Cold Shot to the Heart (15 page)

Eddie ignored him, put the Star away, looked though the wallet. Two hundred in cash, credit cards, and a driver's license. He took the cash out, tossed the wallet back at him.

“You know who I am?” Eddie said.

Stimmer shook his head.

“Sometimes they call me Eddie the Saint. That mean anything to you?”

“Should it?”

“Who fucked you up?”

Stimmer looked away.

“Ten thousand,” Terry said. He put the money back in the bag.

To Stimmer, Eddie said, “Any more of that around here?”

“That's it.”

Eddie turned to Terry. “Have a look around.”

Terry set the money bag on the couch, left the room.

Eddie picked up the Ruger, then went to the front door and locked it.

“Fucking Tino,” Stimmer said.

Eddie turned to him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

They heard noises from the bedroom. Terry came back out holding banded stacks of cash.

“Loose floorboards in the closet,” he said. “Maybe twenty thousand all together.”

Eddie looked at Stimmer. “Lying bastard.”

Stimmer raised himself to a sitting position. He was still breathing heavily.

“I think you and I need to have a conversation,” Eddie said. “Fill me in on some things, and you'll get out of this all right.”

“Yeah? Fill this in: Go fuck yourself.”

“That money in the floor, that from Fort Lauderdale?”

“Never been there.”

“Twenty grand in there, and ten grand from the store tonight. You planning to make a run for it?”

“Why would I do that?”

“You're a hard guy,” Eddie said. “I get it. An OG. But I am, too, so where's that leave us?”

“It leaves me fucking your mother where she breathes.”

“Okay. Another approach.” He set the Ruger on the arm of the couch, picked up the razor. To Terry, he said, “Go find me some duct tape or something, a dish towel. Anything I can use as a gag.” He opened the blade.

“Gag on this,” Stimmer said and touched his crotch.

“You got balls, I'll give you that. Maybe that's where we should start.”

“I ain't saying shit to you about anything. If you came here to do me, you piece of shit, then do it.”

“Who says I came here to do you? All I want is the cash.”

“You got it already. All I have.”

Eddie shook his head. “Three of you, five hundred grand on the table? No, you've got more than that somewhere.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I look stupid to you, OG? That the way this conversation is going to go?”

“Do what you gotta do.”

“I will,” Eddie said. “But when this shit gets bad, remember it was your fault.”

Terry came back in with a white T-shirt. “All I could find.”

“That'll do.” Eddie stood, razor in hand. “Wind it tight, tie it over his mouth.”

Terry hesitated.

“Do it.”

“Wait,” Stimmer said. “Just wait a minute.”

“Why?”

Stimmer looked at Terry, then back to Eddie. “You're not going to let me walk out of here. I know that.”

“Don't be so sure. I want the money, that's all. I don't care about your sad, beaten-up ass.”

“You got the money. All I have.”

Eddie closed the razor, dropped it in a pocket. “How do you know Tino?”

“Tino who?”

“Tino who gave me this, told me where you lived.” He took the picture out, showed it to him.

“That motherfucker,” Stimmer said.

“He is that. How do you know him?”

“I got nothing to say about that.”

Eddie picked up the Ruger, racked the slide. The chambered shell ejected as another loaded, the hammer locking back. He set the gun back down.

“So, if that's all you've got,” Eddie said, “where's the rest of the money?”

Stimmer took a breath. “I don't have it. That bitch and her partner do.”

“Who's that?”

“I thought you knew all about it.”

“I'm asking you.”

“Cell phone.”

“Go ahead.”

Stimmer reached into a jacket pocket, drew out a phone. He put it on the floor, slid it across to Eddie's feet.

“Why do I want that?” Eddie said.

“Let's understand each other. You want that money, from Fort Lauderdale. I don't have it, but I can lead you to the people who do.”

“And who would that be?”

“One of them is named Bobby Chance. You heard of him?”

“No.”

“He works out of the Midwest mostly. The other one's a woman. Named Crissa Stone.”

“Bullshit.”

“Ask around. She used to run with a pro named Wayne Boudreaux, they worked together. Now he's inside and she's on her own. She and Chance fucked me over, took the whole haul.”

“They the ones that put the beating on you?”

“Yeah. Left me down there with a broken kneecap and three cracked ribs. And they took every dime.”

“How much was that?”

“My third was supposed to be a hundred and forty K. You can do the math yourself. They kept it all.”

“So you've got a score to settle with them?”

“Wouldn't you?”

“What about Letteri, the one who got shot?”

“What about him?”

“You pulled the trigger, you tell me.”

“Whoever told you that is a fucking liar. Chance fired that shot. They tried to lay that on me afterward, too.”

Eddie sat back down. After a moment, he said, “Something doesn't make sense.”

“You're right, there was close to half a mil in that game. And the two of them took it all and framed me up for the shooting. So, yeah, I got a score to settle.”

“So, maybe we can help you with that. Where are they now?”

“In the wind, but they couldn't have gotten far. Like I said, Chance is in the Midwest these days, but Stone used to be based up here, New York maybe.”

“How'd you get in touch with them?”

“I didn't. They have contacts they work through. I put word out I was looking to put a crew together. They were available.”

“How'd you reach the contacts?”

Stimmer nodded at the phone. “It's all in there. I've met Stone's guy. His name's Hector Suarez. He's up here, Jersey City. Chance's guy is named Sladden, out of Missouri. Take a look for yourself. Their numbers are both in there.”

“Tell me more,” Eddie said. “Everything you know about them.”

Stimmer talked for the next five minutes. Eddie scratched his chin, occasionally looking over to where Terry stood.

When Stimmer was done, Eddie said, “Okay, I believe you. But it doesn't look like you're in much shape to go looking for anyone.”

“I'm not. Not yet, at least. But I can help you.”

“And what are you expecting out of this?”

“I'm not expecting anything. I just want to settle it. You give me whatever you think is fair. Or nothing at all, that's fine with me, too.”

“It's the principle of the thing,” Eddie said.

“Something like that.”

“You say you've got Suarez's number in there?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know if you're bullshitting us or not.”

Stimmer picked up the phone, punched keys. He held up the illuminated screen so Eddie could see it.

“Right there,” he said. “HS.” Eddie nodded.

“He's a family man,” Stimmer said. He closed the phone, set it back on the floor. “Wife and kids. But he's a hard case, or at least tries to act like it.”

“Stand up,” Eddie said.

Stimmer pulled his crutches closer, got them under him.

“You need a hand?” Eddie said.

“No, I'm good.” He rose slowly, looked at Terry. “You need to leave me some of that money. It's all I've got.”

“Don't push it,” Eddie said. “So where do we start?”

“Suarez. We get him to tell us where Stone is, she leads us to Chance. They both lead us to the money. There hasn't been much time, they've probably still got most of it. They'll be sitting on it, waiting for the heat to blow over.”

“That would be the smart thing,” Eddie said.

“Oh, they're smart, all right.”

“Could be tough finding them, though.”

“I've worked with both of them before. I know them, I know people they know. I can find them. I just need help.”

“Okay.”

“When we find that Stone bitch, though, I want to handle it myself.”

“I don't blame you,” Eddie said. He sat thinking for a moment, then stood.

“Listen up,” he said. “Here's the deal. You help us find Suarez. He takes us to Stone. Whatever we get from her, my partner and I”—he looked at Terry—“split three-quarters of it. You get what's left. That's if we find anything.”

Stimmer nodded, rested his weight on the crutches. “That'll work,” he said. “And don't worry, we'll find them all right.”

“I'm not worried,” Eddie said. He lifted the Ruger and shot him through the forehead.

EIGHTEEN

She felt calmer out of the city. It was a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Litchfield, another twenty minutes on a rural road north of town. It was colder up here, snow still on the ground, the trees bare.

The house was set back from the road, thick woods on three sides, the trees dark and naked. Windblown snow covered half the
FOR SALE
sign on a post in the yard.

She steered the rented Saturn up the driveway, parked in front of the single-car garage on the edge of the woods. The backyard was an unmarred sheet of white.

The first time she'd seen the house, she'd fallen in love with it. It was a two-story colonial, built in the early 1900s, simple in design and detail, but with the look of permanence. It had been freshly painted since she'd last been here, white with green trim. Sunlight flashed off the big windows of the enclosed back porch.

Against the garage wall was a pile of snow-topped firewood. She thought of the big fireplace in the living room, the brick hearth. Imagined building a fire while snow fell outside. This is the house I've always wanted, she thought. The house I've earned.

She got out her cell, called the Realtor in Litchfield. When the woman answered, all Crissa said was “I'm here.”

*   *   *

The Realtor's name was Jackie. She was in her forties, with long blond hair and a hippieish quality despite her business suit.

“I know you've already been through here once,” she said as she unlocked the front door, “but I'm sure the Hammersteins won't mind your coming back. Like we say in the business, they're motivated.”

She led Crissa into the big front room. The hardwood floor was dusty, the couch and chairs covered with sheets. Everything looked exactly as it had the first time she'd been here, three months ago.

“When was the last time someone lived here?” Crissa said.

“Six months maybe? The Hammersteins are in the Caymans most of the time now. He has business there. But they have someone come by every once in a while. I stop by now and then, too. They leave the power on.”

“Is there an alarm?”

“No. We don't have much crime up here. You could leave your doors unlocked and not have to worry about anything.”

“I doubt that,” Crissa said.

“Well, you're from the city. Things are different down there.”

They walked through the dining room and into the kitchen.

“Still,” Crissa said. “Seems like they're taking a chance, leaving the house empty so long.”

“Up here, it's like a small town. Everyone knows everyone. Unless you don't want them to, of course. I mean, it's very private, too.”

They went out onto the porch. Light poured through the tall windows, warming the trapped air. She had a vision of the cat with the torn ear curled on the sill, sleeping in the sun. This would be a good room, she thought. A room to sit in when you grew old.

“It's an old house, but charming,” Jackie said. “It just needs a little work here and there.”

“That's okay. I'm handy.” She looked out into the snowy expanse of yard, the trees beyond. “What about the neighbors?”

“The Coopers are down the road a ways. If you look to the left there, you can almost see their house through the trees. He's an architect, she's a party planner. They have a condo in Manhattan, so they're mainly up here in the summer. Sometimes weekends during the fall, too. The leaves around here then are unbelievable.”

“What about the other side?”

“That's very sad.”

“Why?”

“Mr. Dubro, who owns it with his wife, worked for a big insurance company in the city. There were some shenanigans with mortgages or something, I don't know what exactly. The company went under, and he ended up in some sort of trouble. They tried to sell the house, but the way the market's been…”

“It could have been worse,” Crissa said. “He could have gone to prison, lost the house altogether.”

“I guess that's true.”

“Kids in the neighborhood?”

“No, not nearby at least. You're probably glad to hear that.”

“No. It would be nice if there were. How are the schools?”

“Most of the children bus into the next county. The middle school there always makes the list of the state's best. Do you want to take another look upstairs?”

Crissa nodded, and they went up to the second floor. Two bedrooms here, a bathroom with new tiling and an old clawfoot tub. She went into the rear bedroom, Jackie following. The room smelled of dust and mothballs. The bed was stripped, the other furniture covered with sheets.

At the window, Crissa looked down on the gleaming white yard. She had a clear view of the driveway, the garage, and the woods beyond. A dead wasp lay on the sill.