THREE DAYS to DIE (13 page)

      Michael stood up from the table. "Come with me. I'm going to check around back." They left the kitchen, stepping outside through the side door, and headed around to the rear of the building.

       A makeshift plywood-patchwork had been nailed up over what used to be Aaron's garage door. Michael and Willy entered the garage through the same small door Ashley had used.

      Michael noticed a fresh pair of tire burnouts running the full length of the garage and out into the alley. He looked at Willy then knelt and slowly ran his fingers over one of the charred-rubber streaks.

---

      They left the garage and started back up the side alley toward the street.

      Michael extended his hand. "By the way, my name's Michael," he said.

      Willy gave Michael's hand a vigorous shake. "I'm Willy," he said. "Bloody good to –" He stopped in his tracks. "Hey, wait a second. You're Michael? The pool table Michael? The guy with the loft? Aaron called me from your place last night."

      "That was you?"

      Willy nodded his head sadly. "Yes ... that was me." Then he turned and walked on up the alley.

---

      When they reached the street in front of Aaron's apartment, Michael glanced at his watch. 7:45 p.m. "So, can I offer you a ride home? If you don't hate me, that is ..."

      Willy laughed; he
had
hated the mystery Michael, but now that he had met him he could see that he really was a nice guy – and maybe he'd misjudged Aaron a little as well.

      "Thanks ... but I have my bike," he said, and Michael waited while he ran inside the apartment and returned with his beach cruiser.

      "So, I'll pick you up here tomorrow morning at nine?" Michael said.

      "Sounds good," Willy said.

      They shook hands again, and with a quick wave goodbye Willy took off toward home.

Chapter 32

A Dagwood Sandwich

       Aaron poked his head through the door to the cannery break room and saw Needles sitting alone at the long wooden table with the entire contents of the refrigerator spread out in front of him. Normally the fridge was pretty bare, but that day had been a good payday, so there was plenty to eat.

      Aaron started to knock on the door frame, then considered calling the whole thing off. But it was important to him – and he was probably making too much out of it anyway.
A simple question requiring a simple answer
, he told himself. So he knocked.

      Needles had nearly completed the construction of a Dagwood sandwich. He turned toward the sound and smiled, bracing the wobbly stack of lunch meat with both hands.

      "Aaron," he said, "come in. Are you hungry? You want some iced tea?"

      "That'd be great," Aaron said. "Thank you."

      Needles held the sandwich with one hand and poured Aaron a glass of tea from a surprisingly elegant crystal pitcher. He passed the box of sugar and a long spoon, and then he balanced the final slice of bread on top of his towering creation. Aaron added two spoonfuls of sugar to his tea and watched the white crystals swirl around as he stirred the amber liquid.

      Needles studied his sandwich, trying to figure out the best way to eat it. "Isn't it a little late for you to be up? It must be close to midnight."

      "Yeah, but I was just –"

      "Do you want half of this?" Needles said, interrupting him. "I think I got a little carried away."

      "Oh, sure," Aaron replied.

      Needles carefully sliced the sandwich in two, then laid half on a paper plate and handed it to Aaron. "You were saying?"

      Aaron paused, holding the plate in his hands; then at last he asked, "Why do you rob banks?"

      Needles had already committed to a large bite and he was forced to mumble. "Because I'm an idiot," he replied, crumbs flying.

      Needles's casual reaction surprised Aaron and he relaxed a bit, but he wasn't going to let him off that easy. He set his plate on the table and wiped his hands on his jeans. "No, really, why do you? I mean, it's wrong to steal ... right?"

      "It's not by choice," Needles said, dodging the question intentionally this time; he was in too good of a mood to dredge up a bunch of sludge. Besides, he wasn't sure if Aaron could handle the truth.

      "What do you mean?" Aaron asked.

      Needles paused for a moment then decided to be up front with Aaron. "I used to be a surgeon," he said.

      "Wow, really? Why'd you quit?"

      "I wish I had," Needles said. "The truth is I lost everything in a lawsuit: my license, my practice, my future ... all gone in the blink of an eye."

      "Oh, man," Aaron said.

      "Two years ago," Needles explained, "a young child, left unattended by his heroin-addict mother, drank some liquid drain cleaner and burned his insides out. They brought the kid to me, but he died on my operating table."

      Aaron wondered how close Willy had come to doing the same thing those nights when his mother left
her
little boy all alone.

      Needles slid some chips and a jar of dill pickles toward Aaron. "So, I got sued, of course, and my malpractice insurance ran out half-way through the trial. Then came the settlement with the kid's mother ..."

      "Was it big?"

      "Let's just say the judge wasn't sympathetic toward the 'big-city doctor.'"

      Aaron leaned forward in his chair, anxious to get to the part where Needles became a bank robber. "So, what happened next?" he asked.

      "Hell, I was a total wreck," Needles said. "I likely would have killed myself had it not been for Johnny Souther."

      "What? You mean –"

      "The same guy," Needles said. "It was Souther who loaned me the money to pay everyone off."

      "You're kidding ... How much?"

      "Well, after insurance, and close to a million bucks out of pocket – which left me with nothing incidentally – I owed around $475,000."

      "Whoa," Aaron said. He had guessed $50,000 and thought
that
was ridiculous money.

      Needles continued. "Of course I couldn't imagine how or where he would get that kind of money, but I was in no position to question him." He paused. "To this day, I still wonder where he got it. The money we make robbing banks is good, but it's not
that
good."   

      Just then Beeks walked in wearing a determined look on his face.

      "Let me guess," Needles said to him, grateful for this unexpected chance to hassle his friend. "You're lost, and you blundered in here thinking it was the toilet."

      Beeks ignored him and opened the refrigerator.

      "If you don't mind, Beeks," Needles said, "we're having a private conversation here."

      Beeks leaned down for a closer look at the fridge's empty shelves. "Where's all the damn food?" he asked. Then he turned and saw the huge spread Needles had laid out on the table.

      Needles knew what was coming. "Easy, Jezebel. Take what you need and park your fat-ass down the road."

      "Well, excuse me for bein' fuckin' hungry," Beeks said.

      He gathered the food into his massive arms, wedged a drinking glass under one elbow, and hooked the pitcher of iced tea under his little finger.

      "I hope you enjoy your little pow-wow while I'm out here in the damn warehouse findin' a damn table," he said, then he left in a huff.

---

      Aaron was trying to digest Needles's wild story. He felt for Beeks; but he was happy to see that the big guy had missed the jar of pickles. He selected a large one and took a bite.

      "I can't believe you borrowed that much money from Johnny Souther," he said, chewing with vigor. "Of all people."

      Needles drained his iced tea in one indignant swallow. Aaron felt the atmosphere in the room become tense.

      There was a long, deliberate pause as Needles calmed himself. Why he felt compelled to explain himself to a thirteen-year-old kid, he couldn't say. "Ten years ago," he said, his voice dark and joyless, now, "Johnny Souther was my pastor."

      Aaron nearly choked on his pickle.

      "By the time everything with the malpractice suit happened, I had already left the church, and I hadn't seen Souther in years. But with no one else to turn to, I called him, and he agreed to meet with me. I told him about the money and he said he might be able to arrange some kind of a loan. I had no choice but to accept his terms. Of course I had no way of knowing he had just been released from prison, and unfortunately, by the time I was educated as to his current line of work I was already in up to my neck."

      "It should have been obvious he was a criminal," Aaron said carelessly.

      That was too much for Needles. His face turned to iron. "What makes you Mr. Big-shot expert all of a sudden? Huh? What do you know about anything? You smart-ass little shit."

      He stood and started straightening up his mess, regretting ever having opened up to the boy.

      Aaron was shocked and embarrassed. He had only been trying to understand and learn, and now his stomach felt as if he had eaten a handful of live snails. This strange, dark version of Needles was scary.

      Silence dragged out in the room.

      "Do you want to know
why
Souther left the Church?" Needles said at last, not waiting for an answer. "He didn't. He was thrown out. Nine years ago, a beautiful underage parishioner accused him of molesting her. The case went to trial, and half-way through the girl admitted she had lied about the whole affair. Souther was acquitted, but not before he'd been banned from the church, and his wife and two daughters had disowned him – taking part of his soul with them."

      What Needles neglected to mention was that Souther's current, twenty-five-year-old girlfriend, Brandy Fine, and the young redhead from the church – who was sixteen and pregnant at the time of the trial – were one and the same, and that there had been a major controversy surrounding the girl's sudden reversal of testimony. Brandy had lost the baby in its fifth month and with it her ability to bear children – the news of which broke Johnny Souther's heart.

---

      Aaron tried to speak, but nothing came out.

      "So, now I'm a bank robber, too," Needles went on, "and there ain't a damn thing I can do about it. I'm sorry I can't live up to your lofty ideal ... t-to your image of a
perfect
world full of
perfect
people."

      Aaron stared at his hands. "I'm sorry I upset you, Needles," he said, genuinely sorry he had started a fight.

      Needles wiped his hands on a paper towel. "Not everyone is born with the same level of decency, you know – sometimes you're forced to adapt. Your hallowed concept of right and wrong may have to bend, or even break, and you may find yourself abandoning your morals simply to survive." He tossed the paper towel in the sink. "If I can stay alive and out of prison for six more months, I'll have Souther paid off – and if I survive a year, I'll have enough to retire. Maybe
that
would make you happy."

      Aaron hated to be misunderstood, especially when it hurt someone's feelings. "I wasn't trying to judge you, Needles," he said. "I was –"

      "Oh, please ..." Needles said, cutting him off. He'd had enough.

      "No, really," Aaron said. "I like you. You and Beeks are my friends. For the first time in my life I feel like I'm part of a team. I don't care if I ever go home."

      "You make me want to puke," Needles said, lowering his head in disbelief. "One afternoon of text book heists and you conclude that the life of a goddamn bank robber is all glamour and excitement. We had fun, right? Every job was duck soup, right? Well, guess what? Tomorrow Johnny Souther will be in charge, and boy are you in for a surprise – one
huge
fucking surprise."

      He slammed a cupboard shut and started for the door. "I need some sleep," he said. "We leave here at 9 a.m. sharp."

      Then he walked out of the room.

-FRIDAY-

Chapter 33

Jumpsuits

      The gang met as planned at 9 a.m. in the cannery's main warehouse. They gathered their gear together and loaded up the black van.

      Aaron could feel the tension in the air; he and Needles had barely spoken. He started to have second thoughts, but he kept telling himself why he was doing this: for his mom and the money that would rebuild their lives.

      Beeks pulled some white painter's jumpsuits and some thin black-leather gloves out of a duffel bag and handed each of them a set.

      Aaron's jumpsuit was three sizes to big; it bagged around his shoes, and it took a minute for him to locate his hands so that he could roll up the cuffs enough to walk.

      Everyone climbed into the van, with Beeks at the wheel and Johnny Souther at shotgun. Needles and Aaron sat in back with the gear, and as they drove away from the cannery, Aaron was unable to see the tungsten silver Aston Martin pulling up in front of the cannery.

Chapter 34

They'll be Back

      Michael parked the Aston near the big roll-up door.

      "This car is incredible!" Willy said as they got out. He placed his hand on a roof so low that even he could see over the top.

      "You know what?" Michael said. "You're a bright young man. I'll bet someday you'll own one just like it."

      Willy smiled. He thought that sounded just fine. "It's over here," he said, then walked over and pulled aside the sheet metal covering the secret entrance.

      Michael checked the street then followed him inside.

---

      Pinstripes of dusty sunlight wrapped the high interior walls. The quiet was complete.

      "I don't think anyone's here," Willy whispered, unnerved. The air was very warm, and as he tugged off his sweatshirt he saw that Aaron's BMX bike still leaned against the same wooden post where he had left it. He walked to it and draped his jacket over the seat.