Читать книгу Not Even Past - Dave White - Страница 21

MARTIN DRUMMED the steering wheel in time with the Hollies’ “Carrie Anne.” They’d already tracked through “Bus Stop” and “Long Cool Woman.” Donne was ready to shoot himself. It was easier to focus on hating the music than the bruises that were starting to form on his knuckles.

When he opened and closed his hand, a dull pain radiated up into his wrist. Been a long time since he punched somebody, and his mind had been so clouded, he didn’t even take the time to do it right. He’d be lucky if he didn’t fracture anything.

The tapping slowed as Martin’s mix CD—yes, a CD—transition into “The Air That I Breathe.” Donne wondered what Martin would do if he just reached over and hit the AM button and flipped to sports talk.

“Chances are he didn’t call the cops,” Martin said. “They’d have been here by now.”

Donne looked out the passenger window, but couldn’t see the bodega. The kid with the skateboard had disappeared nearly ten minutes ago. The street was empty, save a couple of birds who landed, pecked away at something on the sidewalk, then took off into the air. He twisted his neck and looked down toward the bodega. Nothing going on there either.

“What are we waiting for?” Donne asked.

Martin blew out air out of his nose sharply. “What have you been doing the past two years?”

“Studying.” He wished he hadn’t said the word. The impending morning exam flashed in front of him, and he realized he was going to miss it. He pulled out his phone. No messages.

“We’re waiting for something to happen. Come on, kid. You’ve done this before.”

“Don’t call me kid.” Donne looked out the window.

“You would be dead,” Martin said. “They would have killed you.”

“You’re psychic now?”

“I remember that look. You always thought the risky option was the best.” Martin pulled out a pack of gum and offered it to Donne, who turned it down. Martin shrugged, then popped a piece in his mouth. He almost missed because of that tremor in his hand.

“We’d have more information.”

“Remember Levison Street?”

Donne closed his eyes and tried to pull up the memory. It wouldn’t come. He’d hoped it was just because too much time had passed, not because he’d been on that much coke and booze at the time.

“No,” he admitted.

“Three guys upstairs. At least we thought they were in that old apartment, counting their money, making their meth. We were waiting for them to come out when the bathroom window blew out, big flames, black smoke. Loud as hell.”

The memory didn’t come. Donne’s stomach twisted into a sailor’s knot.

“We thought—they had to be dead. Wait for the fire department to come, put it out. We’d go up and drag out a couple of crispy corpses. But not you. No, you thought it was a distraction, remember?”

Jesus.

Martin blew a bubble, popped it. “You thought they were gonna wait a few minutes, and then sneak out the back, while we were distracted by the sirens and flames. Wait a second.”

Martin turned his head and Donne followed, craning his neck. A dark Cadillac pulled up to the corner near the bodega. The black guy hopped out of the passenger seat and headed into the store. Donne should have gone with them. He opened and closed his right hand again and winced.

“This should be interesting,” Martin said. He put one hand on the key in the ignition.

The motor fired up.

“You don’t remember running into the fire by yourself?”

“Shut up, Bill. Let’s see what happens.”

“You caught them. By yourself. Spent the night in the hospital with smoke inhalation. Soot all over your face. But you got them.”

The owner of the bodega came out, covering his face with a red cloth. The black guy followed, but stopped to close and lock the door. Martin started the car.

“How fucked up were you back then? No wonder Jeanne left.”

Donne took a deep breath. “She came back,” he said.

“Yeah,” Martin said. “She did, right?”

The words seemed to be laced with something. Donne didn’t feel like playing this game. The knot in his stomach tightened.

Martin waited until the Cadillac was halfway down the block before pulling out into the street. If these guys were military, they’d make the tail quickly. Maybe they didn’t care.

But Donne couldn’t let those last words from Martin go. “What are you talking about? What happened with Jeanne?”

“You’ve always been paranoid too.”

“Stop screwing with me.”

“I have to concentrate. Let’s see where these guys are going.”

They were winding down toward the docks. Donne could smell the bay through the cracked windows. Bill Martin hated air-conditioning. Donne felt lightheaded and energized at the same time, as if he’d drank two cups of coffee and taken a sedative simultaneously.

The Cadillac acted like they didn’t know they were being followed. Martin said a few car lengths back, but it never felt like they were going to lose them. If these guys wanted Donne to go with them, having him follow them was an easy way to accomplish it.

Three minutes later, Martin stopped the car. The Cadillac kept cruising up to on old shipping warehouse. Behind it was the water. One way in, one way out.

“Looks like we’re both about to learn something new, kid.”

Martin turned off the car and got out. Before Donne could do the same, Martin was ten feet away and heading toward the warehouse.