Free Fire - C. J. Box [58]
He’d spent hours waiting by the pay phone on the side of the supermarket for the callback that never came, his frustration and anger building by the minute. He debated with himself whether to go back and try again.
“Fuck it,” he said to himself as he reached out and picked up his desk phone and dialed.
"EnerDyne, Mr. Barron’s office,” the receptionist answered.
“This is McCann, again. I need to speak to Layton Barron immediately. Tell him.”
“Mr. McCann, I told you earlier. Mr. Barron is in a meeting and he can’t be disturbed. I’ll give him your message when—”
“Tell him now,” McCann said. “It’s a matter of life and death.”
My life, McCann thought. His death, if there wasn’t some cooperation.
The receptionist hesitated, then put him on hold.
Okay, McCann thought. Either Barron came on the phone and explained himself, which meant the deal was still in play, or he sent the receptionist back with another delay or refusal. If that happened, there would be hell to pay.
Minutes ticked by. The lawyer began to wonder if the receptionisthad chosen to place him on permanent hold.
Finally, Barron came on the line, angry, and said, “You agreed never to call me here. Is this a secure line?”
McCann was relieved. “No. I’m calling from my office.”
“Goddamn it, we agreed—”
“I’ll go to a secure location, but I’m not going to stand around in the cold all day again. Call me in ten minutes.” McCannread off the number of the supermarket pay phone. Barronrepeated the number back.
At last, he thought, gathering his coat and hat. Finally, he would find out why the funds hadn’t been deposited into his account,as promised. He’d done his part, certainly. Now it was time for them to do theirs.
“Going again?” Sheila asked, sighing heavily.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said. “Keep—”
“Your goddamned door shut!” Sheila finished for him in a screech.
Mccann thought about Sheila as he walked down the sidewalk to the supermarket. His feelings were mixed, which surprised him.
Even though she was a piss-poor receptionist, he liked to look at her. She was more than a cartoon after all, he’d decided. She brought experience, sexual knowledge, and unabashed dutifulnessto his needs and desires. Her reputation as a former mafioso kept woman excited him. He liked being seen with her because it was scandalous and only added to his infamy in town. Her features were severe: very black hair, very white skin, fire-engine red, pillow-soft lips. She was a combination of sharp, soft, ethnic, sensual, and in-your-face. Even if she was on the summit of over-the-hill.
He’d always thought her exotic and amusing, but he was beginningto wonder if there was more going on with him. Was he falling for her? How could that be? He knew he couldn’t trust her.
She was a puzzle, though. How she went on and on about getting out of there but never seemed to pull it off. It made no sense. Leaving wasn’t that hard. An hour to Bozeman and the airport, that’s all the time it would take. And it couldn’t be just lack of money. What did a Bozeman-to-Newark plane ticket cost? Five hundred bucks? Surely she could afford that. So why did she keep leaving just to end up back in West Yellowstone?
The only thing he could figure out was that, despite her constantcomplaints, she liked it. She liked being the wildest vamp in town, the fish with the biggest, reddest lips in the small pond. He started to admire her a little and feel sorry for her at the same time.
Maybe, just maybe, he would take her with him after all.
First things first, though. He needed his money.
As he turned the corner he saw the pay phone blocked by a dirty white pickup. A big woman with a loud voice was on the phone. His heart sank. McCann approached the vehicle slightly panicked and checked his wristwatch. In two minutes,