‘Corrigon.’
The man in the leather jacket whirled and stared straight into the barrel of the pistol, now only two or three inches from his eye. A strange look crossed his face, a crooked grin of recognition and relief.
He saw the weapon only an instant before it flashed, before he heard the curious little pwuit the silencer made, before he felt the brief, fiery pain tear into his head, rip through his brain, and explode against the back of his skull.
His fingertips went numb. Then his hands. Then his arms. He lost the feeling in his legs and feet. His mouth filled with bile. He was falling and didn’t know it. Streaks of light cascaded down towards him from the building, showering past him like antic stars. Then they diminished and died. He heard a scream, a tight and anguished cry trapped in an agonized throat. Then all was darkness and silence except the relentless wind crying across the open plaza.
The last thought the man in the leather coat had was that the scream he heard was his own.
BOOK ONE
Chapter One
At 5:25, Sharky pulled his battered Volkswagen into an alley two blocks off Peachtree and a block behind the bus station and parked near a Dempsey Dumpster. He was five minutes early.
The cold December wind swirled dust along the alley and rattled litter against the buildings. It had dropped ten degrees since the sun went down. Sharky’s heater was shot and one of the windows would not close all the way. He breathed on his hands to keep them warm.
At 5:30, he got out of the car and stood with his back to the door, stamping his feet. He buttoned the top button of the plaid lumber jacket. Dirt hit his eyes and mouth and filtered through his beard.
‘Shit,’ he muttered, leaning forward and shaking the dust from the thick growth on his face, then turned suddenly towards the rear of the car. A newspaper whirled from behind it and flattened against the Dumpster.
Sharky was nervous. He reached inside the jacket, fingering the brown manila envelope stuffed into the waist of his Levis.
No sign of High Ball Mary.
He kept his eyes moving. If High Ball were setting him up, now would be the time. A quick shot in the head here in the dark and High Ball would be six hundred dollars richer. And there wouldn’t be much Sharky could do about it.
To his right, in the darkness against the building across the alley, Sharky sensed movement. Then he heard a low, deep chuckle.
‘Whatsa matter, honk, got the chills?’
The son of a bitch.
‘High Ball?’ Sharky said.
‘Who else, baby? Got the price?’
‘Think I’d be freezing my ass off out here if T was short? Let’s get back in the car and deal, I’ve had enough of this goddamn wind.’
‘I like it better in the open, man. Take a little taste o’ the lady here and you won’t give a shit how cold it is.’
Bullshit. I’m gettin’ outa the wind. You wanna freeze your balls off, stuff your lady.’
‘Ooo-weeee, ain’t we testy this evenin’
Sharky got back inside and turned the interior lights on so High Ball could check out the car. He lit a small A&C cigar and held his hands around its glowing end.
High Ball strolled across the alley, hands in the pockets of an expensive full-length fur coat. He was wearing a wide-brimmed Borsalino snapped dcwn over his forehead, yellow platform shoes, and cream-coloured wide-flare pants. He moved cautiously to the car, walking around the far side, leaning over with his hands still stuffed in the pockets, looking in the back seat. The gold earring that had earned him his nickname, Mary, glittered in the light from the dome. Finally he got in.
‘You think I got i. Edgar Hoover stashed back there?’
‘That fairy’s off, man. Where you been?’
‘The ghost lingers on.’
‘Turn the fuckm’ lights off, turkey. This ain’t a goddamn floor show.’
Sharky turned the switch and the lights died.
‘I tell you, honk, I’m gettin’ my coat dirty in this garbage can.’
‘It beats walkin’.’
‘You score with this skit, man, you can get yourself some uptown wheels.’
‘Where’s the merchandise? I get nervous sittin’ here.’
‘How about the green, baby? No green, no sheen.’
‘I ain’t showin’ you shit till I taste your stuff.’
‘Oh, ain’t we mean!’ Mary took a small glassine bag from his pocket and held it up by his fingertips. He shook the white powder in the bag. ‘Lookit here, turkey, how ‘bout that? And fifteen more where that came from. Sixteen grams, m’man, a generous o-z of super snow A hundred trips to the mooooon. Cut it three for one at least. Forty- eight bags at sixty per. . . lessee, that’s uh...’
‘Twenty-eight hundred and eighty geezoes, High Ball. Cut the bullshit and get it on. Open up.’ He felt the anxiety building in him as he wet his middle finger and dipped it into the bag, drew it away with several grains stuck to it, and tasted it. His jaw tightened from the bitter taste. Good skit.
A car entered the alley at the far end and rolled slowly towards them.
‘What the fuck’s this?’ High Ball growled. Fear and anger flooded his eyes. ‘What the fuck we got here?’
‘Cool it, for Chrissakes. It’s just a car.’
‘Crank up and move someplace. Too crowded here.’
The car moved past them.
‘Man, you’re on a string,’ Sharky said.
‘Fucker’s stoppin’.’
The car stopped, then backed up, pulling up In front of the Volkswagen and boxing it in. A large figure got out and loomed in the darkness, moving towards Sharky’s side of the car.
‘I’m takin’ the train, turkey,’ High Ball snapped. Sharky could feel the tension crackling in the air.
‘Stay cool, okay? I’ll handle it.’
‘You ain’t holdin’, man. I can’t stand a toss.’
‘I said I’ll handle it.’
The large man appeared at the window on Sharky’s side, a flashlight in his hand. Light flooded the interior of the car.
‘Goddamn,’ High Ball snapped.
‘What the hell. . .‘ Sharky started to say, then his eyes met those of the fat man at his window.
Tully! Jesus Christ, that stupid suit!
Tully’s eyes met Sharky’s.
‘Sharky!’ be bellowed, ‘Jesus, I didn’t...’
‘Shut up!’ Sharky yelled.
‘Motherfucker!’ High Ball screamed. ‘You wired me, you motherfuckin’ goddamn pig!’ The glassine envelope ‘flew out of his hand. White powder billowed like a cloud in the interior of the car. Mary was already going out the door. Sharky grabbed his collar, but the black man twisted away and slid out sideways, landing on the balls of his feet, a small pearl-handled .25 calibre revolver appearing suddenly in his fist. He was hissing like a snake. Hate turned his eyes red.
Sharky hit the door on his side with his shoulder and shoved hard. It flew open, knocking Tully backward into the street. Sharky rolled out as Mary fired his first shot. The gun popped like a firecracker and the bullet breezed past Sharky’s cheek as he fell, and hit the rim of the door, whining off down the alley.
Mary was already halfway to the corner when Sharky bounced back on his knees and reached under the front seat, feeling the cold grip of his 9mm Mauser automatic. He pulled it out and laid both arms across the front seat, steadying his gun,
‘Freeze, Mary...’
Too late. The wiry black man slid around the corner, his Borsalino flying off into the gutter. Sharky leaped across the front seat, yelling back at Tully as he did.