Already Gone - By John Rector Page 0,59
this himself?”
I take the photo out of my pocket and show her the number on the back. “He told me to call him tonight and tell him where he is. If it checks out, he said your debt to them will be paid and we’ll be free to go.”
“He said that?”
“Those were his exact words.”
Diane looks back at the road. The light turns green, and we start moving again.
“What do you think?”
She shakes her head no. “The man they’re looking for is Thomas Wentworth.”
At first the name doesn’t mean anything to me.
Then it does.
“The note on the jar,” I say. “The body the cops found by the river.”
“They don’t need to know where he is. They tracked him down a long time ago.”
“Then—” I stumble over my words, trying to understand. “What do they want?”
“They want their diamonds back. And once they have them, they’ll come for me.” Diane looks up, and all I see in her eyes is sadness. “There’s no deal, Jake. These people never forgive.”
– 37 –
Diane turns off the main road and takes side streets through town. She seems to know the way, but I’m completely lost.
I ask her where we’re going.
“To a house in the canyon. I want to get off the street until we can figure out our next move.”
I look at my watch.
“How long would it take to get to Flagstaff?”
“Not long. Why?”
I tell her about Gabby’s friend with the plane. “He agreed to fly me into Nogales tonight. He can take us both, but we have to be there by midnight.”
“Mexico? What are we going to do in Mexico?”
“Stay out of prison, for one thing. And if we’re lucky, not get shot by your old boss.”
Diane shakes her head. “Hold on, let’s think about this for a minute.”
“I have money, and Gabby said he’d wire more. We can figure out the rest once we’re down there.”
“How much do you have?”
“About eight hundred.”
“That’s not enough.”
“It has to be. We can’t stay here.”
“Eight hundred dollars isn’t going to do us any good.”
“Then what do you want to do?” I can hear the impatient edge in my voice, and I make an effort to stay calm. “What’s your plan?”
Diane taps her fingers on the steering wheel. “We keep going to the house in the canyon. My bags are there, we grab them, then go pick up Lisa. She can drive us up to Flagstaff and—”
“There’s no time for that. Leave the bags, we’ll buy what we need in Nogales.”
“With eight hundred dollars? I don’t think so.”
I start to argue, but she stops me, says, “I have money. Not a lot, but enough to get us wherever we want to go, and we won’t have to be in debt to Gabby.”
I start to tell her it’s too late, that I’m already in debt to Gabby, but I change my mind and don’t say a word.
Diane looks at me. “All I have to do is run in, grab the bag. Five minutes, tops.”
“If we’re not there by midnight—”
“We’ll be there,” she says. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”
I’m not convinced, but the way she smiles at me is enough to make me give in.
The road into the canyon is dark, and Diane slows through the sharp turns. Once we get to the bottom, she looks over at me and says, “It’s just up here a ways.”
I look out the window, but all I see is darkness.
“Butch Cassidy hid out here,” Diane says. “A lot of those old outlaws came here to hide from the law.”
I mumble a reply.
Diane frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like this, any of it.”
“I told you, I’ll just be a minute.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“How long did you work with my father?”
“Not long. He delivered paintings to a few clients from time to time.”
“Stolen paintings?”
Diane hesitates. “Not always.”
“Why would he turn on you this time?”
“He didn’t turn on me. It was a bad plan from the start, and no one expected him to die.”
“What was the plan?”
“Wentworth wanted there to be a chain,” she says. “He wanted each of us to be responsible for the person under us. No one knew who else was involved.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Wentworth brought me in. He gave me the shipping information, where the truck was headed, when it would arrive. It was my job to hire someone to stop the truck and steal the cargo.”
“My father.”
“It was his job to put together a crew to hijack the truck. Wentworth didn’t know who I hired, and I didn’t know who your father