The Fever Kill Part 17

"Modern paper cash isn't so much paper as it is cloth. That's what's left of it. After rain and mudslides and rats and birds have been at it. You never searched the mill?"

"We searched all over it, the grounds, everyplace."

"But not under it?"

He sat and picked up some of the wads, trying to piece them together. "I don't remember. Yeah, we must've. Most of it. Some of it."

In other words, no. "You put in a call to the Sinclair Mayridge Home for the Needful?"

"Yeah. Sarah Burke died this morning. She'd swiped somebody else's medication. Turns out she was allergic. She must've been taking the wrong pills for a while. Weeks. That's the only thing that lets you off the hook, in case you were wondering."

Crease nodded. "The right meds wouldn't have helped anyway. It went down the way she wanted it to."

"You talk like nothing matters to you, you know that? That an act, or do you really not care?"

You had to let some things slide. "Make sure you tell Sam Burke. He needs to know about this soon, so he can find himself in the mirror again."

"What?"

"Just tell him."

"Sure. Of course. What's this about a mirror?"

"Forget it." Crease turned to go but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"What happened to Teddy?"

"Who the h.e.l.l is Teddy?"

"The bear."

"What bear?"

"Mary's doll. The one she was holding when she got capped."

Edwards stared at Crease like he couldn't believe what he saw. "How the h.e.l.l should I know? What are you talking about now?"

He wasn't sure. Out of everything, it was Teddy that had somehow gotten under his skin.

Sneering, Edwards threw down a handful of the clumped, dusty bills and a cloud rose around his head. "You still think this is all I cared about, don't you."

"It doesn't matter-" Crease said, and he realized Edwards was right. He really did go through the world like nothing mattered to him at all. How much worse off did that put him than the rest of the mooks?

"You think I shot her. That's what you've been back here for. You want me to admit I did it. But I didn't. It was your old man."

"I always thought it was."

"You want me to confess."

"Confess to who?"

He stared at Edwards trying to see the man and not see his father, but it was just too difficult keeping them separated now. This had been his father's office, his father's chair. That wet, round alcoholic face was looking more and more like his old man every minute. He wanted to crack him across the nose again or maybe just shake his hand, get it out of his d.a.m.n system once and for all. He hated the sheriff with the same deep, relentless, meaningless fury he'd reserved for his father. He felt it swarming up inside him once more. Crease struggled to tamp it back down.

"You finish up with that big son of a b.i.t.c.h yet?"

"You heard him. Tomorrow."

"Good. Don't let me know where. Keep it out of town."

"Why don't you ask Reb to marry you again?"

"What?"

"You've got nothing to lose."

"You of all people is gonna say that to me? She nearly caved your head in for a bird's nest. She's crazy!"

Crease shrugged. "Maybe you two can work it out. You make a good couple. Really."

"You're crazy too," the sheriff said, his breath thick with wine. No longer golden or handsome, his hand trembling with the need for more drink. The women in his house were ready for him, his puzzle dog was waiting. "Now go on and get yourself shot. Do it close to a gutter so no one has to clean up after you."

Crease thought it was a pretty good line. Close to the gutter. He didn't think Edwards had it in him, but anybody could fire off a lucky one. He found another motel and spent the night practicing with the knife, working out some kinks, getting his head as clear as he could. He settled into a deep, mostly dreamless sleep punctuated by Teddy giving him advice on the drug trade, telling him who he should wipe out next to widen his hold. You had to wonder when the bear was becoming your new best friend.

In the morning he called Morena's cell. "Where are you?"

"Driving around, looking at boys' schools."

"What road?"

"Who knows? I think we're lost. We've been searching for the llamas. That was some G.o.dd.a.m.n comment you made. You started him on this whole thing to find llamas. He's obsessed with it. Every morning, seven a.m., we leave the motel and go looking for the llamas all day. He's bought seven of those big bulky sweaters." Her voice s.h.i.+fted, grew very tight and hard. "He killed an old woman."

"What?"

"Because you told him not to. I think she was a teacher at one of the military academies. Maybe a nurse or just somebody's mother, I don't know. She was walking across the parking lot and Cruez pulled up slow. Tucco asked for directions to the llama farm. I thought he was serious. Then he pulled his knife and stuck it in her head, jabbed it through her temple. I didn't have any time to warn her."

A shard of ice worked against Crease's neck before turning to fire. The voice became even more ancient, like another ten thousand years had been piled into it. "Are you okay?"

"I'm wis.h.i.+ng you hadn't decided to come back to this place, you know? I really think you were stupid to warn him the way you did, playing cowboy. You starting to pick up on that yet?"

"Yeah." She was right, but he couldn't change anything now. He had to ride it out to the end. "Put him on."

"He's sitting across from me, pretending to be asleep. I guess that means he doesn't want to talk to you."

Pretending to be asleep to avoid conversation, the same thing Stevie did. "Tell Cruez to figure out his way back to town. I'll meet you on the outskirts, right before the highway. There's a pull-off there, he'll see it."

"You're being dumb again," she said. "You shouldn't play it out like this. Haven't you learned anything?"

He supposed not. "Does it matter? Just tell him."

"You want to die, don't you? It doesn't have to be that way. You can make a better choice."

"Don't you worry about me, baby."

There was a moment of silence and then a very brief sigh, like Morena didn't want to waste any more breath on him. "You saying that makes me worry most of all."

The Bentley pulled up and slid in beside the 'Stang at one-thirty. Cruez must've really been off the map or else Tucco wanted Crease to wait, just so it felt like he was the one calling the shots. Crease was leaning against the driver's door, his .38 on the hood in plain sight. Tucco got out of the back wearing a black llama wool sweater that looked three sizes too big. It swallowed him.

Man, one off the cuff comment and you could regret it forever. A woman, dead, because of Crease's big mouth. Morena had been right about everything, and yet Crease felt himself caught in the riptide, being dragged along with no way to stop himself.

"We looked, man," Tucco told him, "but we didn't find any llamas."

"Forget it."

"You sure they got farms? Like, they milk them things? The cowboys, they rope them? Run 'em across the country in llama drives, like cattle? Them we saw, the cows. Lots of cows up here. I think Cruez fell in love with one. He likes their eyes, you know? On a woman it's s.e.xy, but we're talking cows here. He can't tell the difference. They got skiing. You didn't mention skiing."

"I've never been skiing."

"Those boarding schools, these military kids . . . after they learn all about rifles, becoming snipers, if it was me, first thing I'd do after graduation, I'd go home and waste my parents for sticking me in there."

Morena said, "He's been talking like that for two days. This is what you did to him."

Crease nodded. He knew what it meant. Tucco was feverish. He'd taken a lot and enjoyed how far out on the rim he was standing, but now he'd been pushed far enough and was about to make his move.

"You shouldn't have snuffed the old lady," Crease said. "Since when do you care who I ice and who I don't?"

"Since you did it just to get back at me."

Tucco grinned, barely showing his teeth, talking out the side of his mouth like he had a large audience. "Now he's sensitive. Now the badge means something to him. Before, he'd cap anybody, clip 'em three, four at a time. How many wild shots do you think went out the window, killed some baby in a crib across the way? Just so you could bust some seventeen-year-old Colombian mule, throw 'em into prison forever?"

It was happening to Crease too, the feeling of being so far out on the edge there was nothing beneath him anymore.

Maybe that's why they'd become friends. Because once you found a player as good as you were you really didn't want to beat him, you just wanted the game to go on and on.

"You can't hurt me," Tucco said. "No matter how many old ladies I waste. You tried to hurt me and you couldn't do it. n.o.body wanted to hear. You put a gun in my face and couldn't pull the trigger. How long we been together, huh? Two years?"

"Little more."

"All that time you haven't hurt my business, haven't even put away any of my best guys."

"I know," Crease said softly.

"The c.o.ke keeps flowing, the pills, the H, the ladies do what they do, the johns are happy. The money keeps coming in. Got more girls on the street now than ever. You've cleaned up my messes, taken out my compet.i.tion. I'm worth twice now what I was two years ago, maybe three times. You've made me what I am."

"Don't say that."

"It's true."

"That doesn't matter."

Tucco was. .h.i.tting his stride. "Of course it matters. It's all that matters. You know that."

The back of Cruez's right hand gleamed with gun oil. Crease knew that he could walk right up to the monster and shoot him in the heart and Tucco would just smile about it, shake his head like it was a good joke. n.o.body meant anything to him except maybe Crease, which made it all the worse.

"Come back with me, man," Tucco said. "I need you. I can't trust anybody else. They all got secrets. But you, you don't have any secrets now. I know you, all of you, inside and out. Loco b.a.s.t.a.r.d like you, we work on the same level. We need the same things. That's what I need in my partner. Just come on back."

"I can't."

Tucco waited. "Well, why not?"

"I'm not sure."

He waited some more. "That's it, that's all you're going to say? You're not sure? That's it?"

Like it was easy, putting your life into words. Your contradictions, your guilt, your jones. n.o.body else could understand what it was like carrying your old man on your back for seven years, loving him and hating him, sending your will into his heart hoping it would stop beating, for his sake. How much you could care about your wife and son and yet despise the position they put you in. To be the middle-cla.s.s mook, the guy picking out wallpaper, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the lawn, reading fairy tales, going over the times tables. Anything that took you off the point of the knife just wasn't ever going to be good enough.

But so was going back to where he'd been with Tucco. It just wasn't possible. The engine had been screaming for too long. Even if you couldn't take the curve, you had to stomp the pedal and keep your weight on it. You had to.

"That's it," Crease said.

Tucco was going for the b.u.t.terfly blade.

He knew Tucco had already started going for the knife even though he couldn't actually see him moving. Tucco was speeding along in his brain, willing it to happen. n.o.body had s.h.i.+fted an inch and already Crease was being outmaneuvered.

Too slow, he almost let loose with a laugh. His hands started going for the blade but he was too slow, he'd lost a lot of his frosty competence s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around with Edwards and the Jimmys. Crease had known it was coming and it still didn't matter. Even if you were a step ahead, sometimes that wasn't enough.

He couldn't help himself. His gaze s.h.i.+fted to Morena. He wanted to look at her, fill himself with a touch of her beauty, a little of his longing. Still trying to decide if they could really love each other. It was another mistake. He realized it at once but her eyes confirmed it. They didn't show any fright or even alarm. He could see the regret there, the dissatisfaction. Even a touch of pity.

He was surprised that he felt so cold. Jesus Christ, he was freezing. Where was the heat now that he needed it? His blood wasn't moving.

Tucco stepped in, his blade still not showing. Crease almost had his out. It was going to be close but not close enough. Crease stabbed forward a fraction of a second before Tucco completed his move. A surge of pride went through him.

It ended almost instantly. He'd gotten there first but all he'd cut was that f.u.c.king llama sweater. He'd missed.

Tucco's knife slid into Crease's stomach just above his bellyb.u.t.ton. It went in and in and Crease just watched it.

He didn't hurt yet. He'd already gone into shock. He dropped back and drew himself off the blade and leaned back up against the 'Stang.

The end of the game. The bop till you drop contest over. Tucco looked extremely sad, like he didn't want to do it but, maybe, this was the kindest thing for them all. He took another step forward, got ready to bring the knife in again.

Morena was near Crease but not next to him. He wondered what the h.e.l.l that meant. He saw her glide away, her black hair roiling in the sunlight like liquid, as she spun to him. The shadowed curves of her body revived him for a second. He felt strong and righteous.

Then her hand was coming up, just a blur.