Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [144]
All eyes were on Tony, who said, not too convincingly, “I got no problem with this.”
Good, Oscar thought. Once they turned on each other, nobody would feel safe. All they had to do was get through one night. In a month Oscar would head for Central America, where he would live like a king with the most beautiful women on earth. Paul and Michael had their eye on a condo in Cancún, where they figured they could party for the rest of their lives. Tony would pay off his gambling debts, and after that, even though he thought he was going to Tahiti, he would fritter away the rest of his share, probably at an Indian casino. Tony was the weak link they all knew would eventually end up in prison—that is, unless he was eliminated by G. A. or Balitnikoff after this was over.
“I don’t want any more mistakes tonight,” Oscar Stillman said.
“Don’t be jumping down our throats.” Paul Lazenby’s voice grew louder. “It was your pal Jerry who started early. We had a schedule.”
“I’m not jumping down your throats. I just want everyone to be particularly conscientious from here on out. And Tony. I know this isn’t going to be easy, but it’s him or us. It’s not like we have a choice.”
“I know.”
“I don’t understand why we have to go up,” said Michael Lazenby, stepping to the door of the small room. “Everybody above eighteen is as good as finished anyway. Right?”
“Maybe,” Stillman said.
“It’s bullshit,” Michael said. “We set this up to happen at two in the morning. Then all of a sudden we have twenty minutes to do our shit. If everybody had done what they were supposed to do when they were supposed to do it, there wouldn’t be anybody upstairs and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“If ifs and buts were nuts and candy, this would be Christmas,” said Oscar. “Don’t go all Boy Scout on us. You guys are going up, and you’re going to make sure Finney and his friends don’t come down. If he’s found dead in the building, G. A. can make a pretty good case he started the fire, just like he started Riverside Drive. Riverside Drive didn’t give him the glory he wanted, so he tried this. But the minute he sashays down here and starts talking to reporters, we’ll have a whole ’nother kettle of fish.”
Michael Lazenby unsnapped his bunking coat and said, “It was supposed to be a couple of janitors. Maybe one or two security guys. We’re talking two hundred people.”
“Get over it,” G. A. said, his voice flat. “None of us are happy, but we’re stuck with it.” G. A. took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his chin. His face appeared to be sliding off one damp layer at a time. “Tomorrow morning before breakfast we’ll be counting out shares.”
“So who’s going up?” Michael Lazenby asked.
G. A. said, “I think it should be Engine Ten. You guys work as a team anyway. It’ll look more natural.”
“I’m coming,” Tony Finney said.
“Sure. The four of you. Oscar and I will handle things down here until you get back.”
“I still don’t like this,” Michael said.
“Quit your bellyaching,” said Balitnikoff. “We ride up on the goddamned elevator. They turn their backs, the rest is history.”
“We don’t even know where they are,” Michael said. “I think this whole thing stinks.”
“It stunk from the beginning,” said Stillman. “That’s why we’re being paid so exorbitantly. Exactly because it stinks to high heaven.”
G. A. said, “And no guns. They find a firefighter with a bullet in him, the investigation will run into the next millennium.”
“Only as a last resort,” Balitnikoff said.
“Not at all,” said G. A. Then, as the others filed out the door, Stillman felt G. A.’s touch on his shoulder. “Got a minute?”
“Sure.” Oscar was finger-combing his hair, staring at his warped reflection in the chrome on the refrigerator near the door. He wondered what a balding, aging gringo looked like to a seventeen-year-old señorita in Costa Rica. Probably not too bad.
The others were out of earshot before he realized G. A.