Part 2 (2/2)

Otis closed his eyes. Frank's brother was dead, stretched out under a bag of money. Otis and Frank had just killed five - four whites and a black - including a kid. Maybe even killed a black cop, too. Be hard to find a jury of any racial mix that wouldn't give the two of them that last long walk. And here was Frank, colder than the legs on Teddy Pendergra.s.s, barely breaking a sweat.

Well, no one would ever accuse Frank of being too human. One thing was certain, though: There wasn't anyone else you'd want to be riding with when the death house was calling your name.

TWO.

FRANK FARROW PARKED behind an LTD on a residential street named Tennyson, near Oregon Avenue at the edge of Rock Creek Park. To their right a long stand of trees bordered a huge old folks' home, and across the street to their left stood a row of identical split-level houses. behind an LTD on a residential street named Tennyson, near Oregon Avenue at the edge of Rock Creek Park. To their right a long stand of trees bordered a huge old folks' home, and across the street to their left stood a row of identical split-level houses.

Farrow got out of the Ford, eye-scoping the houses on his left as he went quickly to the LTD and found its key under the driver's-side mat. He popped the LTD's trunk, went back to the Ford, and leaned into the open window.

”I'll get Richard and put him in the trunk. Clean the interior out and follow with the bag. Dump your guns in the trunk, too, and we'll split.”

”Any curtain action from those houses?”

”None that I could see. Come on.”

They drove through the park, cruised by upper-cla.s.s houses with Jags and Mercedes parked in their driveways, and pa.s.sed over the Maryland line into Silver Spring. Otis found HUR, the station he had discovered in his motel room, on the dial.

”You are,” sang Otis, ”my stars.h.i.+p; come take me out tonight....”

Farrow took East West Highway across Georgia Avenue and made a sharp left down a street of cinder-block garages set beside the railroad tracks. They parked in front of an unmarked bay between Rossi Automotive and a place called Hanagan's Auto Body. Farrow gave the horn two sharp blasts; the bay door rose, and Frank drove the LTD through.

The garage was cool, clean, and dimly lit. A Hispanic in a blue works.h.i.+rt with the name ”Manuel” st.i.tched above the breast pocket dropped a hose to the smooth concrete and walked over to the LTD. Another Spanish, Jaime, rubbed his hands on a ruby shop rag and eyed the men inside the car.

”Where's our gear?” said Farrow to Manuel.

”In the offi.”

”You said 'offi,'” said Otis. ”But you meant meant 'office,' right?” 'office,' right?”

Manuel nodded and smiled thinly, careful to mask any displeasure at the remark. He had straight black hair and slanted eyes, making him look like a brown-skinned Asian. The other one, Jaime, had bony, unmemorable features, except for a line of tattooed teardrops dripping from his right eye.

Farrow said, ”Bring our stuff here.”

Manuel returned with two large packs and dropped them at the feet of Farrow and Otis, who had gotten out of the car. Farrow and Otis removed their gloves and tossed them on the concrete. Farrow had retrieved the duffel bag from the trunk, leaving the lid open.

”You listen to the news, amigo?” said Farrow.

”Is on the radio already,” said Manuel. ”You have trouble, eh?”

”My brother's dead,” said Farrow, noticing a nerve twitch in Jaime's cheek. ”He's in the trunk of the LTD.”

”What you goin' to do about that?” said Manuel.

”I'm not going to do anything,” said Farrow. ”You are.” Farrow picked up his pack and the duffel bag and went into the office. Otis hoisted his pack and did the same.

Farrow changed his clothes quickly - plain work pants, a lightweight short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt, and oilskin shoes. While Otis changed, Farrow took his shaving gear to the office bathroom, placed his Swiss Army knife, his Norelco electric, and a gla.s.s tub of black Meltonian Shoe Cream on a steel shelf welded below the mirror. He used the knife's scissors to cut off the bulk of his mustache, then shaved his upper lip clean with the razor. He dipped his fingers in the shoe cream and ma.s.saged it into his hair until his hair was no longer gray. He looked five years younger - at least. He found a pair of nonprescription black-rimmed gla.s.ses in his shaving kit, put them on, and looked in the mirror: Now he was a different man.

Back in the office, Otis had changed into a brown-on-beige monochromatic s.h.i.+rt-and-slacks arrangement with matching brown weave shoes. He had tied his hair back tightly in a ponytail and wore wire-rimmed shades that darkened in the light.

Otis smiled when Farrow walked back into the room. ”Lookin' all Clark Kent on me now.”

”You take your share?”

”I took it.” Otis picked up his pack. ”Too bad about that pizza boy. I know he would have talked when it got hot. Shame, though, we had to do him like we did.”

”We did did have to. Come on.” have to. Come on.”

”Okay, amigo,” said Farrow as he and Otis reentered the garage. ”Come on over here.”

Jaime ground a live b.u.t.t under his boot and followed Manuel to where the hard men stood. Farrow chin-nodded in the direction of two cars parked in the back of the garage.

”That us?” said Farrow.

”Yes,” said Manuel. ”The Taurus is yours.”

”I ask for a s.h.i.+twagon?” said Farrow.

”You asked for something that would not attract attention,” said Manuel. ”The body is rough, I admit. I did not touch the metal.”

”Does it run?”

”It will run, yes. It's a SHO. I took the identifying b.u.mper off. It looks quiet, like an old man's car. But it is very quick. Redline it if you wish.”

”How about mine?” said Otis, looking at the two-tone brown-and-beige '79 Mark V parked beside the Taurus.

”The Bill Bla.s.s model,” said Manuel, a glint in his eye. ”What you asked for. Under the hood is -”

”I ain't never gonna look under the hood, Man-you-el, you know that. Will it take me across country?”

”Were it not for the ocean, it would take you around the world.”

”What about the sounds? You put that unit in I was tellin' you about?”

”Yes. You load the disks in the trunk.”

Otis said, ”Always wanted me a box like that, too.”

Farrow reached into the duffel bag and tossed a thick stack of bills to Manuel. ”Count it with your fingers,” said Farrow. ”Go ahead.”

Manuel went through the money.

Farrow looked at Jaime and said, ”Now you.”

Jaime shrugged, took the money from Manuel, licked his thumb and forefinger elaborately, and counted the bills.

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