Kings of Midnight (3 page)

She felt the anger rising in her. “We were almost out of here.”

“How bad is it?”

She pulled away the edges of his Windbreaker. The bullet had gone in the left side of his chest, the shirt there already sodden with blood. The shredded material around the hole fluttered with every breath. Sucking chest wound, she thought, a lung hit for sure.

“It's bad,” she said. She put the .38 aside. He was breathing in short ragged gasps now. His chest cavity would be filling with blood.

He looked up at her. “I'm sorry,” he said, and then didn't say anything more.

She stood, looked down at the two men, both still and silent now. Nothing she could do for either of them, and no telling how far the sound of the shots had traveled. It was time to go.

She pulled Rorey's duffel out from under him. There was a single spot of blood on the canvas. She dragged the bag to her rental, put it in the trunk, then went back for the suitcases. She put them in side by side, shut the lid.

She looked around the barn a final time for anything that could link her to what had happened here. There was nothing. The police would find the bodies, the guns, the gutted ATM, put two and two together. The only thing missing would be the money.

She switched off the droplight, went to the big door, and put her shoulder to it, pushed it open. On the horizon, a cloud glowed for an instant, lit from within, then went dark again.

She got behind the wheel of the Ford, started the engine, realizing only then her hands were shaking. She gripped the wheel tighter, and drove out into the darkness.

THREE

Benny was washing pots, using a scrub brush on the last hardened bits of spaghetti sauce, when the two men from New York walked into the restaurant.

The kitchen door was ajar, so he had a clear view into the dining area. Ten tables with checkered tablecloths, the front windows fogged, the neon
CAFE MILAN
sign dark now. Rick, the manager, was at a table, sorting register receipts. The other tables were empty. The night had been slow, and Rick had let Pablo, the busboy, and Lila, the waitress, go home early.

Rick looked up from the receipts. “Sorry, fellas. We're closed. I was just about to lock the door.”

The men looked around, didn't speak.

Benny was forearm-deep in hot soapy water. He dried his hands on a dish towel, got his glasses from the counter. The lenses were steamed. He wiped them clear with an edge of apron, worked the wire frames over his ears.

One of the men was in his sixties, wearing an expensive overcoat, his thick silver hair swept up and back. It took Benny a moment to realize he was looking at Danny Taliferro, older now, thinner. Under the coat, he wore a roll-top sweater that covered his throat. Still vain about that scar after all these years, Benny thought.

The other man was younger, late twenties, thigh-length leather jacket, close-cut dark hair. Benny didn't know him, just the type.

Rick stood, the kid trying to be polite. “Sorry, but the kitchen's shut down, and the grill's cold. Couldn't make you anything if we wanted to.”

Taliferro looked past him. Benny backed away, kept an angle on the door.

“There's a twenty-four-hour Denny's out by the highway,” Rick said. “Just a couple miles away. I can tell you how to get there. Probably the only place open this time of night.”

Taliferro turned to the other man. “What did I tell you? Bumfuck, USA.” Then to Rick, “We're not here to eat.” An edge of hoarseness in the voice, unmistakable. Danny Taliferro for sure.

So this was it, after all this time. Benny looked around. There was a cleaver hanging above the cutting board. He set it on the counter, covered it with the dish towel. Almost immediately, he felt foolish. What was he going to do, go out there swinging?

“We're looking for Benny Roth,” Taliferro said. “He works here, right?”

“Who?” Confusion in Rick's voice. Benny stayed where he was, listening.

“Benny Roth,” Taliferro said. “But maybe he calls himself something else now, right? I guess he would.”

The kid squared his shoulders. “I don't know what you two fellas want. But there's no Benny here. And I'd appreciate it if you all would leave now. We're closed for the night.”

Benny suddenly felt guilty. The kid was going to get himself hurt over something he didn't understand.

Benny took a last glance at the dish towel, then pushed open the kitchen door. The three turned to look at him. Taliferro smiled.

“Benny,” he said. “Long time.”

Rick looked from Benny back to the men. “Leonard, you know these guys?”

Taliferro laughed. “Leonard?”

“It's okay,” Benny said. “Yeah, I know them.” He took off his apron, bundled it. “We're good in there. I did the last of the pots, loaded the washer. It just needs to be turned on.”

“What's all this ‘Benny' stuff?” Rick said.

“What?” Taliferro said. “You didn't know you had a celebrity working for you?”

Benny set the apron on a table. “How you doing, Danny?”

Taliferro nodded, looked him over. “Day at a time, like everybody. What's it been? Twenty-five years?”

“Longer,” Benny said.

“You got old.”

“We all did.”

“What's all this about?” Rick said.

Benny touched his arm. “It's all right.” Then to Taliferro, “How about we talk outside? Let this man finish closing his restaurant.”

Taliferro swept an arm toward the door. “After you.”

“Leonard…” Rick said.

“It's okay,” Benny said. “I'll see you in the morning.” To Taliferro, he said, “I just need to get my coat.”

“I'll go with you,” the younger one said.

“No need for that,” Taliferro said. “I don't think we're gonna have any issues here.”

Benny went back into the kitchen, got his red hunter's jacket from the peg, looked at the dish towel, then the back door. He could make a run for it, but wouldn't get far with his bum knee. And there might be more of them outside, waiting. It would only piss them off if he tried to get away.

When he came back out, the younger one was holding the door open.

“Maybe I should call the sheriff's office,” Rick said.

“No,” Benny said, pulling on his coat. “These are friends from back home. I haven't seen them in a long time.”

“Back home?” Rick said. “St. Louis?”

“Somewhere like that,” Taliferro said. “Come on, let's go have a drink.”

Benny zipped his coat, and they went out into the cold. There was a shiny Lincoln Town Car with New York plates parked at the curb, just behind his own Hyundai. Except for the Sunoco station two blocks away, all the storefronts on Main Avenue were dark.

“You two drive all the way out here?” Benny said.

“Seemed easiest,” Taliferro said. He took a hard pack of Marlboros from his overcoat pocket, offered them. Benny said, “No, thanks.”

Taliferro lit one with a silver Zippo, turned his head and blew out smoke. Benny looked at the younger man. “Who's this?”

“My nephew,” Taliferro said. “Frank Longo. My sister's boy. You knew his father, Petey.”

“Right,” Benny said, lying. The name meant nothing to him. “How you doing, kid? How's the old man?”

“Dead,” Longo said. “Last year. Cancer.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Taliferro said, “Sal Bruno says hello.”

“That psycho?” Benny said. “He still alive?”

“Better not let him hear you say that.”

Rick was at the window. Benny waved to reassure him.

“I should have figured you'd be working in a restaurant,” Taliferro said. “You always were a good cook.”

“It's something I enjoy.” Benny looked past him, toward the gas station, knew he'd never make it. “How'd you find me?”

“It was easy,” Taliferro said. “Everybody knows you've been out here, since you left the program. Isn't hard to track a person down these days, Internet and all. You are out of it, right? Or was that just a rumor?”

Benny shrugged, put his hands in his pockets. “I told them to go fuck themselves.”

“That's what I heard. But you lived off that federal tit a good long time, didn't you?”

“They screwed me over, made promises they didn't keep.”

“What did you expect from the G, huh?” He blew out smoke. “But hey, come on, it's cold out here. Let's take a ride.”

Benny looked at the Town Car. “No way. You want to go somewhere, I'll take my car, follow you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Taliferro said. “You've got nothing to worry about. Ride with us. We'll talk in the car, it'll save time. We'll drive you back here when we're done.”

“I don't think so.”

“You're gonna wanna hear what I have to say, I guarantee you.”

“Come on,” Longo said. “Get in the car.” Benny looked at him, didn't move.

“Benny, let me explain something to you,” Taliferro said. “Anyone had a beef against you is long gone. Why do you think nobody's bothered you all this time? And you stood up to the feds, told them to go pound sand. You got some respect back for that.”

“I never testified against you or your people,” Benny said. “I did what I had to do, nothing more.”

“I know that. Got their money's worth out of you though, didn't they? Put you on the circuit.”

“They didn't give me a choice. You think I wanted that?”

“I don't know what you wanted. Couldn't any of us figure out what was in your head, everything we'd done for you.”

“Done for me? You mean done
to
me?” Benny said. “With that crazy Jimmy Burke going around whacking everybody? I was next on his list. The feds played me the tapes to prove it.”

“Freezing my nuts off out here,” Longo said. “Can't we do this in the car?”

“The feds, they like to fuck with you,” Taliferro said. “That's how they get into your head, make you do things you know are wrong.”

“Maybe,” Benny said.

“Anyway, they're all gone now, that crew. Jimmy, Paulie, Tommy. All dead. Couple others went into the program. For all I know, they're dead, too. If anybody wanted you, Benny, they'd have found you. The world's not that big.”

“What about Joey Dio? He's still around.”

“Not anymore,” Taliferro said. “That's what I want to talk to you about. Come on, the kid's right. It's freezing out here. Get in.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course,” Taliferro said. “You always got a choice.”

*   *   *

Longo drove, Taliferro riding shotgun. Benny sat behind, left arm across the seat back, trying to act casual. He'd refused to get in front.

“So,” Taliferro said. “Leonard?”

“It fits. I'm half Jewish, remember? Not that they can tell a Jew from an Italian out here anyway.”

They were on a long straight road, dark fields on both sides. Benny caught a glimpse of the moon through the clouds.

“All this open space makes me nervous,” Taliferro said. “How'd you end up out here anyway?”

“They had me in a bunch of different places. When I signed out of the program, I decided to stay in Indiana. I like it here.”

“That's hard to believe.” Taliferro turned toward him. “Things didn't work out with the wife, eh?”

“You heard that, too?”

“Some of it.”

“She's gone now.”

“I know. I was sorry to hear about that. You ever see your kids?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“Not for a long time. They're grown now. In college, I think. Hope.”

A deer came out of the woods ahead of them, eyes flashing in the headlights. Longo hit the brakes hard, and they were all thrown forward for an instant, then back. The deer bounded across the road, disappeared into the trees on the other side.

“Son of a bitch,” Longo said. “Sorry about that, skip. I didn't see it.”

“We're fine. Just take it easy.”

They drove on.

“Where are we going?” Benny said.

Taliferro looked back at him. “Your place.”

Benny stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“I told you it wasn't hard to track you down, find where you live. You got a nice thing going there, huh? How old's that girl? Twenty-five? Good for you.”

Benny sat forward. “Wait a minute…”

“Relax,” Taliferro said. “So I know a little bit about you. No big deal. You think I was going to drive all the way out here, not know what I was getting into?”

“She's got nothing to do with what happened before.”

“Did I say she did? But you're like, what, sixty, sixty-one?”

“Sixty-two.”

“And she's twenty-five? When I heard that, I said ‘God bless America.'”

“And pass the Viagra,” Longo said.

“Be nice,” Taliferro said. Then, over the seat to Benny, “This is the turn up here, right?”

“You been here before?”

Taliferro didn't answer. They made a left into the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires.

All the lights in the house were on. That was wrong. Marta would have turned them off. They barely made their rent each month, and every dollar counted.

“I thought we were going to talk in the car,” Benny said. “Then you were gonna drive me back.”

“We're here now,” Taliferro said. “Might as well be comfortable.”

They pulled up outside the porch. Only ten o'clock, but the houses on both sides were dark. The only sound was wind in the trees.

“You own this place?” Taliferro said, but Benny was already out of the car. The front door was unlocked, the living room empty.

He went into the kitchen, and Marta was sitting there at the table, arms crossed. Relief flooded through him, and then he saw the other man there, leaning against the kitchen counter. He was Longo's age, but thicker, a weight lifter's body, spiky moussed hair. He wore a leather coat over an open shirt, a gold cross gleaming in his chest hair.