The Last Bender, Chapter 43

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

          “Who’s driving?”   I asked.

          “We got a driver. Get in,” he said, holding open the front door.

          “No good Church. Wanda Watts told me only two.”

          “I said get in. We got it all figured out. You’re working for me now, remember?”

          “Wait a minute. No one said anything about me working for you, you exopthalmic halibut. And I’m not getting in so quit carping.”

          His gills pulsed; he crossed his eyebrows and pulled a sad face. “Jack,” he said. “My feelings. They hurt now.”

          “Sorry Church, I can’t pray with you. Boot the chauffeur. One of us drives to the drop. We get it done.”  

          He blocked the door now and remonstrated with his whole face. “What’s eatin’ you anyway?” he asked.

          “It’s just the plan I worked out is all. Two guys, one goes in, one sits with the cash and Wanda.”

          He worked it over like a piece of gum. Finally he said, “That’s not what Laraby said.”   Sweat popped out all over his forehead.

          “Suppose you tell me exactly what Laraby said.”

          “He said to take Stitch and pick up Bunuel. He said to drive out with you and Stitch to the drop. He didn’t say to do what you say.”

          I said nothing.

          He said, “Maybe she’s supposed to drop us off and go wait in a coffee shop.”

          “Yeah, fine. I don’t give a fuck. But think for a minute Church. After you’re done with this job, who gets your job? Say you’re protecting Laraby, who’s protecting you?”

          “Jack, I don’t want to get rough here. We got a solution to the problem. Now get in the car and let’s drive. I don’t wanna be standing here when Bunuel starts to bloat.”

          I got in and stretched my legs. The last time I had driven around in a car so nice was when I made Lieutenant. When you made Lieutenant they cut you in for a percentage of the taxes. I drove all over those mountains in a car like this, collecting my share. Stitch was behind the wheel.

          Church squeezed in the back. “Like I said, Stitch drives.” He tossed me a box of Lemon Drop suckers. He laughed roughly and said, “Felch these for a while.”

          “Hey Jack,” Stitch said. She looked at me. “Been a few days.”

          “Yes it has,” I said.

          She started the car and drove away slowly. Church settled in and said, “I’m a little bit hungry.”   He sounded worried.

          “It’s the shooting,” I said cheerfully.

          “Like swimming,” Stitch said.

          We decided to stop for some food. We drove past some bakeries on the way to the highway but Church rejected those. We were driving all over the place. It made me a little nervous. Suddenly the car didn’t seem so nice anymore. The walls were kinda close and the ceiling a little low. Finally we came to a bakery. Church got out and said through the window,  “Should I get bagels, bread, rolls, what?”

          “Pussy. Get donuts,” Stitch said. She rolled a cigarette and lowered her window, looking at the traffic in the side-view.

          When he was safely in the store, I asked, “So what’s going on here?”

          “Things have taken a turn Jack, but it looks good for us.” I wished I could see her eyes. I hated staring into the armor plated shades.

          “I figure I’m good through the drop.”

          “Not any more. Not to Church and Laraby.”

          “And to you and Juice?”

          “I’m with you Jack.”

          I looked at the store through the tinted windows. Church waited behind some messenger guy who kept pointing at everything and writing in a pad. “Quick, before he’s back. What’s the set up? What happened to Cherry?”

          “Cherry’s popped. We took him first.”

          “So you didn’t blow up my car and then blast in Helen Stark’s door?”

          “Nah, that musta been someone else. We got Cherry outside his house. Shotguns. I had to play along. Then we picked up Bunuel. The guy was hanging out in some midtown cop bar where he thought we couldn’t touch him. It was a little hairy goin’ in, but we got him.  That Laraby just don’t stop. He has DOD, Hubble Watts and all the MetroCops on his ass.”

          “But Cherry was never in.”

          “It doesn’t matter. Laraby got suspicious. He ain’t takin’ chances, in case you didn’t notice.”

          “So what’s the set up here with me?”

          “Laraby says the Watts kids’ll take money from anyone. Church and I are supposed to whack you on the way.” Church stepped up to the counter. He shook his head and nodded and pointed and handed a bill to the cashier. He waited for his change.

          “Where?”

          “Well, we were just discussin’ it. He was for shootin’ you in the car, but I didn’t want the mess. I said, stop somewhere and shoot him when he’s not lookin’. Church was o.k. with that. He likes you Jack. He wants to do it right. Two shots, back of the head. It’s not so bad. But I was thinking, if we kill him instead, that might be even better. Just say you have to take a leak on the highway. He’ll take advantage. Church is stupid. He won’t smell a set up. He’ll get out to hit you and I can shoot him from behind.”

          “O.K. Hit Church, then go to David Watts.”

          “Yeah. You got it,” she said, dropping the cigarette. Church left the store carrying a big white bag and drinks, wiping his forehead. “So how are you going in to capture St. Claude? Say he’s at that lab in Guernsey.”

          “That’s not it. He didn’t go there.”

          “I wouldn’t be so sure.”   Church knocked on the window. “Fuck it.”   She popped open the locks.

          “I got everyone black, cream and sugar on the side so you can fix your own,” he said, balancing the cardboard caddy on his knees and carefully setting the bag down between his feet. He handed a cannoli to Stitch. She frowned.      

          “What, no donuts?” she asked.

          “They didn’t have any, but the cannolis looked good. Drive. We don’t have a lot of time. I know a nice spot on the island to stretch our legs.” He devoured a few chocolate ones and washed them down with coffee. I had plain. The chocolate are too rich. We didn’t even make a dent in them. He said, “I didn’t like that Bunuel guy, not from the start.”

          I said, “He was all right. Honest, anyway.”

          “That cop had it coming,” Stitch said.

          Church asked, “What I want to know is, why do him on the steps?”   He crossed his arms over the back of the seat and said into my ear, “The directors won’t like it. They’ll think Laraby is overreaching.”

          “Then where’s that leave us?” I asked.

          “My nest is feathered,” he said, leaning back. “Ain’t yours?”

          “I’m paycheck to paycheck. It’s only money.”

          The car rocked with their laughter. Stitch raised the windows, cranked the AC and blasted a Turps record, the painter concept album about Jo Starsky, gonzo computer magnate who gives it all up to save lives in Traskolacia. I tapped my foot to each infectious tune, humming along to Nuns on the Boardwalk. Between the guardrails puddles flashed back the dim sky. Crows flapped down off the naked summer trees, as if choreographed to the desolate inner chapters, followed by the anthemic recapitulation of the closing rocker. It was all there. The spat up utopia of teen desire. The earth’s receding hairline. The record ended. “I gotta take a leak,” I said. Scruffy pines dotted sandy soil. The land heaved and rolled from the highway towards the beaver towns beyond. Helen passed us as Stitch slowed onto the shoulder.

          “It’s that coffee,” Church said. “They put somethin’ in it to make you wee a lot. It used ta be I thought I had defective kidneys but the doctor told me what I had was too much coffee. Then I read this article in that magazine Coprazine–“

          “Ain’t that some kind of a shit drug?” Stitch asked.

          “Yeah, they’re the major advertiser so they called it that. But it’s not only about the shit drugs. They got articles on nutrition, bowling, alcoholic drinks you can make to slow down your ejaculation if you got a problem with that. But also it goes deep into causes. I like a good puzzle. Ain’t you gonna piss?”

          “I was just listening.”

          “I gotta go too,” Stitch said. “Everybody out.”

          I headed towards the bushes. They looked very far away. A car door slammed. There were footsteps. I waited for the other door. Where was Stitch? The bushes got nearer and nearer. Well, I wasn’t gonna go like that. I had to turn around. Or break for the woods. He got closer. I sped up and he kept pace. I stopped. He stopped. The sweat started to roll off my face. There was nowhere to run or hide. The only thing to do was turn around and start shooting and hope I hit him first. He stepped closer again and pulled out his gun. I waited for the shot. Blam!  I turned around. Church was face down, gun in one hand, bag of cannolis in the other.

          “He never knew it was coming,” she said. “Let’s go.”

          “What about the gun?”

          “Take it.”

          We got in the car. I said, “You got blood on your dress.”

          She made a face. “The fat ones always bleed a lot.”