“For what?”
“For being late.”
Bert shrugged. “Jabba.” As in Jabba the Hutt, his pet name, at least away from home, for his wife, Janine.
Gordie didn’t have to ask for details. Janine had a face that would make a Pamplona bull turn around and go back, and a disposition to match. Gordie figured it was a testament to Bert’s character that he hadn’t killed her. God knows he had the wherewithal, and plenty of experience at getting rid of bodies. He could take her up to the farm, feed the pigs for a couple of days. Unlike Bert, Gordie had never married. He’d always figured paying someone once a week was a simpler way to take care of one’s needs. The irony was, Bert did the same.
“There’s Vince,” Bert said, pointing to the Dodge Ram pickup turning into the lot. He parked the truck, got out and walked over to the two men.
“Where’s the Cock?” Vince asked. It was Eldon’s bad luck to have a last name that, while spelled differently, looked as though it would be pronounced similarly to the male member.
“Don’t know,” Bert said.
Vince Fleming angled his head to one side. “And why don’t you know?”
Slowly, he said, “Because I haven’t called him.”
“Why don’t you do that, then?”
Bert got out his phone as Vince said to Gordie, “This the room?”
“Yeah. I did a Dunkin’ run. There’s some coffee and shit in there.”
Vince grumbled something unintelligible as he went into the unit. Gordie sidled up to Bert, who was waiting for Eldon to pick up, and said, “I was sure you were going to ask the boss why he was late.”
“Fuck off.” Bert shook his head in frustration. “Eldon’s not answering. It’s going to voice — Hey, asshole, Bert here. You should already be here. If you’re not here in the next two minutes, you better call with a good reason why.” He ended the call, put the phone back into his pocket.
“I’m goin’ ’round back,” he said. It was their standard operating procedure. Watch the meeting place from all sides.
Gordie went into the motel room. It had all the charm one could expect for twenty bucks an hour. Vince was putting cream into one of the takeout coffees, helping himself to a strawberry-filled donut. Biting into it, he said, “They say these things’ll kill ya.”
Gordie didn’t know whether he was supposed to laugh at that, so he played it safe and said nothing.
“What’s up with Eldon?”
“Bert left a message.”
Vince went to the window, used two sugar-dusted fingers to pry apart the chipped and grimy blinds. “I need someone out there before these assholes arrive.”
“You want me to cover the front, have Bert come inside?”
Vince took another bite. “No, let’s wait. Hang on — someone’s coming.”
A pair of headlights swept the lot as a car turned in off the street. It was an old, rusted VW Golf that sounded like a lawn mower, with Eldon behind the wheel. Bald as a cue ball, but a head more basketball-sized. Vince had been expecting to see Eldon in his massive old Buick.
“I’m going out,” Vince said to Gordie, who was prying another coffee out of the cardboard takeout tray. Eldon was backing the Golf into a spot across from the unit so he’d have a good view of anything that went down. But what was going down now was Vince, and he looked pissed. He was walking toward him slowly but deliberately. Vince hadn’t been able to run for some time, not since he’d been shot seven years earlier. The bullet damaged the muscles in his gut, among other things, and made it difficult for him to move quickly.
Eldon put down his window. Vince leaned in, his face in Eldon’s.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I got held up. Nothing’s happened, has it?”
“They’re not here yet.”
“No harm, then,” he said, forcing a smile and shrugging. “I’m here. We’re good.”
Vince pulled his head out of the car and walked back to the motel room. Gordie was exiting the bathroom as Vince came in, doing up his belt, checking his zipper.
“Fucking gang who couldn’t shoot straight,” Vince said. The cell in his hand buzzed.
“He here?” Bert asked.
“He’s here,” Vince said, and ended the call. He sat wearily on the edge of the bed.
Gordie said, “Did I hear right? Eldon’s here?”
“Yeah. So we’re good to go.” Gordie noticed Vince was breathing heavily. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
The cell phone in Vince’s left hand buzzed yet again. “Yeah?”
“Our boys are here,” Eldon said. “Just pulling up in a Lexus SUV.”
“How many?”
“Unless they got someone hiding in the back, just the two, like you said. But... hang on. There’s another car, a Beemer, holding back, down the street. Can’t see who’s in it.”
“The Beemer’s just sitting there?”
“Yeah.”
“Cops?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “No, wait. It’s driving off.”
“You sure?” Vince asked.
“Yeah, it’s gone. Okay, and the driver’s getting out of the Lexus — now the other guy. The other guy has the bag. A black backpack. I’m getting out, will tell ’em which room.”
Vince Fleming killed the connection, said to Gordie, “They’re here.”
He nodded. His duties were limited, at least on this occasion, to standing, watching, and guarding. A gun that he’d tucked into his belt he now took out and held. If things got out of hand, he wanted to be ready. Gordie had hurt a lot of people in his time working for Vince, but then again, so had Vince. But the boss didn’t quite have the energy for it he once did.
Five quick raps on the door. Knuckles on metal.
Vince rose from the edge of the bed and opened the door. The men resembled each other. White, stocky, neither of them over five-six, both with black greasy hair, although one kept his shorter than the other. Couple of fireplugs. Looked like, if you wanted to push one of them over, you’d have to lean and put your back into it.
“Hey,” Vince said, and closed the door once they were inside. “Which one of you is Logan?”
“I’m Logan,” said the one with the shorter hair, who also looked about five years older. He tipped his head toward the one who was holding the backpack. “This is Joseph.”
“You two related?” Vince asked.
“He’s my brother,” said Logan.
Joseph went over, uninvited, and examined the pastries in the Dunkin’ Donuts box. He selected a jam-filled one, bit into it, then frowned.
“Shit, cherry.” He tossed the donut with the bite out of it back into the box and selected a chocolate. Bit into it, smiled. “This is better.”
“The hell?” Gordie said.
Vince glared but said nothing.
After two bites, enough of the donut was gone that he was able to shove the rest into his mouth. Vince eyed the backpack he was holding and said, “So whaddya got for us?”
Joseph’s mouth was too full to talk. His brother Logan said, “Couple things I need to get straight first. How do we know we can trust you?”
Vince looked at him with dead eyes. “You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t checked me out.”
Logan shrugged. “Yeah, okay, we did that.”
“You want to do business, I’m ready. You not sure? Take your pig of a brother here and get the fuck out.”
“Excuse me?” Joseph said, licking his fingers.
Vince kept his eyes on Logan. “Yes or no?”
Logan tried to meet the stare, but after five seconds looked away. “Yeah, I want to do business.”
“You gonna let him talk to me that way?” Joseph asked his brother.
“Shut up,” Logan said. “Give me the backpack.”
Joseph handed it over.
“I got a lot in here for you to look after,” Logan said.