$200 and a Cadillac - By Fingers Murphy Page 0,105

into the warehouse. That had been his biggest worry, the two of them just standing there, face to face. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to draw the gun quickly enough. But sitting in the truck, Ron was an easier target because he wouldn’t be able to move as fast.

As Eli walked across the gravel toward the truck, he called out, “Hey.”

Ron just looked at him. “I’m assuming that sack’s full of money.”

Eli grinned. “It’s not quite full.” He unsnapped the top flap and opened the bag. He was almost to the truck, his brain racing now with unanticipated questions. When was the best time to do it? Maybe distract him with the money? Get the greedy bastard to focus on the money for just a second?

Eli held the sack open and shook the bundles of cash inside. “Pretty nice, eh? And that’s not all of it. I’m waiting for Eddie to get here with the rest.” Eli handed the sack to Ron, reaching in through the window to give it to him. He kept the smile on his face the whole time, casually reaching back with his other hand. He heard the words come out of his mouth, but his brain was racing, trying to keep the movements light and quick. As he felt his fingers close around the grip of the gun, he saw an odd expression flash across Ron’s face at the mention of Eddie.

But what did it matter?

Now was the time.

This was it.

Mickey heard the radio go off in the cruiser at the same time he saw the gun. He could hear Jimmy talking, trying to get his attention, but he couldn’t make out the words. He watched the kid pull the gun out from behind his back where he had tucked it into his pants. It was a clumsy move, slow and obvious. Mickey could see it coming from a hundred yards away as soon as Eli reached for it.

Ron could see it too. He kicked the truck door open and it slammed against Eli’s hand. The .44 exploded, sending a bullet off into the desert, and fell from Eli’s hand. Ron was out of the truck and on him in half a second, his right fist coming across the width of his body and against the side of Eli’s head in one swift motion.

Eli had half a second of blackness before he came to on his knees, staring into the gravel, marveling at the brightness of the day. He craned his head up to see the silhouette towering over him, sharp against the bright blue sky. Wait, you don’t understand, it was all a mistake—he wanted to say it, to somehow explain it away, to take it all back. But then a blur came at him and he could taste the stinging, metallic wet of his own blood.

Hank watched Lugano wind up and kick the kid in the face so hard it lifted him up and flipped him over on his back. He could hear something break, even at sixty or seventy feet away. The sudden, dull snap of bone beneath flesh. Probably the jaw. What would it matter, Hank thought? The kid was done anyway.

It was time to move. Hank would get him while he finished the kid. While Ron was distracted by the act of killing, he would be killed himself. It would leave a nice explanation for the two dead bodies. A payoff gone awry. Each man killing the other. Perfect.

Mickey was up on his feet, but still crouching, the instant he heard the shot. It was a primal reaction to the sound of gunfire, ingrained years before in a jungle on the other side of the world. A calm intensity came over him. He focused on the scene, tuning out the sound of the radio, the sound of Jimmy trying to tell him what he’d been waiting all afternoon to hear. Now was a time to act and not to listen.

He watched the kid, writhing on his back, reaching into the air in front of him as though he were trying to pull himself up by some invisible threads that only he could see or grasp. Why had the kid attacked Grimaldi? What was happening at the warehouse? Was it connected to the body in the desert? Would it result in yet another body?

Mickey watched Grimaldi stoop over in the dirt and pick up the revolver, turning it over and dusting it off. Then he reached down and picked