The Lazarus Trap (34 page)

Terrance shifted the ice bag back to his eye. This was not supposed to be happening. He was the one in control. It was his forte. He
managed
things. He
manipulated
. All his problems came down to one man. Terrance whispered, “Val.”

Loupe nodded vigorously in agreement. “Exactly. Val Haines is still out there. Who knows what mischief he might be cooking up?”

But a niggling concern had taken root in Terrance's mind. As though he needed another. He rose and headed for the parlor's side door, the one leading to what had formerly been his room.

Loupe tracked Terrance with his gaze, but said nothing.

As Terrance entered the room, he heard the guard pleading openly now. “He came at us so fast, boss. Running down the hall, whacking our guy, then gone.”

Terrance set the ice pack down on the tray holding the glasses and ice bucket. Val had been here. Terrance could sense the man's lingering presence.

Terrance crossed to the cabinet and opened the front. Dropping to his knees, he punched in the code to open the safe. Nothing. He repeated it, going more slowly this time, making sure the numbers were correct.

The safe's display replied that his numbers were invalid.

He walked back to the parlor entrance just as Loupe said thoughtfully, “Maybe I should show you both what a real whacking is.”

“Boss—”

Loupe glanced over and noticed Terrance's expression. He waved the guards to silence. “What is it?”

“I know why Val was here.”

“That's obvious enough. He came here looking for the girl. He failed. He went after you.”

“That's not all. It probably wasn't even in the original plan.” Terrance leaned against the doorjamb. “He's stolen my computer. I had it in my room safe. Now the safe won't open. Val broke the code, stole the computer, then shut the safe and recoded it to make it look like he hadn't been here.”

There was a pounding at the door. Loupe motioned with his cigar. The sentry opened it.

Don Winslow burst inside.

Don was red-eyed and instantly raging. His gaze swiveled about the room like a sniper seeking prey. He fastened upon Terrance and shouted, “What are you
doing
here?”

Terrance could only shake his head. “You shouldn't have come.”

“That's your idea of a news flash?” He sighted Wally and his scowl deepened. “So how come you're not out doing what we're paying you to do?”

Wally gave him an empty stare in reply.

Loupe demanded softly, “Who is this man?”

Don stalked over to where Terrance sat. “Do you have any idea the storm I left behind at headquarters? I've got SEC guys crawling all over the place with electron microscopes. So I fly over here, expecting to hear you're wrapping things up. What do I find?” Don flailed the air with his fist. “You guys sitting around having a tea party!”

“I asked you a question,” Loupe said.

Don stared at the seated old man like he would a bug in the road. “I'm the top guy, is who I am. And the top guy is wondering why I'm talking to you at all.”

Loupe paused long enough to puff on his cigar. He replied with the smoke, “I'm your new friend and partner.”

Don laughed out loud. “In your dreams, pal.”

The boss settled his cigar into the ashtray. “I fear that is the incorrect response.”

“Like I care.” Don wheeled back to Terrance. “Who danced on your face?”

“Val.”

“Where is he?”

Terrance watched as Loupe set his cigar down in the ashtray. Terrance had never felt more helpless. Not even the day his father had betrayed him. Never. “We don't know.”

Don's face reddened. “You're sitting here while the man we need dead and disappeared is out strolling around the town?”

Loupe bent over and picked up one of the sofa pillows. “We were discussing strategy.”

Don wheeled about. “I wasn't talking to you.”

“Again, the wrong answer.”

“What, you're making the rules now?”

Loupe slipped his hand beneath the jacket of his nearest man. He came out holding a pistol. Terrance was trapped in the amber of helpless foreknowledge.

Loupe brought up the pistol, cushioning the muzzle with the pillow.

And shot Don Winslow in the chest.

The bang was a sharp punch to the air, no louder than a single bass drumbeat. Everybody save Loupe jerked, knowing the next shot could just as easily be aimed at them.

Terrance watched his own life fall to the carpet with his former partner.

Loupe stood over Don and replied, “That is correct. I now make all the rules.”

The boss nudged the body with the toe of his shoe. Then he handed back the gun, returned to the table, and reached for his cigar. He puffed long enough to get the cigar drawing fully, then said with the smoke, “Get rid of this filth.”

The two men who had been awaiting judgment leapt to obey. Loupe watched them roll the body into a pair of blankets and toss it over one man's shoulder. “Don't either of you for a minute think I'm done yet.”

A tremor went through both their frames. The driver opened the door, scouted the hallway, then pointed them toward the service elevator.

When the door shut behind them, the boss turned to Wally and said, “You know a gentleman by the name of Gennaro, I believe.”

Wally might have nodded. But Terrance thought more than likely it was merely a shudder.

“Of course you do. He owns you, doesn't he?” Loupe tapped off the ash. “He and I had a little chat last night. I think it's time you went back and reported in, don't you?”

Wally struggled to her feet. She did not glance in Terrance's direction as she headed for the door.

As she opened it, Loupe added, “I don't need to say a thing to you, do I? About all that must remain between us and such as that.”

Wally stared down at the hand holding the doorknob. She shook her head and murmured, “No. You don't.”

“The first time I set eyes on you, I knew you for a smart lady. Be sure and give Gennaro my best, now, will you?”

Loupe waited until the door shut behind her to say, “I do so hope these new arrangements meet with your approval.”

Terrance did not respond. Of course, he was not expected to.

Loupe dragged a chair over to Terrance's corner and seated himself. He patted Terrance on the knee with the hand holding the cigar. The smoke clogged Terrance's every pore.

The boss said in his mild tone, “Now perhaps you'll be so good as to tell your new partner just exactly what the stakes are in this little game.”

AS FAR AS JOCKO WAS CONCERNED, THE ISLAND OF JERSEY WAS A wee tight place. Especially for two men who'd shared a berth in Wormwood Scrubs, as cramped a set of quarters as ever there were. The walls here might be liquid, the food a ruddy sight better than inside the grey-bar hotel. But the sentence Jocko served out was the same. Forever and a day.

They were set up in a hotel across the street from the bank's only entrance. The room Jocko shared with Matt was almost as small as their cell. The hotel was a glorified boarding house, not even deserving its single star. But it was the only one they could find with a clear view of the place. When Matt had complained, Loupe had offered to fit them out with something smaller. A barrel, perhaps.

So there they sat, day in and day out, one or the other of them staring at the ruddy entrance until their eyes were ready to fall out of their heads. They even did it all night long, which was the stupidest thing going, according to Matt. The bank had these great steel doors that wheeled out at five every afternoon, locking the place up like a street-side vault. They made no sense, as orders went. Jocko's mate, the brains of the pair, was given to complaining more with every passing hour. Jocko, though, he found the alternative a ruddy sight less appealing. He had been around long enough to hear the tales of what Loupe did to those who disappointed him. Jocko had no interest in finding out if the tales were true. No, mate. Not him. He'd sit by the ruddy window until he fused with the chair, he would.

Which had almost happened. Jocko had been at it for five poxy hours. Sitting by the window, watching the grey light strengthen and the rain fall and smoking his head off. The noisy bedside clock taunted him all night with how slowly time moved. Finally he couldn't take it anymore.

Jocko walked over and kicked the bed. Again. A third time, and finally his mate was up and complaining again. The rain, the day, the stink from Jocko's cigarettes even with the window wide open. Matt's voice was persistent as a drill. But at least Jocko heard some other noise now besides the drip-drip-drip of this rain.

Soon as Matt was dressed and moaning by the window about another day lost to nothing, Jocko left. The hotel manager was already at his desk. The old geezer didn't think much of two men sharing one of his cramped front rooms. Jocko left the hotel and walked through the cold rain and wondered why anybody would ever want to live in such a place. Stone the crows, but this was a miserable excuse for a town. Cramped rooms and tiny streets and small-minded people, surrounded by miles and miles of empty water and rain. Jocko stopped by the newsagents' and bought a
Sun
. He rounded the corner and entered the steamy café. He took his regular place in the booth by the window and ordered his regular breakfast. He opened his paper and almost moaned over that first sip of tea. Breakfast was the one thing this place had not managed to ruin.

Jocko was about midway through the morning feast when something caught his eye.

At first he wasn't sure what it was he'd seen, what with the window so misted over and the rain falling in sheets. Jocko rubbed the pane clean. Yes. Stepping away from a shop connected to a church. Walking there on the main road. Headed for the bank. A man who looked a lot like . . .

Jocko sprang from the booth and barged out the door. He raced around the corner in time to watch the bloke walk up the front steps and enter the bank. It might have been their man. Only Jocko was looking at this bloke from the rear. And it had been a while. And the wind was rising and blowing this pelting rain straight into his eyes. Jocko swiped angrily at his face and started forward.

Then he stopped. Because there were two men stationed at the front of the bank. One of them was a bloke big as himself. Definitely someone who knew how to handle himself.

Jocko took another step. This one took him over by the corner of the hotel. He squinted against the driving rain.

He'd seen that man before.

Jocko turned up his collar and sauntered along the lane. He took the hotel stairs easy as you please. Once through the hotel entrance, though, Jocko hurtled across the lobby and thundered up the stairs.

Jocko flung open the door to their room, only to discover his mate seated by the window, his head in his arms, dead asleep.

Jocko kicked the chair out from under him.

Matt fell to the floor, picked himself up, and cuffed Jocko. The blow was about as potent as a fleabite. Cross and sour, Matt picked up the chair, slammed it back down, and started complaining about how Jocko didn't even bother to bring him a cup of tea and something hot—

“He's here.”

Matt paled. “The boss? Here?”

“No. Our target.”

Matt almost fell out the window in his panic. “Where?”

“The bank. Maybe.”

“What's that supposed to mean, maybe? Either he's in the bank or he's not.”

“Only saw the bloke from behind, didn't I. And look there. See the muscle? They showed up with him.”

His mate was seriously alarmed. “Are they ours?”

“Have a look at the bloke on the right. I've seen him before.”

“With Loupe?”

“No. Inside. He was in another section. Somebody pointed him out. Savage. Yeah, that's the bloke's name. Bert Savage.”

“The boss didn't say anything about heavies.”

Jocko squinted out the window, wanting to tighten down his gaze and pierce the stone wall. “Maybe it wasn't him.”

“But what if it is?”

“Think we should call it in?”

“Have you gone totally round the bend? What if you're wrong? You want to give Loupe another reason to bring us in for a little chat?”

Jocko did not need to answer that one. “What do we do, then?”

“I'm going over.”

“Wait, the boss, he said we weren't supposed to show our faces.”

“We've got to know, right? You heard the boss same as me. The second that bloke shows up, we're to phone it in. Not thirty seconds later. Not even two.” Matt grabbed his jacket. “Wait here.”