$200 and a Cadillac - By Fingers Murphy Page 0,101

The urge could take her no further, could compel her to do nothing other than what she had already done. And it was then that she realized she was helpless, bound to her one simple path like a planet caught in the invisible rut of its orbit, doing the only thing it could: keep going, around a central point that gave off nothing, not even heat or light.

XXXIV

Ron left Monarch at four sharp, just like any other day. He didn’t notice anything unusual at all. Mickey spotted him when he was halfway across the parking lot and watched him climb into the truck without noticing that someone had been inside of it.

The parking lot came to life with dozens of departing workers. Some stood around in groups, talking, laughing, planning to meet each other later at the Golden Dragon. Cars backed out of spaces cautiously, weaving in and out of the pedestrians. But Ron got in and was gone. He looked like a man in a hurry to get somewhere.

Victor nudged Tom, pointed with his chin and said, “Guy wants his fifty grand.”

Tom shifted in his seat but said nothing. He was just happy to have something happening. The back of his shirt was slick with sweat and it disgusted him to move against the seat. When Victor started the car, the air conditioner blasted to life, blowing hot air all around them. Tom aimed the vents out the open window and waited for the air blowing through them to cool. The heat was killing him.

Across the way, Mickey was nice and cool. The Suburban had been idling away for over an hour with the A/C going full blast. Mickey watched Ron Grimaldi move slowly through the parking lot and then accelerate as he turned onto the road back to town. The problem with trailing a car in the open desert is that a driver could see a car a mile or more away, so the one doing the trailing had to keep a lot of distance.

But the departing traffic made Mickey’s job easier. He let Ron get a quarter mile down the road, let a string of other cars fall in between himself and Ron, and then he pulled out. He noticed the FBI guys leave the parking lot several cars behind. He shook his head as he glanced in the rearview mirror. They were determined to drive him crazy.

Ron turned on the radio, tapped his fingers on the steering wheel along with an Eagles song, and began to think about what he might do with the fifty grand. A long weekend in Vegas or LA would be nice. He’d like to spend some time back in New York, but that was too dangerous. Maybe Hawaii? He hadn’t been there in twenty years. He’d also thought about taking the fifty, and the next fifty, and the next, and getting himself a small place down in Mexico. Somewhere down in Baja where he could run a small meth lab. He figured he could sell wholesale to dealers in San Diego. It would be virtually impossible to get caught, especially with all of the local police on the payroll. Why not? Have a nice little town all to himself and make a bundle off America’s obsession with drugs. It would be even easier to do than running a lab in Nickelback, which was pretty damned easy, as far as he could tell.

Ron was so busy imagining life on the Gulf of California, with his small villa, his fishing boat, and his Mexican housemaid, that he nearly missed the turn. The only thing that brought him out of it in time was the tanker truck on the side of the road. When Ron saw that, he hit the brake and realized where he was. He slowed and turned left onto the gravel road, staring at the truck and Justin Banner’s ugly Camaro parked off in the distance.

He could see what looked like Eddie talking to someone. But the other person was hidden by the car, and was too far away to identify in any event. Ron assumed it was Justin. What the hell would the two of them be doing out there at that time of day?

There was something strange about it, but not strange enough to make Ron stop. Instead, he shrugged and shook his head. It was just another example of what was wrong with the two idiots. They couldn’t focus. They got distracted. And every once in a while,