Apaches Part 28

"You're the best," Harry said, rushing to the back of the store for the dress.

"I hope so," Pins muttered.

GERONIMO WAS LIFTING a large cardboard Zenith television carton filled with wires and a rusty old air conditioner when he spotted the double-parked car. The black, late-model Lincoln was inched alongside a Toyota Corolla and a blue Renault, engine running, tinted windows up. a large cardboard Zenith television carton filled with wires and a rusty old air conditioner when he spotted the double-parked car. The black, late-model Lincoln was inched alongside a Toyota Corolla and a blue Renault, engine running, tinted windows up.

Geronimo tossed the box into the back of the sanitation truck and shifted the crush gear, his eyes on the Lincoln. The lead man shifted the truck and moved it slowly up to the next hill of garbage. Geronimo walked in the shadows of the truck, his head down, his mouth inches from the collar of his work jacket.

"That double-parked car doesn't look right to me," Geronimo whispered into the tiny microphone wired inside his collar. "You picking up anything from inside?"

"Saldo's in the backseat." Geronimo heard the crisp sound of Pins's crackling words come through his ear mike. The thin wires from the audio devices ran down his neck and into a small box taped to the center of his back. "He's got two shooters with him, both in the front. All three carrying heavy."

Pins was parked on the north corner, dressed in the brown uniform of a Department of Transportation officer, behind the wheel of a battered tow truck.

"Shooters always carry heavy," Rev. Jim's voice said through the mikes. "Why should these two be any different?" He was on his third set of windows, turning slightly to drop a squeegee into a bucket of water and pick up a hand towel.

"Well, these two are out gunning for us," Pins said. "Somebody's tipped them. They know we're sending a plant into the building. They just don't know when or who."

"Do Boomer and Mrs. Columbo know?" Dead-Eye asked, crouched against the iron door leading from the roof to the top floor of the brownstone.

"Their mikes are turned off," Pins said. "It's too risky otherwise."

"It's your play, Dead-Eye," Geronimo said. "We'll walk it any way you want."

"Just make it fast," Rev. Jim said. "I'm runnin' outta water and windows."

"Pins, can you hear me?" Dead-Eye asked.

"Got you," Pins answered.

"Back up into the block and tow that car out of there," Dead-Eye told him. "Geronimo?"

"I'm here," Geronimo said, dragging a thick bag of garbage from the curb.

"Back-up Pins," Dead-Eye said. "Let's try and do this clean. We don't need a gunfight on the street. Rev. Jim?"

"Talk to me."

"Get in here without too much noise," Dead-Eye said. "Just in case I get jammed up."

"What about Boomer and Mrs. Columbo?" Pins asked.

"They've got a job to do," Dead-Eye said, "and so do we."

"And Saldo?" Geronimo asked. "How do we play him?"

"Let him take the ride with the tow truck," Dead-Eye said. "There's a better chance he'll run his mouth sitting in the car. Pins will let us know if he says anything we need to hear."

"Can Saldo's wire pick me up when I get close?" Geronimo asked.

"Don't worry," Pins said. "As soon as you touch the car, I'll turn it off."

"Anything else?" Rev. Jim asked.

"Yeah," Dead-Eye said. "Stay alive."

Pins slammed the truck gears into reverse and backed the hook end close to the b.u.mper of the Lincoln. The driver's side window rolled down and an overweight man in wraparound sungla.s.ses stuck his head out.

"What's up, a.s.shole?" he said in a Spanish accent, watching Pins lift a large wooden slab and place it under the front tires of the Lincoln.

"You're double-parked," Pins said. "That's illegal."

"I'm in the car," the driver said. "I can move it."

"You should have thought of that before," Pins said. "Once the wood's down, the job's a done deal."

"What the f.u.c.k are you talking about?" the driver said, his face red with anger. "You don't have to tow anybody anywhere. I'll move the f.u.c.kin' car."

"The wood's down," Pins said. "You can't move it once the wood's down."

"f.u.c.k you and and the wood," the driver said. the wood," the driver said.

The middle of the garbage truck stopped right next to the Lincoln. Geronimo approached from the pa.s.senger end, his hands down by his sides, one holding a semiautomatic, a silencer attached to the muzzle. He gave two hard knuckle taps on the pa.s.senger window. The window buzzed halfway down, letting out miniclouds of smoke, most of it wrapped around the face of a man in light-colored clothing.

"We break a garbage law now too?" the man asked with mild irritation.

The man behind the wheel punched the dashboard repeatedly, his anger at full throttle. He had pockmarked cheeks and hair the color of straw hanging down the sides of his face. "I hate this f.u.c.kin' city," he shouted. "Take a look at who's giving us s.h.i.t. A f.u.c.kin' tow-truck driver and a garbage man."

"Do you know you have to pa.s.s a test to get this job?" Geronimo said.

"I don't give a f.u.c.k!" the driver screamed.

Geronimo leaned his head into the car, looking beyond the two men in the front, staring into the darkness of the backseat, where Saldo sat quietly through the commotion.

"You're all going to take a ride to the pound," Geronimo said to Saldo. "Believe me, you'll like it. You can roll down your windows and take in the water view. It's a better place for you to be than here. Have I painted a clear enough picture?"

Saldo nodded, his eyes and manner indifferent.

"You're no f.u.c.kin' garbage man," the driver said.

Geronimo shrugged. "I couldn't pa.s.s the test."

"What are you then?" the man in the front asked.

"He's a cop," Saldo said. "They're both cops."

"Cops?" the man behind the wheel said. "The tow-truck driver too?"

"A lot of us have to work two jobs," Geronimo said.

"Say the word," the driver said, looking into the rearview at Saldo. "We'll take these f.u.c.kers out right here and now."

Geronimo lifted his hand and showed them the gun. "Let's not be stupid," he said to Saldo. "They make a move on me and I move on you and we both know it's not worth it. So stick to the plan and enjoy the ride."

Saldo stared into Geronimo's dark eyes, feeling the front end of the car start to tilt upward.

"We stay with the car," he said to the two men in the front.

"It's been nice talking to you," Geronimo told him.

"I hope we get to do it again," Saldo said. "Soon."

Geronimo backed away from the car, the two men in the front staring angrily at Pins as he lifted the car into tow position.

"Kill the engine, please," Pins said to them.

"I'd like to f.u.c.kin' kill you first," the driver said.

"Hey, I'm nervous as it is," Pins said with an innocent smile. "I've never towed a car before. I would hate to lose you guys on the highway."

THE THICK WOODEN door to the four-story brownstone swung halfway open, the bra.s.s k.n.o.b held by a large man in charcoal-gray slacks and red suspenders draped over a black shirt. His eyes narrowed as he watched the commotion around the Lincoln. He moved his free hand to the small of his back, fingers wrapping themselves around the handle of a .32 short Colt. He saw the DOT man chain the car and lift it. The two men in the front were exchanging angry gestures while Saldo's shadow sat motionless in the back. He eased the Colt out of its holster and released the safety. door to the four-story brownstone swung halfway open, the bra.s.s k.n.o.b held by a large man in charcoal-gray slacks and red suspenders draped over a black shirt. His eyes narrowed as he watched the commotion around the Lincoln. He moved his free hand to the small of his back, fingers wrapping themselves around the handle of a .32 short Colt. He saw the DOT man chain the car and lift it. The two men in the front were exchanging angry gestures while Saldo's shadow sat motionless in the back. He eased the Colt out of its holster and released the safety.

"I'm done," Rev. Jim said, jumping down from one of the window ledges to the front of the door well, blocking the man's view. "Now for the fun part. Getting paid."

"Outta my f.u.c.kin' eyes," the man hissed at Rev. Jim, the gun held against the side of his right leg.

"You ain't anything special to look at either," Rev. Jim said with a smile, holding his work pail, half filled with water, in his left hand. "You hand me the thirty bucks for the job and I'll turn invisible."

The man looked at Rev. Jim and lifted the gun in his hand to chest level. "Get the f.u.c.k outta here," the man told him. "Now."

Rev. Jim held the smile on his face. "They're only windows," he said, turning his back on the man with the gun, still blocking his view with his body. He then swung the pail high above his shoulder and crashed it down against the side of the man's head. The man fell backward into the entryway, out cold, his gun falling to the floor. Rev. Jim stepped into the building and quickly dragged the man into the hall, locking the door behind them.

"We're in," Rev. Jim said into his mike.

"Who the h.e.l.l's we we?" Dead-Eye asked.

"Just a friend I b.u.mped into," Rev. Jim said.

DEAD-EYE STOOD WITH his back to the flowered paper of the hall wall, his two guns crisscrossed over his chest. He listened as the three men in the room to his right griped about the long hours they were forced to work in return for low pay and small chance for advancement. Dead-Eye took two steps to the side and braced both his feet against the doorway entry, guns now held out at waist level. The men looked up and chose not to move. his back to the flowered paper of the hall wall, his two guns crisscrossed over his chest. He listened as the three men in the room to his right griped about the long hours they were forced to work in return for low pay and small chance for advancement. Dead-Eye took two steps to the side and braced both his feet against the doorway entry, guns now held out at waist level. The men looked up and chose not to move.

"If you're looking for money, you're on the wrong floor," the one with a thick, dark beard and shaved head announced.

"I heard," Dead-Eye said.

"This is an adoption agency," said the biggest of the three, a tall, middle-aged man dressed in a long-sleeved olive shirt and tan slacks. "You come here for babies, not for bucks."

"I came for your guns," Dead-Eye said, walking into the room. "Pull 'em out slow and slide them on the floor over to me, b.u.t.t end first."

"We'll find you, man," the last of the three, young, with a bushy mustache and slight lisp, threatened. "We'll hunt you down and burn you."

"I lead a really boring life," Dead-Eye said. "Sounds like you'd bring a little spark to it. Now the guns."

The men lifted their weapons from their holsters, bent their legs, and slid the guns over. The revolvers sc.r.a.ped against the hardwood floors, coming to rest near Dead-Eye's boots.

"That's only three," Dead-Eye said.

"How many of us do you see?" the one with the beard asked.

"I see pros," Dead-Eye said. "Guys paid salaries to kill on orders. Those guys carry more than one."

"Maybe we ain't as good as you think, spook," the one with the lisp said. "Maybe we're just startin' out. Not as smart as we should be."

Dead-Eye wasn't listening.

He was looking at the eyes of the third man, the one in the dark designer suit and black b.u.t.ton-down shirt. The eyes that told him everything he needed to know.

There was someone standing behind him, ready to do some damage.

BOOMER HELD THE baby with both hands and watched him as he cooed and smiled. Mrs. Columbo rummaged through a large fake leather handbag open on her lap, looking for a tissue. With one hand she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. Her other hand stayed in the purse, holding her .38 caliber. baby with both hands and watched him as he cooed and smiled. Mrs. Columbo rummaged through a large fake leather handbag open on her lap, looking for a tissue. With one hand she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. Her other hand stayed in the purse, holding her .38 caliber.

"I really hate to give up on the little guy," Boomer said. "It's tough knowing I'll never see him again."

Edward responded in the most professional of tones. "He'll be living in a good home. That I can a.s.sure you."

Boomer looked down at the baby, then across at Edward. "You're sure about that, right?"

"Our lists are made up of the best people in need of a baby." Edward was growing impatient with Boomer's unending stream of questions. "This child will go to private schools, travel to Europe, and live a life that wouldn't be open to him living with you and your wife."

"Listen to the man, honey," Mrs. Columbo urged Boomer. "He's making sense here."

"All right," Boomer said, handing the baby back to Mrs. Columbo. "Just one more question. You answer that one and we've got ourselves a deal."

"All right, then," Edward said, pleased that they were nearing the end. "One more question."

Boomer leaned across the desk, bracing his knees against its wood exterior, his arms and chest resting close enough to smell traces of Edward's expensive French cologne. "Do I have your word on what you just told me?" Boomer asked.

"Honey, please," Mrs. Columbo said. "You're insulting the man."

"I don't mean it the wrong way," Boomer said to Edward. "I just want to be sure. You can understand the way I feel."

"Yes, of course I understand," Edward said, eager to get them both out of his office. "And you do have my word. Everything I've told you is true."