Caught Stealing - Charlie Huston [21]
—Last night. I think two or so. But I was asleep. I got drunk. I’m not sure.
I’m cupping a hand under my nose, trying to catch the blood. Red puts a hand on my forehead and pushes my head back against the couch. Roman says something in pretty good sounding Russian and Blackie, still on his phone, comes in from the kitchen with a dishcloth and stuffs it in my hand. I put the cloth to my nose and try to slow the blood. I’m thinking to myself that this is just starting. Right now, this is just starting.
Roman asks a few more questions about the cowboys and I tell him everything I can and things seem to be going swimmingly. Red fetches some ice from the freezer for my nose, to keep it from swelling up like a squishy tomato. Whitey finds the bread and is feasting quietly on an enormous Dagwood in the kitchen while Blackie carries on with the phone. The Samoan remains behind locked doors. Roman calmly asks very precise questions. And Bud keeps getting quieter and quieter. Then Roman asks the only question that really matters.
—Where is Miner?
And I just don’t have a suitable answer to that question.
—We really need to find Mr. Miner.
—And I really, really wish I could help you guys out. I mean, you have no idea how much, but I just don’t fucking know.
Roman leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. He rubs at his forehead like he has this massive pain shooting through his brain. With his eyes still closed, he starts to talk.
—There is an object, something valuable. The ownership of this object is in some dispute. Be that as it may, these men and I can rightfully lay claim to this object, and we intend to do so. We have formed a profit-sharing enterprise, but if we do not find the object, there will be no profits to share. And I assure you, these men value nothing so highly as profit. Therefore, they are inspired in this situation to use means and go to lengths they might not otherwise. This is the nature of motivation. The object in question was last known to be in the possession of Mr. Miner. Now, in a moment, I will ask you a question regarding Mr. Miner and no matter your answer, it is essential that I be certain you are telling the truth. If there is any doubt in my mind, I will allow these men to do with you as they wish until that doubt no longer exists.
Which, I suppose, is one way of saying, “Tell us what we want to know or we’re going to kick your ass.”
—Where is Mr. Miner?
And as truthfully and sincerely as I possibly can, I answer.
—I don’t know.
Roman’s eyes remain closed. He sighs a little.
—But he left a key taped to the inside of the cat’s carry box, if that’s what you’re looking for.
And Detective Lieutenant Roman opens his eyes right up.
I have a secret. I have a secret these guys know nothing about. I have a dirty sock stuffed in my mouth to keep my screams from shattering the whole building, but I also have a secret.
I told them where the key was and they looked in the box and just as I was getting ready for my life to get normal again, Red, who was looking in the box, popped his head out with a frown.
—No key.
And those two words revolved around and around in my head. They meant something, but I wasn’t sure what. So they just kept plowing through the smog of my hangover, looking for a place to land while my apartment got quieter and everybody could hear Red say, again:
—No key.
And that’s how I end up facedown on my bed with a mouth full of sock and Red sitting on my legs, pulling out my staples one by one with the needle-nose pliers they found in the toolbox under my sink. And I have a secret. The secret is, I don’t know where the key is. So these guys can do whatever they want and I just won’t talk. Because I have nothing to say. Lucky me.
I’m having trouble breathing. I have the sock in my mouth and my nose is clogged with blood, so