.”

He picked up the phone, closed it, put it back in his jacket. “Tino’s not going to like this,” Eddie said.

“Fuck him. Only one person had shit to do with this. And he’s dead.”

“Tino’s not buying that. They took a half million from that game, you know that? You get your share?”

“Man, shut up with that talk.”

“There’s got to be plenty left. We find it, we split it between the three of us. Tino doesn’t care about the money. It’s ours to keep. You lead us to the Stone woman, to Chance, we all get paid.”

There was a tap at the metal gate. Suarez looked at it, backed farther toward the wall.

“Just stay right there, homes,” he said to Eddie. “Don’t move an inch.”

With the shotgun in his right hand, he reached back with his left, found the wall switch. The gate rattled, rose up a foot, stopped.

“Throw your gun in here,” he said.

“Don’t have one.”

“Coat.”

“Hang on.”

Terry’s denim jacket came through the opening. Suarez crossed to the gate, watching Eddie. He picked up the jacket, then backed toward the switch again.

“You help us,” Eddie said, “you’ll be doing Tino a favor. Whatever your part was in this, it’s forgotten. All he wants is the woman and Chance.”

Suarez tossed the jacket aside. “What he wants and what he gets are two different things. Now shut up.” He looked at the gate and said, “Hands.”

Terry put his arms through, sleeves pushed to his elbows.

“I’m going to raise that gate again,” Suarez said to him. “You squeeze through on your belly. If there’s a weapon on you, I’ll take you out right there. Understand?”

Terry mumbled a response.

“What?” Suarez said.

“I said I understand.”

Suarez looked at Eddie, then worked the switch. The gate rattled up slowly and stopped.

“Come through,” Suarez said. “Hands up in front of you.”

Terry scuttled under the gate, stood, saw Eddie on his knees. Suarez turned fully toward him, aiming the shotgun with both hands.

“Easy,” Suarez said. “Slow.”

Terry raised his hands, came forward. Eddie looked at Suarez’s back, drew the Star from under his sweater, and shot him through the left knee.

The impact blew the leg out from under him. He hit the floor, and Eddie came up fast, gripped the shotgun barrel, twisted it out of his hands. He stepped back, pointing the Star at Suarez’s head.

“Jesus Christ,” Terry said.

Suarez moaned. He was holding his leg with both hands, blood soaking through his pants. Eddie went around him, put the Star away, hit the wall switch. The gate slid down and shut. The motor went silent.

Suarez looked up at him, his face tight with pain. “Motherfucker.”

Eddie held the shotgun out to Terry. “Take this.”

Terry hesitated.

“I said take it.”

Terry took the shotgun, stepped back.

Eddie squatted, avoiding the slow pool of blood around Suarez’s leg. He took Stimmer’s razor from his pants pocket, opened it. Suarez looked at the blade.

“Now,” Eddie said. “We talk.”