Part 3 (1/2)
Farrow said, ”It's what we agreed upon, no?”
Manuel regarded Farrow and nodded slowly.
”Give it here,” said Farrow, and when Jaime handed him the money he said, ”I'll just keep this stack as a souvenir. It's got your fingerprints on it - in case there's any question of who was involved in what.”
”We'll keep it on file,” said Otis, ”just like the FBI.”
”But let me make this clear,” said Farrow, ”in case you get the feeling you want to unburden your conscience.”
”You don' haf to worry,” said Manuel.
”Let him make it clear,” said Otis.
”Well, we all know the code. I mean, we all came up the same way. But to remind you... You and Jaime, you ever feel the need to talk, I want you to remember something -”
”Let me tell this part, Frank,” said Otis.
”Go ahead.”
”You talk,” said Otis, ”we're just gonna have to go ahead and f.u.c.k up your families. Comprende? Comprende?”
”Is no problem,” said Manuel, shaking his head, his eyes closed solemnly.
”Didn't think it would be,” said Otis.
Farrow tossed a new stack of money to Manuel. ”That's yours to keep. Count it.”
”I trust you,” said Manuel, and Otis laughed.
”The keys under the mats?” said Farrow.
Manuel nodded. Farrow and Otis began to walk away.
”What would you have us do with the man in the trunk?” Manuel asked.
Farrow turned. ”You keep old car batteries here, right?”
”Yes.”
”Do this: Drop a battery on his mouth until his teeth are busted out.”
”Now wait -”
”Pour battery acid on his face and fingers. Cut his head and his limbs off, and bury his pieces in different spots. Bury the guns and the gloves as well.”
”But... he is your brother. brother.”
Farrow did not reply. He and Otis walked to the cars.
”That fingerprints-on-the-money thing,” said Otis. ”That was pretty slick.”
”They're scared enough to believe it.”
”I think you put the fear into 'em for real,” said Otis. ”So where you gonna be?”
”Remember Lee Toomey?”
”Sure. He settled in this state, didn't he? Down on the Eastern Sh.o.r.e?”
”Right. He hooked me up with a straight gig.”
”Straight, huh.”
”For a while. You?”
”You need me, you can get me through my sister Cissy, out in Cali.”
”She still in the L.A. phone book?”
”You know it.”
Otis clapped Farrow on the arm, shook his hand as he would another black man's.
”All right, Frank.”
Farrow said, ”All right.”
Manuel had opened the bay door and was waving them on. Farrow drove the SHO out first, and Otis followed in the Mark V.
Manuel Ruiz closed the door and walked toward Jaime, who stood by the LTD's open trunk. Jaime Gutierrez was staring into the trunk while trying to put fire to a cigarette. His hand shook, and it was difficult to touch the flame to the tip.
Manuel put his thumb to his fingers and crossed himself. He went to the far corner of the garage, where a couple of old batteries were resting on wooden pallets. He lifted one of the batteries and carried it back to the LTD.
WAs.h.i.+NGTON, D.C.JANUARY 1998.
THREE.
NICK STEFANOS TUCKED a black denim s.h.i.+rt into jeans and had a seat on the edge of his bed. He leaned forward to tie his shoes and felt a rush of dizziness. Cool sweat broke upon his forehead. He sat up and waited for the feeling to pa.s.s. In an hour or so he'd be fine. a black denim s.h.i.+rt into jeans and had a seat on the edge of his bed. He leaned forward to tie his shoes and felt a rush of dizziness. Cool sweat broke upon his forehead. He sat up and waited for the feeling to pa.s.s. In an hour or so he'd be fine.
Stefanos shaved with a cup of coffee in front of him and the last Jawbox booming from his Polk speakers back in the bedroom. ”Iodine,” the CD's soul-tinged rocker, had just kicked in. He rubbed his cheek, downed a last swig of coffee, and gargled a capful of breath wash. In his bedroom he grabbed an envelope and a shrink-wrapped CD off his dresser.
Stefanos snagged his brown leather jacket off a peg by the door, turned up his collar, locked the apartment, and left the house. He picked up the morning Post Post from his landlord's front lawn and got under the wheel of his white-over-red Coronet 500, parked at the curb. He turned over the engine and drove a couple of miles out of Shepherd Park to the Takoma Metro station, where he caught a downtown train. from his landlord's front lawn and got under the wheel of his white-over-red Coronet 500, parked at the curb. He turned over the engine and drove a couple of miles out of Shepherd Park to the Takoma Metro station, where he caught a downtown train.
He found a seat on the right side of the car. Seasoned Red Line riders knew to go there, as the morning sun blew blinding rays through the left windows of the southbound cars, causing a sickening, furnace brand of heat. ”Doors closing,” said a recorded female voice, and Stefanos couldn't help but smile. It always sounded like ”George Clinton” to him.
The train got rolling as Stefanos pulled the Metro section from the Post Post and scanned its front page. One of the section's rotating columnists had written yet another piece on the ongoing dismantlement of Home Rule. and scanned its front page. One of the section's rotating columnists had written yet another piece on the ongoing dismantlement of Home Rule.