One of the Wicked: A Mick Callahan Novel (27 page)

Little Nicky coughed. Everyone else in the room jumped. "Tell me how it all worked. Give me that much. You hired Faber and Toole from the start, yes? They were to get the money and the disc and set up Mr. Stone to take the fall. When this Callahan fellow came into the picture, you just took advantage of his presence to muddy the waters. You planned to keep all the money and the drugs, and then use Faber and Toole to sell the disc back to my superiors, when it was you who stole it in the first place. Have I put this together properly, Paul?"

Pesci was pale and sliding into shock.

"Clyde?" Eric said. "Maybe you'd better go get Doctor Edison."

Clyde left the suite.

"Well, Paul?" Nicky seemed genuinely curious and not at all afraid of his imminent death.

Paul Pesci shivered. His teeth were chattering. "I wasn't going to sell it back to
your
people, asshole. You're thinking too small. I was going to sell it back to the corrupt US government for a freaking fortune."

"I'm just wondering why you had Faber and Toole killed," Nicky said. "That part just doesn't make sense. Unless, of course, it was just that they were the only witnesses who knew you had anything to do with stealing the disc. By the way, where is it?"

Pesci fell back on the pillow. "Go to hell. Eric, shoot him."

Eric the Cowboy exchanged glances with Nicky. He lowered his weapon. "No can do, Paul. Sorry."

"What?"

"Me and Clyde, we sold out for a better price, too. I'm sure you can appreciate that. Just capitalism at work."

Pesci moaned. Nicky laughed, reached down to the carpet and retrieved the little pistol. He grabbed another pillow. "I want it all, Paul, especially the disc and the money. The drugs I've promised to Eric and Clyde, here. Tell me where everything is." Nicky placed the small pillow over Pesci's crotch. He raised the gun.

"ET hid the stuff," Pesci babbled. His eyes stayed on the gun as he shielded his shriveled penis with his one good hand. "He doesn't even know about the disc, just the drugs and the money."

Nicky sat back. He snapped his fingers. Eric opened the door and Clyde came back into the room. "Clyde," Eric said calmly, "haul your ass down to the party. Find ET and bring him here. Do it now."

"Please," Pesci said, hating himself for whining. "I'm sorry."

Nicky laughed again. "I'll bet you are. He is sorry, yes, Eric? We can all bet he is sorry now."

Eric stayed in place by the door. Pesci tried to crawl off the edge of the bed. Nicky grabbed his arm, pulled him back, shifted the pillow and covered his face. Pesci screamed. Nicky fired one last time, POP, and there was silence. Pesci twitched and died.

Eric stayed at attention.

"I want ET to see this," Nicky said, "before he gives us directions to where the goods are. I want him to know what awaits him should he ever think to betray me."

"Okay." Cowboy looked pale.

"Afterwards, get someone to clean this room top to bottom." He waved at Pesci's corpse. "Go make travel arrangements for our friend here. He is running with the money and the drugs, yes? Find some witnesses who will swear he took a plane to Mexico City at midnight tonight."

Eric said, "Consider it done."

Nicky stood up. He towered over Eric, who was not a small man. He poured himself another drink. "There is already a warrant out for Mr. Stone, yes? This Mick Callahan fellow could attract too much attention. I want him to stay out of Nevada, or at least be in the same predicament as his friend. How can we do that, and quickly?"

Eric shrugged. "We got two detectives downstairs. I'll get one of them to name Callahan a material witness in some murder case, doesn't matter which one. We'll make sure he finds out through his friend, the LA cop. That ought to either keep him from taking the risk or get him hauled in if he does."

"Do it."

Eric opened the door. Nicky motioned for him to wait. "I do not often share my thoughts, but you have assisted me greatly in this, and I shall make an exception. I think Paul actually had a good idea for once in his life."

Eric the Cowboy said, "Well, I don't know shit about any disc, but if it was worth a fortune then it seems that way to me."

Nicky waved a finger. "However, one should not try to bargain with the US government these days. It is quite corrupt. Besides, we would never survive embarrassing the organization that sent me to Nevada. However, quietly selling the disc back to my bosses through someone else? That may be the stroke of genius."

Salt Lick, Nevada, was a pile of stones and decaying buildings that squatted several miles off the highway, less than an hour from the outskirts of Vegas. A survival freak named Jack Flanders had built a small ranch there in the early sixties, and put in a bomb shelter the size of an Olympic swimming pool. Several decades went by without a nuclear holocaust, but Flanders died insisting one was right freaking around the corner, sure as shit. His frustrated family sold the place before the ink dried on his death certificate.

The new owner tried to sell tickets to a genuine paranoid's bomb shelter, but nobody gave a damn. He sold it to a bunch of ex-hippies who had dreams of starting a commune, but the land was too dry to farm and the upkeep too high. So they sold the worthless place to someone who sold it to the mob.

Over the years, the concrete bomb shelter had been used to house drugs, sell dope, torture prisoners, and even film a few porn movies. Now the place was pretty much deserted unless the bent nose crowd had something going on that needed privacy and really thick walls.

A bit later that night, Bud Stone crawled quietly through the sage wearing NV goggles and black clothing, a hunting knife gripped firmly between his teeth. The ranch house was dark, but one of the guards lit a cigarette in cupped palms and the reddish glow gave his position away. Bone slid down into a gully, wincing at the light rain of pebbles and sand. He waited a full five minutes before continuing on. He took the glasses off, now that he was on top of them. The moon was full and bright, the desert like the surface of Mars after a meteor shower.

Bud had been watching two men go in and out during the day, trading shifts. They had no idea what they were guarding. He'd already taken stock of their weaponry and was unimpressed. They were wise guys, not soldiers. Neither man seemed terribly proficient or worrisome as an adversary. Bone waited patiently. The night was hot, and both of the men smoked. Sooner or later they would give in to temptation and stand in the same place to talk. They'd already done that twice. The second time he'd managed to get inside and poke around, then sneak out again.

Callahan's description of the murder of Faber and Toole had taken the gloves off, as far as Bud Stone was concerned. There was no longer any need to pussyfoot around. If these people were going to play hardball, he would, too.

Tires whined on the highway then thumped over pocked, dry earth. Headlights cut through the velvet darkness. A car left the highway and started towards the isolated ranch. The guard stiffened and called for his friend. The wind was still and his voice carried clearly.

"Lucky? We got company."

Bone swore under his breath. They'd both be in the same place again but who the hell was in that car? Bud couldn't move until he knew more. He'd surveyed the house well before sundown. In fact, this was his second trip out. The bomb shelter was below, and had one hell of a tough door on it. That's why Bone was packing some good, old-fashioned plastic explosives and two small mines. It had all been ridiculously easy so far. The two goons hadn't bothered to lock up the shelter. It was cooler than the cabin, and they'd wanted to take advantage of the large air-conditioning unit.

The two guards put out their cigarettes and stood together on the porch, watching the strange vehicle approach. Bud took advantage of the opportunity and closed the gap. He was behind them in seconds, right at the doorway and into the cabin. He flattened against the drapes and looked at the entrance to the bomb shelter. It yawned open like a dragon's maw, big concrete steps leading down into the cool darkness. Bud peered out the window, into the night.

The car bounced along and came to a stop a few yards from the cabin. The black guy called ET got out, the muscled card player. He'd come alone. Bone fondled his knife, knew he couldn't take all three without risking gunfire. The ranch was miles from any neighbor, but shots brought cops. If it went south, this was going to be sloppy.

ET stopped at the foot of the steps, looked up at the two men on the porch. "The deal is off."

The guard called Lucky said, "Huh?"

"It's off," ET barked. "Forget we ever fucking talked about it. You never heard of Frank Toole or Joey Faber or any of this shit, got it?"

"Okay." The other guard shrugged. "Joey who?"

ET rubbed his head. He seemed on the edge of panic. "Jesus fucking Christ, they're dead, man, and I mean the really, really wrong kind of dead. Joey and Frank both. It's all screwed up, bro."

"What happened?"

"You don't want to know, but we got a new boss."

"Huh?"

"And believe me, if Little Nicky ever finds out we were planning on double-crossing Big Paul for the drugs, we'll all get skinned alive, just like those two dumb shits did. How the hell did I let Faber talk me into this?"

Guard number two said, "Seems to me it was your idea, my brother."

ET glared at him. The dim one called Lucky looked back and forth between the two like a stoner watching vigorous game of tennis. Lucky finally said, "So what do you want us to do?"

"We get the stuff together now," ET said. "I take it back to Nicky like nothing else went down. We keep our mouths shut. Word."

"Man that was a lot of money."

"It was a lot of dope."

"Ah, well. Shit happens."

ET said, "Let's do it."

Bone was trapped inside. They were coming. The situation was rapidly deteriorating. He looked down into the bomb shelter, considered trying to hide but feared getting trapped. Sure as hell, now they'd finally remember to lock the door. He backed into the room and placed an explosive charge behind the couch and then another near the fireplace. He put the knife in his belt and pulled his Glock as the door opened and Lucky walked in. Bone took him out with two to the chest and one to the head before the other two men had a chance to react.

The second guard was surprisingly fast. He dodged to the side and began firing one-handed through the doorway. Bone had to run like hell to stay ahead of a stream of semiautomatic fire. Meanwhile, ET made it back to the car, rolled over the hood and opened fire on the building from there.

When another man got out of the car, my friend knew he was in trouble. Bullets pounded the walls, filling the air with wood chips and plaster dust and covering the floor with broken glass. Damn it, the driver had an AK-47. Bud Stone ducked under a heavy wooden desk. The second guard peeked around the corner, fired some rounds. So Bud set off the first of the hidden charges. Part of the ceiling came down around him.

And then the shit hit the fan.

The calls began coming in at around four that morning, but my home phone was off the hook. Darlene and I both slept fitfully, waking up any time our bodies touched. We made love around five, hoping to relax and grab some sleep. Mary Kate was in the office again. Soft message tones from my cell phone kept her from getting any rest. I got up at dawn and made a pot of coffee black as a war profiteer's heart. Mary Kate passed me in the hall on her way to the bathroom. She told me the cell had been ringing. I found several messages with the same contact information. When Darlene and Mary Kate started making breakfast, I closed the office door, fired up the computer according to instructions and got in touch.

"It's about fucking time!" The panicked young man on the computer monitor seemed barely into his thirties but was already losing his hair. "Can I speak freely?"

I wasn't in the mood. "I don't know, can you?"

"Do you know who I am?"

"No, do you know me?"

"You're Mick Callahan, the radio guy. I was in the room when you first met Big Paul and Little Nicky. My name is Jacob Mandel. I have something for you."

My blood pressure dropped. "What's wrong, Jacob? What couldn't wait until morning? Did something happen to Bud?"

He dropped his voice, leaned into the screen. The effect distorted his face in a comical way, but what he said wasn't funny. "Our friend went into the lion's den, okay? And he won't be coming back."

"Are you sure about that?"

"He's dead," Mandel said. His voice cracked. "Jesus, they're all dead. It was on the news."

He droned on, explaining. Meanwhile, I shrank his face to a corner of the screen and did a search for Salt Lick, Nevada. The first reports described a gun battle at a remote ranch, with several explosions and no survivors. My eyes stung. Bud Stone had gone right at them and had run into some kind of trap. I covered by drinking some coffee. "You said you have something for me, Jacob. What is it?"

"Actually, I don't have it yet, but I will."

"Any idea what it is?" I knew, but did Mandel?

"Our friend obtained something, copied it, and was trying to put the original back when the events occurred. The copy he carried was almost certainly destroyed along with him. How long will it take you and your friends to arrive?"

"All of us?"

"Yes, all of you."

"Give us six or seven hours, I suppose. Later on today."

"I want to discuss the rest in person, Mr. Callahan, but for now, let's just say our friend also sent a package to me via UPS." He gave me the tracking number, I scribbled it down. "Now this package, it's arriving late this afternoon. I have to sign for it. My instructions are to get it to your team soon as possible and then disappear."