Shoot the Woman First (2 page)

“Five hundred thousand sounds high,” she said. “You see the money before it's packed?”

“Nah, they do that up in the office. Behind closed doors. No one in there but Marquis and Damien, and this boy they call Metro that does the counting.”

She was wondering how much of it was street talk, Glass taken in by Cordell's story. Cordell looked too young, soft, to be in the Game in any real way. But the drop-off and pickup had gone as he said they would. And even a quarter million might make it worth doing.

“How far in advance do you know the location?” she said.

“Couple days, maybe.”

“Not much time. Who picks the spot?”

“Marquis talks to the Mexicans. They work it out between them.”

“I know how it sounds,” Glass said. “But Cordell's right. This is sloppy right now, because they're fat and lazy. That'll change. We got a window of time here. They may get their shit squared away at some point in the future. It won't be so easy.”

“Body armor,” Larry said.

She turned to him. “What?”

“I'm just saying. If we do this—on the street, like this—we need body armor, vests. Any of the rollos in that Armada start popping off at us with that kind of hardware, stoned or not, I want some protection.”

“Good idea,” Glass said. “I can handle that.”

“You financing?” she said.

“Much as I need to. I'll take it back off the top.”

“That a good idea?”

“You worried I'll want more say in how we do it?”

“Should I be?”

“No. Just thought it would be easier that way, for me to put out the money up front, given the time factor. That's all.”

He was right. And aside from the body armor, they might be able to do it with minimal expense. She was looking at the spot where the Subaru had been parked, thinking it through, considering the angles.

“Well?” Glass said.

“We're good for now,” she said. “Drop me back at the hotel. We'll talk tonight. I have some ideas.”

“You thinking it's doable?” he said.

“At the moment,” she said, “I'm just thinking.”

“That's good enough for me,” Glass said, and started the engine.

 

TWO

She always chose airport hotels. In a strange city, looking into possible work, it made it easier, quicker to get away if things went sour.

She had registered as Linda Hendryx, the name on her New Jersey driver's license and credit cards. Over the previous year, she'd bought two other sets of documents as well, in different names. She kept them for emergencies, each with a U.S. passport if she had to leave the country. The two sets had cost her seventy-five thousand each, but she'd been flush from her previous work. She and a partner had turned up more than two million in cash that had been stashed away for years, proceeds from a 1978 robbery. They'd taken the money, split it down the middle. It was more than she'd ever made from a single job before.

Glass had dropped her off first. She'd showered, dressed, had a steak in the hotel restaurant. The waiter had just brought a second cup of coffee, left the check, when she looked up and saw Larry in the doorway, wearing a leather coat over a turtleneck sweater. He'd driven over from his own hotel, a few miles away. She looked at her watch. Nine
P.M.
He was right on time.

She got her own leather off the back of the chair, left cash for the bill and tip. They walked through the lobby together, out the revolving door to where his rental Ford was parked at the curb. She hadn't rented a car here, wouldn't. It made things simpler, reduced the paper trail.

She took thin leather gloves from her pocket, pulled them on.

“Cold?” he said. Early September, and Indian summer was starting to give way to fall here. Back in New Jersey, it was still in the seventies.

“No.”

“Got it. Being careful. Can't blame you.”

They got in the car. As they pulled away, a chime began to sound.

“That's you,” he said. She pulled the safety belt across, clicked it into place.

“How long have you been in town?” she said.

“Got here yesterday. I'll go home tomorrow if I don't like what I hear tonight.”

A plane emerged from the clouds, passed over them, landing lights flashing.

“What's your feeling so far?” he said.

“It has its good points,” she said. “A few bad ones, too.”

“I'm not sure of the company.”

The lines in his face were deeper than the last time she'd seen him, nearly six years ago. She wondered if hers were as well.

“I've worked with Glass,” she said. “He's solid. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here.”

“It's his cousin I'm worried about. He's in over his head.”

“I know,” she said. They'd left the airport, were on a long stretch of elevated highway. In the distance, she could see the lights of the city.

“I've never been much for taking off dealers,” he said. “Too unpredictable, too much risk.”

“Usually, yeah.”

“On the other hand, aren't many places to find cash these days. At least not in any amount worth taking. Dealers are always a standby in that respect. That's one economy that never slumps.”

She opened the glove box, took out the pink rental contract. She saw he'd rented the car at the airport the day before, in the name Louis Brown.

“Sticking with the LB,” she said.

“Makes it easier. You worried this was a government car? Wired up?”

“Like you said, just being careful. No offense.”

“None taken.”

She put the contract back in the glove box, closed it.

“Way I see it,” he said, “this Cordell's taking a hell of a risk.”

“He must think it's worth it.”

“You believe there's that much money involved? Half a million?”

“Could be. Even if it's half that, though, not a bad day's work for four people.”

They rode in silence for a while, the freeway taking them over an area of dark factories and warehouses, dimly lit streets that seemed to go on forever.

“This town's seen better days,” she said.

“So have I.”

“You still in St. Louis?”

“Off and on. Was down in Florida for a while. Got a wife there. Well, ex-wife now. Little girl, too.”

“How old?”

“Six. Her name's Haley. I know, hard to believe, right? A kid at my age. Didn't plan it that way, just sort of happened.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Things didn't quite work out the way I hoped, though.”

“You see her?”

“Haley? Not much. They're down near Orlando. I bought a house for them, send money when I can.”

She thought of Maddie, her own daughter. Eleven this year, and being raised by Crissa's cousin in Texas, with no idea who her real mother was. Crissa sent them money every month, certified checks from a Costa Rican account.

“I heard about Wayne,” he said. “About his sentence being extended. I'm sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“That's a tough break.”

“It was. His parole hearing was coming up. I almost had him out of there.”

It was Wayne who'd brought her into the Life. Before that had been a series of bad relationships marked by casual violence and petty crime. She'd been with Beaumont, Maddie's father, for only a year, blurred months of drugs and alcohol.

Wayne had taken her away from all that. He lived well, showed her a life she never thought possible. He put crews together, did work all over the country. Eighteen years younger than him, but she'd become part of that world as well.

“You ever get down there to see him?” Larry said.

“I did for a while, regular. But the name they had on file down there on the approved visitors roll, the one I was using … I had to give that up, because of some things that happened. They had my picture, too. I can't go back.”

“That's rough. I'm sorry.”

“Nothing for it,” she said. “Just the way it played out.”

“I still feel responsible for what happened. In Texas.”

“You weren't.”

She and Wayne were living in Delaware when it all went wrong. Weak with the flu, she'd stayed behind when Wayne, Larry, and another man took down a jewelry wholesaler outside Houston. It was supposed to be a give-up by the owner, but a clerk had pulled a gun, shot Wayne in the shoulder. Larry had carried him out of there, but two blocks later, their driver put the car into a fire hydrant and park bench. Larry got away before the police arrived, but Wayne and the driver drew bids for armed robbery and conspiracy, ten to fifteen each.

“I maybe could have gotten him out of that car,” Larry said. “But the shape he was in, he wouldn't have made it very far.”

“I know.”

“I had a cracked collarbone myself. Spent the night in the crawl space under a broken-down porch 'bout a block away, listening to sirens and radios all night. I was so fucked up, I couldn't tell when I was awake and when I was dreaming. Next morning, I could hardly move. Never did heal right.”

“You did what you could,” she said. “You got him out of that store, gave him a chance. You didn't leave him there.”

“Couldn't, after all he'd done for me. He brought me in on plenty of work, set me up with a stake when I needed it. I owe him.”

“We all do.”

They exited the freeway, turned down a wide residential street. Big stone houses, fenced-in yards. But after a while, fewer houses were lit, and the streetlights were dark. Overgrown yards now, boarded-up windows. He touched the button to lock the doors.

“Sure you know where you're going?” she said.

“I was here yesterday. I think I got it.”

They steered around a shopping cart on its side in the middle of the street. He made a right, then a left, and they were on a block lit by a single streetlamp halfway down.

The house was near the end of the block. He turned into the driveway, their headlights passing across plywooded front windows. It was a two-story house, gray stone, a rich man's home long ago. A bay window faced the driveway, most of its glass intact. Beneath it was a tangle of weeds and shrubbery.

There was a garage in the rear, a silver Lexus parked beside it. He K-turned, backed in alongside the Lexus.

“You carrying?” she said.

He shook his head, looked at the house, the car ticking and cooling. The rear windows were boarded over, gang tags sprayed across the plywood, but the back door was ajar, darkness inside.

“Didn't think I'd need it,” he said. “I flew here anyway, couldn't bring anything. And there was no time to find something after I got to town. You?”

“No. Same reason.” She thought of the Glock 9 she kept in a safe at home, the smaller .32 Beretta Tomcat clipped to the springs under her bed. Wished she had one of them now.

“Nervous?” he said.

“A little.”

“You vouched for Glass, said he's solid.”

“I did. And he is. Or at least he was, last time we did work together.”

“Still, no way to be sure what we're walking into here, is there?”

They looked at the house, neither of them moving.

“Only one way to find out,” she said, and opened the door.

 

THREE

Cordell and Glass were in the big living room, a map open on the coffee table between them, bottles of Heineken beside it. The room was lit by two Coleman battery lanterns a few feet apart.

“Hey,” Glass said. “Come on in.”

He sat on a ragged couch, Cordell in a chair across from him. The hardwood floor was littered with trash. Chunks of plaster had fallen from the ceiling, lathe showing through. A bricked-in fireplace in one wall, a wide staircase that went up into darkness.

“I know,” Glass said. “Sorry. Best we could do on short notice.”

“You ought to put something over that window,” she said. “The light.”

“Doesn't matter,” Cordell said. “No one around here to see it.”

A plastic vial crunched under her boot heel. She swept it away with her foot. “Whose place is this?”

“No one's now,” Glass said. “Cordell found it. This block, you can take your pick. Plenty to choose from.”

“No one's been here in a long time,” Cordell said. “No neighbors, either. Every house on the block about the same as this. Mayor's been trying to get people to relocate closer to the city center, so they cut off services to some of these outer neighborhoods. Didn't take people long to get the message.”

Larry had moved to her right. Without a word, he'd taken the lead when they'd entered the house.

“We're going over some street routes,” Glass said. “Can't be sure on the drop-off point until we get word, but it'll likely be in the same general area.”

“Unless Marquis changes up,” she said.

“He won't,” Cordell said. “He'll stick to somewhere he knows, and he don't know anything but downtown. He's the king there, that's the way he thinks. That's his kingdom. No one will mess with him there.”

There were two metal folding chairs leaning against a wall. Larry opened them, dusted off the seats, set them near the table. A moth fluttered around one of the lanterns.

“More beers out in the kitchen,” Glass said. “If you want one.”

“Sounds good,” Larry said, and went back out. He'd take his time, she knew, look around. She sat. Glass pulled a lantern closer, then turned the map around so she could read it. There were three routes traced on it, one in blue, one red, and one yellow.

When she looked up, Cordell was watching her.

“Problem?” she said.

“Just surprised is all. When my cuz said he could bring some people in, I didn't expect a woman.”

“Got an issue with that?”