Big Trouble

Snake had considered simply shooting everybody in the living room, but he was concerned—you had to plan ahead, in this line of work—about using up bullets he might need in the Bahamas to establish kingpinship. Also he had heard somewhere that you could get in extra trouble if you killed a cop. The way he figured it, the prisoners were no threat: The men were handcuffed, and the women and kid were tied up. Snake had a big wad of cash money and a suitcase that—he was absolutely sure, now—contained a large amount of valuable drugs. He had three guns. He had a scared, fine-looking young thing to enjoy later on, when he had some tune. He was on top of the world, is what he was. And to think: Just that morning, he'd basically been a lowlife.

As Snake opened the front door, Anna called after him, her voice now raw and desperate. "Please," she said. "Oh God, please don't take her."

"Hey, don't worry, momma," Snake called back. "I'll show her a good time."

He closed the door, and for a second or two, the only sound in the house was Anna's anguished wail.

"Did you hear a shot?" asked Leonard.

"Sounded like a pistol," said Henry. "In the house."

They were standing under Puggy's tree. Henry was catching his breath; he had spent the last ten minutes struggling his way up to Puggy's platform—where he found his rifle, still loaded, wrapped in a sheet of plastic—and then painstakingly climbing back down.

"You think our boy got whacked?" said Leonard. "The Panty Hose Gang beat us to the punch?"

"Could be," said Henry, moving toward the house. "Or, could be somebody whacked them."

"Or," said Leonard, following, "maybe somebody finally shot the dog."

Snake told Puggy to put the suitcase in the trunk of the police cruiser. He made Puggy climb in with it, then he slammed the lid. He put Jenny in the backseat and got in with her.

"You drive," he told Eddie.

"I ain't never drove no police car," said Eddie. In fact, it had been fifteen years since he had driven any car, and that one had been stolen, and he ended up driving it into a canal.

"It's just a fuckin' car," said Snake, who was also very rusty in the automotive department, which was why he had made Eddie the driver. "Drive it."

"Where to?" said Eddie.

"Airport," said Snake.

"Which way is that?" said Eddie.

"I bet this little girlie knows," said Snake, putting his hand on the back of Jenny's neck and squeezing hard. "Don'tcha, little girlie?"

Jenny, whimpering from the pain, nodded.

Snake gave her neck another hard squeeze.

"She's a good little girlie," he said.

"You said Garbanzo, right?" said the taxi driver.

"Yes," said Eliot. "Garbanzo. It's the next right."

The driver slowed down to process that information.

"This next right here?" he asked.

"Yes, turn right here," said Eliot, gripping the seat to keep from screaming.

The driver came to a complete stop at the intersection and peered up at the street sign, studying it as though it were a new constellation in the night sky. Finally, he said: "Garbanzo."

"Jesus Christ," said Eliot. Yanking open the cab door, he tossed a twenty-dollar bill, which was the smallest he had, onto the front seat and got out. He slammed the door and set off running toward the Herk house.

The taxi driver looked down at the twenty, then at Eliot's receding figure.

"What's the big hurry?" he said.

Eddie turned the ignition key, and the big police-cruiser V-8 rumbled to life. On the radio, staticky voices were talking in numbers, which made Eddie nervous. He turned around and looked through the back window.

"There's a gate," he said to Snake.

"I know there's a gate," said Snake. "Back up to it, and it'll open."

Gingerly, Eddie put the cruiser in reverse and pressed the gas pedal. The engine revved. The cruiser shuddered, but did not move.

"It ain't movin'," said Eddie.

Snake looked over the front seat. "You got the fuckin' brake on, asshole," he said, pointing to a lever labeled BRAKE by Eddie's left knee.

Eddie, still revving the engine, pulled the lever. The tires squealed and the cruiser rocketed backward, smashing through the gate. As it roared into Garbanzo Street, Eddie frantically smashed his right foot onto the brake and turned the wheel; the cruiser spun in a tight, tire-smoking circle and then stopped, rocking twice on its shock absorbers.

"Jesus," said Eddie.

Suddenly he was aware of a figure on the sidewalk next to the destroyed driveway gate. It was a guy in shorts, yelling at him.

"Get the fuck outta here," said Snake. "Now."

Eddie jammed the cruiser into drive and stomped the gas pedal. The cruiser fishtailed forward, just missing a taxi, then straightened out and shot away into the night.

nine

"I got rights," said Crime Fighter Jack Pendick, for perhaps the fortieth time since he had been taken into police custody.