He heard a car pull up, looked out, saw a white deputy sheriff ’s cruiser in the yard. He got up, grabbed his Sig, pushed the safety off and slipped it in his Sean Johns, covered by his warm-up. He closed the laptop and went outside.
He watched the deputy sheriff get out of the car. He wore a brown uniform with short sleeves, showing off his guns.
“Yo, how’s it going, Officer? Perfect day, isn’t it?” DeJuan said, looking up at the blue sky, not a cloud in it.
Deputy said, “That yours?” checking out his ride.
“1984 Chevrolet Malibu,” DeJuan said.
Deputy said, “You have car trouble the other day?”
“Not that I recall,” DeJuan said. Wondering what he was talking about.
Deputy said, “I saw it parked on Woolsey Lake Road.”
DeJuan, picking up the thread, said, “Had to take a leak, you know, went in the woods.”
“When you’ve got to go…” The deputy grinned. “We don’t see cars like that around here,” he said. “What’s that say on the front?”
“Scarface.” DeJuan had it customized in chrome script on the grille and also on the dash.
“After the movie?”
“No, the gangsta. After Capone.” Man was the gangsta’s gangsta. DeJuan didn’t tell him about the hydraulics and such-twenty grand worth of electric pumps and cylinders powered by twelve batteries. He didn’t tell him ’Face was a scraper, neither. Could do shit was unbelievable-go low, frame on the tarmac-go high, leap six feet off the ground. For real. He didn’t tell him about ghostriding the whip or gas brake dipping, either, like the cracker deputy knew anything about getting hyphy.
“Where you from?” Deputy said.
“Beautiful downtown Dee-troit.”
“I hear they fixed it up for the Super Bowl.”
“Super Bowl long gone,” DeJuan said. “Look like it old self again.”
Deputy looked strong, in shape, flexing the muscles in his arms.
“What brings you up here?”
“Relax-a-tion,” DeJuan said, stretching the word for emphasis. “Stress relief. Get out of the big city, breathe some clean country air.”
“Good place to do it,” Deputy said. “What kind of work you do?”
Celeste watched DeJuan and the deputy from the front window of the cottage. It was the guy from the other night; she recognized him. Good thing Teddy’d gone to get beer. No reason to call attention to themselves. She wondered what DeJuan was saying to him, the cop grinning like he said something funny.
He hung around, looking at DeJuan’s lowrider, Celeste getting impatient, wishing he’d leave and hoping Teddy didn’t come driving in. And just when she thought he’d never fucking leave, he got back in his car and went to the end of the property, made a U-turn and came back, going slow, looking around again and took off.
She went in to check on the kid. Opened the door, expected to see him, but he wasn’t on the floor or the bed. The chain was gone. The window was open. Little fucker’d unscrewed the eyebolt.
She called Teddy’s cell. He didn’t answer. Where in the hell was he? She left him a message. “Remember the deputy from the other night? He was just here. We got another problem too. Get back here as fast as you can.”
Teddy came flying in a few minutes later, locked the Z up in a cloud of dust, and ran in the cabin. She and DeJuan were in the kid’s room. Teddy came in with a beer, looked around, said, “Where’s he at?”
Celeste said, “He’s gone.”
Teddy said, “What do you mean, gone?”
“You see him in here?” Celeste said, wondering what he didn’t understand. She pointed to the open window. “He escaped.”
“I leave for fifteen minutes,” Teddy said, “you let him get away.”
Celeste said, “I told you bozos that screw in the floor was a bad idea.”
Teddy said, “Like you know what the hell you’re talking about, huh?” He was mad, spit flying out of his mouth. “Listen, if it had something to do with cooking or sewing, I might’ve asked your opinion. We don’t find that little dick with ears, it’s all over.”
DeJuan said, “Everybody be cool. We find him.”
But he didn’t look like he believed it.
TWENTY — TWO
It was two forty-five in the afternoon when Ken Calvert called and said she was all set. The money had been delivered and Kate could stop by for her withdrawal. She went outside looking for Jack, who said he was going exploring. He’d been gone for a while, thirty minutes at least. What the hell was he doing? He knew she was going to get a call and they’d have to be ready.
She stood on the bluff, scanning the shoreline. She didn’t see him. He wasn’t out front either and the bank closed in a little over an hour. She’d have to leave, pick the money up herself. The only problem was the Land Rover. It was too obvious-Bill Wink, if he saw it, would recognize it in a second and then she’d have some explaining to do. She saw the key to Jack’s car on the kitchen counter and decided to take the Lexus. She left Jack a note on the breakfast room table, got in behind the wheel and adjusted the seat. She’d go to the bank, they’d load her up and she’d come back. It sounded easy, but it didn’t happen that way.
She drove to Traverse City and pulled in behind the bank building just as Ken Calvert told her to. She parked in front of the silver metal door that was the size of a garage door and watched it rise up and retract. She backed into a loading area that had a concrete floor and brick walls and a high ceiling, the metal door closing behind her.
Calvert was waiting with two uniformed guards. The money was on a hand truck, shrink-wrapped in bundles and looked like something you’d get at Costco-buy it in bulk and save.
She got out of the car and glanced at Calvert. He wore a white shirt and a Kelly green tie that reminded her of St. Patrick’s Day, the only day you’d wear a tie that color. He had a clipboard in his pale hands that each had two gold rings, the rings seeming more excessive when she noticed the gold watch and gold ID bracelet on his wrists.
Calvert said, “I thought you were going to bring somebody with you.”
Kate said, “It didn’t work out.”
“You’ve got two million there,” Calvert said. “Let me call the sheriff, arrange for a police escort to your destination. We’re more than a financial institution; we’re your friend and neighbor. It would be irresponsible of me to allow you to withdraw such a large sum of cash without expressing my concern for your safety.”
“I’ll be fine,” Kate said.
“I’m sure you will, but if anything happens, I want you to know Traverse City Bank and Trust is in no way liable,” Calvert said.
“I understand,” Kate said. And she did. He was just covering his Canadian ass.
He said, “There are a hundred hundred-dollar bills in each banded stack, equaling ten thousand-and a hundred banded stacks in each bundle. A hundred times ten thousand equals a million, if you follow me.”
Kate said, “And two times a million equals two million, if I’m not mistaken.”
He grinned, showing his Chiclet-size teeth that were so white they looked blue.
She signed for the money and the guards put it in the trunk. The metal door rose up, and as she drove out, she saw the Indian, Johnny Crow, behind the wheel of a black Chevy panel van, parked there. Bill Wink had said he was head of security at the casino. So she assumed he was waiting to pull in and drop off or pick up money. She made eye contact with him, met his gaze for a couple of seconds and drove past him.
Kate was on Bay Shore Road driving out of Traverse City, doing fifty-five, the lake calm and bright blue to her right. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a white deputy sheriff ’s cruiser behind her. At first she thought it was Bill Wink, but as the cop car got closer, she could see it wasn’t. Maybe Calvert, disregarding her point of view, called the sheriff ’s department anyway, insisting on a police escort. Or maybe it was a coincidence, just a cop on patrol.