Dirty Deeds (13 page)

“I have money, which means I have connections. It also means you need to drop me off once we get there so I can do my thing,’ I said.

“No way. You’re not leaving my sight.”

No one had been shooting for awhile and Keane was still driving like a maniac, so I took a big gamble and sat up. Besides, my neck and back were hurting from being so low in the seat. I turned and looked behind us. For now we weren’t being pursued.

How convenient.

“You lost them pretty quickly,” I said, trying not to sound sarcastic. I’m not sure if it worked or not.

Keane glanced at me in the rearview mirror and grinned. “I still got it.”

I was having my doubts about this setup. The bad guys were coming to get me and Keane rescued me at the last minute, and now we’d hole up in a remote cabin in the woods and over a bottle of scotch I’d cry and tell him all the bad things I’d done in my life before he slapped the cuffs on me.

I causally pulled my cell phone out, made sure it was on mute and texted Marisa. With my lack of skills texting and my giant sausage fingers it took me forever but I got the message to her. She was tracking me already.

I smiled and sat up, leaning forward.

“You planted a bug on me, didn’t you? Back in Staten Island? It’s the only way you knew my every move,” I said.

Keane didn’t answer, making pretend driving on the road in a straight line was suddenly worth all of his focus.

I sat back in the seat.

“We need to switch cars. If a cop sees the busted window he’ll pull us over. If he calls it in first it will alert the guys after us,” Keane said.

I checked my pockets and found a small round disc with a touch of glue. I’d used them a couple of times myself and knew they were expensive but effective.

“How’d you get it on me without my noticing?” I asked, tossing it past Keane and onto the dashboard.

I could see the small grin on his face but he didn’t bother to answer.

Marisa was tracking me by my phone. I pulled it from my pocket and called her, smiling when Keane gave me an alarmed look in the rearview mirror.

“Hey, I need a favor. We need a car,” I said.

“We?” Marisa asked.

“Keane is driving Mister Gaffney right now. But the vehicle has seen better days. While I do enjoy sitting in the backseat without the rear window and letting the breeze blow through my hair, it is kind of noticeable. I’d appreciate some help,” I said.

“He still thinks your name is James Gaffney? Cute.”

I winked at Keane when he looked back at me again.

“He’s starting to catch up. Not the worry right now. We need a new set of wheels. Something fast but inconspicuous will do,” I said. “And not a hybrid. You know I hate the environment.”

“You seem to hate everything,” Marisa said. I could hear her typing quickly, about eight times faster than I could on my best day. And she wasn’t doing it fast, either.

“Not true. I enjoy food.”

“We need to get you a pet. You like cats?”

I groaned. We’d been over this a million times already. “I hate cats. I love dogs and goldfish but I travel too much. Any pet would starve to death and then you’d finally see me crying.”

“I’ve seen you cry before,” Marisa said. “It’s anything but manly.”

Keane was listening to every word of the conversation, probably wondering how to break the code we were using. There wasn’t any. Marisa and I often chatted about anything and everything. We joked quite a bit and both knew when it was time for business all joking was over.

She also knew I was in a spot right now and needed to get out of it.

“Do you want to stay with Keane or dump him?” Marisa asked.

“I’m not sure yet. What do you have for me in this area?”

“Tell Keane to take the next exit and go right at the light.”

I relayed the information.

“Are you sure?” Keane asked.

“Do you want me to help you or no? Just follow the directions so we can get out of this mess.” I shook my head and went back to my phone call. “Let me know what to do next so I can relay it.”

“Just say the word and the guy at the other end will do you a big favor. For a big fee, of course,” Marisa said.

“We just need a good car,” I said.

“Suit yourself. Go four blocks and make another right.”

I wondered if simply getting rid of Keane would help or hinder me at this point.

I didn’t let the big bruiser eliminate Keane, even though I could tell he wanted to. Instead, he met us outside, took the keys from Keane and stared at me for direction.

“I just need the car,” I said.

He nodded and tossed me a set of keys from his pocket. “Around the street. Black Mustang.”

I thanked him. He was a giant of a man, at least six and a half feet tall and with enough prison tats to fill my skin twice. He knew who Keane was and I knew I’d paid more for this car and silence than stepping onto a lot and buying it new, but I needed the car quickly and quietly.

“I’m driving,” Keane said.

I smiled and shook my head. “You don’t know where we’re going. I do. It’s time for you to ride shotgun.”

“I’d rather stretch out in the backseat,” Keane said.

“I really can’t argue with the logic,” I said as I got into the driver’s seat.

“Don’t drive too fast.”

“You’re telling me? You broke a dozen driving laws in the last couple of hours. Sit back and enjoy the ride,” I said. I was actually a very cautious driver. Marisa made fun of me because I kept it no more than five miles over the speed limit and always used proper signaling. You never wanted to get noticed and never wanted to have a cop pull you over for a brake light out or failure to use a blinker and nail you for the unconscious kid in the trunk.

I had the same thoughts on tipping in a restaurant: never make a scene. Never send food back, never special order, never flirt too much or be rude with the waitress, and always pay in cash and leave exactly fifteen percent. You never want to be remembered as the cheap guy or the generous tipper.

A few miles later I turned onto a side street and pulled over, watching my mirrors.

“What are you doing?” Keane asked.

“Watching for the bad guys. If we’re being tailed they’ll stumble upon us. I’d rather have a shootout now. It will do us no good if the safe house is found out,” I said.

“When all of this is over, you and I are going to have a long talk,” Keane said.

“Agreed. But right now. . . we hang out and wait. It won’t be long if we’re being followed,” I said and watched. After ten long minutes in silence I started the car. I turned to Keane, sitting in the back seat. “Sit up front. I don’t like anyone behind me.”

“You don’t think they hung back?” Keane asked as he got out and sat in the passenger seat.

I shook my head. “There’s no way for them to see us after we made the turn. They’d assume we kept driving and they’d stumble onto us.”

“Then what?”

“You shoot them and we continue on our merry way,” I said.

“I can’t let you shoot anyone.”

I smiled. “I don’t carry a weapon and when I do it isn’t loaded. I’m a pacifist.”

“Doubtful. I was about to smack you with the irony of your words and mention dead children, but now I’m beginning to wonder what your game really is. Something isn’t right with you,” Keane said.

“You’re not the first person to say it.” I pulled away from the curb, expecting the bad guys to get behind us at any moment. “You do realize, for a single moment when you got out of the car, I toyed with driving away and leaving you behind?”

“Why do you think I made the transition so fast?”

I knew even if we’d ducked them for a little bit, they weren’t going to stop looking. If the FBI was involved they’d get state and local police units out looking for us, too. This was going to get really bad before it magically got good for us.

“How’d you get into collecting baseball cards?” Keane asked me.

He wanted to make small talk. I was fine with it. Chit-chat made the time go faster, and if I was being honest with myself, besides Marisa and really bad people, I had no one else to talk to.

The redhead from the card shows came to mind but I pushed the thought away for another, simpler day. Too much going on right now to add a further complication.

“My dad was a huge fan. I grew up in Atlanta. He’d take me to see the Braves, even when they were horrible. It didn’t matter whether they won or lost. We had a great time,” I said.

I needed to watch every word I was saying because I knew Keane would file it away to get back to my roots somehow. Yeah, I’m still paranoid. I didn’t and couldn’t trust Keane just yet. I really wanted to but I needed to survive more than anything, and too many guns were aimed at my head right now.

“To be honest, I’m not much of a baseball fan. Too slow for me. I love college football.”

“Even though I grew up in the south I never got into college ball. I’m also a big Falcons fan. I root for the home team in all sports,” I said. “I collected Braves cards. Dale Murphy, Phil Niekro, Dusty Baker. Great players on bad teams. Niekro made a hundred grand in 1975 for salary. Crazy it was the highest on the team.”

“I’m going to guess you make that on a good weekend at a major show,” Keane said.

I looked at him, expecting a knowing look or some hint he wanted to talk money, but he was looking out his window.

“I’ve often wondered if I was in the right line of work. Most days I love it, but there are times I look back through my life and wonder where I went wrong. At what point was the wrong road taken? I was a decent painter as a kid. Watercolors and acrylic, not house painting. A talent. But I was talked into doing something not so creative and common sense.” Keane tapped the glass with a finger. “I always wonder if I’d followed my dreams if I’d end up in the same spot, worse or better.”

“Why aren’t you painting in your free time?”

“What free time?” Keane said too quickly. I knew it was his snap answer whenever he was asked this simple question. He was a guy who had an excuse not to do what he loved and complain about what he was doing instead.

“That’s lame,” I said.

Keane snorted.

“Seriously. I don’t care how many hours you work in a day, you still can find some time. I don’t care if I’m collecting frequent flyer miles like I’ve been doing, I still find time to do the things I am passionate about,” I said.

“What’s that?”

I knew he was trying to put it back on me and change the subject but I knew I’d turn it back on Keane.

“I actually read quite a bit,” I said.

“Anyone can read a book. That isn’t being creative,” Keane said.

“Exactly. I don’t have a creative bone in my body. I’m a collector. I like to hoard sports cards and autographs and books. I have close to a thousand books in my home I’ll never get to, but whenever I get a minute I sit down and read something,” I said.

“Which home are you referring to?”

Keane was full of questions today. I kept driving and watching for pursuit as we talked.

“You have a gift.”

“How do you know? Maybe I’m horrible at painting.”

I shook my head and smiled. “It isn’t about good or bad. It’s about being creative and having an outlet to shut your mind off from the day to day garbage going on. Whenever my brain won’t turn off, especially when I have a crisis, I start to read. Slowly I can clear my mind and find I can tackle the issue later. I’m sure, when you’re painting, nothing else matters.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I just need to get back to it. Right now, with all this travel and work, it’s hard,” Keane said.

“Stop chasing me around the country and go home. Do some paperwork and leave the office at five like you’re supposed to,” I said.

“I wish it were that easy.” Keane stared out the window again, lost in thought.

I needed to find out about Will Black and where he was. I needed to get away from Keane in a way he wouldn’t get pissed and come after me even harder, if that were possible.

The rest of the ride to the safe house in New Jersey was uneventful. There was no way anyone had been following us and no suspicious cars lined the street when I pulled into the driveway and then into the enclosed garage.

“Nice place you got here,” Keane said as he stretched his legs.

“It’s not mine. Just a friends in the event I needed somewhere safe.” I hit the button to close the garage door and found the extra key under the mat. I’d never been here before but I wasn’t going to give Keane any information if I could help it.

Inside the house was bare; all the rooms empty save a new couch and TV in the living room and a bed in the master bedroom. The kitchen was spotless.

I opened the refrigerator and smiled.

“We have blocks of cheese and a bag of hard salami.” I opened the cabinet and found a bottle of wine and a box of Ritz crackers. What else did you need? A knife to cut the cheese, which I found in the drawer with one setting of silverware.

Keane joined me standing at the counter since there wasn’t a kitchen table and we ate in silence. Neither of us opened the wine bottle. I wondered if he was sober after the DUI arrest and the ex-wives. I’d never bothered to check if he’d gone into a program for his drinking. I’d underestimated Keane up until the last few days.

“I never thought we’d be hanging out in a strange house sharing cheese and crackers,” I said to break the ice.

“Don’t forget the salami,” he said and shook a piece before shoving it into his mouth.

I pulled two clean coffee cups from the cabinet and filled them with tap water.

“No coffee maker. I hope we’re not holed up long,” I said. “Luckily, we’re in Jersey so there’s a Wawa or Dunkin Donuts on every other corner.”

“I need to make a phone call. Figure out who I can trust,” Keane said.

“So do I.”

We finished eating and put everything back where we’d found it.

Keane went back into the garage and I walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind me. We both needed some privacy.

I called Marisa and told her where I was and what I was doing. To say she wasn’t happy would be an understatement. I loved her for never beating around the bush, but after five minutes of getting a tongue lashing from her I had to cut Marisa off and remind her who was paying her salary and she was starting to hurt my feelings.