The Smack Read online

  25

  PETTY DROVE BECK’S JAG TO THE RITE AID PARKING LOT WHERE they were set to meet. The car was a nice ride but a little too flashy. Petty found himself constantly checking the rearview mirror for tails, nervous again. Beck pulled up in the Mazda, and Petty watched to make sure nobody was following him, either. Beck handed over the bags from the garage. He had a big grin on his face.

  “That was too easy,” he said. “I didn’t even get to use my command voice.”

  “It was supposed to be easy,” Petty said.

  “I was hoping for more of a thrill.”

  Petty paid him off, five thousand dollars wrapped in a McDonald’s sack, and gave him the keys to the Jag.

  “Good doing business with you,” he said.

  Beck slid into his car. “See you at Musso’s?” he said.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Petty said.

  He waited until Beck had driven away to check the bags. Something was off; they seemed light. Back at the motel he counted the money twice to be sure, spread it out on the bed, and had Tinafey count it, too. Seven hundred thousand. If the total take was really two million, they were still short seven hundred thousand. Had Beck swiped it? He wasn’t the type. Tony’s uncle, then?

  Petty drove to Public Storage and deposited everything except a single stack of hundreds in the locker. He then went to the motel where he’d stashed Tony. The same shirtless vato was standing in the same doorway. He nodded at Petty as Petty climbed the stairs to Tony’s room.

  “I gotta get out of here,” Tony said as soon as he opened the door. “I can’t be locked up anymore.”

  “We’ve got a problem,” Petty said.

  “What?” Tony said. Petty tossed the stack of hundreds onto the bed. Tony merely glanced at it.

  “That’s from the garage,” Petty said. “But there was only seven hundred grand there.”

  “Yeah?” Tony said.

  “Seven hundred plus the money from your mom’s store only adds up to about one point three million,” Petty said. “You said the total was two.”

  “Did I?” Tony said.

  The kid was fucking with him. He’d spent too much time alone in the room, had too much time to put things together, take them apart, and put them together again in different ways, and had come to the conclusion that something wasn’t quite right.

  “Were you mistaken about how much there was?” Petty said.

  “Maybe you were mistaken,” Tony said.

  “You said two million.”

  “You said a lot of shit, too.”

  Petty knew the safe play would be to cut the kid loose right now and be satisfied with the cash he had. But if there was more money out there, if that’s what Tony was hinting at, he had to do everything he could to get it, to take down the whole pot and set Sam up for life. If there was more money out there, no way was this chump getting over on him.

  “So we’re through, is that it?” he said. “The partnership’s done?”

  “I want to know what’s going on,” Tony said.

  “What’s going on?” Petty said. “I thought what was going on was that we were following the plan. Get the money, go after Avi.”

  “Avi,” Tony said dismissively. “I think you’re hyping this Avi too much. I ain’t even sure he’s for real.”

  “Okay,” Petty said. “Who do you think put the cowboy on my tail?”

  “According to you, Avi,” Tony said. “But how do I know?”

  “You think I’m making stuff up?”

  “I don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Petty charged the bed and grabbed Tony’s T-shirt. He yanked him up and dragged him to the window. “Look at room 2 downstairs,” he said.

  Tony parted the curtains and put his eye to the gap.

  “What do you see?” Petty said.

  “Some vato,” Tony said.

  “No shirt, out front?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s been there every time I’ve come by.”

  “So?” Tony said. “He’s staying here, too.”

  “So,” Petty said. “Avi sends someone to talk to him, says, ‘Hey, do me a favor for a hundred bucks. While you’re out here mad-dogging the parking lot, keep an eye on room 26.’”

  Tony laughed. “That dude’s name is Tito,” he said. “I went down and bummed a smoke off him last night.”

  “You went outside?” Petty said. “After we agreed you wouldn’t?”

  “He ain’t watching nobody,” Tony said. He pushed past Petty on his way back to the bed. “Homey can’t even see straight half the time.”

  Petty kept his face blank. The kid had called his bluff. Fine. If he got up from the table now, he’d still walk away a winner. But he couldn’t resist playing one more hand.

  “All right, then,” he said. “You’ve obviously got your own plan now, so let’s go get the money, and I’ll take my cut and be on my way.”

  Tony didn’t reply. He sat on the bed and fiddled with his fake leg.

  “Hurry the fuck up,” Petty said. “I don’t want to be here when Avi comes for your ass.”

  Again Tony failed to respond. He pulled off the prosthesis and examined its socket. Petty had never seen his stump before. It made him feel sorry for the kid, but not sorry enough to let up on him.

  “Fine,” he said, going to the door. “You’ve got your key. I’ll go by myself and pick up my share.”

  Tony spoke up as Petty twisted the knob.

  “This whole thing is too weird,” he said.

  “Tell me about it,” Petty said. “I’ve never been in a shit storm like this, either.”

  “Nobody’s watching me,” Tony said.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Petty said. “But do you want to take that chance? Gamble with the money? With your life? With your mom’s life?”

  “You’re paranoid, and you’re making me paranoid.”

  “What’s wrong with being careful just in case? It’s one more day. We leave for Chicago tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I’ve already got the tickets, and after we go there and talk to Avi, we’ll know what’s what, and we’ll both be in the clear.”

  Tony grabbed a beer off the nightstand and gulped half of it. After a long silence, he said, “There’s one more bag.”

  “Okay,” Petty said.

  “I wanted to have something left in case anything happened with the first two.”

  “Makes sense,” Petty said. “You want to get it now, make sure it’s safe before we go to Chicago?”

  “I guess so,” Tony said. “But I have to go with you this time.”

  “Why?” Petty said. “I know you think it’s all in my head, but what if someone is watching? We don’t want you near the money right now.”

  “You’ll never find it on your own,” Tony said.

  “Try me.”

  “You won’t.”

  Petty had hoped that when he walked out of the room this time, he’d never have to see the kid again—had been looking forward to it, in fact. He decided not to push any harder, though. Tony was barely on the hook as it was, and he didn’t want to risk his chance at the rest of the money.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “I guess that means I have to come up with a way to get you out of here without anybody catching on.”

  Tony grinned, unable to hide his delight at forcing Petty to bend to his will. “So get to work,” he said. “Sharpen your pencil or whatever.”

  Petty left the room a few minutes later. He walked downstairs, got into the Mazda, and drove away. Tony came down soon after. “Go talk to your buddy the vato and ask where the closest liquor store is,” Petty had instructed him. “That way, in case he’s reporting to Avi, he’ll think you’re just going for cigarettes and won’t get suspicious.” Tony did as he’d been told, and the vato said there was a store on the next block, toward Alvarado. Tony started in that direction but made a quick turn up a side street as soon as he was out of the vato’s sight. Petty was wait
ing for him there in the car.

  “Where to?” he said.

  “Lincoln Park,” Tony said.

  The park was in East L.A. Tony talked a mile a minute during the drive over, happy to be away from the motel. He talked about the Clippers, he talked about a girl he’d hooked up with in Oceanside when he was at Camp Pendleton, he talked about everything but what they were in the middle of. That was fine with Petty. He was tired of improvising, tired of tap dancing.

  “You like Takis?” Tony said as they exited the 10 at Mission and drove past hundreds of shipping containers lined up side by side in a dusty lot.

  “What’s Takis?” Petty said.

  “They’re chips, like Doritos. There’s Guacamole flavor, Fuego, Nitro. I like Nitro best.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “What about tostilocos?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s when they cut open a bag of Tostitos and put jicama in it and cucumber and pig skin and peanuts and hot sauce and lime.”

  “Now you’re fucking with me.”

  “It’s good, man. You get you some tostilocos and a beer, you’re all set.”

  The park consisted of scruffy grass ringing a small lake. Palm trees, picnic tables, duck shit. Petty found a space in front of the senior center, where a blast of salsa music signaled the start of the 12:30 Zumba class. He and Tony got out of the car and walked to the lake, then halfway around it. They could still hear the music.

  “We fished here when I was a kid,” Tony said. “I caught a fifteen-pound carp once. Know what I used for bait?”

  “Tostilocos?” Petty said.

  “Corn out of a can,” Tony said. “Carps love it.”

  The day had started out cold and never heated up. The sun was nothing but a bright smear in the hazy sky. Petty stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans to warm them. Tony slowed and looked over his shoulder when they came to a concrete drainpipe, like he was worried about someone following them. The only people nearby were a trio of winos sharing a bench and a bottle and a few kids in the skate park, filming one another doing tricks.

  “We getting close?” Petty said.

  “We’re here,” Tony said. He gestured at the lake with his chin.

  “In the water?” Petty said.

  “Under it.”

  A mat of thick green algae covered the lake’s surface here, studded with sodden trash that had been trapped against the drain’s grate. Petty couldn’t see the water, much less anything beneath it.

  “I hid it at night, when nobody was around,” Tony said. “I didn’t think I’d be coming back for it during the day.” He glanced at the winos again and stepped to the water’s edge, where he knelt awkwardly.

  “You need help?” Petty said.

  “I got it.”

  The kid stuck his hand into the lake and swept aside the algae. He sank his arm to the elbow and came up holding a yellow nylon rope that had been tied to a metal ring on the drain. “This is where we used to stash beer,” he said. “My friend stole it from a store he worked at.”

  After checking on the winos once more, Tony hauled in the rope hand over hand. A black plastic trash bag appeared, the other end of the rope tied to its drawstring. Petty’s heart beat faster. Tony pulled at the algae clinging to the bag and dropped the fistfuls of goo back into the lake. When he lifted the bag onto the shore, dirty water streamed out of it.

  “I put a hole in it, so it wouldn’t be too heavy,” he said.

  He opened the bag. The money was wrapped in more trash bags and duct tape. Tony patted the bundles proudly. “Check it out,” he said. “Nice and dry.”

  Petty felt like letting out a victory whoop. He helped Tony to his feet. This time they both looked around to see if anybody was watching—but, no, not the winos, not the skaters—and headed back to the car, Tony carrying the bag.

  “You didn’t eat them, did you?” Petty said.

  “Eat what?” Tony said.

  “The fish you caught in there. You didn’t eat them.”

  “Nah,” Tony said. “We threw them back. Except once this kid Adam bit the head off a crappie, showing off. He shot his girlfriend’s dad a few years later. He was fucking crazy.”

  Traffic turned stop-and-go near the 101-110 interchange. Petty was trapped in the sludge with no exit nearby, no bailout. Trying to find a reason for the jam, he tuned in a news station on the radio, one that advertised “traffic on the fives.” The slowdown had something to do with a demonstration downtown. A cop had shot and killed a black kid. The LAPD had cleared the cop, and people were pissed. Protesters had gathered on an overpass, where they chanted slogans and unfurled banners. Drivers on the freeway below were slowing to gawk, causing a mile-long backup.

  When Petty and Tony finally reached the bridge, Tony pulled out his phone to take a photo of the scene. He hissed in disgust when he discovered the phone’s battery was dead, then lowered his window and stuck out his head.

  “Fuck the police!” he yelled. The protesters whooped in response.

  “Come on, man,” Petty said.

  “Come on what?” Tony said. “That’s fucked up what they did.”

  “What would be fucked up would be to get pulled over right now,” Petty said.

  Tony frowned, and the anger and mistrust he’d displayed earlier in the motel room returned.

  “Nah, you’re just racist,” he said.

  “My girlfriend’s black,” Petty said.

  “’Cause you fuck ’em don’t mean you like ’em.”

  “Let’s change the subject.”

  “You probably hate Mexicans, too.”

  Petty held his tongue. Ten more minutes and he’d be rid of the kid. They rode in silence, both staring out the windshield. After a while Tony began to fidget, tapping his foot and nodding his head like he was listening to music. He was building up to something. Petty kept his own face blank, his body still. They were driving down 3rd, not four blocks from the motel, when Tony spoke up.

  “What now?” he said.

  He knew what now—they’d discussed it in the room before leaving for the park—but Petty explained it once again.

  “I’ll drop you back at the motel, make sure nobody’s following me, and put the money in the locker,” he said. “Tomorrow morning at ten we fly to Chicago from LAX. When we get there, we’ll pick up guns from a guy I know and go see Avi.”

  “What if he tells you to fuck off?”

  “He’s no hard-ass,” Petty said. “He’s got a wife, kids, plays tennis every Wednesday morning. He’s not gonna get himself killed over two million dollars. Two million dollars is nothing these days.”

  “Yeah, but what if he thinks it’s you that’s soft? What if he won’t back down? You gonna shoot him? For two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? If two million’s nothing, what’s two hundred and fifty thousand?”

  “It won’t come to that,” Petty said.

  “You don’t know.”

  “I do know. I’ve known this asshole for twenty years. It won’t come to that.”

  Tony scratched furiously at the scar on his face. He sensed that something wasn’t right but couldn’t figure out what to do about it. Silence returned as they waited through a long red light. The protesters had set fire to a palm tree, the radio said. They’d marched down and blocked the freeway.

  “I need beer,” Tony said.

  Fine. Anything he wanted. Petty pulled into the parking lot of a liquor store, a brick bunker with barred windows and a broken plastic sign.

  “A bottle of tequila, too,” Tony said. “And three microwave burritos. Ramona’s if they got ’em, beef and potato.”

  “You want me to heat them up?” Petty said.

  “I’ll nuke them at the motel.”

  The old Korean lady behind the counter shouted “Buenos días” when Petty entered the store. The aisles were so narrow he had to turn sideways to get back to the beer cooler. A little of everything crowded the shelves, from rice cookers to tube socks.
Petty grabbed a twelve-pack of Tecate and the burritos. The old lady had trouble understanding his request for Patrón.

  “Whiskey?”

  “No, tequila. Patrón.”

  Petty pointed at the bottle and kept pointing until she figured it out. He also bought five scratch-off lottery tickets, thought they might keep Tony occupied during their last minutes together. He handed them to him when he got back to the car, but the kid dropped the tickets into the bag without looking at them.

  “So ten tomorrow?” he said.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven,” Petty said.

  “Give me my ticket now.”

  “I don’t have it with me. I’ll print it out and bring it with your dinner tonight, if you want.”

  Tony didn’t reply.

  “Is that what you want?” Petty said.

  “Yeah,” Tony said. “Bring it.”

  Petty turned onto a side street a block from the Holiday Lodge. All that was left now was the blowoff, getting the kid out of the car. He’d throw him out if he had to but would rather it went easy.

  “I’m gonna drop you here,” he said.

  “Ain’t nobody watching the motel,” Tony said.

  “Humor me,” Petty said. “What do you want for dinner?”

  Tony didn’t answer for a while, just sat there chewing his tongue. Finally he said, “Whopper combo with large fries.”

  He took his time opening the door. Petty got ready. Two hard kicks would be enough to push him out. He exited on his own, though, reaching back in for the liquor-store bag, then slamming the door shut. He bent to look at Petty through the open window.

  “When will you be back?” he said.

  “Eight or so,” Petty said.

  Tony nodded, trying to think of another question, but what he really wanted to say spilled out: “Don’t fuck me over.”

  “Don’t worry,” Petty said. “Everything’s cool.” But the kid knew it wasn’t. Petty could see it in his eyes. It didn’t matter. Tony had no way of getting in touch with him, no idea where he was staying, and when he drove away, he’d be disappearing from the face of the kid’s planet, blasting off with two million free-and-clear dollars.

  He watched in the rearview mirror as Tony limped toward the motel. He hoped the kid would find a way out of the mess he was going to be in when his cousin and his crew showed up for their money, but if he didn’t, whatever happened was his own fault. He’d crossed a line when he agreed to hold the money. He’d stepped out of the village and into the jungle, where every tree hid a tiger and where, if you weren’t smart enough or quick enough, you were going to get clawed, get bit, get eaten up.