Part 22 (1/2)

”He spoke with you last thing,” Beck said. ”Then he locked up and left and he hasn't been seen since.”

”What did he want with you?” Duke asked.

”I don't know,” I said.

”You don't know? You were in there five minutes.”

I nodded. ”He took me back to the warehouse office.”

”And?”

”And nothing. He was all set to say something but his cell phone rang.”

”Who was it?”

I shrugged. ”How would I know? Some kind of an urgent thing. He talked on the phone the whole five minutes. He was wasting my time and yours so I just gave it up and walked back out.”

”What was he saying on the phone?”

”I didn't listen,” I said. ”Didn't seem polite.”

”Hear any names?” Beck asked.

I turned to him. Shook my head.

”No names,” I said. ”But they knew each other. That was clear. Doll did a lot of listening, I guess. I think he was taking instructions about something.”

”About what?”

”No idea,” I said.

”Something urgent?”

”I guess so. He seemed to forget all about me. Certainly he didn't try to stop me when I walked away.”

”That's all you know?”

”I a.s.sumed it was some kind of a plan,” I said. ”Instructions for the following day, maybe.”

”Today?”

I shrugged again. ”I'm just guessing. It was a very one-sided conversation.”

”Terrific,” Duke said. ”You're a real big help, you know that?”

Beck looked out at the ocean. ”So he took an urgent call on his cell and then he locked up and left. That's all you can tell us?”

”I didn't see him lock up,” I said. ”And I didn't see him leave. He was still on the phone when I came out.”

”Obviously he locked up,” Beck said. ”And obviously he left. Everything was perfectly normal this morning.”

I said nothing. Beck turned through ninety degrees and faced east. The wind came off the sea and flattened his clothes against him. His trouser legs flapped like flags. He moved his feet, scuffing the soles of his shoes against the grit, like he was trying to get warm.

”We don't need this now,” he said. ”We really don't need this. We've got a big weekend coming up.”

I said nothing. They turned around together and headed back to the house and left me there, alone.

I was tired, but I wasn't going to get any rest. That was clear. There was bustle in the air and the routine I had seen on the previous two nights was all shot to h.e.l.l. There was no food in the kitchen. No dinner. The cook wasn't there. I heard people moving in the hallway. Duke came into the kitchen and walked straight past me and went out the back door. He was carrying a blue Nike sports bag. I followed him out and stood and watched from the corner of the house and saw him go into the second garage. Five minutes later he backed the black Lincoln out and drove off in it. He had changed the plates. When I had seen it in the middle of the night it had six-digit Maine plates on it. Now it was showing a seven-digit New York number. I went back inside and looked for coffee. I found the machine, but I couldn't find any filter papers. I settled for a gla.s.s of water instead. I was halfway through drinking it when Beck came in. He was carrying a sports bag, too. The way it hung from its handles and the noise it made when it b.u.mped against his leg told me it was full of heavy metal. Guns, probably, maybe two of them.

”Get the Cadillac,” he said. ”Right now. Pick me up at the front.”

He took the keys out of his pocket and dropped them on the table in front of me. Then he crouched down and unzipped his bag and came out with two New York license plates and a screwdriver. Handed them to me.

”Put these on it first,” he said.

I saw guns in the bag. Two Heckler & Koch MP5Ks, short and fat and black with big bulbous molded handles. Futuristic, like movie props.

”Where are we going?” I said.

”We're following Duke down to Hartford, Connecticut,” he said. ”We've got some business there, remember?”

He zipped the bag and stood up and carried it back out into the hallway. I sat still for a second. Then I raised my gla.s.s of water and toasted the blank wall in front of me.

”Here's to b.l.o.o.d.y wars and dread diseases,” I said to myself.

CHAPTER 7

I left the rest of the water in the kitchen and headed out toward the garage block. Dusk was gathering on the ocean horizon, a hundred miles away in the east. The wind was blowing hard and the waves were pounding. I stopped walking and turned a casual circle.

Saw n.o.body else out and about. So I ducked out of sight down the side of the courtyard wall. Found my hidden bundle and laid the phony plates and the screwdriver on the rocks and unwrapped both guns. Duffy's Glock went into my right-hand coat pocket. Doll's PSM went into my left. I put the spare Glock mags in my socks. Stowed the rag and picked up the plates and the screwdriver and backtracked to the courtyard entrance.

The mechanic was busy in the third garage. The empty one. He had the doors wide open and was oiling the hinges. The s.p.a.ce behind him was even cleaner than when I had seen it in the night. It was immaculate. The floor had been hosed. I could see it drying in patches. I nodded to the guy and he nodded back. I opened up the left-hand garage.

Squatted down and unscrewed the Maine plate off the Cadillac's trunk lid and replaced it with the New York number. Did the same at the front. Left the old plates and the screwdriver on the floor and got in and fired it up. Backed it out and headed around to the carriage circle. The mechanic watched me go.

Beck was waiting there for me. He opened the rear door himself and dropped his sports bag on the back seat. I heard the guns s.h.i.+fting inside. Then he closed the rear door again and slid in the front beside me.

”Go,” he said. ”Use I-95 south as far as Boston.”

”We need gas,” I said.

”OK, first place you see,” he said.

Paulie was waiting at the gate. His face was all twisted up with anger. He was a problem that wouldn't keep much longer. He glared in at me. Turned his head left and right and kept his eyes on me the whole time he was opening the gate. I ignored him and drove on through. I didn't look back at him. Out of sight, out of mind was the way I wanted to play it, as far as he was concerned.

The coast road west was empty. We were on the highway twelve minutes after we left the house. I was getting used to the way the Cadillac drove. It was a nice car. Smooth, and quiet. But it was heavy on gas. That was for sure. The needle was getting seriously low. I could almost see it moving. The way I recalled it the first gas stop was the one south of Kennebunk. The place where I had met with Duffy and Eliot on the way down to New London. We reached it within fifteen minutes. It felt very familiar to me. I drove past the parking lot where we had broken into the van and headed down to the pumps. Beck said nothing. I got out and filled the tank. It took a long time. Eighteen gallons. I screwed the cap back on and Beck buzzed his window down and gave me a wad of cash.