Part 40 (1/2)
He handed Farrow one of the two .45s he had copped on Sepul-veda, back in L.A. Farrow hefted the gun and checked the action.
”Where's your cousin?”
”Booker? He didn't come home last night and I ain't seen him all day.”
Otis didn't want Frank getting angry over Gus's little accident. Once they got on the road and headed back west, Frank would never know.
”Just as well,” said Farrow. ”Leave some money on the table for him. That'll be good enough.”
Otis pulled his hair back off his shoulders and banded it. He holstered his .45 into his waist rig and put on a ventless, checked wool sport jacket over his clean white s.h.i.+rt. He looked in the living-room mirror and smiled, admiring his gold tooth, the cut of his jacket, his hair. The look.
He left money on the table - a fifty-dollar bill on top of ten ones, so Frank wouldn't get suspicious. Wasn't any point in leaving too much for a corpse lying in the woods, even if the dead man was your kin.
”You ready?” said Farrow as he walked back into the room.
”Yeah,” said Otis. ”Let's go.”
Dimitri Karras was waiting on the corner of 15th and U as Thomas Wilson pulled the Intrepid to the curb at eight o'clock. Karras settled in the pa.s.senger bucket and fastened his seat belt. ”You finalized it with Farrow and Otis?” said Karras.
Wilson nodded. He drove east.
They crossed the city. They rode the Beltway for fifteen miles and exited at Route 4. Wilson slowed as they drove through old Upper Marlboro.
”Run through it again,” said Karras.
”I'm meeting them behind a Texaco that's been out of business a couple of years. We'll be pa.s.sin' it in a mile or so. After I get you settled, I'll leave my car there and come in with them.” Wilson swallowed. ”Afterwards, we'll clean the warehouse, drive them back, and dump 'em behind the station. Get back into my car and split.”
”It's simple. I like that.”
”Yeah, it's simple. 'Cept the killin' part.”
”You shouldn't have any problem with that. Just try to remember what they did to your friend.”
Wilson's face was grim and strained in the glow of the dash lights. ”Only G.o.d should do what we're plannin' to do tonight.”
”You're scared,” said Karras, ”that's all. Don't cloud this up with talk about G.o.d.”
”Yes, I'm scared. I don't want to die.”
”Neither do I.”
”You don't have to worry,” said Wilson. ”I'm gonna go through with this. But don't you tell me not to think of G.o.d or whether this is right or wrong. If I live through this, I plan to beg forgiveness every day for the wrong I've done. Knowing it's wrong is what separates me from Farrow and Otis.” Wilson looked across the bucket. ”What separates you?”
”Nothing. I hope to be just like them. I hope to kill them the way they killed my son.”
Wilson spoke quietly. ”You've lost your faith, I know. But if you make it tonight, believe me, you're gonna need to have something to help make you right. I was you, I'd look to G.o.d. Promise me you'll try.”
”All right, Thomas,” said Karras, staring straight ahead. ”I promise that I'll try.”
The road darkened as they went past the town. Wilson pointed to a boarded-up gas station with a pay phone out front. Then there was more dark road and signage for an industrial park. Wilson turned right, took the asphalt road that went along rows of squat red-brick warehouses starkly lit by spots.
Wilson drove straight to the back of the deserted park. He made a tight turn at a green Dumpster and went through the long narrow alley to the wide parking lot that ended at another set of identical red-brick structures. He parked in the middle of the strip, cut the engine, and removed the tarps from the trunk.
”What're those for?” asked Karras.
”Gonna try to keep my uncle's place clean. We'll roll 'em up in these when we're done.”
Karras waited while Wilson opened the warehouse door and hit the lights. The two of them stepped inside. Fluorescents flooded the s.p.a.ce with an artificial glow. A single ceiling lamp flashed over a cheap desk.
Karras looked at the desk. ”Doesn't this place have a phone?”
”My uncle uses a cell.”
Wilson and Karras unfolded the blue plastic tarps and spread them out on the concrete floor. The warehouse was cold, and their labored breath was visible in the light.
”I better get goin',” said Wilson when they were done. ”They'll be there pretty soon.”
”Go ahead.”
”Remember: You're the man who made me the key. You're looking for a payoff before they do the job. Don't complicate it more than that.”
”I won't.”
”Shoot Farrow quick.”
”All I want is to look in his eyes.”
”Don't waste no time, Dimitri. Shoot him quick, hear? I'll take care of Otis.”
”All right.” Karras shook Wilson's hand. ”You all set?”
Wilson nodded. He turned and walked out the door. Karras heard the Intrepid drive away.
It was suddenly quiet. Karras stood on the blue tarp in the center of the warehouse and listened to the low, steady buzz of the fluorescent lights.
”You got the directions?” said Farrow.
”Got 'em,” said Otis.
They walked across the yard to their cars.
”Smells like something died out here,” said Farrow.
”Well, we are in the woods.”
”Be glad to get back to civilization.”
”I heard that, that,” said Otis, dropping behind the wheel of his Mark V. Otis put the car in drive. He hit the CD player, rotated the disks to Slow Jams, Volume 2. Slow Jams, Volume 2.