There was another knock on the door. Joel remembered Dan and his friend standing out there. Holding the gun waist-high, he swung the door open.
“Are you two fucking morons?” Joel asked, his mouth frozen in a hard sneer. “I told you what would happen if I saw either of you again.”
Dan took a step back on seeing the gun. His friend inched forward, his muscles tensing.
“Take a step back now, Gunga, or you’re dead.”
Shrini’s eyes moved from the gun to Joel’s face. Reluctantly, he followed Joel’s order.
“This isn’t going to work,” Dan said. “You’re going to have to give us our cut.”
“As far as I’m concerned, it’s working just fine. The frame for that Mafioso worked as planned and I’m sitting with all the money. I don’t see any reason why I should give you shit.”
“Joel, you know this isn’t fair-”
“Fuck you. I warned you what would happen if your nutso pal screwed things up for us.” Joel grimaced as he absent-mindedly rubbed his jaw. “Because of Gordon I have to live with that dead girl on my conscience the rest of my life.”
“We all have to.”
“But I shouldn’t.” Joel shook his head, trying to force out the thought that Eric, and by extension himself, had contributed to what happened. “Sorry, Dan,” he said. “You’re not getting a dime.”
“Joel, we saw how much money we took from those boxes. There’s enough for all of us.”
“Forget it. You’re the one who promised Gordon would behave himself. This is your fault, not mine.”
“Okay, let’s say it’s my fault. At least give Shrini his cut.”
“I’m not doing that.” Joel shifted his gaze to Shrini. “Take my advice, Gunga, just be grateful you’re still alive.”
Shrini had been fuming. This was too much for him. “Can you believe this peacock?” he exclaimed. “We plan the robbery, invite him along and he’s going to strut about believing he and his pig friend deserve all the money!”
“Peacock, huh?” Joel’s mouth dropped into a humorless grin. “Eh, I’ve been called worse. And guess what? It doesn’t matter whether I think I deserve all the money. What matters is I got all the money.”
“What do you mean you’ve got all the money?” Dan asked. He took another small step backwards. “What about your buddy?”
“Eric’s not around any more.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Joel didn’t bother to answer him.
“Dammit, Joel! You’re trying to send the police after all of us?”
“Don’t get hysterical. Nobody’s going to miss him.”
As the three of them stood staring at each other, the anger brewing inside of Shrini boiled over.
“You’re a coward,” Shrini said to Joel. “A peacock with a big yellow tail. Believe me, if you weren’t holding a gun I’d kick you and your tail feathers all over the place.”
“I’m getting sick of this,” Joel said, his grin completely gone, his eyes turning glassy. He faced Dan. “Give me one good reason why I don’t get rid of both of you right now?”
“Carol knows I’m seeing you,” Dan started to say. His voice cracked. He had to swallow before he could continue. “If I don’t come home later, she’ll send the police here.”
“So? What do you think they’d find? I know plenty of places in New Hampshire where I can bury two bodies.” He aimed the gun towards Shrini’s chest, then remembered Eric. The cops would probably bring corpse-sniffing dogs to search his property. Those dogs would find him. Even without the dogs, the cops would be able to spot his grave easily enough. If he were to kill these two, he’d have to dig up Eric and move his corpse as well. He’d also have to explain to the cops why it looked like he had a freshly dug grave on his property. The thought of doing all that tired him out. Lowering his gun, he told the two of them to beat it. “If I see either of you again, you’re dead,” he said.
“I’m not leaving without my money,” Shrini insisted.
Giving him one last weary look, Joel shot Shrini in the foot.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Shrini howled, hopping up and down. Dismayed, he turned to Dan. “This peacock shot me,” he said, still not quite believing it himself.
“Next one will be through the heart,” Joel warned. “Get out of here, both of you.”
“Joel, what the fuck’s wrong with you?” Dan demanded. He waved a hand towards Shrini’s wounded foot. “How are we going to explain this?”
“You’re a smart guy. You’ll think of something.”
“You goddamned asshole-”
Joel stopped him with a look. “I meant what I said before. We’re through, Dan. I like Carol, but if I see you again she’s a widow. Now you’ve got ten seconds to get the hell out of here! Ten… nine… eight…”
“Joel, think about what you’re doing!”
“Seven… six…”
“For Chrissakes, we’ve known each other twenty years!”
“Four… Three…”
Dan could tell from the way Joel’s eyes had glazed over that none of that mattered. There was nothing he could say. No way to get through to him.
Putting his arm around Shrini’s shoulder, Dan helped him down the driveway. He knew if he as much as looked back, Joel would shoot him.
Petrenko sat in the back room of a small Italian restaurant on Prince Street. Yuri stood to his right. Across from him sat “Uncle Pete” Stellini. Stellini, close to three hundred pounds and almost as wide as he was tall, was in his sixties with gray hair that had been dyed black and a face as round as the moon. Petrenko had dug around enough to find out that Stellini’s nickname “Uncle” didn’t come from his friendly fatherly appearance, but from when he was younger and doing collections. The story was that when he got his hands on a deadbeat, he’d twist the guy’s arm behind his back and make the guy say “uncle” before he broke it. Three of Stellini’s men now stood behind him, all of them smirking as they stared at Petrenko. They were all out of shape, all carrying at least an extra fifty pounds. Even though Yuri’s gun had been taken before they were brought back to meet Stellini, Petrenko had no doubt that he and Yuri could dispatch all of these Italians if they had to.
“What can I get you?” Stellini offered, a warm smile stretched across his face. “Cappuccino, espresso? I can’t have you sitting there with nothing.”
Stellini ordered one of his men to get Petrenko his drink. “And bring a plate of biscotti,” Stellini said with a wink towards his guest.
“Now, I gotta tell you, I appreciate you coming to talk to us like this,” Stellini said. “You could’ve gone off and done something stupid instead, and Viktor, that wouldn’t have been good for anyone. Now here’s the thing. Forget about what you’ve been seeing on the news. Ray had nothin’ to do with that bank job.”
This was pretty much what Petrenko had expected him to say. “Is that so?” he asked.
“Yeah, it is.”
Stellini maintained a casual, friendly appearance as he looked at Petrenko. Absent-mindedly, he popped a couple of pieces of candy into his mouth. Realizing it, he held a paper bag out to Petrenko. “Chocolate malt balls,” he said. “You want one?”
Petrenko shook his head.
“I dunno, I’m addicted to these things,” Stellini said. “Of all the things I could be eating, it’s gotta be this shit. What are ya gonna do, you know?”
One of the wise guys returned with the espresso and biscotti. Petrenko sipped the espresso slowly, his eyes colder than any rattlesnake’s as he stared at Stellini.
“Now, as I was saying,” Stellini continued, his manner no different than if he had been talking to a long-time acquaintance. “Ray had nothin’ to do with that bank. Those pictures, they’re fake. This is nothin’ but a frame.”
“They look authentic,” Petrenko said.
“You gotta give the FBI credit. They’ve been trying to squeeze Ray for over a year now, trying to get him to turn rat. Ain’t gonna happen. So this bank job goes down and they must’ve got the brilliant idea to manufacture that videotape. They did a fuckin’ nice job with it too. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that was Ray myself.”