XXVI
Task excused himself, walked out into the damp air, and stood underneath the overhang in front of Ed’s. The cellphone was held to his good ear by his bad hand.
“Hello?”
“We’ve recently acquired some merchandise that will be of interest to you,” said Strembicky.
The slick’s stomach tightened. Rain hissed upon the parking lot pavement and crackled upon the roof.
“Hello?” inquired the guarantor.
“I’m here.” Task sucked moist air into his lungs and pushed some words to his mouth. “Where can I see this merchandise?”
“I’ll send somebody to come and get you. What’s your current location?”
“I can come meet you.”
“I’ll send somebody to come and get you. What’s your current location?”
The downpour was so heavy that the purple hybrid was only a watercolor impression of itself. A semi truck shot down the road, dragging a wake like a speedboat.
“What is your current location?”
Wind blew warm, wet air across the slick’s face and stirred the corners of his jacket. “I’m at Ed’s. It’s a diner on White off of Long. You know it?”
“Please wait one moment.”
Audible on the line was some muted conversation in another language. Amidst this garbled discourse were the words, ‘Ed’s,’ ‘White,’ and ‘Long.’
“A vehicle will be there in twenty minutes,” stated Strembicky.
“What am I looking for?”
There was a pause that the rain filled with white noise.
“They will find you,” replied the guarantor.
“Okay.”
The line went dead.
Task slid the cellphone into his pocket.
Another warm, wet breeze played across his skin and stirred the corners of his jacket. In the near future, the lowriders would be room temperature, and the threat would be removed. The slick, his associates, and his parlors would once again be safe.
This rationale did not make Task any more comfortable with the idea of committing two acts of first-degree murder, though fortunately for him, he no longer had the ability to walk away.
A consortium vehicle was coming.
Two mosquitoes flew between the slick’s face and the sheets of water that fell just beyond the edge of the overhang. The insects hummed as they wove nonsensical circles, afraid of the rain and uninterested in the bruised man’s blood. A manicured hand that would soon commit murder gently waved the pests away.
Task watched the storm pound the city, and eventually, his gaze returned to the purple hybrid. Recalling the thoughtful woman who awaited him inside the diner, he turned around and passed through the doorway. The soles of his Italians cracked upon the white and turquoise tiles as he approached the booth, which was surmounted by a chestnut ponytail, a long neck, and two bare shoulders.
Erin turned around in her seat. “Is everything okay?”
“There’s some junk I need to deal with,” said Task, who then sat on the opposite side of the table.
“I told Charlie to give you your usual. In case we had to go.”
“That was thoughtful.” The slick was not sure that he would be able to eat an omelet, but he appreciated the gesture. “What’d you get?”
“Scrambled eggs and bacon. And cheese grits, which is my number one favorite thing on the menu.”
“They’re good here.”
The waitress emerged from the kitchen, carrying a big tray of food.
“That was fast,” remarked Task.
“You were out there for a while.”
The slick glanced at the counter clock and saw that the time was eighteen after six. Apparently, he had stood underneath the overhang for fifteen minutes, staring at bugs and the storm.
Plates clanked upon the surface of the table, and soon, the smells of eggs, ham, bacon, Swiss, cheddar, and grits filled the air.
“Mmmm,” said Erin. “Looks great.”
Making a U-turn, Charlie drove toward the front counter. “Enjoy.”
The wall clock clicked, garnering Task’s attention.
Five minutes remained before the arrival of the consortium vehicle.
“In a rush?” asked Erin.
“Somebody’s picking me up.”
“Here?”
“Yeah. Soon.”
An unspoken question wrinkled the butterfly’s face.
“I can’t talk about it,” said the slick. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry.” Erin pointed a green glitter fingertip at the food. “Eat.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Task cut into his omelet with the side of his fork, saw something flash in his peripheral vision, and looked through the window.
A pair of headlights sped down the street and disappeared around a corner.
The slick slotted eggs into his mouth, chewed thrice, and swallowed.
Across the table, the butterfly put a spoon into her bowl of cheddar cheese grits. The utensil clanked against the porcelain as she stirred.
A renegade raindrop smacked the window, and again, the clock ticked.
Uncomfortable with these sounds, Task thought of something to say. “How long do you expect to work at the parlor?”
Erin lowered her gaze and stirred her grits. Her downturned face showed uncertainty.
“It’s okay.” The slick raised a forkful of hash browns that were actually hash blacks. “I know this isn’t gonna be your career for very long.”
“Why’s that?”
Task chewed and swallowed his potatoes. “You’re too together.”
Relaxing, Erin lifted her gaze. “Two months, maybe three. Until I get myself out of debt and put away some savings.”
“What then?”
“You’re interested in what I do after?”
“Very.”
Suddenly shy, the butterfly lowered her gaze and resumed stirring her grits.
The pitiless clock ticked. On the far side of myriad raindrops and three intersections shone two sparkling dots.
The slick lost his appetite.
“I was in nursing school before I got in trouble,” Erin said, “so I’ll finish that and get my license.”
“Not a veterinarian?”
“I can handle a lot—obviously—but I couldn’t go to work every day and see sick doggies. No way.”
“You’d be a good RN.”
The sparkling dots crossed an intersection and turned into cones of light.
“It’d feel good,” the butterfly said, “doing something like that.”
“I’m sure it would.”
The moving headlights glared as the vehicle turned into the parking lot. Rolling through the rain was a white sports utility vehicle that had black windows.
Suppressing anxieties, Task waved at the oncoming automobile and looked across the table.
Erin was gone.
An irrational fear suddenly joined all of the slick’s very rational ones but vanished when he saw the butterfly returning from the front counter. Held in her hands were a white takeout container, two napkins, and a plastic fork.
“You’re taking the rest of that food with you.”
“Okay.”
“And eating it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Erin transferred the remainder of Task’s omelet and hash blacks into the proper storage compartments and slotted his fork and napkin in an empty groove. “There.”
The slick set a fifty-dollar bill on the table and received the takeout container. “Thank you.”
“Be careful.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Concern shone upon the butterfly’s face. “Be careful.”
Task said, “Bye,” turned around, and walked through the doorway. Warm, wet air enveloped him, and beyond the overhang, hedges shuddered, tickled by the downpour.
Holding the takeout container over his head, the slick hastened toward the white SUV. Rain soaked his sleeves as his Italians splashed water. The distance between him and the automobile diminished to ten feet, and the front passenger door swung open.
Task climbed into the dark leather interior. Behind the wheel sat a muscular cog in a black jogging suit who had a goatee and a cauliflower right ear.
The slick closed the door.
Four automatic locks clicked in unison.
“Put all of your weapons in here,” said an unseen man who sat in the darkness behind Task.
Leather upholstery creaked, and a metal toolbox landed upon the armrest.
The slick set his takeout container on top of the steel container. “Get your boss on the phone before I do anything.”
Clothing rustled, and leather upholstery creaked. A click followed, barely distinguishable from the polyrhythmic tattoo of the storm upon the windshield and roof.
Waiting, Task watched the small figure who was dimly visible in the rearview mirror. The left cheek and corresponding ear of this fellow were illuminated by a cellphone.
A small voice sounded in the receiver.
“He wants to talk to you,” said the short fellow who sat in the back seat.
The reply was brief. Light and shadows moved throughout the interior as the cellphone floated toward the front.
The slick took the device, which he then set against his good ear. “Hello?”
“You wanted to talk to me?” asked Strembicky.
“I didn’t recognize these guys and wanted some verification.”
“They’re mine.”
“Okay. Bye.”
The line went dead.
Task saw the name Leo V. at the top of the screen and returned the cellphone to the short, well-dressed fellow in the backseat.
The goateed cog set the takeout container upon the dashboard and then opened the toolbox. A white washcloth lay inside.
“Your weapons,” Leo V. prompted from the backseat.
“I only have one. And it seems like I’m gonna need it.”
“The weaponry will be supplied by us.”
The slick then understood why the consortium guys were asking for his gun. “My gun doesn’t have a biography. It’s clean.”
“Probably.”
Task took the washcloth, removed the revolver from his ankle holster, wiped his fingerprints from the surface, popped the cylinder, dumped the bullets, and cleaned the shells. Mummified in white fabric, the gun and ammunition were placed inside of the toolbox.
Leo V. shut the lid and took the container into the backseat.
The goateed cog accelerated. Cones of light scanned the downpour, and the SUV dipped as it left the parking lot.
Task resisted the impulse to look back and see if Erin were still in the booth with her cheddar grits and scrambled eggs.
Dialing the wheel clockwise, the goateed cog drove east. Four oncoming headlights shone in the opposite lane, but the bottom pair were only a watery reflection of the ones on top.
“You found both of them?” Task asked while turning off his cellphone.
The fellow behind the wheel ignored the question and scratched his cauliflower ear.
Irked, the slick glanced at the short shadow that sat in the rearview mirror. “Can you count all the way up to two?”
“We’re not gonna get conversational.”
Four headlights swept past the SUV, pulling a long, high wake.
It was clear to Task that the pair had been told to keep quiet. All of the men who worked for Strembicky were well-disciplined, and thus, there was no point in making any further inquiries.