The Red Hunter(91)

“It’s done,” said Paul.

The words worked their way in, and his stomach filled with a toxic blend of dread and excitement.

“What are you talking about?” Chad asked. But he knew.

“It’s in the trunk,” said Paul. He wasn’t smiling. Shouldn’t he be smiling?

Chad got out of the car and walked around back to pop the trunk. There was a big blue canvas bag there. He pulled open the metal zipper, and it was loud in the quiet night. Paul came to stand behind him.

“Holy shit.”

A huge pile of cash, banded into stacks of ten thousand. The smell of it, that special aroma of ink and paper and a million hands drifted up to his nose.

“What the fuck?” said Chad, looking at Paul. “Where? How?”

“It was just like you said it would be,” said Paul. “Those skulls were sleeping when we got there.”

“No one got hurt?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He zipped closed the bag. “You went alone.”

Paul shook his head. “I had to cut them in.”

“Who did you bring?”

“Better you don’t know, right?”

Chad nodded, though he had a pretty good idea. There weren’t many guys you could call to help you rip off a drug dealer in the middle of the night. Men who were trained, reliable, had that certain dark ethic you could trust. A code of right and wrong that not everybody shared.

“How much?”

“A hundred grand each.”

“So that’s four each for you and me,” said Chad.

“I don’t want any of it,” said Paul. He was leaning on the car, looking out at the highway. Up above, the sky was clear and riven with stars, just a few thin clouds drifting in front of the sliver moon.

Relief warmed Chad’s shoulders, shifted into his belly. He was free, free of that debt, that burden that he carried, thought about, couldn’t get out from under. He wouldn’t be able to pay it off right away, and this money would have to stay hidden for a good long while. But he’d be able to do it, get them to a better place. She would forgive him; they’d move on.

“Don’t be crazy,” said Chad. “Take the money. You did all the work.”

“I did it for you, for Heather and Zoey,” said Paul. “I don’t want it. I don’t need it. I have no family. I don’t even own a house.”

Paul got a particular tone when he talked about Heather and Zoey, a softness that never touched his voice otherwise. Chad knew how he felt about Heather. Of course, he did; he wasn’t stupid. But Heather belonged to Chad, and he to her; it had always been that way, and all three of them knew it.

“I’ll keep it at the house,” said Chad. “Half of its yours. It’ll be there waiting for you, like a savings account.”

Paul nodded but didn’t look at Chad.

“Where are you going to hide it?”

Chad looked at the money. “That crawl space we discovered between the house and the barn. I’ll pile a bunch of crap in front of the wall under the stairs. Why? You think someone’ll come looking.”

“No,” said Paul. “It was clean. And you had nothing to do with it.”

Chad thought a minute. All that money.

“A hundred grand going to be enough to keep your guys quiet? Keep them happy and from sniffing around in a few months asking for more,” asked Chad. “They knew what the whole haul was?”

Paul seemed to consider.

“It was your find and my plan,” he said finally with a shrug. “They were just the muscle. They’re good.”

“It was clean?”

“Yes,” said Paul again. “It was clean.”

“You okay?” asked Chad. He closed the trunk and faced Paul.

“Just tired,” he said. “You know you can’t spend it right away, right? Pay those bills off slowly, work overtime. Don’t call attention to yourself.”

“Of course, I know that, big brother,” said Chad. It had always been like this. Chad had a problem, Paul fixed it. Paul gave advice, Chad took it. There was no one else he’d ever trusted or counted on in the same way, not even his dad.

“But settle that other debt first,” he said. “And remember you promised. No more.”

Paul meant the bookie. Chad was into the guy for a couple grand—bad bets on fights, games, horses. Buster had been patient because Chad was a cop, but he was starting to make threats. Chad was most embarrassed about that, how he’d used his overtime money to try to make more to pay off debts and lost that, too. What a mess. But he was done with all that. Done for good.

Chad raised his hands. “I swear to God.”

“Take care of them, Chad,” said Paul. Something dark had crept over Paul’s features, an etched sadness that opened a gully in Chad’s center. “Get yourself out of trouble. And take care of Heather and Zoey, or so help me—”

He stopped, shaking his head, let the sentence trail.

Chad stood before his friend, his brother, and saw Paul’s anger, his disappointment, saw that Paul had brought himself low because of the trouble Chad had gotten himself into. Chad understood that Paul had done it for Heather and for Zoey. He didn’t know what to say, bowed his head with shame. After a moment, Paul patted him hard on the shoulder.