Thick as Thieves(65)

“But the real reason I didn’t turn myself in,” he said, “is because, if I did, I wouldn’t live long. Rusty would kill me.”

“He wouldn’t—”

“He’d have it done. Even if I was locked up for my own safety. Deputies run the jail, you know, and they’re all under Mervin Dyle’s thumb. They’d probably stage my ‘suicide.’”

Joe didn’t doubt it, but he argued it anyway. “Rusty has browbeaten you into being paranoid and afraid of him.”

“You’re darn right I am. Aren’t you?”

Yes, he was. More than a little. Rusty would have his daddy and the whole corrupt sheriff’s department vouching for his son’s whereabouts tonight, paving his tracks with alibis that Mervin would make certain were ironclad.

Out of the four of them, only three would be made to pay for their thievery.

Thinking about the likely penalty, and the effect it would have on his already fractured family, Joe almost barfed up his whiskey.

“You’ve got to tell me what to do,” Foster wailed.

“Don’t do anything. Don’t show up at the meeting place. Leave the little bastard waiting.”

“He will come after me.”

The longer they talked, the faster Foster was unraveling. Joe had to keep a cool head, as hazy with liquor as it was. To panic was begging for a disastrous outcome. At the moment, disaster was only a possibility, a good possibility, but preventable if he could talk Foster off the ledge.

“All right, meet Rusty as scheduled. Hide the money. But then call his bluff.”

“Wh…what…what do you mean?”

“Tell the asshole you won’t be part of any scheme he has in mind for me. Tell him—”

“He would kill me!”

“He’s not going to kill you. Think about it. He was the ringleader of this. He originated the plan, made himself boss. Up to this point, he’s pulled off a successful heist. He’s sitting on five hundred grand.”

Through his heavy breathing, Foster murmured agreement.

“So he’s not going to do something now that would get him caught. Killing you would be a senseless thing to do.”

Foster thought it over, then to Joe’s aggravation he said, “No. I can’t stand up to that guy. I just can’t. It’s not in me.”

Joe didn’t think Foster had it in him, either, which meant that he couldn’t just sit here, getting drunker by the hour, waiting to see what trickery Rusty had in store for him. For all he knew, Rusty had already ratted out the rest of them, and arrests were imminent. That was a bleak but galvanizing prospect.

He had to act, and he saw only one option open to him. He asked Foster when he was due to meet Rusty.

“Half an hour. Well, now, twenty minutes.”

“Where?”

Foster was about to answer, then stopped himself. After a beat, he said, “I took a big risk by calling and telling you.”

“Yes, you did.”

“What’s to keep you from calling the cops and working out your own deal?”

“That’s probably what I should do.”

Foster groaned.

“But I won’t. I swear to you that’s the one thing I will not do.”

Judging by the choppy sounds Foster was emitting, he was either retching or sobbing.

“Your time is running out,” Joe said with forced patience. “Where are you meeting Rusty?”

Sniff, sniff. “There’s a picnic area on the lake where he and I have met a few times to drink beer. It’s gone to ruin. Only a few wooden tables are left and they’re falling down. It’s off the beaten path. There’s a turnoff to it about a hundred yards east of that boat ramp with the bent flagpole.”

Joe knew the spot. Years ago, he and Marjorie used to take the girls there, before the area had become overlooked and overgrown.

“What are you going to do?” Foster asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Will you be there?”

“If I can get there.”

Foster sobbed for real. “We were all so stupid, weren’t we, to be sucked in by him?”

“Yes. Very stupid. But let’s try to salvage the situation before it gets worse. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Now listen. Starting now, we must be very careful. They check cell phone data. If we’re ever asked about this call, our story is that you called to tell me how bad you felt over Welch’s firing me, and to wish my family a happy Easter. Understand?”

“Yes, all right.”

“Now, go meet Rusty. Take a flashlight. You’ll need it out there. Keep it on as much as possible. Play along with whatever Rusty says for as long as you can.”

“Then what?”

Then watch your back, Joe thought. But what he said was, “We play it by ear. Good luck.”

He hung up before Foster could respond. He stared at the bottle of whiskey with bone-deep craving. Then he carried it into the bathroom and emptied it into the sink.

He took a dark-colored windbreaker from his closet and pulled it on over his white, short-sleeved shirt. He opened his bedroom door a crack and listened but didn’t hear a sound. He kept his footsteps light as he made his way down the hallway.