Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [61]
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly do you know, Lowell?” Burt’s eyes had darkened. Lowell had visibly cringed at the menacing.
“I just know who. I don’t know where he is. New Jersey, I think. A farm or something. But that’s all Channing told me.”
“So you go on the Internet and you find him. You know how to do that?”
“Sorta.”
“There’s no sorta, asshole. You either know how to locate someone or you don’t.”
“I don’t.”
“How can a kid as young as you not know about computers?”
“I don’t know.” Lowell shrugged. “I just never learned computer stuff.”
“This town must have a library. I’ll go in the morning and look him up on the computer for you.” His eyes lit. “I’ll bet I can even get driving directions. . . .”
And he had gotten directions, practically to Landry’s front door. Next he had to lay it out for Lowell.
“What you gotta do is study the place. See what’s what. So’s you know when to go in, when you can nail him.”
“How do I do that? How do I get there? How do I . . .” Lowell had started to pace in the small motel room, and Burt had thought he’d explode. Or break a chair over Lowell’s head.
“All right. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to drive you there. You can figure out what to do from there, can’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Lowell began to whine again.
Burt grabbed him by the throat and lifted him clear off his feet.
“Now you listen, and you listen good,” Burt growled into the younger man’s face. “You are going to do this for Vince if it kills you. Frankly, I don’t care if it does. You ain’t nothing to me, you hear? I could just as easily plug you myself right here and now because you are pissing me off big-time.”
Tightening his fingers on Lowell’s neck, he repeated, “You ain’t nothing to me, you understand that, punk?”
Gasping, his eyes bulging nearly out of his head, Lowell nodded.
Burt dropped him to the floor.
“I got that address for you, and I’ll take you there. Then you’re on your own. And you better not fuck up.”
Burt had left the room, slamming the door behind him, and retreated to his own room down the hall. He turned on the television, surfed until he found ESPN, then leaned back to watch some college football.
Another couple of days, and this would all be over. Vince would tell him where the rest of the money had been hidden, and once Burt had the full amount in his pocket, he’d be on his way to Florida. He’d find himself some nice little town and buy himself a condo. Set himself up in some kind of legitimate business. He’d done a little Internet research himself and found that he could buy a water ice franchise for a couple of hundred thou—which, thanks to Vince, he’d have—and in a few more years, he’d be living the life.
He wondered what Sharon, his ex-wife, would say when he showed up at her door, a respected businessman, and demanded to see his kids. That’d be something, wouldn’t it?
He had to remind himself that his kids were almost out of high school by now. Well, if they wanted to go to college, he’d step in and take care of that. Sure. They were his kids, weren’t they? Not their fault that their mother had taken them away while he was in prison. Yeah. He’d offer to pay their tuition, that’s what. Show them what kind of a guy he really was. And fuck Sharon if she didn’t like it.
Of course, when she saw that new pickup, saw him dressed so fine in his new threads, her eyes were just about going to bug out of her head. Maybe she’d even try to put some moves on him, try to get herself back into his life.
Like that was going to happen.
He was going to find himself a new woman, that’s what. Prettier than Sharon, younger, too. Someone who could appreciate him, who’d be proud of him and the business he was going to start. Maybe even have another family. One he’d be there for, not like last time.
Well, that was his old life. Water under the bridge. He didn’t have to be pulling any petty-ass jobs anymore. He had his own stash, and he was going to have a hell of a lot more.
Thinking about the cash he had hidden in the well of his spare tire made