Hoffer’s tongue licked his lips as he stared at the gun. “I dunno,” he said.
“’Cause I need to bury this also, you putz.”
“That’s all?” Hoffer asked, his eyes jerking nervously from the gun to Joel’s face.
“Yeah, what the hell else do you think I’m going to do with it?”
“You gave me your word before.”
“I know I did. What’s your point?”
Hoffer shook his head as he thought about it. “Never mind,” he said.
They walked another ten minutes before Joel decided that they had gone far enough. “We’ll bury the bags near that boulder,” he said.
There was an empty clearing about twenty feet from the boulder Joel had pointed out. The two of them went to work. When the hole got to three feet deep, Hoffer, sweating like a pig, dropped his shovel.
“That should be deep enough,” he said.
“I don’t think so. If we get a heavy rain it will seep into these bags. We need to make this deeper.”
“You make it deeper then, I’m done.”
Hoffer started to climb out of the hole. He had one leg out when Joel grabbed him from behind and swung him down so he landed hard on his side. The fall knocked the wind out of him. When he opened his eyes he saw that Joel was pointing the forty-five at him. Backing up, Joel scrambled out of the hole.
“You gave me your word,” Hoffer said, his voice trembling.
“And I’m going to keep it,” Joel said. “But I told you we need that hole deeper.”
Hoffer slowly got to his feet.
“You better start digging.”
Hoffer picked up the shovel and started digging. As he dug, his knees buckled on him. At one point he fell to one knee.
“Just keep digging.”
“Joel, forget the split. All I need is twenty percent.”
“I said keep digging.”
“I said I’ll take twenty percent.”
“And I said keep digging.”
Looking up, Hoffer burst into tears. “You gave me your word!” he cried.
“And I plan to keep my word. You should know me well enough to know that.”
“You’re going to kill me!”
“I told you, I’m going to keep my word.”
Bleary-eyed and sobbing, Hoffer forced himself back to his feet. His arms shook as he lifted and dumped out each shovel full of dirt. When the hole got past four feet deep, Joel told him that was enough.
“Put down the shovel,” Joel said as he aimed the gun at Hoffer’s chest.
“You gave me your word!” Hoffer screamed.
“And if you were still alive when we split the money, you’d get half,” Joel told him in a flat tone. He shot Hoffer in the chest, the impact knocking Hoffer off his feet and on to his back.
Hoffer, dazed, touched his chest and then watched the blood drip from his fingers. He looked up at Joel. “We’ve known each other for fifteen years,” he implored.
“I knew Gordon longer than that,” Joel said as he fired three more shots into Hoffer’s body. At first Hoffer lay still, then he started moving feebly as he tried to push himself into a sitting position. Cursing that he didn’t bring another magazine with him, Joel tossed the empty gun into the hole. He grabbed a shovel and started to fill the hole up. Even after he had Hoffer’s body covered with a foot of dirt, the guy was still trying to push himself up. It was almost as if a wave was rolling through the loose dirt. Hoffer’s body didn’t seem to come to rest until the hole was completely filled and the ground packed hard.
Joel stood and watched for a long ten count, waiting to see if anything would upset the stillness. His plan was to later plant raspberry bushes over Hoffer’s grave. After wiping his brow, he grabbed the two duffel bags and headed back to his house.
Alex Resnick tracked Petrenko to a small Russian restaurant on Essex Street. Petrenko was sitting at a table with three other men, in front of him a bottle of Cristall vodka in an ice bucket and a platter of caviar. All four men were drinking. Petrenko looked amused as Resnick approached his table.
“Detective, I would offer for you to join us, but our table is too crowded as it is.”
“I didn’t come here to drink with you.”
“No? A pity. This vodka is quite nice. Of course, it is also chilled to the right temperature, something you Americans always fail to do. Add a few of these lingonberries and you have something close to extraordinary.”
The three other men at the table were all smiling, amused. Resnick said, “Yeah, well, I prefer bourbon anyway.”
Petrenko made a comment in Russian, eliciting some laughs from his companions. Turning back to Resnick, he smiled thinly. “You should learn to broaden your horizons. Here, at least try some of this. Beluga Malossol, the finest caviar you will ever find.”
Petrenko had spooned a small amount of caviar on to a cracker and held it out to Resnick. The detective looked down at it and shook his head.
“Fish eggs – I don’t think so. I need to talk to you privately. Maybe your friends can leave.”
Petrenko shook his head sadly at the detective as he placed the cracker into his own mouth and chewed it slowly. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” he said. “And I doubt on your salary you will have many more opportunities to sample something as exquisite as Beluga. That is your problem, though. What do you wish to talk to me about?”
“Police business.”
“I gathered as much. My friends will stay. So what happened, Detective, did another old man fall and bump his head?”
“There was a bank robbery. One woman was killed, another critically wounded.”
“And what time did this bank robbery occur?”
“Around two.”
Petrenko made another comment in Russian, drawing more laughs from the others sitting at the table. Matter-of-factly, he told Resnick, “You’re wasting your time. I’ve been here with my friends since noon. Maybe, though, I should talk to my lawyer about this harassment.”
“You misunderstand me. I’m not here to accuse you of anything.”
“Then what?”
“Your safety deposit boxes at the Lynn Capital Bank were robbed. I need to get a statement from you.”
The amusement in Petrenko’s eyes dried up, leaving behind something hard and cold. “These games you’re playing, Detective-”
“Sorry, I’m not playing any games.” Resnick took a notebook from his inside jacket pocket and read Petrenko the numbers of the safety deposit boxes that were robbed. “I also took digital photos if you’d care to see them.”
Petrenko moved his head in a slight nod. The color had bled out of his face, leaving behind a dead whiteness. He accepted the camera from Resnick and scrolled through the pictures, studying each one in the camera’s LCD display. When he handed the camera back to Resnick, Petrenko’s facial features had been transformed into something not quite human, almost reptilian.
“Funny thing was, your boxes were the only ones broken into.”
“No other safety deposit boxes were robbed?”
“Nope, it looks like you were targeted. Any idea who might have been out to get you?”
Petrenko sat still, no perceptible movement, his eyes dead as he stared straight ahead. Resnick watched for a moment, having to bite down on his tongue to keep from smirking.
“I need to know what you had in those boxes,” he asked, in as businesslike tone as as he could manage.
Petrenko looked at Resnick, confused, as if he couldn’t understand why this man was still standing there. When Resnick’s words finally registered, he shook his head angrily. “That is personal, Detective. Now if you will excuse me-”
“Sorry, a felony crime has been committed. You do have to answer me, or if not me, I’m sure I can arrange for you to testify in front of a grand jury. In the meantime, I’d be more than happy to arrest you for obstructing a criminal investigation.”
Petrenko sat expressionless, his dead eyes holding steady on Resnick’s. After several minutes passed, he looked away and poured himself a glass of vodka. “I had nothing in those safety deposit boxes,” he said.