Chapter 33
In the alley behind the restaurant, El Paso got in on the passenger side of a rattletrap panel truck. Roland was already in the driver’s seat with the motor running. “You’re late.”
“Only by two lousy minutes.” He looked around the plain and slightly odorous interior of the truck. “Where’s your fancy car with the chauffeur?”
“His night off.”
“No bodyguard, either?”
As Roland steered out of the end of the alley, he said, “You’re acting as my bodyguard tonight. You up to it?”
The kid saluted him. “Do I get a gun?”
“Not till I say.”
Roland had looked closely at him when he’d gotten into the truck. This morning’s glassy eyes had cleared. If he was still high, it was only barely. In fact, it might go easier if the little asshole was a bit mellow.
“Where are we going, anyway?” he asked.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
“How far is it?”
“Not far.”
“Can we have some music?” he asked, reaching for the radio dial.
“No. This isn’t a joyride. You’re supposed to be keeping your eyes on the side mirror to watch for anyone tailing us.”
“Got it.”
Roland tried not to let his anticipation show. The day had gotten off to a rough start, but it was ending on a much better note. Dylan and Haskell were still no-shows, but they would be sniffed out, then snuffed out, sooner or later.
The restaurant had been crowded and busy tonight, but he’d taken a call from Barbara Nix, who had reported that Darcy and his team had found the inlet on the bayou where the boat carrying the bodies of Adler and the girl had put in, only to discover that the cleanup crew had done an excellent job of ridding the area of evidence.
Even if a scrap had been found, by now it would have been so compromised by the elements that a prosecutor would consider it useless.
Just before securing his office and heading for the back door, Roland had made a call to Oz to pass along that good news. “Nix organized the team herself. She’s been one step ahead of Darcy and his bunch the whole time.”
The young woman really was remarkable, but Roland had resolved to keep a tight leash on her. Go-getters often got ahead of themselves, ahead of their bosses. And he wouldn’t let that happen.
He went on to inform Oz that he and El Paso were scheduled to leave for the meat locker within minutes.
Oz had signed off with, “Call me when it’s done.”
Now, having reached his destination, Roland pulled the truck right up to the garage door at the back of an unpromising edifice. He looked across at the smart-ass who was sitting forward, gazing through the windshield at the brick building looming just beyond the blunt hood of the truck.
For over a century, the unsightly structure had been at the mercy of hurricanes and other erosives.
It had withstood them, but their damaging effects were visible.
Several of its windows were cracked despite the chicken wire in them.
Mortar that was crumbling or missing altogether had left wide gaps between its faded and chipped red bricks.
El Paso said, “I got all dressed up for this?”
Ignoring the kid’s droll remark, Roland got out. El Paso, who’d gotten out on his own, took a look around at the area, which, in days past, had been a thriving industrial hub. Most of the factories and warehouses were now derelict and unoccupied except for squatters.
Anyone giving a casual glance to the building Roland approached with El Paso would think it was deserted and decaying like its neighbors. There wasn’t a sign designating either its owner or that it was Ristorante Italiano’s private meat locker.
He used a remote to open the garage door.
It creaked and clattered as it rolled up, and at halfway an alarm began chirping.
Roland stepped into the dark maw and punched in the code on the control box just inside.
As soon as he and El Paso cleared the door, he used the remote to begin its noisy descent.
Roland flipped a switch, but the only lights to come on hung from the ceiling in a single file down the center of the cavernous space. The smell of fresh meat was redolent.
“Jesus, it’s cold in here,” El Paso said, hugging himself and running his hands up and down his arms.
“Of course it is. It’s a meat locker.” Roland gestured to his right where, hanging by hooks, were sides of beef.
El Paso looked at them with interest. “Did you see that old movie Rocky, where he beat the shit out of that cow carcass?”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
He turned to Roland and smirked. “Is this where you practice your boxing?”
“This where I butcher meat.”
“No shit. You cut it up yourself?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes I need an assistant.” He poked his ringed pinky finger against El Paso’s shoulder. “That’s why I brought you. Business is about to pick up. I want you to start assisting me.”
“I don’t know anything about cutting up cows.”
“Not cows. People. You know a lot about that, don’t you, David Rodriguez?”
Looking a bit thrown off, El Paso took a step back.
Roland didn’t move a muscle as the kid sized him up.
He continued in his monotone style. “Butchering meat can get messy. So can cutting someone’s throat.
I have a hose back there bigger than a stallion’s dick.
It’s connected to a tank of water that’s kept almost to the boiling point.
Like sterilizing, you know. Washes everything down a drain that’s as wide as you are tall.
I let the bodies practically drain dry, then… relocate them.”
El Paso’s initial caution had been replaced by interest. “That guy whose place I took? Adler? That’s how he bought it, right?” He made a slicing motion across his throat.
Roland took a step toward him. He thought of the lectures he’d received from his mother, always shaking her finger at him. But he kept his hands at his sides and used his cold gaze to get his point across.
“The first thing you gotta learn if you’re going to do this for Oz’s operation.
Never talk about it. Don’t boast about a hit, not if it’s a two-bit dealer like Adler, or a politician who won’t play along, or a strung-out celebrity with a loose tongue.
Even if you kill a narc who thinks he’s smarter and tougher than us, you don’t take credit.
You keep your mouth shut. You say nothing. Not ever. Got it?”
“Yeah, man, I got it. How much money are we talking?”
“For your first, five grand.”
“That’s chicken shit!”
“That’s the offer. You do well, maybe I can persuade Oz into being more generous. He wasn’t convinced you were ready for this. Especially after that stunt you pulled last night. I had to twist his arm into letting you in on this.”
He took a step closer and then another. “But hear me good. From now on, you don’t call the shots. You don’t even get an opinion. You don’t ask questions. You do as you’re told.”
By now he was right in El Paso’s face. He waited several seconds, then stepped back and shot his cuffs. “Don’t fuck up again, kid. Impress me, impress Oz, we’ll renegotiate your pay.”
El Paso relaxed, gave a little shiver as though to shake himself out of a trance, then shrugged. “I’m in.”
“Okay. Let’s get started. There’s a lot you gotta learn.”
Roland motioned him forward. The kid went ahead of him. Like a sheep to slaughter, Roland thought as he reached into his jacket pocket for the garrote.
They’d taken only two steps before a voice boomed out of the darkness behind them.
“This has been an interesting conversation.”
Startled, Roland turned. “Oz?”
“Oz?” El Paso repeated, sounding both awed and terrified.
Roland was almost as shocked as the kid.
He had impressed upon Oz how risky it would be for him to show up to witness El Paso’s departure.
But Oz was staying out of sight as he’d said he would.
He was completely undetectable within the blackness beyond the narrow field of light shed by the row of overheads.
“So this is the famous El Paso,” he said. “Or, should I say, infamous?”
El Paso said nothing.
“This is him,” Roland said. “The one who caused such a ruckus last night by slicing open a cop.”
“What?” El Paso squeaked.
Roland turned back around to face him. “Oh, yeah. Working undercover. A guy named Haskell who’s always been a pain in the ass to our organization, and you just made him a bigger one.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but he had frozen El Paso where he stood.
The kid’s lupine eyes were shifting to and fro as though looking for an escape. Not surprisingly, he whipped out his switchblade and opened it. Roland didn’t react, didn’t even blink. He’d been expecting it.
“You fuckin’ fat man,” El Paso sneered. “What’s up with this?”
“Easy, El Paso.”
Behind Roland, Oz’s voice floated out of the darkness soothingly, as though he were trying to calm an excitable animal. Which, Roland thought, wasn’t far off the mark.
El Paso watched in horrified realization as Roland withdrew the garrote from his pocket, gripping the handholds and testing the tautness.
“You didn’t do as you were told last night, did you, El Paso?” Oz asked.
“How could I know that bum was heat, that he would fight back? What would you expect me to do?”
“I would expect you to obey orders,” Oz said. “Roland told you to keep it low-key, and, because you didn’t, there have been a series of consequences you’re unaware of. That should teach you a valuable lesson. You don’t always know why you’re given an order. It’s not your place to know. It’s mine.”
El Paso looked at the garrote that Roland was relaxing and then snapping taut. Roland was watching the switchblade, which the kid was now waving unsteadily, nervously. And yet, he maintained his swagger.
“Come on, man,” he said, appealing to the void of darkness outside the light. “Give me another chance. I won’t do nothing like that again.”
“You’ll do as you’re told?” Oz asked.
“Yeah, yeah.” Then, “Yes, sir.”
“Without hesitation or question?”
“Without question. I swear it.”
Oz said silkily, “It’s a little late in coming, but I’m very pleased to hear that.”