Six Bad Things (20 page)

Something occurs to me.

—What happened to the seventy?

—Shit, dude, I got it.

He pulls up his shirt and I see my money belt wrapped around his stomach. Bloodstained just like the wanted poster. He drops the shirt.

—But, dude, that’s besides the point. I mean, that’s like salvage and has nothing to do with you owing me for services rendered.

I open my eyes. The world has stopped spinning and has come back into focus. Money.

—How much?

—Well, I’m willing to listen to an offer, dude.

—Hundred thousand?

—Shit, dude, if you can rattle off 100 Gs just like that, you can probably do two.

—Yeah, I probably can.

—Dude! How much do you have?

—A lot.

—OK, OK, that’s cool, I’m not greedy. Two! Two is cool. But hey, that only stands as long as things don’t get any harder, OK?

—Yeah.

I sit back up and my stomach lurches. More concussion symptoms.

—Rolf?

—Dude?

—Did you kill a deputy after I crashed?

—Yeah. Didn’t know what else to do there.

I stand up and stumble. Rolf catches me.

—Easy.

I clamp my mouth shut and point at the bathroom and he helps me to the toilet. He stands in the open door as I spill my guts. The water I drank comes up, and then it’s dry heaves. I finish and slump on the floor. Dry heaves suck. Dry? Didn’t I just eat with Mom and Dad?

—How long have I been out?

—Almost twenty-four hours, dude.

Shit, oh shit.

—Phone! Phone! Did I have a cell phone?

—Yeah.

—I need it right now.

MOM AND Dad are in police custody, and Dylan wants to explain to me why he’s not happy about it.

—Is this how you do business, Hank? Because if it
is,
if this is what I have to look forward to, I may just have to back out of this deal right now.

I’m sitting on the bathroom floor talking on the cell phone Dylan gave me. Sid has come back from the IHOP and is sitting out in the room, eating a stack of banana pancakes. Rolf is standing next to the open door so he can listen in.

—I had some trouble.

—Is that what you call trouble, Hank? Because if it
is…

He breathes deeply.

—OK, this isn’t doing either of us any good. It does nobody
any
good for me to lose my temper. What we need to do here is evaluate the situation. Our problem is that as long as your parents are with the police, my employees cannot reach them. I can see where this might give you comfort, but what you need to remember is that it also removes my
leverage
with you. Which increases my legal and economic
exposure
. Which makes me nervous and more inclined to take aggressive
action
once your parents are released. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened and we’ll come up with some strategies to fix
our
problem?

How much to tell him?

—I went to see a friend. These guys I scrapped with in San Diego showed up. I think they figured out who I am and were looking for some reward money or something.

—I know that, Hank, I can get that information from the
TV
at this point. They most certainly do know who you are, and now the police and the FBI and the
national media
know that you are still alive and at large.

Oh, God.

—We can solve this, Hank, we can. Where are you now?

—I’m on my way to get the money.

—Where? The police said they found your car, so
where
are you?

I look at Rolf looking at me, listening to my end of the conversation.

—I got out of town, Dylan, that’s all you need.

—Hank! Hank, are
you
now telling
me
what
I
need to know? Because if you are.… If
you
are trying to tell
me
what
I
need to know, then
I
have to tell
you
that
you
are very much mistaken. The police have not charged your parents and even if they
do,
it seems unlikely that they will have any trouble making bail, seeing as they are such pillars of the community. Trust me Hank, they will not be
safely
in police custody for long. Now, I would rather not do so, but if I do not have some
assurances
soon I will be forced to secure my leverage at the earliest possible opportunity, Hank. I will be forced to take
custody
of your parents until our business is concluded one way or another.

I close my eyes.

Mom and Dad.

I open my eyes.

—Dylan, I’m out of Patterson. I’m on the road and undercover and on my way to get the money. All you need to do is sit tight and I will take care of everything. I have some experience in this, after all.

He’s quiet for a moment.

—That’s a good point, Hank. Very well put. Experience is
invaluable
when the rubber hits the road. OK. OK. This is me, this is my weakness. I try to micromanage. You just can’t do that and expect your people to do their job properly. But now, now I do need to establish a timeline. I was willing to work without a clock before this,
but now…
we need some targets.

—Like what?

—It’s… eight forty-seven
PM
, Tuesday night. Let’s call it nine
PM
. I want my money in
five days.
And, so there is no confusion, that means in my hands no later than nine
PM
this coming Sunday.
Understood?

—Yes.

—And, I’m sorry to ask for this, but I’ll also want progress reports. That means at least one call every twenty-four hours.
Understood?

—Yes.

—OK. Well, that looks like it. Hank, I want to thank you for being patient while I blew off steam and I want to thank you for your problem-solving skills.
Thank you.

—Sure.

—
And…
I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

He hangs up. Rolf points at the phone.

—Dude?

—This guy is keeping an eye on my folks for me. I owe him some money for it.

He nods his head.

—Money.

—Yeah.

—There gonna be enough for both of us?

—Yeah, there’ll be enough.

But there isn’t. Dylan wants it all, and Rolf will want it all, too, when he finds out how much there is. The difference is that Dylan has Mom and Dad. Rolf just has Henry Thompson, and I don’t care much what happens to him.

I get myself to my feet. I wobble and Rolf puts a hand on my arm.

—What now?

What now? I could try calling Tim again. But who’s fooling who here? Something’s gone wrong in Vegas and Tim is not going to be returning my calls. So what now?

I point into the room where Sid is watching the Winter X Games.

—TV.

The story isn’t getting full-blown, nonstop coverage, but CNN has given it a title:
Henry Thompson: The Return.
I am a sequel.

When we tune in, they’re showing tape shot earlier in the day in front of Wade’s house. The two trucks are being untangled, yellow tape is strung everywhere, sheriff’s deputies and State Police and guys in dark suits are walking around. I catch a glimpse of a chalk outline at the base of the garage door. They cut to more tape from the strawberry field off of Las Palmas: the wrecked Monte Carlo, a sheriff’s car parked next to it, cops combing the ground for evidence. Cut to an earlier shot at the same scene: a covered body on a gurney being loaded into the back of an ambulance. On the bottom of the screen, a name: Deputy Theodore T. Fischer.

Sid points at the screen.

—That’s him, that’s him.

Rolf puts his hand up, hushing him.

—Cool it.

—Dude, that’s my guy.

I look at him.

—You shot the deputy?

—Yeah. My first.

—Your first?

—My first kill.

He’s staring at the screen, eyes sparkling. I give Rolf a look. He shrugs.
Kids these days.
Great, Sid the Junior Psycho is stoked because he just earned his Murder Merit Badge.

More tape: the outside of Emanuel Medical Center in Turlock, three ambulances unloading, and the back of a head between two state cops. Danny. The reporter is listing names and injuries and legal statuses.

Hector Barnes (aka Fat Guy): lacerations, abrasions, contusions; in good condition. “No charges as yet.” Kenneth Pitlanske (aka Ponytail Boy): abrasions, contusions, multiple fractures; in stable condition. “No charges as yet.” Willis Doniker (aka Mullet Head): DOA. Unidentified female eighteen (aka Leslie): abrasions, contusions; released from hospital. “In police custody.” Daniel Lester (aka Danny): facial lacerations, contusions, abrasions; released from hospital. “In police custody.” Unidentified female minor, six (aka Cassidy): facial laceration, minor concussion; in fair condition. Wade Hiller: DOA.

And more tape: the front of my home, cops, Mom and Dad being led to a sheriff’s car by two deputies, reporters shouting and shoving cameras into the air to get a shot. They’re in custody, uncharged, but being questioned.

The punch line comes last, a statement from the San Joaquin County Sheriff taped a few hours ago.

—We are still investigating the incidents in Patterson that occurred early this morning, but we do have some information. Um, there have been three deaths, two in an apparent automobile collision and the other a shooting. Deputies responding to the collision were informed that shots had been fired at that location and, and, wait, I’m sorry, and T. T., uh, Deputy Fischer was responding to that call when he was redirected to an alarm call that we had reason to believe might be, uh, connected with the earlier, uh, earlier call. The collision and shots fired. He, uh, gave pursuit. He gave pursuit to a vehicle fleeing the scene of the alarm call, and the suspect vehicle, uh, crashed, and while the deputy was, we believe at this point, that while the deputy was apprehending the suspect in the, uh, suspect vehicle, another vehicle arrived at the scene and one or more people shot T. T., shot Deputy Fischer at that time and fled with the suspect, the first suspect. Uh. Just give me a…

He turns from the microphones and wipes at his tearing eyes.

—Um, at this time, we believe that the suspect that fled, the second scene, the alarm call? We believe that suspect had already fled the scene of the collision and shots fired and that, we have eyewitness testimony at this time that this suspect is Henry Thompson, the suspect wanted for several murders in New York, uh, three years ago.

There is a great deal of hubbub from the reporters. Sheriff Reyes, a man clearly out of his depth, raises his hands for silence.

—I’m not, we’re not going to answer any questions, no questions. We do have, we do have some pictures we want to show and a number for information that we want to give out.

Reyes holds up a sheet of paper and the camera zooms in on it. It’s my booking photo from New York.

—This is a photo of Henry Thompson as he looked three years ago. Based on our, uh, witness, this is what we think Henry Thompson may look like now.

He holds up the other paper. It’s a sketch based on the photo, a few pounds and years added, along with more hair and a beard.

—We have copies for the press and the number is there at the bottom and we’d like you to run that number at the bottom, the bottom of the TV screen. And, this man is armed and very, very dangerous and we, as I said, we do believe at this stage that he has at least one accomplice and.

I turn it off. Sid jumps off the bed.

—Cool! Cool! Dude, is this what it was like in New York, is this what it was like?

—Yeah, this is pretty much what it was like.

—Cool!

He starts jumping around the room, punching the air. I turn away. Rolf picks up the remains of the grilled cheese I took three bites of, and tosses it in the trash.

—Sorry ’bout your folks, that’s harsh.

I don’t answer. Instead I point at Sid. He’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror, unaware of us, doing his best
Taxi Driver.

—You talkin’ ta me?

I shake my head.

—What the hell, Rolf?

Rolf shrugs.

—Yeah, he’s a handful.

Sid catches us looking at him and points at me.

—Well, I don’t see anyone else here, so you must be talkin’ ta me.

He laughs, quick-draws pistol-fingers, and shoots them at me.

—You the man! You. The. Man.

Then he closes the bathroom door and we can hear him pissing. Rolf laughs.

—And like I said, dude, he kind of has a crush on you.

I want to leave right away, but Sid insists that we sweep the room to leave the fewest possible clues.

—Dudes, I can tell you right now, the cops are all over your mom and dad’s neighborhood asking about suspicious vehicles and shit. And someone always sees something. Sooner or later, someone’s gonna say something about my camper being parked on the street. They’re gonna look into it, and dudes on the block are gonna be all,
nope not mine.
Next, they lift a tire track from the field where I kacked that deputy.

He’s going around the room with the liner from one of the wastebaskets, filling it with every scrap of trash he can find, along with strands of my hair that were on the pillow and any other bodily effluvia laying about.

—Where we get lucky, dudes, is that I have some custom Pirellis on my ride. So the tracks won’t really point at the funky ’72 Westy people saw around your folk’s place. ’Course, that only plays if we didn’t leave a track in a oil puddle in front of their house or something. Which is why I’m doing this shit, ’cause if the cops start telling people to keep their eyes peeled for my ride, the guy up at the desk might remember it. Next thing ya know, this room is wrapped in plastic, vacuum-sealed, and they’re running swabs over the rim of the toilet looking for our DNA.

Rolf and me help him clean up.

SID HAS a copy of
The Man Who Got Away
that he wants me to sign. It’s in a milk crate full of true crime books in one of the cabinets in his Westphalia.