The Fall(36)

“Thank you.” I watched as her body relaxed, her eyes filled with what looked to me like gratitude. Not what I wanted from her.

“Don’t thank me, Sofia. I’m not your f*cking savior.”

I didn’t give her a chance to answer, the gratitude making me uncomfortable as I stalked from the bedroom to where I dumped our bags near the computers. Then it was a quick pull on of a shirt, check my weapons and out the door. The sooner I met with Mr. and Mrs. white trash the better.

There was no way I was taking the car we boosted last night out in the daylight. I had meant to dump it and wipe it down when we got home, but it became less of a priority. Information and sleep took precedence.

Instead, I walked around to the back of the warehouse where I had a beat up Chevy Cavalier parked. The car was at least twenty years old and had come with the building, but the POS still ran, so I kept it serviced and made sure there was gas in the tank. It served its purpose on occasions just like this, and having it on the lot added to the rouse. Also it helped that it looked like a million other cars on the road, so cruising the I-90 meant I wouldn’t even get a second look. Perfect.

The keys were kept in a meter box not far from the car, then it was simply get in, hit the ignition and hope the thing turned over. It had been a while since I’d last driven it.

It spluttered and protested, needing more gas, but eventually it got where it needed to be and didn’t stall out. And once it got started, it ran like a charm. Things were definitely looking up.

Brendon lived in South Shore. He rented a room from another drug dealer, Ramón, who actually was doing pretty well for himself. R-man kept his inventory purely to prescription pharmaceuticals, dolling out Xanax and Vicodin like it was candy. And unlike his buddy Brendon, his clientele was more refined.

The Chevy didn’t have a working stereo, which meant the drive was done without a soundtrack. It was what I usually preferred and also gave me the opportunity to listen to my handheld police scanner and see if there was anything of interest.

The Camaro had been discovered. Prints came back to a Sofia Concetta Amaro and Clive Maxwell—a person unknown to police. There was a BOLO out on both of them, Mr. Maxwell being five eleven, blue eyes, grey hair and seventy-five from the information they’d pulled from his driver’s license. And if they dug deep enough they’d find that it was the same Clive Maxwell who died five years ago. I even sent flowers to his widow the day I stole his social security number. Who said I didn’t have a heart?

“Hey, homie!” Brendon was sitting on the front stoop, his ball cap angled to the side like a bad version of Vanilla Ice.

“Not your homie, asswipe.” I yanked open the car door and stepped out onto the curb. “Give me the cash, the package and address.” I may have agreed to do the job, but I still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a set up, so sitting around waiting for the cavalry wasn’t happening.

“Whoa, my brother.” Brendon climbed to his feet, holding his hands up defensively. “We can’t do this shit out in the open. You gone cray-cray. You is wacked.”

Brendon was white. I’m talking milky white skin, blond hair and blue eyes. Any whiter and the dude would glow in the dark. But for some reason every time the dumbass got high, his heritage got a little messed up, crossed somewhere between African American and Puerto Rican. He liked to mix things up and be an equal-opportunity stereotype.

“Have you checked out these streets? No one is looking, and anyone who is gets a nice fat paycheck from Ramón. So, let’s get moving, shall we?”

Ordinarily there was no way I’d do business on the street. I liked any exchanges to be done with as few eyes on me as possible, but here, no one blinked an eye. Everyone was either on the take or under Ramón’s protection. No one was calling the cops, and they gave even less of a f*ck about the village idiot with whom I was currently engaged.

“You best watch yo’ mouth when you’re talking about the boss man. Sh-it, he’ll pop a cap in your ass.” Arms flailed in front of him for added theatrics.

“Can we do this now before I put a cap in your ass?” I lifted the front of my shirt to show him I wasn’t kidding. This job was far exceeding the time I wanted to be spending out on the street and the two grand I was going to be paid.

“Relax M-man, we’re doin’ it.” He nodded, climbing to his feet and going back into the house he’d been sitting in front. “Here.” He tossed me a colorful backpack, something like you’d see a kid wear on their first day of school. “Money and address are in the in front pocket.”

My fingers pulled across the zip from the front pocket and sure enough there was a white note with an address and twenty hundred dollar bills.

“You gonna count them right in front of me, dawg?” Brendon laughed, his eyes so bloodshot I was surprised he could even see what the hell I was doing. “Like you don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust you.” I slipped the hundreds into my back pocket and turned to get back into the car. “Give Ramón my best.” I gave a half-hearted wave as I started the Chevy.

Jury was still out if the pick-up had been half of the rouse and the real work would happen at the drop off point. Of course, there was no way to know, but so far nothing had flagged as suspect. All good things.

Brendon’s ex-wife lived in Hyde Park, right next to Lake Michigan, so I didn’t need to spend too long in the car. The drive ended when I pulled up on a set of row houses with a neatly manicured lawn out front.