Final Price Page 6

  CHAPTER 13

  Smoke and Melons

  Bear, Monday evening

  At the sound of the doorbell, Chang heard Daisy’s baying bark. Nelson opened the door, and Chang knelt down and scratched the basset hound’s stomach when she rolled over for him.

  Chang walked down a narrow hallway to the dining room. He put his briefcase on a green table. The whole town house smelled musty from tall stacks of old books all around.

  “Some watchdog.” Nelson moved books off the table.

  Chang couldn’t get past the all–earth-tone-green furniture. “Did you decorate yourself?”

  “I like it. That’s a quiet color.”

  Chang felt distracted. He stared at the dining room table.

  “What?”

  Chang craved order. “This room is out of harmony.”

  “I know it’s a mess, but it’s my mess.” Nelson hovered behind Chang.

  Chang tried to ignore the disarray. He didn’t have to live here. “Let’s get to work.”

  Nelson opened each file and spread the contents on the dining room table. Harmony or not, Chang felt more relaxed.

  Nelson read Chang’s report in silence. He picked up the crime scene photographs. He held a close-up picture of a shattered melon with powder burns.

  “No wonder nobody heard anything. But did this guy plan to kill them, or was it spur of the moment? Was it just for the money? Their son said they kept a decent amount of cash around, isn’t that right?”

  “They didn’t trust banks. The kid said they would have given a robber money in the register, but their main stash was in a secret hiding place.”

  “Who knew about it?”

  “He did, of course. Maybe the gangs suspected.” Chang knew gangs usually didn’t kill a “customer” who complied.

  Nelson chewed a thumbnail and spoke rapidly. “Someone kills this couple like a pro hit, takes their money, and then dumps groceries in their laps. What’s professional about that? Next, robbery of a convenience store, clerk killed, then he gets a lemon smashed into his face after he’s dead. With enough force to break the nose. Rational clues, then a curveball.” Chang knew Nelson spoke more to himself.

  Nelson looked at the photo series from the Patel homicide. He placed the pictures of Patel’s face with the lemon alongside each other. Chang could hear a soft whistle from Nelson’s nose when he breathed.

  “The robbery is smoke. Both robberies are smoke.” Nelson stared at the photos. “This is rage.” He pointed at Patel. “And so is this.” He tapped the shot of the dead Vietnamese couple. “It’s harder to tell with the first, but the produce is the anger. Why a lemon and not a melon?” Nelson looked up. Chang mentioned his idea about lemongrass and Vietnamese cuisine.

  “This kind of fury burns like a fire. It gets bigger before it goes out. I hope we’re both wrong.”

  Chang knew they weren’t. “So what do we do about it?”

  Nelson shrugged. “I guess we follow our nature.”

  “Welcome back, Flash.” Chang hadn’t used that nickname in years.

  CHAPTER 14

  All in the Delivery

  Greenville, Delaware, Monday morning

  Shamus wished for the first time in a while that he didn’t have to go in to the dealership. He was anxious to work on his next project.

  After the encounter with that vicious little praying mantis at Chang’s mother’s house yesterday, Shamus couldn’t wait to rebound. He reviewed every facet of his plan. Not as simple as Patel, but worth the extra effort. If Patel was a “quickie,” this time he would savor a nice, long session. Those two slugs deserved what was coming. When he’d felt the calm wash over him Saturday, he knew Gran had sent these Takers to him for a reason.

  He’d sold his ass off on Saturday, and nothing was good enough for these pigs.

  After the weekend’s sales debacle Tommy was going to be difficult to catch, but Shamus knew he could still do it.

  Shamus rolled into the dealership for the Monday staff meeting with the owner, Fred Baer, who owned several other car franchises in addition to the Honda dealership. These meetings bored Shamus; they were usually reviews of generic car-selling techniques. Beginner stuff. Baer may have been a successful businessman, but Shamus could teach him a thing or two about public speaking. He wasn’t a people person like Shamus.

  In the meeting room, Jonah sat next to him.

  “Hi, Jonah, good weekend?”

  “Can’t complain. Got lots of sleep and recharged the batteries. Hey, tough break with those guys on Saturday.”

  “Already forgotten. Onward and upward, right?” Shamus gave him a big grin. “Way to go with your customers. I saw they bought, finally.”

  “Oh, yeah. Finally is right. They about wore me out. Mrs. Chen was a hammer. Mr. Chen spoke no English. It took me the whole day to close them, but I’ll be glad when they’re over the curb,” Jonah said.

  Learn from his patience.

  The rest of the team filed in, and the meeting started. Shamus tuned out as soon as he heard the topic: “How to fill out a buyer’s order correctly.”

  Early this morning Shamus had done a dry run to the Hubberts’ development. They lived in North Wilmington just off Route 202. He drove past their house, unconcerned that he used his own car. He would borrow another vehicle tonight. No more winging it after yesterday. The burn on his leg reminded him of the price of failure.

  He’d seen the Hubberts’ new car in the driveway. The white temporary tag mocked him. He hoped they were enjoying it. They weren’t going to have to worry about how long the new-car smell would last.

  Among the props from Sunday’s little shopping spree he’d picked up some handcuffs. Not police grade, but they’d do the job. At least nobody at the novelty shop asked questions. At a hardware store he bought more duct tape. Great stuff. Easy to use, let him get control quickly. His last stop was a bakery to pick up a loaf of French bread from the day-old basket. He could almost smell the wonderful aroma from that little shop when the end of the meeting broke into his reverie.

  “So remember, everyone, when you fill out the buyer’s order properly the first time, you save time. Got it? First time, save time, means more time for sales.” Baer nodded as if he’d just dispensed the wisdom of the ages.

  Jake clapped his hands loudly:

  “Well, let’s get ’em. Let’s get another week off to a good start. You guys are doing a great job; don’t let up,” Jake said.

  Shamus only forgot about the Hubberts when he was busy with a delivery to some pleasant customers. The day dragged on.

  By early evening he’d collected a couple of good prospects, and just after dinner he sold a Civic to a nice Korean woman who was looking for a car for her son.

  “Okay, Mrs. Kim, if we get you this price,” Shamus said, pointing to her offer, which actually allowed the dealership and him to make a profit, “and I give you first oil change free, we have deal?” He found he lapsed into broken English, but he wasn’t trying to patronize her.

  “Well, maybe I think about it,” she said, but she made no move to leave. Shamus knew it was time to close the deal.

  “Two oil changes, a free carwash…and this.” He held up the plastic pen with the dealership logo. Sold.

  Why couldn’t all customers be like the Johnsons or Mrs. Kim? Here’s a nice car, here’s a good deal, you give me some money, here are the keys, have a nice life.

  Dale Olinger, the burly finance manager and self-described “dirty old man,” had dropped by his cubicle earlier that day with the credit report on that rat from last Saturday, his one big “sale” for that miserable day.

  “Tell your customer that if he wants a loan he doesn’t need to pay all his bills, but it would help if he occasionally paid one or two,” Dale said.

  Shamus shrugged.

  “Nice job today.” Jake told him before they closed the store. “Way to bounce back after a tough Saturday.”

  “Hey, have a nice day off, Shamus.” Jonah ro
lled out the door. By five minutes past nine the place was nearly empty. Shamus knew he couldn’t just wait around. He’d swiped the spare key to a Camry earlier. He’d come back for it when the coast was clear.

  Shamus smirked at the warning sign below the dummy security camera. He was glad the owners were too cheap to pay for the real thing.

  Shamus drove off and cruised around for thirty minutes. He felt the tension build. Once he thought enough time had passed, he returned to the dealership.

  The place was dark inside and quiet outside. He moved past the front of the building and parked near the back of the lot by the Camry. He unloaded his supplies into the black car, and then moved his car a block away, near a local bar.

  The Toyota carried him toward his quarry. Fairbridge, the Hubberts’ development. He saw one old man walking a dog; neither appeared to take notice. When Shamus turned onto the Hubberts’ street, he pulled a baseball cap low onto his head. He rolled past the house and saw a couple lights downstairs and the telltale bluish flicker of a TV set from what had to be a bedroom.

  He parked just past their driveway and got out of the car with his grocery bag of goodies. The loaf of French bread stuck out the top. He marched up the front walkway and knocked on the door. The Hubberts didn’t have a peephole. They’d have to open the door to see who was there. His heart raced when the porch light snapped on. He heard first one lock and then a second click, and the door opened to reveal Maisy in all her house-coated glory.

  CHAPTER 15

  Crunch Time

  Shamus held up the bag to obscure his face and stepped close. “Sorry I’m late. Here are the groceries you ordered. That’ll be thirty-eight dollars and sixteen cents.”

  “What? We didn’t order anything. You have the wrong house.” Maisy started to close the door.

  “Doug said you were hungry and to come quickly. Ask him, he’s right behind you.” Doug’s name gave Shamus the moment he needed.

  Maisy looked confused and turned. Her head snapped back to the door, but Shamus stepped into the opening and pointed a pistol inches from her nose.

  “Not a sound. Not if you want to live. I just want money and I’ll be gone.”

  Maisy’s mouth opened and closed like a bass out of water. Shamus nudged her backwards and stepped into the hallway. He closed the door.

  He heard movement from upstairs and glanced up. He spun Maisy around and whispered, “Move!” He walked her toward the kitchen, away from the landing of the stairs.

  “Maise? Who was that?” Doug called downstairs.

  A pet name. How sweet.

  “Not one word, ‘Maze,’ or I’ll take you both out.” Shamus spotted a telephone mounted on the wall and put down the grocery bag on the kitchen table. He picked up the phone, heard a dial tone, and left it off the hook.

  “Maise?” Doug called again. Maisy whimpered.

  “Don’t get cute. His life is in your hands.” Shamus stood behind her.

  He put one hand on her shoulder and guided her to sit at the kitchen table. He made sure she could feel the cold steel of the revolver on her neck.

  “Tell him you can’t hear him and to come downstairs. If you warn him, I’ll shoot you both. Do this right and I’m gone in five minutes.”

  “I, I can’t hear you,” Maisy yelled feebly upstairs. “Come here.”

  Doug’s voice carried down the stairs. “Who was at the door, Maise?”

  Shamus grabbed her hair and pressed the barrel to the side of her head.

  Nasty, greasy stuff.

  “Get down here, Doug!” she yelped.

  Too loud!

  His finger began to tighten on the trigger until he heard Doug’s irritation.

  “Christ, Maise! What’s your problem?” The heavy sound of his tread came down the steps.

  “Say nothing,” Shamus hissed.

  Doug walked down the hallway and turned into the kitchen. He wore baggy pajama bottoms without a shirt to conceal his flabby chest and stomach. His indignant tone vanished when he saw Maisy with a gun to her head.

  What a Kodak moment!

  “Wha—?” He stopped short, and a ripple of flesh continued forward.

  “Hi, Doug!” Shamus felt control return. “Listen up. No heroics, just do what I say and you guys are going to be fine. If you run or try anything, you’re going to get Maze here shot, then yourself. Sound good?” Shamus gave him his best Patriot Motors smile.

  “Wha…?”

  “Doug, focus. You need to be quick on the uptake like your best girl. She understands that if you go along you’ll get another chance to drive that new car. Keep gobbling like that, you’ll make me jumpy.”

  Too fun.

  “Okay, take two baby steps forward and put on what I give you. No screaming, no talking, nothing sudden, just relax and do it.” Shamus reached one hand into the bag. He kept the gun pointed at Doug.

  “Why?” Doug seemed to recognize Shamus.

  Shamus kept his voice calm and raised the pistol to Maisy’s head. “Shut up. You’re making me nervous now; keep it up and bad things are going to happen fast.”

  Doug closed his mouth. Shamus pulled out two pairs of handcuffs. He handed them both to Maisy.

  “Doug, walk slowly forward, and then, Maisy, you put one set of these on his wrists, then onto yourself.”

  “Why?” Doug said again.

  Pig. Shamus clubbed Doug on the collarbone with the butt of the gun and aimed at his face. The fat man yelped.

  “Put them on!” Animals still loose. Shamus’s heart pounded.

  A minute later both Doug and Maisy were in cuffs. Better.

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, downstairs to the basement where you won’t be in my way.” Shamus could see doubt on Doug’s face.

  This guy was such a pain in the ass.

  “Here’s the deal. I want you out of sight and quiet so I can get the money you owe me for all my trouble on Saturday. Can’t do that if I think you’re going to try something or call the cops, can I?”

  Now they took him seriously.

  “Maisy, get up. Doug, you first, then her. Downstairs and not a word.”

  They both walked to the basement door, and Doug managed to open it. Shamus didn’t know what was down there, but Doug couldn’t grab a weapon with cuffs on. Other than Maisy crying, which Shamus didn’t mind, they stayed quiet.

  The basement was unfinished, with a concrete floor and walls. At one end a washer and dryer, at the other a heavy worktable and a pegboard with tools hanging from it. A pipe ran from the floor up through the ceiling. A portable card table and folding chairs leaned against another wall.

  Shamus placed the grocery bag on the floor. He took a small set of keys and tossed them to Doug. They smacked into his stomach and dropped to the floor.

  “Pick up the keys, open your cuffs, and lock your leg to the leg of that table, above the crossbar, nice and secure.”

  Doug managed, though Shamus saw the fat man’s hands were shaking.

  “Throw the keys back. There you go.” Shamus smiled again.

  “Now, Maisy, take these. Lock yourself to that pipe.” She cuffed her wrist.

  Shamus grabbed two folding chairs and gave one to each.

  “There. Much better!” Shamus tucked the pistol into his belt.

  “What do you want, Shamus?” Doug called him by name for the first time.

  “Hey, you remember me! I’m touched. I told you upstairs that I wanted money.”

  “Take the money, we have a little here, just don’t hurt us. I have a couple hundred upstairs and some jewelry.”

  “Ah, ah. How can we possibly negotiate on an empty stomach? Maisy here must be starving, aren’t you?”

  “No, please let us go.”

  “Oh come now, you can’t tell me with all this excitement you aren’t feeling at least a little peckish? No? Don’t be coy. What sort of guest would I be if I didn’t bring something for the hosts?”

  He reached into the bag, pulled out a loaf of F
rench bread, and waved it like a baton.

  “Shamus, please. Take our money and go. Take it and we won’t say anything, I promise. You can have the new car if you want,” Doug said.

  Shamus looked at Doug at the mention of the car. He walked over to Maisy. “Ah, yes, the new car. How much did you save again? You remember don’t you, Maze?”

  “No.” Her voice quavered.

  “I don’t think that’s true.” He put the bread in her lap and took out a roll of duct tape. He took her free arm and wound tape around both until they were trapped together.

  “What are you doing to her?” Doug sounded frantic.

  “Stop your whining. If you really want me to leave, you’re going to have to earn it. Make it worth my while.” He grinned.

  “What do you mean?” Doug spoke in a stammer.

  “We’re going to play a game, and if you win, I leave.”

  “I thought you wanted money.”

  “Oh, Douglas. Man does not live by bread alone, sometimes he needs a Diet Pepsi to wash it down with, right, Maze?” He bopped her on the head with the loaf of bread, and crumbs showered down her hair. She let out a screech.

  “Hush.” Shamus took a strip of tape and placed it over her mouth. Her nose made a wet rattle when she breathed.

  Lovely.

  “Saturday, I wanted money. I guess you did too because you sold me out to those pricks at Marlo for twenty-eight bucks!” Shamus could feel the blood sing in his ears. Felt good.

  No. It felt fucking great!

  “You said I had my chance, but I blew it. Well, here’s your chance, Dougie, and I’m raising the stakes.”

  Doug’s face went slack. “Are you crazy?”

  “That’s not your problem right now. Your only concern is to do what you do best.” Shamus pulled out a pair of party-size bags of Nacho Cheese Doritos.

  “All you need to do is finish both bags in two minutes and I’ll be on my way. You wasted my time, and this is my way of returning the favor. No big deal, right?”