Kings of Midnight (17 page)

She thought of Seven Tears, the Texas town where she'd grown up. The day she'd left for good had been the happiest of her life. Fifteen years since, and she'd never been back.

“That's the game they want you to play,” he said. “Stay poor, work to make someone else rich, then die. When I first started running with a crew, it was like the answer to all that, you know? We threw money around like it was going out of style. When we ran out, we just went and stole some more, pulled some scam, whatever. Not so different from what you do, is it?”

“You have no idea what I do.”

“You're right. Sorry. But you know what I'm saying.”

“I do.”

“You learn it early or you learn it late,” he said. “The game's fixed. Nobody gives you anything. You gotta take it.”

The path leveled off into a clearing, more picnic tables to one side.

“This is good enough,” she said.

At the far end of the clearing, the ground fell away sharply. Waist-high pylons had been driven into the earth there, strung with chains. Three feet beyond was the cliff, gray stone sloping down to the wooded valley below. On the next hill, partly hidden by trees, was the house.

“That it?” she said.

“Looks like it.”

She moved into a shaded area, raised the binoculars, focused. It was a ranch house, but sprawling, as if sections had been added as an afterthought.

The shingles were faded gray, and latticework was missing from the back deck. Tar paper showed through on the roof. There was an attached garage on the far side of the house, a Boston Whaler parked on a trailer beside it. The boat looked new, but it was uncovered, and full of rainwater.

“You see anybody over there?” he said.

She shook her head. The backyard was bordered with dense woods on three sides. A small backhoe was parked there, treads clotted with dirt, construction supplies piled behind it. The stumps of freshly cut trees showed white.

“They're putting in a pool,” she said. She scanned the front yard. It was bare dirt, no grass. The gravel driveway ran down the hill, snaked through the trees until it reached the county road below.

Just the three entrances she could see—front door, back deck, and garage. No outside cellar door. No doghouses, water dishes. That was good.

She unslung the binoculars. “Have a look. Take your glasses off. Use the dial to focus.”

He put his glasses in a shirt pocket, raised the binoculars, adjusted the dial, then raised them again.

“That's definitely the place,” he said. “It wasn't finished the last time I saw it, but that's it. All the money Joey put into it, you'd think someone would have taken better care of it.”

“They're doing work there. And that boat's new. Someone's spending money.”

“The garage door's going up.”

“Let me see.”

She took the binoculars back, refocused. A white Cadillac Escalade with smoked windows and a stainless-steel pushbar came out of the garage, started down the driveway. The door closed slowly behind it.

“New car, too,” she said.

“Can you see the driver?”

“No.” The Escalade wound its way down through the trees, disappeared from sight. She tracked back over the house, looking for signs of movement in the windows. Nothing. She lowered the glasses.

“What do you think?” he said.

“I need to get online, take a look at the tax records. See whose name that place is in. Could be the woman sold it years ago, and we're looking at some tax attorney's house.”

“Odd, isn't it? New boat, new car, putting in a pool, but the house needs a coat of paint? Basic repairs?”

“It is,” she said.

“You know what that tells me?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Somebody just came into some money.”

*   *   *

They stopped to eat on the way back, a diner off Route 80. They were at a booth by the window, the tables around them empty.

After the waitress took their order, he said, “This part of Jersey always makes me nervous. All these mountains. I don't like it.”

She watched a tractor-trailer roll past on the highway.

“Way I see it,” she said, “here are the problems. First, your information is out of date. We need to find out who's living there, how many people, all that. We have to watch the house, see who goes in and out, and when. That could take a few days.”

“All right.”

“Second, we need to be able to get in close without being seen. That's going to be tough, because there's only one way in and out of there. Third, we have to get into the house when no one's there, for as long as we need. Fourth, we don't have any idea how long we need. If there is money there, it might be buried somewhere, for all we know, or stuffed down an old well. We could spend days looking for it, never find it.”

“It's in a safe, I'd think,” he said. “In the house.”

“Why?”

“That was one of the issues with the builders. Joey wanted an extra room off the basement, with a reinforced concrete floor. He didn't say why, and it didn't mean anything to me at the time. Now it makes sense. My guess is, after the builders were done, he had someone come in, install a safe.”

“Why am I just hearing this now?”

He shrugged. “Didn't occur to me.”

“Anything else you're holding back? If so, now's the time. Any more surprises down the road, and we're going to have an issue.”

“No more surprises. You know everything that I do.”

“If there's a safe, we'll need a boxman.”

“You know any?”

She thought of Rorey, lying dead on a concrete floor in South Carolina. “Not anymore.”

“You know the best way to get into a safe?”

“What's that?” she said.

“You put a gun to the owner's head and say, ‘Open the fucking safe.'”

“That the way you used to do it?”

“Me? Nah. I was never that kind of thief. I never had the balls. You, on the other hand…”

The waitress came back, refilled their coffee. When she was gone, Crissa said, “We'll need a base around here. Someplace we can stay without being noticed, for as long as it takes. Not too close, but not far away, either. We may need to split up, so we'll have to get you a car, too. I'll put it on my card, we'll take it out of expenses if we ever see any money. You're no use to me if you're not mobile.”

“What about Marta?”

“She can stay down at the house. Safest place for her right now.”

“I don't like leaving her alone.”

“It's no good having her up here with us. Just another complication. We've got enough as it is. She'll be okay. Just make sure she stays put.”

“So we're really gonna move on this.”

“You want out, say it.”

“Maybe Marta's right. That the smart thing to do is get away from here, from all this.”

“You can still do that.”

“You'd go through with it anyway, though, wouldn't you? If I left? You don't really need me anymore.”

“I'm not sure what I'd do. If you're thinking about backing out, and you want a finder's fee—on the chance I take anything out of there—then maybe we can work that out. But I can't do this alone. If you're out, I need to bring in someone else, maybe two people. That means the split is less. But there's no sense talking about money until we know for sure there's some there.”

“I did kind of put this whole thing in motion, though, didn't I?”

“You did. And you'd get something for that. But putting something in motion isn't the same as pulling it off. You don't need me to tell you that.”

“No, I guess I don't. It's kind of ironic, isn't it?”

“What?”

“It's like full circle. All those years ago, how this whole thing got started. Someone came to me with a plan, something that was ripe. All that money there, waiting to be grabbed. And I came to you the same way.”

“There's one difference,” she said.

“What's that?”

“I probably won't kill you afterward.”

“That's comforting.”

The waitress brought their food, and they ate in silence. Crissa was running it all through in her head, the approaches to the house, how to get up there, what she'd need.

“You have kids?” he said.

She looked at him. “What's that got to do with anything?”

“Just curious. I've got two, a boy and a girl.”

“You told me.”

He pushed his plate aside, hamburger half eaten, and looked out the window. He wanted to talk now, so she'd let him. She needed him to think of her as a partner, that they were bound together. Not off on his own, having second thoughts about it all. If talking helped, she'd do it.

“I have a daughter,” she said. “She turned ten last month.”

“She live with you?”

She shook her head.

“With her father?”

“No. She's with family. A cousin.”

“You miss her?”

“All the time.” She finished her steak. The waitress refilled their cups, took the plates away.

“Kids,” he said. “You owe them, you know? For bringing them into the world. You have a responsibility to them, to make sure they're safe, that they've got a fair shot. I don't think I did a very good job with that part.”

She wondered where this was going, how much to give him in return.

“You do what you have to,” she said. “You make the decisions you think are right, based on the information you have at the time. There's no percentage in looking back.”

“Yeah, but I guess I look at things differently now. With Marta especially. Like maybe for the first time in my life, I'm thinking about someone other than myself, what I need, what I want.”

“Good for you.”

“Yeah, took long enough, didn't it? It was like a wake-up call one day. I saw who I was, what I'd done, what I'd lost. Knew I had to make some changes. I did the twelve steps, the whole deal.”

“How'd that work out for you?”

“Got me on the right path. Got me started. Didn't stick with it, though. Couldn't handle those meetings, bad coffee and stale donuts, listening to those people go on and on. It worked for a while, but I needed to get away from it. Couple stumbles along the way, but I've been sober pretty much ever since. Six years now.”

“Congratulations.”

“Marta's helped. She had my number from the start. Don't know what I'd do without her, where I'd be. Thing is, being honest with other people, treating them right, none of that comes naturally. Looking out for yourself comes easy. Everything else, you have to work at.”

“I guess that's true.”

It was almost dark. They drank coffee, watched the traffic on the interstate. She was restless. Things to do tomorrow, to get ready. No more time to waste.

“What now?” he said.

“Back to Avon. I have a couple errands to run tomorrow, places to go. I want to be back up here the day after, find a motel, get organized.”

“I know I'm the one started all this. But being up here now, seeing the house and all … I'm getting a bad feeling about it.”

“It happens,” she said. “Sometimes it's real. A warning. Something your subconscious is picking up that you aren't. Other times it's just fear, static.”

“How do you know the difference?”

“That's the thing,” she said. “You don't.”

*   *   *

The hardware store was in Newark, on Broad Street, three blocks down from the gold-leafed dome of City Hall. She went up a narrow flight of stairs, and through a glass door with a cardboard
OPEN
sign.

There was a middle-aged black man behind the counter, his hair solid gray. He wore bifocals on a cord, was reading a newspaper laid out in front of him. There was no one else in the store.

He looked up as she came in. “Help you?”

“Maybe. Are you Otis?”

He slipped his glasses off, let them hang.

“My friend Anthony called,” she said. “Told you I'd be coming by.”

He looked past her at the door. “Is that right?”

“He said to tell you his father says you were the best center Weequahic High ever had.”

He frowned. “Jimmy Junior said that?”

“That was the message.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“I've never met him. He's in Marion now. I know his father, Jimmy Peaches. Anthony's grandfather.”

“You're not what I expected.”

“Sorry. Can you help me out or not?”

“Why don't you flip that sign, lock that door?”

She turned the sign to
CLOSED
, worked the two deadbolts.

“So you know Anthony,” he said. “And you know who Jimmy Junior is. But how do I know who you are?”

“You don't.” She took a cash-stuffed envelope from her coat pocket, set it on the counter. “Those are my credentials.”

“You come on strong, don't you?”

“No more than I have to.”

“Come on back here. We'll see what we can do.”

He opened the counter flap for her, gestured at the doorway that led into a back room.

“You first,” she said.

“All right.” He limped ahead of her. She took the envelope from the counter, followed him.

The room beyond smelled of sawdust and solder. Metal shelves rose toward the ceiling. Propped in one corner was a mannequin wearing a full-length bulletproof vest.

“Weequahic,” he said. “That was a long time ago.”

She looked around the room. There was a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun on pegs just above the door. She wondered if anyone had ever tried to rob him, what had happened when they did.

“Our friend didn't give me much of an idea what you need,” he said.

She pointed at the vest. “How much you asking for that?”