Everybody Pays (22 page)

The young woman dropped the night glasses to her lap, wheeled herself over to the computer. A few keystrokes accessed a modem.

what? the screen said in response.

Her fingers tapped the keys. rolling appeared on her screen. She hit another key and the screen went blank.

In an office on a high floor of the Sears Tower, a man turned from another computer screen and picked up a telephone.

In an after-hours joint on the South Side, Ace felt a vibration in his shirt pocket. He took out his beeper, glanced at the liquid-crystal display. The blade-thin killer walked through the club into a back room where a man was watching television. He turned from the screen at Ace’s approach, waiting. When Ace nodded, he got up and walked out the back door.

A city ambulance was cruising the Dan Ryan Expressway. A round-faced Hispanic woman was driving, her hair spilling out from under her cap. A lanky white man with a prominent Adam’s apple was in the passenger seat. Their radio was quiet. A
brrr
-ing sound filled the cab. The lanky man took a mobile phone from his shirt pocket, flipped it open. He didn’t speak.

“Alert,” the phone said into his ear.

The lanky man nodded at his partner.

“Tell Bruno that he has a deal,” the man in the Mercedes was saying into his cellular phone.

The door to the truck bay of an abandoned warehouse slid up. A car slid out into the night—an anonymous smog-gray sedan, custom-assembled from several different makes, unidentifiable. It squatted on extra-wide tires, its bulletproof windows tinted dark blue. The car’s license plates were made from two legitimate half-plates welded together. Its undercarriage was sheathed in a bellypan of steel. The car weighed almost three tons.

A pudgy man was at the wheel, guiding the massive vehicle delicately with his fingertips.

“I got him on the scanner,” Cross said from the passenger seat. “Probably the
federales
do too, the chump.”

The pudgy man said nothing, piloting the shark car through the warehouse district on the Near South Side, heading toward the Loop.

Cross pulled a cellular phone from a shoulder holster, hit a number.

“How close?” he asked.

“He’s on the Drive,” a voice came back. “Maybe ten minutes. Fifteen tops.”

Cross reholstered the phone.

“He’s going to his girlfriend’s, Buddha. He’ll have a couple of boys out front. It has to be on the turn-in, okay?”

“Sure, chief,” the pudgy man said.

The Mercedes stayed well within the speed limit, its driver talking on his phone, making deals. In his head, making plans. The sleek black car turned off Lake Shore Drive, heading to the Gold Coast apartment where his mistress waited.

“He’s about two klicks away now, Buddha. Stay sharp.”

The pudgy man made no acknowledgment.

Cross hit a number on the cellular phone. In the cab of the ambulance, the lanky man didn’t speak; just listened:

“Going down,” a voice said.

“Hit it!” the lanky man told the driver. As she stepped on the gas, he picked up his radio.

“We’re taking a break. Out of service for a personal. Fifteen minutes; acknowledge.”

“You’re clear,” came back the dispatcher’s voice.

“Let’s try the Gold Coast, partner,” he said to the Hispanic woman. “There’s a little Vietnamese joint over there I want to try.”

“Remind you of old times?” The woman smiled.

The Mercedes turned the corner as the anonymous gray shark car moved in from a side street.

“You got him?” Cross asked.

“Locked,” Buddha said, focusing.

“It’s harvest time,” Cross said, adjusting his shoulder belt.

As the Mercedes slowed down for the corner, the shark car took it broadside, knocking the black coupe into a line of parked vehicles at the curb. Cross slid from the car, looking dazed, his hands empty. Bernardi emerged from the Mercedes, unhurt. And angry. As Cross approached, Bernardi’s fists were balled, his face a mottled pattern of red and white.

“You stupid hillbilly sonofabitch! Look at my car.”

“I’m . . . sorry, man,” Cross muttered. “Look, I got insurance. Really. See . . .”

Cross reached into the pocket of his coat. The sneer vanished from Bernardi’s face as the silenced handgun came up. The first shot took away the bridge of his nose. Cross walked over, cranked off two more rounds into the man’s head. The shark car was off the block before the doorman at the fancy building had finished dialing 911.

The city ambulance was first on the scene.

“We’re coming in, got one down.”

“Trauma team?”

“No way—he’s gone. But his license said he’s an organ donor. May not be too late—all head wounds. We’ve got him all iced down—maybe they can do something.”

“You’re clear to fly, come on.”

“ETA about two minutes.”

The ambulance piled into the hospital lot. The body was wheeled out on a stretcher, rushed into OR. Then the surgeons went to work.

The phone rang in the woman’s home in Merrillville.

“Mrs. Layne?”

“Yes.”

“Please come right away. A casualty just arrived, too late to save him. But he was an organ donor, and his heart’s in perfect condition. We’ve done the blood-typing, and it appears to be an ideal match. We’ve already started surgery.”

“It’s a miracle!” the woman said.

for Rex Miller

PIGEON DROP

“
W
hat?” The speaker’s voice was hard-cored . . . but its edges were brittle.

“Put Carlos on.”

“Who wants him?”

“This whole conversation’s not going past forty-five seconds, pal. You want to spend it playing games?”

A muttered curse cushioned the sound of a palm slapped over the receiver.

“Where, when, and how much?” Carlos didn’t bother with the preliminaries—he knew his voice would be recognized instantly. And he knew the man he was speaking to would do as he promised—hang up when the trace-time had run.

“Tonight, oh two hundred hours. The Paradise Motel on Twenty-fifth,” the man answered. “Go around to the service entrance in the back—where the supply trucks pull in. Two fifty. Small bills, no sequence, no chemicals, and no bang in the suitcase.”

“Be reasonable,
hombre.
It is almost two p.m. now. Twelve hours, it is not very much. And that is a bad neighborhood you picked. I need more time.”

“Come alone, Carlos.”

A sad-sounding sigh . . . of reluctant acquiescence. “Ah, you too, Cross.”

Cross hit the off switch on the cellular phone, thinking it was typical of an amateur to make sure he got the other guy’s name on the tape. In case the
federales
were listening.

If he’d had a sense of humor, Cross would have chuckled at that. Amateurs never got it. And the easiest kind of amateurs were those who thought being a pro at one thing gave them the same status at another—like a dentist doing his own taxes. Carlos was near the top of a dope-smuggling pyramid, but he didn’t know how to play
this
game.

Otherwise, he would have known: when you’re in a war zone, it’s never the name that matters—it’s the address.

And Cross was already at the address. From his vantage point in the ground-floor room, he had a clear view of the service entrance in the back.

“You are really so sure he will do it?” A woman’s voice, coming from the darkness in the back of the small, narrow room.

“Which? Bring the baby or bring the money?”

“The
baby.
What do I care about your money? You already
got
plenty of money. My husband’s money, yes? Why did you not just make the trade, like you told us you would?”

“Carlos knows me,” Cross patiently told the woman. “
Thinks
he knows me, anyway. He took your baby to make you pay, right? What your husband owed him?”

“I do not know my husband’s business,” the woman’s voice said.

“Sure,” Cross replied, nothing in his voice. “Anyway, Carlos knows the risk I took to hijack his shipment. He knows I have to get paid. I’m charging him maybe a tenth of what it’s worth. Plus the baby. That would make sense to him. If I traded a couple of million dollars’ worth of pure for the baby, he wouldn’t like the math. You can’t be paying me
that
much—that’s the way he’d figure it.”

“How could he know how much we would pay for our own baby? I would pay anything to—”

“Yeah, you might. But your husband, he must have drawn the line somewhere short of that.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

“Yeah, you do. This was always about money. You don’t know your husband’s business—sure, whatever you say. You think maybe he’s selling used cars, that’s what pays for that mansion you live in? All those servants? Fancy cars? Jewelry? Your husband, he’s not so slick, figuring Carlos for just another smuggler. Telling him the powder was no good—that he wouldn’t pay.”

“I don’t know any——”

“I guess your husband figured he had enough horsepower in case Carlos squawked. That joint you live in, it’s pretty well protected. Your husband had it all covered—except for the nanny you hired a few months ago.”

“Ah, Carmelita.
Puta!
I thought he hired her for his . . . pleasure. Bringing her into my own home, right in front of my eyes. But I could do nothing. You don’t understand how—”

“It makes no difference to me,” Cross said. “It wasn’t about sex anyway. You found that out, didn’t you?”

“You weren’t there. You don’t know what she—”

“I know what she did. She took your baby. Right under your nose. You were so busy watching to make sure she didn’t get it on with your husband that you let down your guard as soon as he was out of the house. Pretty smooth, wasn’t it? FedEx guy comes to the front door with a package. Carmelita goes to answer it, has the baby in her arms. You’re not paying any attention—”

“I wasn’t even downstairs. I was in the—”

“Whatever,” Cross cut her off. “She hands the baby to the phony FedEx guy and he walks right off with him, right past the guards, the baby in his pouch. By the time you wake up . . .”

“From that poison she put in my coffee!”

“Yeah. I guess it would have been harder for her to knock you out if you hadn’t used her as your personal maid as well as the baby’s nurse.”

“I was—”

“—trying to humiliate her. You couldn’t get her fired, but you sure could break her chops. Just like Carlos figured you would. He’s been ahead of you all since the beginning.”

“You know everything, don’t you?” the woman said, venom-laced bitterness in her voice.

“I know the same as you do,” the man called Cross said to her. “Only difference is, I don’t close my eyes to it.”

The black Corvette pulled into the drive-up area behind the motel at 1:58 a.m. It sat idling, no sign of life visible inside.

Less than a minute later, a smog-colored four-door sedan of no particular make entered the same area, aimed windshield-to-windshield at the black coupe.

The cars watched each other like pit dogs preparing to fight. The Corvette’s headlights were shrouded; the sedan’s amber running lights were on.

A man exited the anonymous car and walked toward the Corvette. He was carrying a scuffed brown leather suitcase.

The door to the Corvette opened. Another man stepped out, a bundle wrapped in a pale-blue blanket held in one arm.

“Cross,” the man with the blanket said.

“Time to test,” Cross replied.

“You think this ain’t a real baby?” Carlos asked. “Look.” He gently pulled the blanket away from where it was tucked. “See for yourself.”

“That’s not the test,” Cross said. “All I see is a baby. Could be
any
baby, right? All you see is a suitcase. You open it, it looks like your powder—but how are you going to know for sure?”

“I got—”

“Yeah, you got the stuff to test it with, I know. But it could take you a few minutes, do all that. And you have to go into your car to do it too, right?”

“Of course. Do you think I can—?”

“Don’t get excited,” Cross said softly. “We’re both worried the other’s pulling a switch, right? The old pigeon drop. An envelope stuffed full of money right there on the sidewalk. The mark spots it same time as the hustlers. They open it together, check it out. It’s stuffed with cash. Big bills. No ID. Finders keepers, right? Only thing is, you gotta wait thirty days, see if anyone claims it, that’s the law. And maybe there’s a reward, who knows? Now, the mark don’t trust the hustlers—and the hustlers act like they don’t trust the mark. So they finally decide to let the mark hold the envelope, but he first has to go to his bank, take out a couple of thousand, and give it to the hustlers for ‘security.’ The mark figures, what can he lose? Or maybe he’s planning to just vanish with the cash. Doesn’t matter. When he gets to a safe place and opens the envelope, he finds it’s full of blank paper.”

“I know how it works,” Carlos said impatiently. “So how do we do this without one of us leaving?”

“We exchange packages,” Cross told him. “I take the kid. A short ride. Make sure I got the real thing. You take the powder, sit in your car, make sure you got the real thing too. Fair enough?”

“How do I know you won’t just disappear? Leave me with a whole suitcase full of cut?”

“I’ll stay right here. I’ll put the baby in the car, turn around, and wait right here. You still got my money, right? I haven’t asked you for it. Make sure your powder’s good,
then
pay me, how’s that?”

“The baby is my trump card,
hombre.
Not the money. How about I give you the money and I keep the baby while I check the powder?”

“No good. You can check the powder yourself. See if the test tube turns blue. I can’t check the baby with no chemicals. And I got paid for the
baby.
”

“Right, I give up the baby, go back to my car. Let’s say the powder’s good. Probably
is
good—I know your crew doesn’t deal—what else
could
you do with it but sell it back to me? So I check it out, come back to give you your money, get out of the car—and you smoke me right here. You called this spot—you probably got people all around.”

“Sure,” Cross told him softly. “But if that’s all I wanted, your cash and the powder, I could’ve done it already.” He put the suitcase on the ground. Instantly, a red dot bloomed on Carlos’ white leather jacket, right over his heart. “Laser sight,” Cross said. “Anytime I wanted, see? That’s not what this is about. Lorgano didn’t hire me to hit you—he just wants the baby back.”

“The baby? He don’t care nothing about the baby. He is no kind of man. That is his own child, his own son. And all I wanted was what he owes us. What does he do? He hires you. What could you be paid for a job like this? Not the money he owes us. Much less. He is a clever man, I give him that. This way, he cannot lose. You get the baby back, he’s a little lighter in the pocket, but he still has my product and he has not paid for it. If you fail, what has he lost?”

“The baby—”

“Don’t insult me,” Carlos said. “You know I never return the baby without
all
the money. And you know Lorgano will not
pay
all the money—that’s why he hires you. So you hijack another of my shipments, go for the discount.”

“Nobody got hurt,” Cross said.

“Sure. Everyone knows your crew. I don’t have no rookies working for me. They seen your people—you didn’t make no secret of it. Like you could disguise Rhino and Princess anyway—Christ! They got the drop on my people. What was they gonna do then, shoot it out? And now I not only don’t get my money for the first shipment, I have to pay you for the second one.”

“That happens sometimes.” Cross shrugged.

“You know what this cost me,
hombre
? You think putting a woman inside his house to steal the baby was cheap? I had to go through Victor himself to set it up. A hundred grand just for that, for the plan and the woman. Another two and a half for you, tonight. This is a business. Business is supposed to make a profit. I never should have dealt with that slime Lorgano—he has no honor.”

“Here’s the way we’ll do it,” Cross said, unperturbed. “Give me the kid. Take the suitcase. Get in your car. Drive off, anywhere you want. Look through it, check it out, do whatever you need to do. When you know it’s pure, come back here with my money.”

“This is the real baby,” Carlos said. “And, you know what, I believe you got the real powder there too. So why should I come back with your cash?”

“You shouldn’t have snatched the baby,” Cross said quietly. “You’re right—he don’t give a damn about the kid. Only his wife does, and she don’t count. He
was
trying for a discount, just like you said. He didn’t set specs on how I should get the kid back, probably thought he was buying a hit for what he paid me. What you should have done, you should have snatched
him.
Then you’d find out where your product is—and his money too.”

“
Bueno!
You tell me all this
now.
Besides, there’s no way we get close enough to snatch him. It would be a suicide run. And my crew, it is all
familia,
you understand? Not soldiers I can just throw into the jungle, don’t give a rat’s ass if they come back. You remember how that was, Cross?”

“I remember,” Cross said. “We don’t work for that country anymore, you and me. Go look at your powder. Come back with my money. And then I’ll solve your problem for you.”

“How you do that,
hombre
?”

“While you’re checking out that powder, make a call. Call Victor. And ask him where he found the woman to put inside Lorgano’s house.”