Six Bad Things Part 21

--No.

--Like a year ago, I saw the Henry Thompson America's Most Wanted.

There it is again.

--And I totally thought he looked like you, but it just seems too far-fetched, right? So that was that. But the second I looked at the poster? Bang! Just like that I got it. Then I motored out to the highway and found Leo, and you were gone. That sealed the deal.

--How is Leo?

--OK, last I saw. I took him back to Pedro's and he was awake and could talk a little. Said the Federales caught him in the jungle and beat it out of him about where I was taking you. He felt real bad about that. Anyway, Pedro called Doc Sanchez and I took off. Looked like a good time to return to the States for a vacation. Also, I wanted to look you up.

--Why?

Not that I need to ask.

--Dude, way I figure it, I'm owed some money. Leo may be one of those cats who will do anything for a friend. But me? I like to get paid. And there is no f.u.c.king way that if I'd known who you were I would have helped out for the standard fee. I mean, if I'd known I was gonna have to kill three guys, I probably would have said, like, double. But now? s.h.i.+t. Way I figure, I know you have money 'cause you gave the Federales 70 Gs and they thought you should have more.

Something occurs to me.

--What happened to the seventy?

--s.h.i.+t, dude, I got it.

He pulls up his s.h.i.+rt and I see my money belt wrapped around his stomach. Bloodstained just like the wanted poster. He drops the s.h.i.+rt.

--But, dude, that's besides the point. I mean, that's like salvage and has nothing to do with you owing me for services rendered.

I open my eyes. The world has stopped spinning and has come back into focus. Money.

--How much?

--Well, I'm willing to listen to an offer, dude.

--Hundred thousand?

--s.h.i.+t, dude, if you can rattle off 100 Gs just like that, you can probably do two.

--Yeah, I probably can.

--Dude! How much do you have?

--A lot.

--OK, OK, that's cool, I'm not greedy. Two! Two is cool. But hey, that only stands as long as things don't get any harder, OK?

--Yeah.

I sit back up and my stomach lurches. More concussion symptoms.

--Rolf?

--Dude?

--Did you kill a deputy after I crashed?

--Yeah. Didn't know what else to do there.

I stand up and stumble. Rolf catches me.

--Easy.

I clamp my mouth shut and point at the bathroom and he helps me to the toilet. He stands in the open door as I spill my guts. The water I drank comes up, and then it's dry heaves. I finish and slump on the floor. Dry heaves suck. Dry? Didn't I just eat with Mom and Dad?

--How long have I been out?

--Almost twenty-four hours, dude.

s.h.i.+t, oh s.h.i.+t.

--Phone! Phone! Did I have a cell phone?

--Yeah.

--I need it right now.

MOM AND Dad are in police custody, and Dylan wants to explain to me why he's not happy about it.

--Is this how you do business, Hank? Because if it is, if this is what I have to look forward to, I may just have to back out of this deal right now.

I'm sitting on the bathroom floor talking on the cell phone Dylan gave me. Sid has come back from the IHOP and is sitting out in the room, eating a stack of banana pancakes. Rolf is standing next to the open door so he can listen in.

--I had some trouble.

--Is that what you call trouble, Hank? Because if it is . . .

He breathes deeply.

--OK, this isn't doing either of us any good. It does n.o.body any good for me to lose my temper. What we need to do here is evaluate the situation. Our problem is that as long as your parents are with the police, my employees cannot reach them. I can see where this might give you comfort, but what you need to remember is that it also removes my leverage with you. Which increases my legal and economic exposure. Which makes me nervous and more inclined to take aggressive action once your parents are released. Now, why don't you tell me what happened and we'll come up with some strategies to fix our problem?

How much to tell him?

--I went to see a friend. These guys I sc.r.a.pped with in San Diego showed up. I think they figured out who I am and were looking for some reward money or something.

--I know that, Hank, I can get that information from the TV at this point. They most certainly do know who you are, and now the police and the FBI and the national media know that you are still alive and at large.

Oh, G.o.d.

--We can solve this, Hank, we can. Where are you now?

--I'm on my way to get the money.

--Where? The police said they found your car, so where are you?

I look at Rolf looking at me, listening to my end of the conversation.

--I got out of town, Dylan, that's all you need.

--Hank! Hank, are you now telling me what I need to know? Because if you are. . . . If you are trying to tell me what I need to know, then I have to tell you that you are very much mistaken. The police have not charged your parents and even if they do, it seems unlikely that they will have any trouble making bail, seeing as they are such pillars of the community. Trust me Hank, they will not be safely in police custody for long. Now, I would rather not do so, but if I do not have some a.s.surances soon I will be forced to secure my leverage at the earliest possible opportunity, Hank. I will be forced to take custody of your parents until our business is concluded one way or another.

I close my eyes.

Mom and Dad.

I open my eyes.

--Dylan, I'm out of Patterson. I'm on the road and undercover and on my way to get the money. All you need to do is sit tight and I will take care of everything. I have some experience in this, after all.

He's quiet for a moment.

--That's a good point, Hank. Very well put. Experience is invaluable when the rubber hits the road. OK. OK. This is me, this is my weakness. I try to micromanage. You just can't do that and expect your people to do their job properly. But now, now I do need to establish a timeline. I was willing to work without a clock before this, but now . . . we need some targets.

--Like what?

--It's . . . eight forty-seven PM, Tuesday night. Let's call it nine PM. I want my money in five days. And, so there is no confusion, that means in my hands no later than nine PM this coming Sunday. Understood?

--Yes.

--And, I'm sorry to ask for this, but I'll also want progress reports. That means at least one call every twenty-four hours. Understood?

--Yes.

--OK. Well, that looks like it. Hank, I want to thank you for being patient while I blew off steam and I want to thank you for your problem-solving skills. Thank you.

--Sure.

--And . . . I'll talk to you tomorrow.

He hangs up. Rolf points at the phone.

--Dude?

--This guy is keeping an eye on my folks for me. I owe him some money for it.

He nods his head.

--Money.

--Yeah.

--There gonna be enough for both of us?

--Yeah, there'll be enough.

But there isn't. Dylan wants it all, and Rolf will want it all, too, when he finds out how much there is. The difference is that Dylan has Mom and Dad. Rolf just has Henry Thompson, and I don't care much what happens to him.

I get myself to my feet. I wobble and Rolf puts a hand on my arm.

--What now?

What now? I could try calling Tim again. But who's fooling who here? Something's gone wrong in Vegas and Tim is not going to be returning my calls. So what now?

I point into the room where Sid is watching the Winter X Games.

--TV.

The story isn't getting full-blown, nonstop coverage, but CNN has given it a t.i.tle: Henry Thompson: The Return. I am a sequel.

When we tune in, they're showing tape shot earlier in the day in front of Wade's house. The two trucks are being untangled, yellow tape is strung everywhere, sheriff's deputies and State Police and guys in dark suits are walking around. I catch a glimpse of a chalk outline at the base of the garage door. They cut to more tape from the strawberry field off of Las Palmas: the wrecked Monte Carlo, a sheriff's car parked next to it, cops combing the ground for evidence. Cut to an earlier shot at the same scene: a covered body on a gurney being loaded into the back of an ambulance. On the bottom of the screen, a name: Deputy Theodore T. Fischer.

Sid points at the screen.

--That's him, that's him.

Rolf puts his hand up, hus.h.i.+ng him.

--Cool it.

--Dude, that's my guy.

I look at him.

--You shot the deputy?

--Yeah. My first.

--Your first?

--My first kill.

He's staring at the screen, eyes sparkling. I give Rolf a look. He shrugs. Kids these days. Great, Sid the Junior Psycho is stoked because he just earned his Murder Merit Badge.

More tape: the outside of Emanuel Medical Center in Turlock, three ambulances unloading, and the back of a head between two state cops. Danny. The reporter is listing names and injuries and legal statuses.

Hector Barnes (aka Fat Guy): lacerations, abrasions, contusions; in good condition. "No charges as yet." Kenneth Pitlanske (aka Ponytail Boy): abrasions, contusions, multiple fractures; in stable condition. "No charges as yet." Willis Doniker (aka Mullet Head): DOA. Unidentified female eighteen (aka Leslie): abrasions, contusions; released from hospital. "In police custody." Daniel Lester (aka Danny): facial lacerations, contusions, abrasions; released from hospital. "In police custody." Unidentified female minor, six (aka Ca.s.sidy): facial laceration, minor concussion; in fair condition. Wade Hiller: DOA.

And more tape: the front of my home, cops, Mom and Dad being led to a sheriff's car by two deputies, reporters shouting and shoving cameras into the air to get a shot. They're in custody, uncharged, but being questioned.

The punch line comes last, a statement from the San Joaquin County Sheriff taped a few hours ago.