But back to the business at hand. Vinnie knew he had to think clearly. He couldn’t afford to do something stupid, like toss the body on the side of the road. No, there’d be fibers from inside their home on the corpse, maybe some blood leaking through the tarp into his trunk. So he had to make the body disappear for good, put it somewhere it would never be found.
He considered burning it. Just find a dead-end county road, drench it with gas, and let the evidence drift away in the wind. Sounded okay at first, but there would probably be bones left. Vinnie wasn’t sure, but the Feds could probably get a DNA sample from one little shard. And the teeth, too, could give it away.
He could bury the corpse. Find a large, isolated ranch, cut the lock on the gate, and plant it out in the middle of nowhere. But that had flaws, too. Animals might dig it up. Plus, it was hunting season, and you never knew who might come along. You were always hearing in the news about hunters finding corpses out in the fucking boonies. Anyway, the ground around here was full of big rocks. Vinnie remembered T.J. griping one day about having to dig some fence posts.
T.J.
Vinnie mulled it over, and something came to him now: a good, workable plan. A way to dispose of the old fucker for good-and T.J. could help, without even knowing it. That was the beauty of it. Vinnie thought it through for a few minutes, trying to find the flaws in his scheme, the little screwups that would come back later to bite him in the ass.
But there weren’t any. The more he thought about, the more perfect it seemed.
He aimed his Camaro back toward Johnson City, ready to find a pay phone. This was one call he wasn’t going to make on his cell.
Vinnie had been glad that T.J. was already stoned when he got him on the phone. Vinnie had planned on getting T.J. high before he sprung the idea on him, but he had been able to skip that step.
Now, cruising in the Camaro, Vinnie whipped out a joint and passed it to T.J. wanting to keep him good and loaded so he wouldn’t back out. T.J. had been kind of lukewarm to it at first, then seemed to get excited as they talked.
They had already completed step one of “Operation Porsche,” as Vinnie had called it; they had driven T.J.’s sports car over to Pedernales Reservoir, near the boat ramp, and parked it.
Now Vinnie was driving T.J. to the marina where the Gibbs family kept their boat.
“Man, this is crazy!” T.J. said, but he was smiling, getting off on this wild scheme. “What if something goes wrong?”
“Trust me,” Vinnie replied, trying to sound confident. “I’ve done this a coupla times. Works like a fuckin’ charm. All you gotta do is call it in stolen, then get ready to pick out your new wheels.” He passed T.J. a lighter. “Smoke up, dude.”
T.J.’s face was briefly illuminated as he took a long hit.
“You don’t want to keep driving that dog, do ya?” Vinnie asked. “Thing’s a piece of crap, like ya said.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Won’t run for shit.”
“Then relax and leave it to ol’ Vinnie.”
Five minutes later, Vinnie punched in the security code at the gate and pulled into the marina. He drove down by the dock and let T.J. out. “Now, remember, we gotta use the strongest ski-rope ya got,” Vinnie said.
T.J. giggled, thoroughly stoned by now. “No prob. I’ll meet you in ten.” He reached in through the window. “Pass me that joint, man. I wanna get the full effect when that turd goes bye-bye.”
“That Sue Ellen is one fine piece of tail,” Billy Don stated, wallowing on Red’s sofa, his feet propped on the cable-spool coffee table. He and Red were watching a rerun of Dallas on cable. “If I had as much money as J.R., I’d be launching my love rocket with women like that all the time.”
Red wasn’t paying much attention. His mind was on the deerskin coat he was wearing, a fine piece of craftsmanship he had finished making for himself a few weeks earlier.
Damn thing was making him itchy.
He had read an article about tanning hides. Now Red was wondering whether he had made a mistake by skipping the step that had to do with exterminating parasites. Seemed like a lot of trouble to soak the hide in alum, whatever the hell that was. He slipped the coat off and tossed it over the back of a chair.
Billy Don said, “Which would you rather bang, Red-Sue Ellen or Miss Ellie?”
Now, that caught Red’s attention. “You moron, Miss Ellie is the old one, J.R.’s mama. You must mean one of the younger ones, one of the babes.”
“Hell if I do,” Billy Don said, his eyes locked on the screen.
Red shivered at the thought of Billy Don groping the matriarch of the Ewing clan. He rose to grab a fresh beer from the fridge.
He popped the top and walked over to the TV set, an old wood-laden console he had picked up for fifty bucks at the pawn shop. “Billy Don, you ever think it should be me and you riding around in Cadillacs, drinking champagne, and all that high-society shit?”
Billy Don nodded eagerly, as Ellie Ewing brushed her gray hair while seated in front of a vanity. “Hell yes.”
Red took a long drink, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I’ve been thinking about something. Sure, we’ve had a few minor setbacks working for Mr. Slaton. But overall, I’d say we’re doing pretty damn good. Wouldn’t you?”
Billy Don didn’t respond. Jock Ewing had come up behind his wife and was caressing her neck.
“I mean, hell, who’s clearing more land than me and you?” Red continued. “We’re working harder and longer than anybody else out there. I like Mr. Slaton and all-he’s giving us a fair shake and everything-but I’d say we deserve a raise. I think we oughta stop by tomorrow and discuss it with him.”
Red glanced down at the set, and now ol’ Jock was nibbling Ellie’s ear. Really putting the moves on her. Red looked over at Billy Don, who was off in his own little world now, rubbing a pillow against his crotch in a very unappealing manner.
“Aw, man.” Red shook his head. “Guess I’ll leave you three alone.”
By the time Vinnie got back to Pedernales Reservoir, he could already see T.J. idling out on the water.
Vinnie parked next to the Porsche, a good hundred yards from shore, and quickly transferred the tarp-wrapped corpse to the Porsche’s passenger seat. It was good and dark now, and there wasn’t anyone around anyway. Then Vinnie used a boxcutter to slice through the tarp and remove it from around Slaton’s body. The corpse would decompose more quickly that way.
When he was done, Vinnie hopped into the Porsche, fired the engine, and followed the dirt road down to the boat ramp. The park featured a gentle, grassy slope down to the reservoir, making it easy to navigate even the low-slung Porsche over the terrain.
Here at the park, just a quarter of a mile from the dam, Vinnie knew the water would be plenty deep, especially out in the middle.
Vinnie stopped ten yards shy of the water and T.J. idled the boat close to shore.
“You ready?” Vinnie hissed, standing at the water’s edge.
He could hear T.J. giggling in reply. Then he saw the end of the joint glow red as T.J. took another hit.
“Throw the rope!”
T.J. tossed the coiled line and Vinnie snagged it in midair.
Vinnie lay down and shimmied underneath the front end of the car. He found a good, solid piece of the framework-maybe the axle, he couldn’t see very well-and looped the rope through it. He couldn’t tie the rope to the car, because he had to be able to pull it loose later. He’d need both ends in the boat.
He got onto his feet and tossed the end of the rope back to T.J. Vinnie whispered, “Remember, not too fast! Just good and firm. You don’t want to break the rope. Take me all the way out to the middle if you can.”