CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT #3
“Duck hired this guy to kill me,” said Conor, nodding at the monitor. “Fortunately, he has no idea where I am, so I’m safe. But you asked if there’s anything that could be a problem. I’m guessing this guy could be a big one.”
Angel tapped the frozen image of Joe Cracker Jones on the screen.
Cracker was bent over an opponent, his mouth wide open, his tattooed tongue sticking out as he screamed his rebel yell.
His fist was coming down in a blur, on its way to breaking the jaw of ex-light heavyweight champ, Andy Volcano Vata.
“This isn’t good,” said Angel.
“I know.”
Angel shook his head. “Turn it off,” he said, walking out of his office.
Conor followed Angel into the garage. He watched Angel open the grill and flip the ribs. Each flip conjured a sizzle and a plume of smoke. Mick Jagger grunted from the boom box along with the tribal beat of Sympathy for the Devil. Angel glanced at the boom box, then back at Conor.
“So, how do you know this Joe Cracker Jones guy is after you?” said Angel.
“He wrote me a note saying so,” said Conor.
A wrinkle creased Angel’s brow. “A note? How’d he get a note to you?”
“I stopped by my apartment when I went out to find Julia,” said Conor. “He wrecked my place and taped a note to my television. Said Duck hired him to kill me. Said he wants to fight me to the death. The guy’s mental.”
Angel sighed. “I told you not to go anywhere but Julia’s.”
“I know. I just—”
“You could’ve brought everybody down on me,” said Angel, narrowing his eyes.
“Sorry.”
Angel stared at him.
Conor waited him out. It took a while. Angel finally turned away, tending to the ribs.
“What else did the note say?” said Angel.
“Not much,” said Conor. “Stuff about me coming to him or he’d kill my family and friends.”
“Which would be who?” said Angel.
“I don’t know. After the church job went south, Fitz disappeared. Sully is in the hospital. And me and my dad haven’t talked in years—at least as far as Cracker or anyone else knows.”
Angel looked at Conor. “Well, good. Then this guy can’t touch you. We’ll knock the job out tomorrow and you’ll take your money and run. Once Duck figures out you’re gone, he’ll call off the hit and everything goes back to normal.”
“That’s what I figured,” said Conor. He finished his beer and walked over to the cooler, glancing into the lobby.
His dad and Julia had finished shucking the corn but were deep in conversation.
He opened the cooler and grabbed a beer.
It was good to see his dad clean, sober, and happy.
The butcher paper on the tool bench crinkled as he leaned against it.
Angel closed the grill with a clang and wiped his hand on his jeans.
“I have a question for you,” said Angel. “What if this guy did grab your dad? Or Julia? What would you do?”
“I’d find him and kick his ass.”
“Really? You watch the same video I did? I’m not sure you or anyone else can kick his ass.”
Conor thought about it. He’d seen more than a few videos of Cracker beating other fighters to a pulp. The man was insanely violent. Unbelievably strong. And he knew how to fight. Conor glanced over at Julia and his dad, took a deep breath, and exhaled.
“What choice would I have?” he said.
Angel shrugged. He tapped the side of his beer bottle and walked over. “Hey, I ever tell you about when I was stationed in Africa?”
“No,” said Conor.
“Crazy story,” said Angel. “There was this village in Somalia where these kids were disappearing. It happened at night, about once a week. Then a couple women disappeared. And finally, a full-grown man vanished, right in the middle of the day. The villagers thought it was some kind of evil spirit or maybe a warlord’s gang, but a local missionary convinced them to hire a big game hunter.
This British guy shows up and recons, looking for tracks, blood, whatever.
It’s hot. You know, the sun’s nailed in the sky, blazing down.
So, he walks into this field with nothing but a pistol strapped to his leg and a leopard jumps him.
The guy’s flat on his back, and this cat is strong.
It’s got fangs long as rulers. It is not fucking around.
It hooks its front paws around his shoulders, opens its mouth, and tries to tear his throat out. So, what does the guy do?”
“He shoots it,” said Conor.
“Can’t. He needs both hands to hold it off.”
“Then I guess he’s dead,” said Conor.
Angel nodded. “You’d think so. But the guy’s a survivor. He’s not going down without a fight. So, just as this maneater is about to tear his face off, he rams his fist down its throat.”
“No way,” said Conor.
“Swear,” said Angel, holding up a hand.
“What happened?
Angel took a pull from his beer and wiped his mouth.
“Damn thing went berserk. He told me he grabbed its tongue way down in its throat and held on for dear life until it died from asphyxiation or shock. Then he tracked down its lair. There were half-eaten human and animal carcasses all over the place. After he saw that, the hunter said he knew he’d met a predator that had lost its fear of everything.
It scared him. According to him, that leopard was outside the flow of the universe. ”
Conor mulled over Angel’s comments. “So, what are you trying to tell me?” he said. “That this Cracker guy is like that?”
“Exactly,” said Angel. “Based on the video we watched that guy does not care about anyone or anything. He’s toxic. He’s outside the flow.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” asked Conor.
Angel turned at the sound of Julia and Conor’s dad walking out of the lobby, carrying a bag of shucked sweet corn ready to be grilled.
Angel smiled and waved them over, then turned back to Conor.
“Listen. If that guy gets your dad, Julia, or anybody, you do not fight him. You do not talk to him. You do not engage with him in any way. That’s the law, starting right now. ”
“I can’t do that. He’d hurt them.”
“Possibly,” said Angel. “But getting yourself killed won’t help.”
“So, I do nothing?” said Conor.
“No,” said Angel. “You most definitely do something. If you want to stay alive, you run. Without you around, he might release whoever he’s got and just leave. It’s your best move. At the very least, it’s the only move that makes sense.”
Angel turned his back, taking the bag of shucked corn from Julia.
Conor sipped his beer and tried to relax, but it was impossible after hearing Angel’s advice.
Maybe it made sense to run, but could he do that if Cracker had Julia?
Or his dad, or Fitz, or Sully, or even Angel?
What if he had all of them and was making them suffer?
Conor tilted his bottle back and drained it in four long swallows, feeling the beer burn down his throat.
There was no way to be sure until it happened, but he was certain he couldn’t step away.
He’d walk straight into a dragon’s mouth before he’d turn his back on anyone who meant something to him.
Losing his mother and his father had taught him that.
Both had run away. One for real and the other through a bottle.
And to the best of this knowledge they’d survived—although he couldn’t be sure when it came to his mom since he never saw her again.
Even so, their running had taught him that it didn’t matter if you survived.
It mattered how you survived. Being broken like his father was no way to live.
So, if it came down to it, he’d face Cracker.
At the very least, the people who meant the most to him would know that he’d fought for them.
And if by some strange roll of the dice he survived, he’d live unbroken.
He glanced over at his dad, focusing on his hands that held a garbage bag of corn husks.
Even gripping the bag tight, his dad couldn’t hide the fact that his hands shook like he had some kind of palsy.
Yeah, living unbroken had to be better than the alternative.
But, with all that said, he didn’t want to test his theory.
The best outcome would be to get out without ever having to fight, talk, or even lay eyes on Joe Cracker Jones.
He needed to forget about him and keep his thoughts on the here and now.
Having Julia come over and put her arm around him helped.
Seeing his dad clean and sober helped. The music and the smell of the ribs and the cold beer going down all helped.
But if he wanted to put Cracker behind him for good, he needed to get the paintings, get his money, and get out of town with Julia.
He smiled and listened to his dad tell him what a great girl Julia was.
He took a drink of his beer and pulled her close, his mind buzzing.
One more day and they’d be gone for good.
Angel put corn on the grill and yelled for someone to get plates and silverware out of his office.
His dad took cans of baked beans out of the grocery bags.
Julia grabbed Angel’s empty beer bottle, digging a fresh one out of the cooler.
Springsteen drifted out of the boom box, singing about busting out of his crummy town with his girl, jumping on his motorcycle, and riding to a better place.
Conor turned it up. He stepped back and smiled, watching Angel take Julia’s hand and dance through the garage.
They danced by and he cut in, feeling the music pound through him. He pulled her against him, kissing her.
He held the kiss for a long time. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.