“Carrie, it’s me. Please don’t hang up.”
“Oh.”
“I need help.”
“I’ve been telling you that for months.” Her tone changed. “So, Nick, where do we go from here?”
“Listen, I really need your help.” I tried to stop myself coughing.
“Are you okay, Nick? You sound…have you got somebody with you?”
“Yes, I have.” I hesitated, then realized I had no choice. “Look, I’m still working for George.” I moved the phone away from my mouth, and this time coughed up some more blood.
“Nick?”
“I’m all right. I need you to call your dad for me. Tell him I’m coming in with today’s collection, and the collection is ready now. Tell him we both need medical attention, and quickly. Can you do that? Can you contact him?”
“Sure, his pager. But—”
“Please, just make the call.”
“Of course.”
“Please do it now — it’s important.”
“Nick?”
“I’ve got to go — just do it now, please.” I hit the off button, but kept the power on in case the phone had an access code.
Goatee coughed and cleared his mouth before speaking. “Your wife?” He lay there waiting for a reply.
“You’re dying. People are going to pick us up soon and try to save you, but that’s only because they want you alive. They want to know what you know. After that, I don’t know what happens, but it’s not going to be good.”
There was a pause. He didn’t say anything, but I could hear his head moving up and down on the canvas and the smell of his breath came and went in waves.
“Me, I’m going home. That’s the end of it, apart from the fact that somebody screwed both of us. Those two you lifted in the shop, they were the real collectors.” I could hear his head move again. “We were there to follow them, to get to you — and then do exactly what I’m doing with you now. So my job is done, but my two friends are dead. And so are yours, and chances are you’ll never talk with your wife again. Tell me who you saw in Juan-les-Pins Wednesday night, and what they said.” I let it sink in a little before continuing. “Look, you’re fucked, but I can do something for both of us.”
A vehicle passed by, up on the road, so I let my words sink in a little more. “You’ve got nothing to lose, you’ve lost it already.”
He gave what sounded like a sob, then made an effort to pull himself together. He turned his head toward me, and the rancid smell returned. “He said he knew that the collection was taking place today…. He said the collectors were not the real guys. They were coming to steal the money, but they were coming with the correct code. He also told me that there would be other guys out there following them as protection.”
“What did this man look like? Was he white? Black?”
“Arab.”
“With long, graying hair?”
“No, no. Greased back.” He coughed, and I heard liquid in his throat. “I had to do what I did. Surely you understand that? Just tell me your price and let me go. I’ll pay you money, more than you can imagine. No one will know what happened. You can say I escaped. How much do you want?”
My mind was on other things. I’d heard all that crap a million times before, over the years. I thought about the first time I’d been to Greaseball’s flat. He hadn’t been expecting me, and that was why he’d tried to hide the tennis bags. I’d thought he was trying to stop me seeing the syringes when he kicked them under the bed, but that wasn’t it at alclass="underline" he was going to collect the money in them. There were even a couple of rackets out on the landing. Their plan couldn’t have been simpler: they were even prepared to sacrifice this collection so they could hang on to the other two, Monaco and Cannes.
I opened up the cell phone once more, mentally reciting the pager number. The first four numbers toned out from the phone, then I stopped. What if they were still in the harbor, or anywhere near real people? I couldn’t do that. I had to stop the money movement, but it was my anger dialing, not the job. I could get something organized from the warship. After all, they had enough technology on board to find anything, anywhere.
I kept the phone in my bloodstained hand as Goatee stirred again. “Please tell my wife…please call her.”
I thought about lying to him to make him feel better. Then I thought about Hubba-Hubba’s charred hand reaching through the wrought-iron gate. I turned to face him again in the darkness. “Fuck you.”
He didn’t reply, just coughed up even more blood than I had and started to breathe very quickly and shallowly. I forced myself up on my ass to relieve some of the chest pain, and felt myself breathing out of rhythm. I cupped my hands over my nose and mouth.
Another vehicle roared up the hill and I checked traser. It was eight-twenty-seven.
I slid my way down again, and lay next to Goatee.
All I could do was wait now, try to control my breathing, and hope that we were going to get picked up before both of us were dead.
Chapter 56
Another vehicle swept down the hill, but this time slowed as it neared the entrance to the track.
Whoever it was came to a complete halt, with his engine turning over. I heard the high-pitched whine of the vehicle backing up; then a mixture of red and white light swept across the bank of garbage bags beside us. There was just a second’s silence before the doors swung open. There was something about their echo that made me think van, not car. It must be them. Then the crunch of footsteps headed my way as red light now fought its way past the collapsed chain barrier.
I didn’t move a muscle. Maybe it was just somebody about to do some late-night garbage dumping. If it was Thackery, he’d know where to find us: I didn’t want to spook him, in case he and his pal were armed. I wanted to get into the back of that van in one piece.
Goatee stirred, and I leaned over and cupped my hand over his mouth. I realized that I still had the phone in my other, and slipped it into the pocket of my jeans.
Two silhouettes appeared in front of the gentle red glow, weapons already drawn down, and picked their way through the garbage. The one on the right saw us first. “Shit! We’ve got two!”
The other one closed in and gave Goatee a kick. I didn’t know whether he was looking for a reaction, or if it was just for the hell of it.
The hawallada responded with a dull moan and curled up even more. I didn’t want any of that: I didn’t know if my rib cage could take it. I looked up and kept my voice very low. “He’s the one you’re here for. He’s got a gunshot wound to the abdomen.”
The shadow leaned toward me.
“I’m the one who delivered him. The man—”
The punch flattened my nose against my face. My eyes watered, and white stars flashed inside my head. I lay there, just trying to get my breath back, as a hand ran over my body, checking for weapons. The phone was found and confiscated.
The other did the same to Goatee, then they both picked him up and carried him by his arms and legs to the van, beyond the bushes. I hoped they were going to come back for me, but just in case, I struggled up onto my hands and knees and started to follow.
My route was paved with rusty cans and broken glass.
I got to the track as the two shadows reappeared. I held up my hands, taking the pain in my chest. “I’m one of you,” I gasped. “I need to get to the ship.”
They closed in and I got a very thick New York growl in my left ear. “Shut the fuck up.” Hands gripped me and half-lifted, half-dragged me into the back of the van. The pain was unbearable but I wasn’t complaining. One of the shadows got in with us and the door closed. In the gentle red glow from the rear lights, I could see him ripping apart the Velcro fastenings on a trauma pack. As we started to move, he turned on the interior light and I saw Thackery’s face at last.