Korman produced a hard pack of cigarettes and packed it between his hands. “For my money? Get the fuck outta dodge. As soon as you can. Get to Denver and walk right into the police station and tell ‘em everything and ask for protection.”
“Denver hardly seems far enough.”
Korman put the pack down without removing a cigarette. “Denver can manufacture jurisdiction if they want, without gettin’ the feds involved up front. They’ll get involved eventually, but if you want a timely initial arrest, the Denver cops’ll be a hell of a lot quicker. And if you’re worried they’re gonna find ya, Denver ain’t no different than St. Louis or Sacramento. Proximity don’t mean much when you need to find a man.”
I stared past him for a moment.
“You scared now?” he asked.
I drummed my fingers on the table. “He’s already threatened me. About leaving.”
“Course he did. You split in the middle of the night, he’s fucked. Now, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s got some surveillance on ya—they do that sorta shit—so it’s a risk, for sure. But what’s your other option?”
I shook my head.
“My question—and sorry to be blunt or whatever—but my question is: why hasn’t he offed you already?” Korman asked. “If he knows you know all this, it’s a big-ass risk he’s taking by letting you walk about. Dude’s cold-blooded; why hasn’t he had one of his guys add you to the cemetery? I mean, I wouldn’t bring this up, but I imagine you’ve thought of it before.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I have. He—I don’t know—he sees something in me.”
“Huh,” Korman said, and considered it.
“Something about handing the operation off, one day. Like a successor or something. He thinks he can trust me.”
“Well, you lucked out there, buckaroo. Your elite east coast schooling has served you well. But I say count your blessings and don’t wait for ‘em to run out.”
50
I went to work the day after I met Korman. It took everything inside me to make myself go. I forced myself through the drive, and when I parked, my body almost refused to go in. My sense of self-preservation was screaming to me, trying to take command of my will. But I had to go, to keep appearances until we had a plan in place. I sat at my desk for five hours and did very little work. Vince stopped by once, for which I was prepared, and asked again about declining numbers. I gave him my usual answer and he moved on.
As soon as was reasonable, I walked to my car to leave. Even then there was no relief, only more anxiety and anticipation. This was my new default state.
I texted Raphino and we met at Earl’s. He had been waiting to hear from me.
He sat at the same end of the bar he had the first night we met. The bar was similarly empty. He was in one piece, but pale and skittish. There was a cut on his right cheek neither of us addressed.
“Tell me something good,” he said before I sat down.
“I’ll try,” I said. I ordered two shots of Jameson and started talking.
51
Raphino’s initial reaction to the full narrative was the same as mine had been: disappointment. He realized, just as I had, we were still at square one, and there might not be a square two.
“I’m not sure what I expected,” he said between sighs, “but I guess I was just hoping.”
“Me too,” I said. “Something concrete, something we could use. We could go to a different precinct and report the corruption, get them to launch an investigation.”
“Yeah,” he said, “we could’ve done that before. Right now we have unsubstantiated evidence—they’d still have to prove everything. Nothing from Korman would be admissible. That would take a lot of time, and I’m not even sure they’ll all get locked up. If we come forward with this, we need to know these guys are gonna be put away.”
“Yes,” I said, “it would be a risk.”
We decided our best plan was to attack Ben Murray. Korman uncovered enough for us to start building a case, and for the police to investigate. They could offer us protection through the feds, which Raphino seemed to balk at but ultimately agreed it may be necessary. He had pride, in his community and in himself, and it deeply bothered him that the place he loved was being run by evil men. If he had his choice, he would have put a stop to it himself.
His concern was the Denver police might be corrupted as well. Not the full-blown, wild west way his force was, but he was wary of a mole or informant within the department.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” he said. “These guys have gone a long time without getting caught, because they’re careful. Denver’s too close to not have someone inside that force, at least.”
I ordered two more shots. “So what are our options?”
“Let me think it over. I’m working tomorrow and have to go in—taking a day off would be a red flag for anyone watching.”
“Right.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow night and we’ll figure it out.”
“We need to do something soon, Mike,” I said. “I understand the methodical approach, but the longer this cloak and dagger operation goes on, the more chance we have of getting caught.”
“I know, I know,” he said, nodding. “Tomorrow we’ll have an answer. Just give me until then.”
“Fine. Think about Korman’s suggestion. Just go to Denver, simple and easy.”
He nodded. “It’s a risk, though. You’re being watched, and I’m pretty sure I am.”
“We’re going to have to take a risk somewhere.”
“Yeah. I know. But…Denver.”
“What?”
He took the shot in front of him, tipping his head back violently. “City boys, man. They don’t get us, never have.”
“It sounds like they’re our best bet, Mike. Chances are, ATF or FBI gets involved, anyway.”
He shook his head. “It’s just, mountain business is mountain business. Should be able to be handled up here. Shouldn’t need city boys swoopin’ in.”
“Well, if you have a suggestion on how to do that, I’m all ears,” I said, putting my coat on. “But I think we have to put egos aside here.”
“Right,” he said. “Talk to you tomorrow night.”
52
The next day was the twenty-third of January. I remember this. I don’t know which day either of my parents were born, nor most of my close friends. Twice during our marriage, I had to be reminded the date of Megan’s birthday. But I remember the twenty-third of January.
I remember the snowfall from the previous night, blanketing the rooftops in virgin white and covering the roads in brown slush. I remember how it stuck to the tree limbs, turning them to beautiful silhouettes. I remember how the sun shone on the snow, reflecting. I remember the temperature was warm enough to go without gloves on short walks. I remember making a fried egg sandwich in the morning—two eggs and a piece of leftover ham on white bread, the .45 loaded on the counter beside me.
I remember hearing a noise I thought was a knock, and the relief when I saw it was my neighbor tapping the snow off his shovel. He was young; I hadn’t seen him before.
I remember the anxiety of the day, the waiting. I remember wanting it to be night, to hear what Raphino came up with. I remember thinking we should leave then, that the middle of the day would be the best time to escape. That Korman’s suggestion was the right one. I remember wondering what Korman was working on, now that he had left. I wondered if he was thinking about us.