Caught Stealing - Charlie Huston [71]
—Hey, Hank, like, what the fuck? Mmmm.
—Just take it easy, man.
—Mmmm.
—Easy.
He rubs his nose against Bud’s face.
—Hear that, Buddy? Take it easy. Mmmm. Easy. Mmmm.
I look at him. He keeps his face close to Bud’s.
The cops wave cars through the intersection at A and 13th one at a time and they creep past my apartment building. We get to the front of the line and the cop holds us there for a second with an upraised palm as crosstown traffic passes by. I spot a few people I know from the block mixed in with the reporters and sightseers. I pull up the collar on my jacket and hunch down a little in the seat.
The cop waves us through and never once looks in the car. The cops have been forced to use barricades to create room for a narrow lane in the middle of the street. We edge along and I picture a similar scene in front of my parents’ house. Reporters on the front lawn, strangers driving by to gawk and neighbors on porches pointing their fingers and shaking their heads. Russ never looks up from Bud’s neck. We’re held up at 14th by another traffic cop and I look east down the street, trying to see if Roman has circled around. I can’t see him, but now this car has become a target and I want out of it. The cop gives us the OK and I turn left just as the Celica starts to cough and shiver.
We wobble across the intersection and I pull us over to the curb just past the bus stop on the right-hand side of the street. I look out the window and the traffic cop is pointing from himself to us, signing, asking if we need any help. I smile and wave “no thanks” back to him. He nods and turns back to his job.
—Russ.
—Mmmm.
—Russ!
—Mmmm. What?
—The car died.
—Mmmm.
—Russ?
—Yeah?
—Are you OK?
He takes his face from Bud and looks at me. His left pupil has swollen, almost eclipsing the entire iris.
—Like, I don’t know, Hank. I don’t feel too good.
We have to get out of this car.
—It’s good to see you, Buddy. Mmmm.
We have to get out of this car.
—Good to see you. Mmmm. Sorry, I’m sorry I, like, left you for so long, Buddy.
We have to get out of this fucking car. The cop back at the intersection keeps glancing over at us. A few blocks away, Roman and Bolo are dumping Whitey or stuffing him in the trunk and coming after us. The left side of Russ’s face is sagging and frozen and he keeps rubbing it against Bud and whispering to him. We have to get out of this car before that cop comes walking over here to see what’s up, but I don’t know where to go next.
The cell phone rings.
—Buddy, Buddy, Buddy. I missed you, Buddy. Mmmm.
It rings again.
—Buuuuddy.
I take it out of my pocket and stare at it as it rings a third time.
—I’m sorry you, like, got hurt, Buddy. Mmmm. That was, that was really my fault.
It starts to ring again and I flip it open.
—Hello?
—Hello?
—Hello?
—Is this Russ Miner?
Fuck!
—Uh, yes.
—Mr. Miner, this is Detective Craig Williams of the New York City Police Department.
Oh, fuck.
—Yes?
—Mr. Miner, are you alone? Are you free to speak?
—Yes.
The cop is looking over at us again.
—Mr. Miner, we’ve been tracking your credit card transactions and found you had opened this account in the last twenty-four hours.
—Uh-huh.
—That’s how we got this number.
—Uh-huh.
—Mr. Miner, we believe that you are in great danger.
—Uh, why?
—Mr. Miner, do you know Henry Thompson? His parents were called from this number earlier today.
Oh, oh, fuck.
—Uh.
—Are you with Henry Thompson? Is he holding you against your will?
Are you fucking kidding me?
—Uh.
—If you’re not free to speak, just answer yes or no. Do you understand?
—Uh.
The cop is now openly staring at us. I keep my face well inside the shadowed interior of the car.
—Mr. Miner?