“Blah blah blah,” Tall Mustache said.
“Somebody’s gotta be cramped up in a fucking backseat or stuffed into a little cabin on a stupid boat for two weeks at a time?”
“Oh yeah, that’s a tough job,” Tall Mustache said. “Sailing on a fucking yacht for two weeks. I’m really crying for you up here.”
“You think I get any fun out of that? Eight big-shot assholes playing poker, and all I get to do is stand around like a fucking piece of furniture?”
Here it is, I thought. The big boat trip.
“Two weeks on the Pacific Ocean,” Tall Mustache said. “All the food you want. Wine, women… you name it.”
“What women are you talking about? It’s just a bunch of men. Every one of those guys has their own bodyguard, you know that? So that’s what, me and seven fucking coked-up moonbats? You think we each get our own cabin? Huh? You think we’re living in luxury?”
“Oh, excuse me. You’ve got to share a cabin on the yacht.”
“We’re all in the same cabin, you fuckhead. Seven fucking moonbats on steroids trying to act tougher than anybody else, all of us sleeping in one fucking little room. Like we’re on a fucking World War II submarine or something. Does that sound fun to you?”
“What’s a moonbat, anyway? Huh? You keep saying ‘moonbat,’ and I don’t know what that word means.”
“A moonbat is a guy who’s packed into a little sardine can for two weeks in the middle of the fucking ocean who will kill you for looking at him sideways. Okay? That’s what a moonbat is. That’s what I get to live through every single fucking September.”
“Will you two fucking shut up for one second!” Fishing Hat nearly drove us off the road. When he was back between the lines, an uneasy silence reigned.
I thought about what Gunnar had told me. Was it possible that he really had another contact on this boat? One of these “moonbats”? Was he actually thinking that we could hit that boat and get away with it?
Julian was right. It would be suicide.
A half hour later, we hit a town called Chagrin Falls. It kind of reminded me of Milford. There was a river that ran through the middle of town. There were lots of little shops and restaurants. We rolled right through and out to the other side of town, where the trees and houses started to thin out and you could see for miles across the flat horizon.
We turned onto a long gravel driveway. I saw a farmhouse ahead of us. There was a barn and a couple of other outbuildings. We passed by an ancient plow. As we got closer, I could see that someone had spent a lot of time and money restoring the whole place. That plow was a rustic decoration and nothing else.
We came to a stop beside the house. All three men got out. I joined them. Sleepy Eyes went to the back door of the house and knocked. I noticed then that he was wearing black gloves. The other two men, as well. I stood there wondering what the hell was going on. If we were supposed to be hitting this house, well… you usually don’t go up to the door and knock.
A man opened the door. He was sixty years old, maybe. Distinguished-looking. Gray hair at the temples. Expensive golf sweater.
“What are you guys doing here?” he said.
That’s all he could get out before Sleepy Eyes punched him right in the stomach. The man went down hard, so Sleepy Eyes had to step over him to get into the house. He grabbed the man by the shirt collar and started dragging him inside.
“Don’t bother helping out here,” he said to his two partners.
They each took one leg and helped guide the man through the mudroom and into the kitchen. I could see a full breakfast for one laid out on the table.
“Close the door already,” Sleepy Eyes said to me.
I stood there, unable to move.
“I said close the door!”
I closed it.
“What do you guys want?” the man said. He was lying on the floor, still holding his gut. “I told Mr. Fr-”
Sleepy Eyes kicked him in the ribs.
“Don’t you dare say his name out loud, you stupid fuck. I don’t want to hear his name cross your lips. Do you understand me?”
The man was gasping for breath now. I was waiting for that feeling to kick in, that feeling of complete calm I’d get whenever I had broken into a strange house, but it wasn’t happening. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. This was nothing like any other break-in I’d ever been a part of.
“Where’s the money?” Sleepy Eyes said. “Huh?”
The man couldn’t speak. Sleepy Eyes got down on his knees and grabbed the man’s hair.
“Where is it?”
“He can’t breathe,” Fishing Hat said.
“Shut up,” Sleepy Eyes said, without looking up. “Go look for the safe.”
Fishing Hat and Tall Mustache exchanged yet another look. Probably look number 1,001 from just that day alone. Then they split up to search the house.
“Mr. Assemblyman, meet the Kid. Do you know why he’s here?”
The man kept gasping for air.
“He’s here just in case you won’t tell us the combination to your safe. Or in case we kill you first. Either way.”
Turn off the switch. Feel that sense of detachment, like it isn’t really happening. Like I’m not here in this man’s kitchen watching the last hours of this man’s life.
He was starting to breathe again. He shook his head and spat blood on the kitchen floor. Fishing Hat stuck his head into the room and announced that the safe had been found. In the basement.
“To the basement,” Sleepy Eyes said.
He pulled the man to his feet, took him over to the stairs, and then pushed him down. The man let out a yell, and then the next thing we heard was his body hitting every single step, all the way down.
“Was that necessary?” Fishing Hat said.
“I told you to shut up,” Sleepy Eyes said. “Now get down there and see if he’s still alive.”
It was a nightmare. Just put it that way. If you happen to live in Ohio, you might even remember what I’m talking about. What happened in that basement in September of 2000, I was there to see the whole scene from beginning to end.
The man was out cold when we got to him. The basement was unfinished. The original brick foundation from years before, whenever the house had been built. They propped him up against those rough bricks and started slapping his face to bring him back to life. There was a freestanding safe along the opposite wall.
“Let’s have a little race,” Sleepy Eyes said to me. “You start opening that safe, and we’ll see if we can get the combination out of him first.”
I stood right where I was. I measured the distance to the stairs. If I wait for them to be distracted, how big a head start can I get?
Sleepy Eyes came over to me and looked into my eyes.
“Do you have a problem with all of this?”
“He’s not coming around,” Fishing Hat said. “Nice going.”
“We don’t need him to come around,” Sleepy Eyes said. He was still staring into my eyes. “That’s why we brought the Kid.”
“If you had just given him a chance, he would have told us the combination.”
“What fun would that be?”
“You’re fucking crazy,” Fishing Hat said. “You know that? You’re a total fucking psycho.”
“You’re not the first to notice that, believe me.”
“Hold up,” Tall Mustache said. “I think he’s coming to.”
He lightly slapped the man’s face again. The man opened his eyes and tried to focus. He ran his tongue over his broken teeth.
“What’s the combination?” Tall Mustache said. “Come on, save us all some trouble here.”
“Go fuck yourself,” the man said.
“The man’s got balls,” Sleepy Eyes said. “You gotta give him that.”
He went over and kicked the man in exactly that area.
“For fuck’s sake,” Fishing Hat said, “will you back off for two seconds, please? What the hell is wrong with you today?”
When the man was done moaning and gasping and spitting up more blood, he finally gave up the numbers. Fishing Hat had to lean down to hear him.