Caught Stealing - Charlie Huston [46]
—Sure.
He passes Bud back and I settle him in my lap. Roman leans forward, crosses his arms over the top of the steering wheel and rests his chin there.
—You see it happening, don’t you? Circumstances spinning out of control, out of your realm of experience. The world you know is receding. I know. I know that the further you travel down this road, the less likely it is you will ever return to home. So.
—So what, man? So fucking what?
—So, if you can’t go in to get the key, then I guess we’ll have to go in and get the key.
Bolo opens the rear door and climbs in with a bottle of Formula 409 and a roll of paper towels and starts cleaning up Red’s brains.
The plan was that we would wait for everyone to leave the bar, then I would let us in with my key and one of Roman’s crew would open the safe. After that, things got vague about what happens to me. But I still thought it was a pretty good plan since it didn’t involve any more people I care about getting hurt. I liked the plan just fine until Roman blew his safecracker’s brain all over the backseat of the car.
Roman explains to me the relative advantages of my going in alone to get the key over him and his minions going in to get it.
—You have the advantage of being able to go in and simply ask your friend to get the key for you. If we go in, we’ll have to resort to threats and the use of violence.
I start to hyperventilate and Roman puts his hand on the back of my head and bends me forward until my face is between my knees.
—Just breathe.
I breathe while Bud squirms out of my lap and jumps down into the car’s footwell. Roman gives my shoulder a little squeeze.
—Good. Now, I would just as soon not go in there. Too many variables, too many risks, and the most likely outcome would be bloody. But it’s getting light out and someone has to be going in there very soon. I need that key, I really do.
I sit up and look out at the graying sky. The dash clock is at 5:34. The street is still empty, but soon early morning stragglers will appear. In the backseat, Bolo is still cleaning, humming a song under his breath. I think it might be “Car Wash.” Roman stares out the front windshield, eyes still focused on the bar’s front door. I try to picture happy endings and all I get is the nightmare image of Yvonne. There is no happy ending anymore and all I want now is to go home. I want to leave New York, I want to be with my family and be safe again and forget.
—Will you help me?
Roman is silent.
—Will you still protect me from Ed and Paris and get me off the hook with the cops? Will you still protect me?
Roman scratches his earlobe and nods.
—Nothing changes. Get the key and bring it out and I will help you. But do it now and do it quickly. Dawdle, and we’ll have to come in.
I pet Bud, climb out of the car, and cross the street over to Paul’s.
They’re listening to Black Sabbath. Edwin loves Sabbath. He has all the CDs from the original lineup loaded into the jukebox. It’s his party music. I take a look through the little window set into the door and, sure enough, it’s a party.
Edwin and Lisa are on the bar. Edwin is doing push-ups and Lisa is sitting on his back. A small group of regulars is gathered around them, keeping count, shouting out the numbers as Edwin pumps up and down, showing no sign of strain or stopping. From the door I can see Wayne, the ex-marshal, and his hippie girlfriend, Sunday. Also Cokehead Dan and Amtrak John. It’s an after-hours party and, by the huge lines of coke Dan is cutting on the bar, I’d say it’s not ending anytime soon.
I look at Roman’s car. The Russians have gotten back in, and I can’t really see anyone. I give a little wave and the headlights flash back at me. I take out my key, unlock the door and go in.
Paul’s was a Thai restaurant until Edwin bought it. He gutted the whole thing and rebuilt from the floor up. The place is just a long hallway, about four yards wide and twenty deep, with a bar running down the right wall, an elbow-high ledge running down the left and thirty stools scattered between.