Part 21 (1/2)
”I don't know anyone named Fingaard.”
”I think you know me better by the tattoo I have on my neck.”
Bowman.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.
I DRAGGED A kitchen chair to the window, watching the car at the end of the road.
”What do you want?” I said.
”To help you.”
”That so?” The last time I'd seen Erik Bowman, Fingaard, whatever his real name was, he'd been flexing muscle as Adam Lombardi's right-hand enforcer, swiping a CD that contained incriminating photos from my truck. This a few weeks after sucker punching me in the dark, roughing up junkies at the Maple Motor Inn, and in all likelihood killing Pete Naginis. In other words, about the last guy I'd expect help from. Or be willing to take at his word.
”I get it,” he said. ”You're leery. I would be too. But you're going to want to hear what I have to say. It's about Lombardi.”
”Which one?”
”Both of them.”
I watched the car down the block. ”I'm listening.”
”This isn't something we can do over the phone. We have to meet. In person.”
”Yeah, I'm doing that, Erik. Tell you what. Head over to the McDonald's on Addison. Grab a Big Mac and fries. Order a shake too. Wait for me. Even if it takes twelve, eighteen hours, I swear I'm coming.”
”We can pick somewhere public, if you want. I have nothing to hide. But I ain't coming up to your house.”
”Good. 'Cause I'm not letting you in.”
”I'd be more worried about the men in that car. You don't have any choice right now other than to trust me.”
”I'd think I have a lot of other choices. The first being to tell you to f.u.c.k off.”
The car down the block didn't move. I could feel its attention fixate on me.
”Whatever choices you think you have, you won't have them long.”
”And why's that?”
”You remember that other night up in Longmont? That was a warm-up. You don't want those two cops getting another crack at you.”
I thought about the timing of the phone call, how I'd had one foot out the door. ”How did you know I was walking out of my house?”
”I'm parked in the cul-de-sac behind your place. Past the vacant lot. I can see your house.”
I walked across my kitchen, into the half bathroom, peeking through the window. Too many branches on dead winter trees. ”Flash your headlights or something. I can't see you.”
”Can't do that, Jay. Then they'd see me. And I don't want them finding me any more than you do you. I don't work for them anymore.”
”Them?”
”Adam and Michael.”
”Falling out?”
”Something like that. Listen, we're wasting time. I'm telling you, you're not safe. I'm not sitting here much longer. You're going to have to make the call, and you're going to have to make it fast. So what's it going to be?”
Like going to Atlantic City and laying it all on black. Or walking out on a good-paying job you hate. Never the smartest bet, but ”f.u.c.k it” always feels freeing. And I didn't see anyone else offering answers.
”What do you want me to do?”
”Flip on your kitchen and living room lights.”
I turned on both.
”Good. Go switch on the TV, and then kill the lights in the living room. Like you're settling in for a long, quiet night in front of the tube with easy access to beer and the bathroom. It'll buy you a few minutes.”
How long had he been watching me? I did what he said. ”Now what?”
”Grab everything you have on Lombardi-”
”How do you know-”
”Grab everything you have on Lombardi, including anything your buddy Fisher and the girl gave you. Especially the girl. Don't make any judgment calls, Jay. If it pertains to Adam or Michael, bring it. Got it?”
”Yeah, I got it.”
”Good. Then sneak out the side door of your garage. Stealth. Don't let them see you. They see you, we're both dead. You'll see my car once you get on the other side.”
”Why are you doing this?”
”Those two hung me out to dry. I'm not taking the fall. I'm going to help you nail the sons-a-b.i.t.c.hes.”
He clicked off.
Peering out the kitchen window, I didn't see Nicki's Jetta, just the empty spot where it had been. She must've gotten away free, unless there had been a second car. What would they want with her? What did they want with me? What were they waiting for? I called to warn her. She didn't answer. No surprise. I didn't even know where she lived. I left a quick message telling her to be careful.
I stood in the glow of my television. Was I really about to trust the same guy who'd broken into my apartment last year and knocked me out cold, the same thug who murdered my brother's friend? I stared at the car lurking down the block.