The Golem Part 3

"Come on, boys. You better start talkin'."

"Look, Officer. We just make the switch, don't know who for," D-Man began to run his mouth. "We trade the crack for a couple pounds of blow, plus cash, once or twice a week."

"With who? Who's your point man?"

"It's someone different every time, man-er, Officer. It's someone here, at the crab house. Look, we'll cut ya in."

FFFwump!

This time it was not Stein's fist that smacked into D-Man's gut, it was the end of a blackjack. D-Man's cheeks ballooned, and he fell to his knees.

"You're lying," Stein said. He walked over to where Nutjob lay. "Don't f.u.c.k with me. Who's your point man, Nutjob?"

Nutjob whimpered. "I-aw, s.h.i.t! I don't kn-"

FFFwap!

Stein smacked the blackjack right into Nutjob's crotch. Nutjob bellowed, face creased.

"Ain't got time for this. My coffee break's coming up." D-Man remained bent over on his knees. His teeth clacked together when he felt the pistol barrel pressed against the top of his shaven head.

"Who's your point man? You've got to three."

"Aw, Jesus, man-"

"One."

"Please, look! My people'll pay ya!"

"Two."

"No, wait!"

"Two and a half!"

"D-Man!" Nutjob shrieked.

"Three-"

"Rosh!" D-Man and Nutjob yelled in unison. "It's Captain Rosh!"

Stein lowered the pistol. Meanwhile, both D-Man's and Nutjob's hearts hammered.

"Hmm. Well, you know? Let me think," Stein said. "That's good of you to say, but you know what? I already know that. And you know what I'm going to do in exchange for verifying this?" He nudged D-Man.

"Uh...let us go?"

"Close." Stein snickered. "I'm gonna kill ya both anyway." And then he put the gun back to D-Man's head, and- "Noooooo! Holy Jesus don't kill me!" D-Man bawled.-pulled the trigger.

CLICK!.

The hammer fell on an empty chamber. D-Man dropped his face to the dock, his bladder emptying.

"Just kidding, guys," came Stein's next statement, and with it a long, rowdy laugh and footsteps. Lower lip hanging, D-Man looked up and saw Rosh coming down the walkway in his crisp police uniform, captain's bars shining. He began to clap, still honking laughter. "I'm impressed, boys! It took you a whole five minutes to give me up."

D-Man rose as if he'd just gotten off a bad roller coaster. He stared c.o.c.keyed. "What the h.e.l.l?"

"D-Man, Nutjob, say h.e.l.lo to Charlie Stein. Charlie's my new partner."

Chuckling, Stein snipped Nutjob's Flex Cuffs with a wire cutter, then helped him up. "You can take a joke, right, buddy?" Then he squeezed Nutjob's cheek and gave it a pat. "We were just playin' around."

Nutjob looked appalled, cradling his crotch. "Playin' around? Ya blackjacked my nuts!"

Stein slapped him on the back. "Captain Rosh wanted to see if I can walk the walk, you know? I gotta look the part on the street, breaking bad and all that."

D-Man's heart was still fluttering like a hummingbird's wings, and Nutjob looked right at him, mouthed something inaudible, then fainted outright.

Rosh huffed a laugh. "Leave him be; he'll be all right. Poor boy's still shook up."

"Well, he's f.u.c.kin' got a right to be!" D-Man complained.

"Come on, come on." Rosh tapped on a back door and out walked several overalled workmen, all grinning. "Load up that corn, boys," Rosh said, and gave the coffee cans to Stein. "Stein, stash these and bring in D-Man's package. We'll be inside."

"Sure, Captain."

D-Man was still dizzy when he followed Rosh into the crab house and around to the sunny front bar. "You scared the living s.h.i.t out of us, man!"

"Relax. Can't ya take a joke?" The bar was empty. They pulled up two stools. "Hey, Jimmy! Couple beers, huh?"

"Sure, sure," said a redneck 'keep polishing a gla.s.s. He smiled, showing missing teeth.

D-Man tried to finally simmer down. Rosh was pulling something out of his pocket. He had short red hair and a pale complexion, which somehow made him look even less trustworthy. D-Man had been making pickups from him for over five years. "Demand's on the rise, my friend."

"My people can handle it. You bring all the pure blow you can, and we'll turn it into rock."

"Good, good."

The barkeep put down two beers. "I love it," he said. His voice sounded like a kazoo. "Captain of the police department sitting in my bar rapping with a drug dealer, and drinking in uniform to boot."

"And not just drinking, Jimmy." Rosh winked. "Drinking for free."

"Just what I need."

"Hey, Jimmy, how about disappearing for a few, huh? Got some private biz to talk with my pal here."

"Yeah, yeah," the man said, and walked away.

Stein entered with a small suitcase and set it down at D-Man's feet. "It all weighed up just right."

"Don't it always?" D-Man tried to sound authoritative, but fumbled when his voice cracked from the scare he was still getting over.

"It should work out to a thousand rocks per can." Stein slapped D-Man on the back. "Hey, you're not p.i.s.sed about the fun and games earlier, are ya?"

"No," D-Man stretched the response. "I thought it was hilarious...f.u.c.ker."

Rosh and Stein laughed hard.

"See ya in a few days, D-Man. I'd wait for you to count the drop but...I don't have till midnight."

Rosh and Stein laughed harder this time.

f.u.c.kin' a.s.sholes... D-Man peeked into the case, saw several one-pound bags of cocaine and three $10,000 bands of century notes. But even with the bulls.h.i.t he had to put up with sometimes, D-Man knew he was d.a.m.n lucky to be involved with this. It beat working for a living, which was something he'd never been good at anyway.

"Solid?" Rosh asked.

D-Man nodded.

"And now I need a favor."

D-Man winced.

"A five-grand favor," Rosh appended, and slipped another stack of bills to D-Man. "Your man does good work, and we appreciate it."

"What's the favor?" D-Man sighed.

"We need another b.u.t.ton job like last spring." Rosh lay down a mug shot and slid it over.

D-Man was still too wracked even to drink his beer. He peered at the arrest photo of a generic female crack addict: shabby red hair around a sucked-in face, hollow eyes, thin lips. "She's just a crack ho, ain't she? I think I seen her around."

"Name's Tracy Roberts, aka Cookie."

D-Man shrugged. "Why you want a b.u.t.ton on her? She's just another skinny junkie."

"Yeah?" Rosh looked serious for the first time today.

"One of our stoolies told us she's talking about being an informant."

"Big deal. You're the cops."

"Not with us, D-Man. With the county."

"Oh."

Rosh tapped the money in D-Man's lap. "Tell your man. We need this bad. We need your hitter. She cribs at the address on the back."

D-Man flipped the photo. "It shouldn't be a problem."

Rosh smiled. He finished his beer. "Well, since you're not drinking this..." He started on D-Man's. He slapped D-Man on the back again, something D-Man hated. "You know something? I was reading in the paper today that last year's drought created a shortage in America's surplus food supply, and a lower surplus means it's less food aid that we can send to poor countries like Africa, where people starve to death every day."

D-Man frowned. "Yeah?"

"And I got to thinking." Now Rosh tapped the photo. "These crackheads? They don't weigh but ninety, a hundred pounds-any of them."

"It's 'cos they're junkies, Rosh. Junkies barely eat." Rosh held up a quick finger. "Right! They barely eat, and that's my point. That's how I figure we're doing a lot of good."

Now D-Man's face twisted up. "Selling crack?"

"Yes, yes! See, the more kids we turn into crack addicts, the less food they'll consume over their short lifetimes. I figure if we work even harder, we can get that surplus back up, then start sending more food aid to Africa. And that's a good thing, isn't it?"

D-Man stared at Rosh's serious expression, but in an instant the officer slapped his hands down hard on the bar and honked laughter.

D-Man shook his head. "You really are a ton of laughs today, Rosh, but I gotta split and change my pants. Thanks for making me p.i.s.s them."

Rosh tugged on D-Man's sleeve before he could get up. "Let me ask you something, just between you and me."

D-Man groaned and sat back down. "Come on. What?" "I know it's none of my business but...Are you the b.u.t.ton?"

D-Man grew instantly out of sorts. "No, man."

"It can't be Nutjob; that redneck hammerhead couldn't turn on a light switch without f.u.c.king it up. So-come on. Who is it?"

"I couldn't tell ya if I knew. That's the deal."

"I know, but I'm...curious."

"And any f.u.c.kin' way, I don't know, so just drop it, all right?"

Rosh nodded, gave up. "Cool, cool. But whoever it is, tell him we need a real gore-house job like last time, okay? Gotta look like a crazy boyfriend thing or a drug gang."

D-Man repressed a hard gulp. "Yeah," he said, then he grabbed the suitcase and left as fast as he could.

III.

"Oh, I love this!" Judy exclaimed from the pa.s.senger seat. She was clicking away on her notebook computer, trying to play her way through the next add-on level of the game. "Right now I'm crossing the Chyme Ca.n.a.l!"

"Don't fall," Seth warned as he drove. Since he and Judy had become involved, she proved a wonderful level-tester for the new beta additions of the game. "If you land in that stuff, you better have an excess of Derm-Balm in your health packs."

"And the rope bridge!" she enthused. "What a neat touch! Was that your idea?"

"It certainly was."

"I love the way the rope kind of squishes whenever I grab it."

Seth chuckled. "That's because it's not rope. It's intestines."

Judy squealed.

I guess I'll keep quiet now, let her keep playing...