Sucker bet - James Swain [21]
Sporty visually counted his money. Satisfied, he said, “Tell me something.”
“What?”
“What kind of scam you got going here? I’ve never been hired to make a sucker win. You setting this chump up for a killing?”
Rico nearly told Sporty the score. He wanted to tell someone, it was such a beautiful thing he and Victor had going. Only if Victor found out, he’d disown him, and Rico didn’t want that.
“None of your fucking business,” Rico said.
Sporty got out of the limo. The departure area was eerily quiet, the sliding doors to the Delta terminal wide open. He tossed the piece into a receptacle by the door, then glanced over his shoulder as he went inside.
Rico winced. He’d been suckered by a toy gun.
“Hey,” Rico yelled at his driver.
Splinters was singing along to his Walkman, his voice better than Rico would have expected, like he’d had lessons or sang in a choir once. An angel’s voice trapped inside a lunatic’s body. Rico stuck his arm through the window that separated them and tapped his shoulder. Splinters stopped singing and stared at him in the mirror, offended. Finally he disconnected himself and turned around.
Rico punched him in the face.
8
It was Running Bear who finally came to Valentine’s rescue.
The chief sauntered out the back door with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Seeing Valentine’s predicament, he charged the alligators lurking around the Honda. For a big guy, he was surprisingly quick, and he grabbed each gator by the tail, dragged it across the lot, and tossed it into the swamp. It was impressive to watch, and Valentine found himself admiring the chief’s technique. He’d seen signs for alligator wrestling shows inside the reservation and had assumed it was a hokey stunt, the animals drugged or without teeth.
Done, Running Bear wiped his palms on his blue jeans. Valentine pointed straight down. “You missed one.”
Running Bear peeked through the open driver’s window. The gator inside nearly bit his head off. The chief staggered backwards, twisting his leg. The gator wiggled through the window and went after him.
Running Bear danced around the gator, then jumped on the animal’s back and started to really wrestle. This gator was a lot more aggressive, and soon the chief was gasping for breath. The gator was also getting tired, and its tail no longer banged the ground. Valentine climbed off the roof of the car.
“May I?”
The chief gave him a puzzled look. “May you what?”
“Cut in.”
The chief had his arms wrapped around the gator’s stomach and was holding the animal vertical to the pavement. “He’s still got a lot of fight left in him,” he grunted.
“So do I,” Valentine said.
They switched places, with Valentine doing the holding. He gently loosened his grip, and the gator started to twist furiously. Using his hips, he body-slammed the animal headfirst to the pavement. The gator stopped twisting and did not move.
“Shit,” Running Bear said. “You wrestle?”
“Judo.”
“Damn good.”
“Thanks. You mind my asking you a question?”
“Not at all.”
“Are all the surveillance cameras in this parking lot broken?”
“Broken?” the chief said. “Why do you think they’re broken?”
“Because someone stuffed an alligator in the trunk of my car and your surveillance people didn’t do anything about it.”
Running Bear took a pack of Lucky Strikes out of his shirt pocket and stuck one in his mouth. Sweat was pouring off his face like he’d just stepped out of a shower. He offered one to Valentine. When it was declined, he lit up and filled his lungs with smoke.
“My boys did this, huh,” he said, blowing a giant plume.
“That’s right. Probably watching us right now.”
Running Bear shot him a glance. “Smooth Stone, you think?”
“That would be my guess.”
“Why?”
“You tell me.”
Running Bear inhaled deeply and expanded his chest. The gator had awakened, and they watched it disappear in the saw grass and then heard its splash as it entered the water.