The Ethical Assassin_ A Novel Part 10

"I ain't got the first f.u.c.k of an idea. I mean, it's gotta be about the money. But who? s.h.i.t, don't no one know nothing about it but us, those of us in on it. b.a.s.t.a.r.d's been talking, which is the only thing I can figure."

"I guess. But, h.e.l.l."

"That's about right."

"s.h.i.t. f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d. With Frank taking off last month, you're fresh out of chemists. B.B. isn't going to like that."

"Yeah, I'm working on it. But I ain't gonna put an ad in the paper."

"Jim, what the f.u.c.k was b.a.s.t.a.r.d doing over here anyhow?"

"I don't know." There was something hard in the voice.

"You figure he was boffing that s.k.a.n.k? s.h.i.t, maybe a couple of years ago, but she was like a f.u.c.king corpse, man, all that crank she was doing. I'd sooner f.u.c.k some old grandma."

A pause. Then, "Just shut the f.u.c.k up, and help me with this s.h.i.t."

"Uh-oh." A laugh. "You weren't dipping your wick with that, were you? I'll tell you what. I got a couple of grandmas I could introduce you to."

"You want to stand around talking s.h.i.t all night, or you want to get this done?"

I had been watching through the slat, totally absorbed, as though I were not in a mobile home closet, but in a theater watching the most compelling movie I'd ever seen. I felt strangely calm, outside of myself. And then I didn't feel calm at all. I didn't feel like I was in a theater. I felt hot and cramped and about as terrified as I'd ever felt in my life.

It was because I realized I knew both men. The cop, Jim, was the guy I'd seen at the convenience store, the one who'd given me a hard time about the ginger ale, the same bucktoothed man from the Ford who'd been ha.s.sling me outside the trailer. With the possibility of being arrested for murder, I'd managed to anger the crooked chief of police.

The other guy-I couldn't see him well enough to take a look, but I knew the voice. I was sure I knew the voice. From somewhere. I knew knew that other man. that other man.

I watched as they laid out a sheet of plastic on the floor and then picked up the body of the older woman and rolled her up. The cop grabbed one end, the familiar man the other, and they hauled her out of the house.

We listened to the near silence punctuated only by the occasional grunt or curse and then the thud of something heavy landing on a flatbed. They were back in a few minutes.

"s.h.i.t," the cop said. "The other two are gonna be messy. Wish I brung some gloves or something."

"f.u.c.k me," said the familiar-sounding man. "Someone sure plugged those a.s.sholes. Look at the shots. Neat and clean. Looks like they were executed."

"Who died and made you a law enforcement official?" the cop asked. "You been watching too much TV."

"You sure you didn't hurt your leg?" the other one asked. "Looks like you're having trouble walking."

"I told you, I'm fine." The voice terse, grim.

"I heard you suck in your breath a second ago, too, like you were in pain."

"Forget it. Jesus."

They laid out another sheet of plastic and then lifted Karen's body. The cop complained about getting wh.o.r.e brain on his hands, and he wiped it off on his knee while they rolled up the body and hauled it out.

They were panting hard when they returned. "f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d," the cop said. He kicked the body, not too hard. Then he kicked him again. It sounded like someone kicking a sandbag. "I don't know what the f.u.c.k he did, or who shot his sorry a.s.s, but I figure he deserved it."

"Yeah, well," the other one responded. Then a pause. "You think whoever did this got the money?"

"You know, I never even thought of that, you dumb s.h.i.t." He let out a derisive snort. "You think I give a s.h.i.t about them being dead? It's the money. I've already looked through here and been over to his place. Tore it up, but I couldn't find jack. Not even any sign of what he was up to."

"You still think he had something going on the side?" he asked. He then turned away from me, and I couldn't quite hear what he said next, but I was sure it contained the word Oldham. Oldham.

"Had to have been something," the cop said. "I know how much he made, and he had way too much cash, getting his wallet all fat. I just can't figure he made that that much money doing that bulls.h.i.t. But I figure he meant to rip me off, disappear with the money. And since I looked everywhere else, I have to figure he was hiding it in the waste lagoon." much money doing that bulls.h.i.t. But I figure he meant to rip me off, disappear with the money. And since I looked everywhere else, I have to figure he was hiding it in the waste lagoon."

"You can't be serious," the other man said. "You've got to be dry-humping me. How in h.e.l.l are we going to find it there?"

"I don't know. There must be a way to drain it or drag it or something. Jesus. I sure wish we didn't have to haul this dead a.s.shole. He don't even deserve to be dumped by me."

"Let's just do it," the other man said. "No room for blanking out here."

And it must have been the term blanking out, blanking out, because I suddenly recognized the second man. It was the Gambler. The Gambler, who ran the door-to-door Champion Encyclopedia operation for the state of Florida. The encyclopedia guru himself was in the trailer, removing the bodies of people Melford had killed. At least, Melford had killed most of them. because I suddenly recognized the second man. It was the Gambler. The Gambler, who ran the door-to-door Champion Encyclopedia operation for the state of Florida. The encyclopedia guru himself was in the trailer, removing the bodies of people Melford had killed. At least, Melford had killed most of them.

Melford shoved me. I must have been making noise, because he flashed a look, visible even in the near total darkness. I got hold of my breathing.

They grabbed b.a.s.t.a.r.d and hauled him out, and when they returned they were gasping for air. There was the glug-glug glug-glug of someone drinking from a bottle. Now they had a bucket and mops and paper towels and a bottle of Formula 409. They still didn't turn on the lights, but they set up a couple of flashlights and got to work erasing all evidence of Melford's crime. It took more than half an hour before they were done. of someone drinking from a bottle. Now they had a bucket and mops and paper towels and a bottle of Formula 409. They still didn't turn on the lights, but they set up a couple of flashlights and got to work erasing all evidence of Melford's crime. It took more than half an hour before they were done.

"Hard to tell with just the flashlight," the cop said, "but I think that'll do her. I'll come back in the morning and do a quick run-through in the light."

"If that f.u.c.ker was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g us over and the money's gone, we're going to be in some deep s.h.i.t. B.B.'ll be in a f.u.c.king rage."

"f.u.c.k that a.s.shole. And f.u.c.k b.a.s.t.a.r.d. f.u.c.k me!" This last he cried out as if in sudden pain.

"You know, if your leg is bothering you, it's best to see a doctor. Why put it off?"

"Shut the f.u.c.k up about the doctor. I'm fine."

"I just think it's best to be safe. Hey! Take a look at this," the Gambler said. "Karen's checkbook."

Melford gave me a gentle tap on the back. I must have been making noise again.

"You figure she had anything in her account?" the cop asked.

"Says here the balance is almost three thousand. How did an ugly-a.s.s skinny-s.k.a.n.k rotten-c.u.n.t-smelling wh.o.r.e like that get three thousand dollars? I guess it won't hurt to write out a check, though. Make up for some losses. Maybe I can get that n.u.m.b.n.u.t.s Pakken to do it. He won't know any better, which will help him get away with it, and it shouldn't be a problem anyhow if he goes across the county line, I figure."

And they left.

We remained in the closet for a good fifteen minutes. They'd done a decent enough job of cleaning up. At least, Melford's penlight didn't pick up any sign of the blood. I figured the FBI could probably scare some up. They had crime labs for stuff like that. But you had to be looking for blood, and if there were no bodies, why would you look?

"All right," Melford said. "Let's get the h.e.l.l on out of here."

It wasn't until we were back in his Datsun that we dared to talk about it.

"I'm f.u.c.ked," I said. And I felt f.u.c.ked. I felt like I was about to fall into the chasm. I felt like I was falling through the sky, just waiting for the impact of when I hit earth.

"I don't think so."

"Yeah? Why not?" I heard my voice getting shrill. "Why aren't I f.u.c.ked? Tell me why I'm not f.u.c.ked?"

"Because the guys who have the evidence against you are high-powered felons, that's why. High-powered felons don't seek out the law, Lemuel. They avoid it. They're not going to investigate. They won't even look to see who the checks are made out to."

Except that the Gambler would notice the check to Educational Advantage Media. He would see it in a heartbeat, and he would know who was there. But would the Gambler think it anything but a coincidence? He barely knew me by sight, but he wouldn't imagine that I'd had anything to do with this. Still, it scared the h.e.l.l out of me. And I dared not say anything about the Gambler to Melford. Melford might think I was too weak a link, affiliated as I was to one of these high-powered felons. He might, quite possibly might, kill me just to be safe.

And there was something else, something that made no sense. "They weren't married," I said aloud.

"What?"

"The people you killed. b.a.s.t.a.r.d and Karen. They weren't married. And they didn't have kids."

"Yeah, well, I could have told you that," Melford said.

"So why did they lie to me?"

"I don't know. Something crazy is going on. Something bigger than I realized."

"Why would the cop be hiding the bodies you killed? And what were they talking about? b.a.s.t.a.r.d's business on the side? What is that? And the missing money?"

"Dunno," Melford said.

"What about Oldham Health?" I asked. "They had some mugs and stuff. b.a.s.t.a.r.d told me he didn't know anything about it, but I kind of got the sense he was lying."

Melford shook head. "I don't know anything about it."

I looked over at him. Melford was lying, too. I couldn't say how exactly I knew, but I knew. We'd been talking about some heavy stuff all night, but there was something in Melford's voice that I hadn't heard, some kind of tension. Whatever b.a.s.t.a.r.d had been involved with, Melford knew exactly what it was.

"The other guy who was with the cop," Melford said. "I wonder who that was."

I didn't say anything. My heart pounded and my head throbbed. I felt the urge to confess, as if it were all somehow my fault, but I kept it quiet.

"Probably just some goon." Melford saved me by answering his own question. "I'll tell you what, though. We have to find out who that woman was, the third body."

"Why do we care?" I asked.

"Because if things don't go our way and they decide they want to risk bringing the law into all of this and the cop finds us and wants to arrest us, we're going to want some leverage. If we can expose them, then maybe we can reach some sort of understanding."

"You want to figure out who that woman was so we're in a position to blackmail the criminally insane cop?"

"Pretty neat, huh?"

Chapter 12.

EARLIER THAT NIGHT, Jim Doe had been in the police trailer, waiting for nothing in particular, but something bad all the same. Jim Doe had been in the police trailer, waiting for nothing in particular, but something bad all the same.

"How's the gonads feeling?"

Pakken sat across from Doe. His feet were up on the desk, and he was drinking from a mammoth Styrofoam cup of gas station coffee. He'd been working at it for two or three hours now, and it had to be cold as s.h.i.t.

The question was apropos of nothing, since they'd both been largely still for hours. Pakken was working at one of the word finder books he liked, his pen hovering over the oniony pages. Doe was flipping through a Sports Ill.u.s.trated, Sports Ill.u.s.trated, not much paying attention to an article on the Dolphins. He was still out of uniform, in his jeans and black T-shirt. Sometimes he felt like relaxing in the police trailer, was all. not much paying attention to an article on the Dolphins. He was still out of uniform, in his jeans and black T-shirt. Sometimes he felt like relaxing in the police trailer, was all.

Doe could tell that Pakken had just found a hard word. He liked to start a conversation after he found one. He'd talk about anything, really, but sooner or later he'd try to bring it around. "I just found 'substantial,' " he'd say with little-kid pride. These interruptions were annoying as h.e.l.l under the best of circ.u.mstances, but even more so now that Pakken's favorite topic was Doe's t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es.

It had been Pakken who'd found Doe after his unfortunate run-in with that Miami b.i.t.c.h, Pakken who'd gone looking when Doe had not shown up the next day. It was Pakken who'd taken a guess at what might have happened, knowing about where the chief liked to take the ladies-and not a bad bit of police work for such a moron. Doe had still been pa.s.sed out when Pakken had found him in the early morning. He'd peered into the car's window, a grin stamped onto his flat, wide face capped off by a single ma.s.sive eyebrow and a caveman cranial ridge. Doe had fluttered his eyelids and said, "My b.a.l.l.s. She crushed my b.a.l.l.s."

"What happened, Chief?"

His b.a.l.l.s were swollen and angry. It hurt even to move his legs. "b.i.t.c.h attacked me," he mumbled.

Pakken let out a laugh. "Yeah, that's good. She attacked you."

Doe struggled to his feet and pain shot through his b.a.l.l.s, but he bit his lip and climbed out of the car. Then he smacked Pakken in the face. Hard. "The f.u.c.k you laughing at?"

Pakken gingerly poked an index finger to his cheek. "Why'd you do that?"

"A woman was speeding, you dips.h.i.t," Doe said. "Risking her life, the lives of others, and now she's a.s.saulted a police officer. You think that's funny?"

Pakken was still poking at the reddening spot on his face. "h.e.l.l. There I was thinking you was just trying to get a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b off of her."

Now, almost a week later, they sat in the trailer, Pakken with his cold coffee while Doe leaned back in his chair and sipped at his bottle of Yoo-hoo and Rebel Yell. It was kind of a ritual, the two of them lazing around, talking or not talking, but Doe didn't want to look at Pakken's drooping idiot face. His b.a.l.l.s were still swollen, still tender. A little bit better. He was nearly certain they were better today than yesterday. He reached into his pants with a tentative hand, and the pressure against his s.c.r.o.t.u.m hurt, hurt like living s.h.i.t, but maybe a little less than the last time he'd checked. And Pakken had laughed at him. It was a disrespectful thing to laugh at an officer injured in the line of duty. What kind of a sick a.s.shole laughed?

He guessed that Pakken wasn't really sick, just young. His uncle, Floyd Pakken, had been the mastermind behind Meadowbrook Grove. He'd come up with the name, even though they didn't have a meadow, brook, or grove, but it sounded a lot better than Pigs.h.i.t-Smelling Trailer Park. It had been Floyd's idea to convert the trailer park into an independent munic.i.p.ality, to lower the speed limit, and to watch the cash flow in. And it did. All the residents got free gas and electric, which was no small thing during the summer months of hard-humping air-conditioning. They got free water, free basic phone service. Three or four big barbecues a year, a carnival in the spring, a Halloween shindig for the kids, a Fourth of July party with an up-and-coming country star or two. They were happier than pigs in s.h.i.t, which, ironically, they had to put up with to get all this. Or, more accurately, they had to put up with the smell of pigs in s.h.i.t, since the city also incorporated the hog lot on Doe's adjoining family land.

Every year the Office of the Mayor, which consisted, basically, of the mayor, issued a report that detailed income from traffic violations and expenditures in taxes, services, and salaries, and everything just balanced out nice and neat. Maybe a few dollars to roll over to the next year. Why not? No one ever much looked at the report, and no one, near as Doe could tell, bothered to find out if it was bulls.h.i.t or not. But of course it was bulls.h.i.t.

Floyd had been a sharp fellow to devise this scam and to put himself at the helm. Doe had always figured that Floyd had something going on other than his mighty generous salary, which everyone knew about since he'd done such a good job of giving back to the city. Doe had suspected, and he'd been the obvious choice for mayor and police chief after Floyd had got himself killed, along with a couple of fourteen-year-old Cuban wh.o.r.es, in an explosive rollover. Two weeks into the job, looking at the records and following the money trail, Doe couldn't stop his perpetual eulogy to Floyd's genius. By two months into the job, he'd been laughing at Floyd for thinking too small. Floyd put twenty or thirty thou a year aside. Good for him. Bless his little heart. Three years later, Doe was tripling that. Easy. And it would be getting even better.

Play it right, be patient, don't be stupid, Doe could be pulling in a hundred thou a year. When he had a million put away, he'd say it was time to retire. He'd head to the Cayman Islands, where his current $130,000 sat nicely nestled. Buy himself a big house and spend the rest of his days drinking strawberry daiquiris and f.u.c.king tourists. A man could do worse for himself.

Everything had been going perfectly. The scam with the tickets, the deal with B.B.-all of it. Until now. He couldn't stand waiting around to see if the reporter from Miami turned up. The fact was-and Doe knew this from experience-most women wouldn't say s.h.i.t about what happened to them. They had this kind of programming, like a robot or something, that the worse you treated them, the less they would do about it. You could overdo that, like he'd done with his ex-wife; but mostly they'd take it, because they knew what would happen if they didn't.

How many of them really wanted to bring this thing to the courts? They knew what would happen.

Tell the truth now. You found His Honor, Mayor Doe, rather handsome, didn't you?

Yes, at first. But- And you were at least on some level flattered that he wanted to have s.e.x with you, weren't you?

Yes, it was flattering, but- And at any time during your interactions did you enjoy the sensation of having his unusually ma.s.sive p.e.n.i.s in your mouth? Remember, you are under oath.

I never asked for it.

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