Текст книги "Before The Killing Starts"

Автор книги: James Harper

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Chapter 37

Dixie had just parked up in the parking lot at the front of MacQuaids when he saw Jackson crossing the street on foot. He got out and went to meet him.

'No car?' Dixie said.

'I didn't bother bringing it,' Jackson said. 'I've got two years worth of beers to catch up on.'

They went inside and took a couple of stools up at the bar. Jackson ordered a beer and raised a questioning eyebrow at his brother.

'The usual,' Dixie said and Jackson ordered him a coke.

'You shouldn't drink so much of that crap. Makes you fart, rots your teeth. Makes you hyper too.'

Dixie smiled. 'I need all the hyper I can get at the moment.'

'Things are bad?'

'Could be better.' He took a sip of his drink. 'Anyway, you don't want to hear any of that. What about you?'

Jackson shook his head. 'I'll tell you another time. So tell me, what's going on with Ellie? You didn't get back together with her did you?'

Dixie laughed out loud. 'God, no. After the way it ended?'

'Not the forgiving kind?'

'Uh uh. You know what it's like. Women are so unreasonable.'

'Amen to that,' Jackson said, clinking his glass against Dixie's coke, before taking a long swallow. 'What was it she called you again?'

Dixie grinned. 'A cheating dickweasel.'

Jackson nodded and tried the word out in his mouth. 'I like it. I don't think anybody's ever called me that.'

'What? Not even in the joint?'

For a second Dixie thought he might be wearing a beer in his lap even if he couldn't drink one, but Jackson just gave him that sideways grin he knew so well. The one that said: you got away with it this time . . .

'Anyway, she got together with Ricardo straight after,' Dixie said.

'You're joking.'

Dixie shook his head. 'You must have heard. It was before you went away.'

It was Jackson's turn to shake his head. 'I didn't know that.'

Dixie saw that Jackson's glass was empty. He nodded at it.

'That one barely touched the sides.'

Jackson grinned at him. 'Didn't you hear me earlier? I've got a lot of catching up to do.'

Dixie ordered him another beer but didn't bother getting himself another coke. Jackson was right about rotting your teeth.

'Is she still with him?' Jackson said.

'No, he ditched her.'

'There must be something about her. Poor personal hygiene, maybe? In the toilet area?' He pointed a finger at his crotch and raised his eyebrows, a stupid grin plastered across his face.

'This is where it gets interesting though,' Dixie said ignoring the puerile comment. 'She was so pissed when Ricardo gave her the push for some mamona as she called her, that she came to see me—'

'You're kidding. Not to get back together?'

Dixie laughed again, gave a don't-be-ridiculous flick of the hand. 'No way. She had a proposal she wanted to put to me. Strictly business. As I said, she was really pissed at Ricardo and she wanted to find some way to get back at him. Plus, she wanted out. She didn't like the fact that when they were together Ricardo started taking her along on the deals and now it was a regular thing even though he'd dumped her—'

'So her nasty little mind came up with an idea to kill two birds with one stone.'

'Exactly. She said she wanted to bury the hatchet with me, forget about all the trouble that happened between us—'

'Ha. Fat chance.'

'—that there was one last deal that she was going along on—'

'And she thought it might be a great idea if somebody was to rip them off. I assume that's where you come in. The go-to guy for ripping people off.'

Dixie nodded. 'You got it.'

'So what happened?'

'We did it.'

Jackson did a spit take, nearly slopping his beer down his shirt front in his surprise. 'You did it? Just like that? After what happened last time?'

Dixie shrugged. 'It wasn't as if I had a week to think about it. She didn't give me any notice. I went for it.'

Jackson shook his head in amazement.

'What happened?'

'They had this deal arranged with Alvarez—you remember him?' Dixie said. Jackson nodded in an I'm not likely to forget way. 'I was already waiting there when they arrived. They went in, came out again and I tailed them. Ellie was driving. I don't know if it was luck that they needed gas or if she drained the tank first to make sure they did, but they stopped at a gas station.'

Dixie's mouth was dry as old Larry with all the talking. He took a small sip of his warm coke and looked over his brother's shoulder at a guy standing a few feet away. He looked to be about sixty, lean and wiry, wearing a ragged M-65 field jacket. Under the jacket, his shirt was buttoned wrong so his collar stuck up on the left side. The jacket itself was covered with patches, not all of them sewn on straight. They were the sort of things he'd seen Vietnam veterans wearing before: I'm sure to go to heaven because I've spent my time in hell circling a map of Vietnam was one you saw all the time, but there were other, more inflammatory ones: If you haven't been there, shut your mouth and Viet Cong Hunting Club.

The guy was looking right back at him, his head cocked to the side and a slight frown on his face, as if he was trying to place him. Maybe he'd overheard what they'd been saying, the talk of deals and ripping people off. Dixie gave the guy a small nod, the sort of nod you give to strangers when you sit down at a bar next to them. The guy looked away and picked up his drink.

'Who's that?' Jackson said, turning to look, but the guy had turned his back to them now.

'It's nothing,' Dixie said in a quieter voice. 'As I was saying, they stopped for gas—'

Jackson held up a hand. 'Let me guess. Ricardo went to the men's room.'

Dixie nodded, a frown creasing his forehead. 'How did you know?'

'Everybody knows the little prick never misses a chance to go look in the mirror. It's his favorite pastime after playing with himself.'

It made sense to Dixie now. 'Ellie probably figured he'd do that. The other guy was filling up. I snuck up on him and brained him with a baseball bat and Ellie took off.'

'You let her take the money?'

'We didn't want to waste time moving the bag between cars. Ricardo might have come back out any second.'

Jackson shook his head in an irritating way. 'Still risky.'

Wait until I finish the story, Dixie thought, knowing some wise-after-the-event wisdom would be coming his way.

'I'd rented a self-storage unit. She was meant to take the money there until we could meet up.'

The first hint of a told-you-so smile appeared on Jackson's lips.

'Meant to? As in, she didn't?'

Dixie shook his head, his jaw clenched like he was having trouble getting the words out. 'She took it there, no problem. I went there this morning.'

'And?'

'And the bag's there. Unfortunately, it's—'

'Empty.'

'As a politician's promise.'

Jackson finished his beer and called the bartender over for another one. Dixie looked in the mirror behind the bar and saw the guy in the M-65 field jacket staring back at him, except the curious look seemed to have morphed into a belligerent stare now. Perhaps he'd sent him to prison at some time in the past. A lot of Vietnam veterans had come home with post-traumatic stress disorder and had ended up in trouble as a result. Despite that, he knew it wouldn't take much for him to get into it with him after the morning he'd had. The catharsis of mindless violence. The guy looked like he'd be up for it despite his age. He opened his mouth and gave a slow beery-nacho-popcorn burp, his eyes never leaving Dixie's. An obvious up-yours insult . . .

'Hey,' Jackson said, prodding him in the ribs.

Dixie broke eye contact with the guy (meaning of course that he'd lost, he was the pussy, the one who sucked other men's cocks) and looked at Jackson as he took another long swallow.

'God, I could do with one of those,' he said, determined not to let the guy get to him. He could feel his stare on the side of his face. 'I feel like I've got three million reasons to start drinking again.'

'Three million? Wow.' Jackson gave a low whistle.

Dixie nodded. 'Three million.'

'And you've no idea where she might have gone with it?'

'Uh uh. I wouldn't be sitting here watching you enjoy a beer if I did.' His eyes flicked to the mirror. 'Not to mention getting eyeballed by some asshole who's looking to get his ticket punched,' he added in a loud voice, the emphasis firmly on the asshole.

The guy looked momentarily shocked. Something wasn't right here. The pussy was calling him out. Jackson spun round on his stool to look at the guy, see what was eating Dixie. The guy mumbled something.

'Did this asshole just call me a Gook?' Dixie said incredulously.

'I didn't catch it,' Jackson said, trying to suppress a grin.

There was a shout from the far end of the bar as the bartender came around and trotted up.

'Hey, that's enough Earl,' he said, putting a hand on his arm and steering him away. 'Time to go.'

Earl looked back at Dixie like he wanted to make sure he remembered his face. He made a gun with his finger and thumb and pointed it. The bartender slapped it down and Earl walked off.

'Sorry about that,' the bartender said. 'He's not all there.' He made a twirling motion at his temple with his finger.

'What's wrong with him?' Jackson said.

The bartender shrugged. 'He was in Vietnam. Got captured by the Viet Cong. He wasn't released until years after it was all over.' He gave a small hardly-surprising-when-you-think-about-it smile. 'He was one of those guys they forced to write letters bad-mouthing the U.S. and praising the North Vietnamese for how well they treated them. It kind of confused him. He's never been right since, although the owner says he wasn't right before he went. He comes in most mornings and does a bit of cleaning.'

Dixie and Jackson both nodded sympathetically.

'He can't talk properly,' the bartender continued. 'I think they might have cut part of his tongue out.'

'How's he order a beer?' Dixie said flippantly.

The bartender looked at him as if he’d just told a dirty joke about his mother.

'He doesn't have to. The owner said just serve him a couple of beers on the house when he comes in and then send him on his way.'

Dixie raised an eyebrow. 'Every cloud has a silver lining, eh?'

The bartender turned to go.

'What was he calling me a Gook for? Does he do that to everybody?'

The bartender smiled. 'No, as far as I know, you're the first one. Looks like you really pissed him off,' he said as he walked away.

Just what I need, Dixie thought, some crazy with a hard-on for me.

'Asshole,' Jackson said under his breath, turning back towards Dixie. 'What's the matter with you?'

Dixie wasn't sure if the asshole was directed at him, the bartender or Earl. He gave a dismissive shake of his head and the two of them sat in silence for a while thinking about Vietnam, losing half your tongue and what you could do with three million dollars.

'Why did you do it?' Jackson asked. 'Rip off Chico I mean, not pick on poor ol' Earl.'

'I was hoping you wouldn't ask me that.'

Jackson's face was a picture of confusion. 'Why?'

Dixie cleared his throat and looked down at the bar top. He took hold of his glass and swirled it around in the water that had pooled underneath it.

'For you. Well, for us.' He cleared his throat again. 'I've had enough of this life too.'

Jackson had spun on his chair so that he was directly facing his brother. He leaned in a little. 'What do you mean for me?'

Dixie did a bit more swirling with his glass, staring at the pattern he was making, a big, looping figure-of-eight. 'After what happened last time. I wanted to do something to try to make amends.'

Jackson's bark of a laugh made him jump.

'That wasn't your fault.'

'I know, but I could have made one call and you'd never have gone to prison.' He gave an aggravated sigh. He felt like picking up the glass and throwing it into all the bottles stacked behind the bar.

Jackson sat back in his chair and shook his head in exasperation. He let out a loud breath through his nose. 'We went through all this at the time.'

'I know, I know. Doesn't mean I haven't questioned the decision every day for two years,' he said to the bar top.

'Jesus Christ. If you'd done anything, they'd have known it was you. They're not completely stupid. They might have asked themselves what sort of a person can click his fingers and get his brother out of the shit?' He pretended to think and then looked up like he'd just had an aha moment. 'A cop, that's who, they say to themselves. Where would that have left you?' His eyes drilled into the side of Dixie's head. 'In some alley somewhere with your throat cut, that's where.'

Dixie knew he was right; they'd been through it all at the time. Jackson had been adamant and his time in jail hadn't changed his view.

'Anyway,' Dixie said, 'when Ellie came to me with her proposition it just felt right. The timing was right with you coming out and, as I said, I'm sick of it all.'

'But—'

Dixie put a hand on Jackson's forearm. 'That's not all—I think Chico's getting suspicious. I'm getting out while I still can.'

'What's Chico doing about the missing three million?'

Dixie laughed and eyed Jackson's beer longingly. He wanted to snatch it and pour it down his neck before Jackson could stop him.

'What?'

'He sent me after her and the money.'

Jackson stared at him for a second before roaring with laughter. Dixie couldn't help joining in, despite the mood he was in.

'That is just beautiful,' Jackson said as soon as he got his breath back. 'Surely that means he doesn't suspect you.'

Dixie shrugged. 'There've been a few things recently but the last few days clinched it for me.'

'Why? What happened?'

'Maybe I'm being paranoid—'

'Guilty conscience, you mean.'

'—but Chico insisted I take that moron Crispy along with me. I got the impression he was there to keep an eye on me.'

Jackson smiled. 'Crispy, I remember that guy. The 'P' stands for prick doesn't it?'

'Nothing so useful.'

'It's understandable, sending Crispy with you, I mean. Chico just lost three million. He's probably keeping tabs on his mother too.' Jackson looked around the bar. 'So where is he now? Crispy.'

Dixie tried to keep a straight face, tried not to grin. 'Still in the trunk of his car as far as I know.'

For the second time in the space of two minutes Jackson exploded with laughter.

'One thing's for sure, if he wasn't suspicious before, he will be now. I think I'd have set the car on fire.'

'I thought about it. Let him live up to his name.'

They were quiet once again enjoying the easy companionship they'd always known, despite the two years separation. Then Jackson turned to Dixie.

'Did you ever manage to find out who set us up last time?'

Chapter 38

Two years previously another deal with Alvarez had gone disastrously wrong. Somebody had tipped off the police and they'd raided Alvarez's warehouse just as the deal was going down. A number of Alvarez's men had been caught along with Jackson. Dixie had got away.

Dixie thought back to that night. He'd had a bad feeling about it from the beginning and hadn't wanted to go. Or was that just with the benefit of hindsight? It was impossible to say now. Chico had been out of the country and had left Ricardo in charge. What a joke. What everybody should have done was sit patiently on their hands, watch TV and wait for Chico to get back. Unfortunately Ricardo saw it as the perfect opportunity to increase his standing in Chico's eyes. Everybody knew Chico thought he was an idiot and everybody thought the assessment was bang on the money. Ricardo knew it too.

It was too good an opportunity for him to miss. Everything was arranged; the three of them—Dixie, Jackson and Ricardo—were all set to go. Then Ricardo pulled out at the last minute. Dixie wanted to cancel the whole thing but Jackson said no, let's do it. The police were waiting for them. Dixie was the only one to get away. Was it because he was expecting things to go wrong and was more cautious or was it a monumental cock-up by the police? At the end of the day it didn't really matter, the end result was the same.

And the fallout? At first they were looking at him; he was the only one to get away after all. He asked them how likely they thought it was that he'd sacrifice his own brother—they'd seen how close they were. Maybe they thought the two of them had flipped a coin and Jackson had lost? Okay, they said, maybe it wasn't you after all. They seemed to be out of ideas after that.

Dixie still couldn't decide what he thought. At first it looked to him as if it was Ricardo; the barely explained way he dropped out at the last moment. But Ricardo was desperate to impress Chico, completely obsessed. Dixie knew the guy hated him with a passion but would he deliberately make himself look even more of an ass—not to mention sacrificing a substantial amount of Chico's money—in order to get rid of him and Jackson. If his aim had been to get them out of the way so that he could fill the gap in his father's eyes, did he think a colossal cock-up like this was the way to do it? Then again, the guy was an idiot, with all the sense of a barn door . . .

Dixie realized Jackson had said something.

'What was that?'

'I said I went to see Chico.'

Dixie's head jerked backwards. 'Really?'

'I had to start somewhere. It seemed as good a place as any.'

'I suppose. What did he say?'

Jackson flung his arms wide and sent a stack of dirty glasses sitting on the bar flying. Everybody turned to look at him. He raised an apologetic hand. 'Sorry,' he said as the bartender scuttled up and gave him a look like he was a party guest who'd just shat on the floor. You could see he thought he might have made a mistake throwing Earl out instead of these two. He started to pick up the pieces. Satisfied (and disappointed) a fight wasn't about to break out, people went back to their conversations.

'He did all that insincere hugging, back-clapping stuff,' Jackson said, opening his arms more cautiously, 'and said if there's anything I need, etc., etc.'

'That's it?'

'Pretty much,' Jackson said and leaned forward. 'He assured me'—he put his hand on Dixie's arm and squeezed to demonstrate the depth of sincerity—'it had nothing to do with anyone in his organization. He'd looked into it and he was satisfied it was nobody from our side, blah, blah, blah.'

Jackson let go of Dixie's arm and sat back in his chair. His expression suggested that he thought Chico couldn't have cared less if he'd spent twenty years rotting in jail instead of two.

'I remember he was jumping up and down at the time. You went to prison but he lost a lot of money.'

Jackson snorted. 'He mentioned that.'

'Did he say who he thought it might be?'

'He said to talk to a guy called Miguel who works for Alvarez. He didn't want me to talk to Alvarez himself. He wouldn't say why.'

Dixie laughed. 'I can understand that. I had to go to Alvarez and ask him if he stole Chico's money.'

Jackson's eyebrows lifted an inch at the thought. 'That must have been an interesting conversation.'

'Uncomfortable, you could say.'

'Awkward.'

'That too. I don't suppose Chico wanted you going in there the following day and saying: by the way, Enrico, while we're on the subject, did you snitch to the police two years ago?'

Jackson smiled. 'No, I don't suppose so. Do you know this guy Miguel?'

'Not really. Just that he works for Alvarez. I saw him there the other day.'

Dixie let out a short laugh.

'What's so funny?'

'It's just that Alvarez put a GPS tracker in with the money. He showed me how it worked and I'm having to pretend this is all great news to me, thank you very much Enrico for finding our money. Crispy's standing right behind me, remember. And all the time I've got the key to the unit sitting in my pocket.'

Jackson waved his hand in the air and Dixie caught sight of the tattoo. 'I'm sure you were very convincing,' Jackson said. 'You always were full of BS.'

Dixie ignored the insult. A frown creased his forehead as he thought back to the meeting.

'What is it?'

'It's probably nothing but he was really staring at my hand.'

'Who was? Alvarez?'

'No, Miguel. I thought it was strange at the time but I didn't know what to make of it. It's just come to me now, seeing you.'

'Uh huh. Glad I could help.'

Dixie held out his hand and spread his fingers, displaying his own tattoo fully.

'He was staring at the tattoo.'

Jackson looked at his own, matching tattoo. 'So? Maybe he wants one like it. He has to work out what it means first.' He tapped the side of his nose.

'It was like he'd just had an aha moment. As if it triggered some memory. Or answered something that had been on his mind.'

'I still don't see what it matters.'

'It matters if he knows somebody from when we were in Atlanta. Somebody who knew about the two brothers with the strange tattoo—who also just happened to be cops.'

Jackson leaned back and crossed his arms, stuck his thumbs under his armpits. He shook his head. 'It's a lifetime ago and on the other side of the country. Besides, I quit more than ten years ago. Don't worry about it.'

'I'm not worried about me. I'm thinking about what might happen if you go to see Miguel, the guy with the recently awakened memories.'

Jackson clapped him on the shoulder.

'As ever, I'm touched by your concern, but you worry too much.'

'And you don't worry enough.'

Jackson opened his hands wide. 'What a team. Perfectly complementary worrying skills as those human resources assholes would say.'

Dixie grinned. 'I think maybe it tipped the balance with Chico. Miguel said something to Alvarez who passed it on.'

Jackson shook his head emphatically. 'That's not it. What tipped the balance was you locking his man Crispy in the trunk of his car.'

'Yeah, that too,' Dixie said. The smile slipped off his face and out of his voice. 'Just bear it in mind when you go to talk to him, okay.'

Jackson nodded. 'Okay. I promise.' He held up three fingers, thumb touching the little finger in a scout's honor gesture.

They stared into each other's eyes. Jackson swallowed. He was one of those people whose eyes well up a little too quickly, particularly for a man. Some people made the mistake of taking it for a sign of weakness.

'Yeah, I know,' he said.

'I still think I see him sometimes,' Dixie said, his voice thick.

Jackson nodded and looked away. 'It happened to me a couple of times in prison. One time I was sat at the table eating dinner and I felt somebody sit down next to me, pushing my leg like I was taking up too much space . . .'

He looked back at Dixie. 'But there was nobody there, of course.' He didn't want to think about how much worse things must be for Dixie. Remy hadn't tried to call him on the day he died. He didn't know how that made him feel. No wonder Dixie lost it.

Dixie punched him on the arm to try to break the tension and ordered him another beer.

'I don't suppose . . .' Dixie started and then stopped.

'What?'

'It doesn't matter.' He gave an irritated shake of the head.

Jackson gave him a long-suffering look and waited. A look that said we might as well get it all out in the open while we're at it.

'I was going to ask if you've heard from Rachel,' Dixie said.

Jackson shook his head. 'No. Things were going downhill even before all this happened. I knew I wouldn't hear anything from her in prison. It's not really her style, is it? Visiting her man in prison with all the other trailer trash wives and girlfriends.'

'I suppose not,' Dixie said and rubbed his nose with the heel of his hand. He took a sip of warm coke to ease the dryness in the back of his throat. What the hell made him bring this up?

Rachel had been a friend of Ellie's and Dixie had introduced her to Jackson. The four of them had spent some time together—even gone on vacation—during Jackson's roller coaster relationship with her. But Jackson was right; he couldn't imagine her visiting him in prison, even if the relationship had been on one of its highs when he got sent down. She'd moved on by then.

'Does she still live in the same place?' Jackson asked.

'As far as I know.'

'Maybe I'll drop round,' Jackson said with a grin. 'I'm sure she'd be pleased to see me.'

But Dixie wasn't listening to him. An idea had taken root in his mind and the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He smiled to himself. Yes.

Jackson gripped his arm and shook him. 'Hello?'

'Sorry. I've just had an idea,' Dixie said, his attention snapping back to Jackson's confused face. 'I think she might be staying with her.'

'What are you talking about? Who's staying with who?'

Dixie knew he was grinning stupidly. He couldn't help himself. He leaned towards Jackson and grasped his arm. 'I didn't think of her before. Seeing you reminded me. Ellie must be hiding somewhere. She wouldn't want to stay in a hotel because she knows I could get somebody to check.'

Jackson put his hand over his face, pulled it down, closing his eyes for a moment. 'Isn't it a bit obvious? A bit too easy for you to find her.'

'Not really.' He let go of Jackson's arm, started tapping his fingers on the bar. 'I haven't seen her for . . . over two years. It's only talking to you made me think of her. It's got to be worth a try. I've got nothing to lose.'

'What are you going to do if you find her?'

Dixie thought about it. He wasn't sure what he was going to do. Despite his initial reaction at the self-storage facility he didn't think he'd be able to actually do anything to her, to hurt her, however much she might deserve it. He'd probably just do what she'd done to him—take the money and run.

'I don't know yet, but I know one thing for sure.'

'What's that?'

'We're looking at a fifty-fifty split now. Congratulations, you just earned another half million dollars.'

Jackson's grin split his face in two. He raised his hand for a high five. Dixie looked at his hand and shook his head.

'I must have made a mistake—I thought you'd only been inside two years. Looks like it was twenty. Nobody does that stuff any more.'

Jackson curled the hand into a fist and punched him on the arm instead.

'That's what I call a good day's work.' He raised his glass in a salute. 'Let's do it again.'

Dixie laughed. 'Sounds good to me. What about Friday?'