CHAPTER 26

It's Too Late

Kerry and the women refused to show any relief over the successful recovery of the burlap sacks. They knew the real danger was still ahead. And when the car pulled away from the curb, the three of them stood on the sidewalk in front of Six-thirteen, frozen into a composition of helplessness.

When they arrived at the Nextime Bar, Santo noticed two unsavory characters loitering in the rear parking lot. The gesture between them revealed that they recognized Nat's vehicle. Then they melted into the blue shadows.

“That was no coincidence,” Santo said. “I don't like this already, Paisley.”

“It's too late to do anything about it now.”

“Then if we're going to go, let's go in style,” Julian said, as he brandished a sharp kitchen knife.

“Put that stupid thing away,” Paisley said. “All you're going to do with that is piss them off.”

“Who says?”

“What are you getting at, Julian?” Santo said.

“A change in plans. I'm not going to stay out here like a sitting duck. And you shouldn't either, Nat.”

“Okay,” Nat said, as he pulled his keys out of the ignition. “But I kind of agree with Pais. I don't think these knives are going to be much good against these people.”

“You're probably right. But I say we at least call their bluff or…or…at least show them that we're not afraid. Something. Anything to give us an edge to cut them with. You don't scare these kind of people, man, unless you make them bleed a little.” Julian looked at Paisley. “I'm going to help you out just this once. But so help me, I'll break your face if you ever get me into something like this again…in Atlanta or any other place we might end up together after this.”

“Look,” Nat interrupted. “There's two more prowling over there at the entrance of the parking lot.”

“Shit.”

“I promise you, Julian. I swear,” Paisley said.

Julian threw a mean glance at him. “I hear you.”

“Well then…each of you grab a sack,” Santo said. “Let's go.”

They all got out of the car, intimidating the two guys standing in the shadows of the building. They melted away in response to the small band's approach: one through the rear door of the bar and the other around the side of the building. The other two maintained their distance near the entrance of the parking lot. Santo took charge.

“Stay in pairs. Julian, Nat, follow that other guy around front and come in through the main entrance. Paisley and I will take the back door. Here, let me have those sacks.” He ended up with three of the burlap sacks while Paisley carried the fourth, along with the box of cocaine. “Okay. This is it. You two work your way through the bar into the pool hall. Manford's office is in the rear left corner of the place. If you hear any trouble…well…this is not everyone for themselves this time.”

“Can I count on you guys?”

“We're here, ain't we?” Nat said.

Santo stepped between him and Paisley. “Save it for those guys inside, Nat.”

The two pairs broke off in opposite directions.

Santo and Paisley paused near the back door for a few moments to give Nat and Julian time to enter the bar. Then Santo opened the rear door and invited Paisley to enter first.

The pool hall was more crowded than the night before last, and the sound of billiards balls banged and banked off the tables more frequently. The office door was open, and the light was on. Manford appeared at the door's threshold with a sinister smile streaked horizontally across his face. He motioned them to hurry as he stood there waiting to shut the door behind him. Santo was surprised to find Manford alone.

“I see you have the merchandise.”

“Yeah, Mr. Manford,” Paisley said.

Under Manford's intense scrutiny, Santo set the three burlap sacks he was carrying on the desk. Then Manford glanced at the box Paisley was carrying, ignoring the fourth sack.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Paisley said.

“Let's have a look.”

Paisley approached the desk while Santo shifted to a position near the door. Then Manford opened and tested the cocaine. He appeared to be pleased.

“I don't suppose you'll be able to appreciate this,” he said, with his eyes firmly planted on the cocaine. “But you were part of an experiment. I'm sure you've noted a few irregularities.”

Paisley shifted uneasily. “Yeah. So?”

“So, doesn't that make you a little curious?”

“Just pay me what you owe me and I'll disappear.”

“I'm curious,” Santo said.

“Good.” Manford actually smiled. “First of all, Paisley was supposed to work alone. He didn't. Secondly, he was never expected to return. As a decoy, he was supposed to be caught. His escape placed the real shipment in jeopardy. The cops were swarming all over North Florida last night. And finally, for reasons that will always remain a secret, this is a one-way trip for you, Paisley.” Manford pulled out a revolver from his desk drawer. It had a large silencer attached to the end of the muzzle. “But now, it's a one-way trip for both of you.”

“You son of a bitch,” Paisley said. Manford pointed the threatening revolver at him. “What are you slimeballs up to?”

“You're the slimeball. And you're up to dying. That's all you have to know,” he said coldly.

Santo quickly reached for the light switch by the door and pushed it down. The sudden darkness produced several concentrated flashes from the silencer. Santo crouched low against the wall in response.

“You motherfucker!” Paisley cried.

Manford fired the revolver two more times before Santo heard Paisley lock onto Manford in a struggle. And when he switched on the lights to render Paisley assistance, he saw him bury his knife deep into Manford's chest. Manford gasped, dropped the revolver, and fell heavily to the floor. Then Paisley staggered against the desk for support before he slumped down onto his rump beside him. The front of his shirt was crimson with blood.

Santo ran over to him. “Paisley!”

“The son of a bitch got me on the third shot.”

Santo found the telephone and lifted it off the receiver. “We've got to get you to the hospital.”

“I don't feel good, man.”

“No shit, you idiot.” He started dialing. “You'll be alright. Jail is better than being dead, right?” But there was no answer.

He hung up the telephone and approached Paisley to assess his condition. There was no breath, no pulse, no life.

Manford was also dead. He searched through his pockets and discovered about five hundred dollars in cash.

“Sorry about this, Pais. But we need this money to get out of town. lake care, buddy.”

He turned off the lights and slipped out of the office. He didn't understand why nobody heard the scuffle or the muffled shots.

He walked to the nearest unoccupied billiards table and scanned the pool hall for Julian and Nat. Then the realization of what had just happened smashed through his brain and paralyzed him; he leaned against the table for support.

Death had been no stranger to him, but this was different. This was a criminal affair that could ruin the rest of his life. He wasn't prepared to allow that to happen. Not after surviving a tour of duty in Vietnam.

Careful voices approached him as he regained his composure.

“Rick, baby, are you alright?” Julian said.

“Yeah, man. I'm okay.”

Nat placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Where's Paisley?”

Santo had enough sense to whisper. “He's dead.”

“He's what? Holy shit.”

“We've got to get the hell out of here,” Julian hissed.

“You've got that right,” Santo said.

“What the hell is all this about?”

“Who the hell knows. But as long as we're here, Nat, we're bait. Come on. Some of the players are beginning to look at us. I think the front entrance is probably the safest way out.”

“But my car.”

“It's no good if you're dead.”

“We're dead without it.”

“Nat's right.”

“Okay, okay, let's go.”

They left the bar through the back door and went straight for the car. The parking lot was deserted.

“What the hell is going on around here?”

“Shit. This is creepy.”

“Right on.”

They piled into the Chevrolet.

“Never again. Never.”

Nat started the car and drove out of the parking lot.