Play it down, p.19
Play It Down, page 19
Bart yelled for Joe from the backyard, and Joe took off and ran around the side of the house, into the backyard. Bart lay in the grass with lawn chairs tipped over around him, like he’d fallen into them.
“Bart!” Joe said, reaching down to help pull him up to his feet.
“Don’t worry about me!” Bart yelled, pointing toward the yard behind them. “It’s him! Don’t let him get away!”
Joe saw the man running but stayed and tried to help Bart to his feet. But Bart pulled his arm away. “Go get the son of a bitch!” Bart said. “Leave me your keys!”
Joe reached in his pocket for his keys and tossed them to Bart, turned, and started to run toward the chain-link fence between the yards. He climbed over it and was in the neighbor’s yard, running as fast as he could, tripping on a plastic bucket he didn’t see in the overgrown grass. But he kept his balance and stayed up, kept running until he got to the other side of the neighbor’s yard and climbed with one quick jump over another fence.
As soon as he landed on the other side, he realized his 9mm had dropped out of the back of his pants as he’d gone over. So he climbed over the same fence to the other side, grabbed the gun from the ground and made it back over to see Carl run across what looked to be a fairly busy street for the middle of the night.
Carl had some distance, well ahead of Joe, and turned left onto Northwest Twelfth, drivers’ horns blowing as he tried to dodge the oncoming traffic.
Joe tried to keep up, cut in front of an oncoming car with brakes screeching as he hurried across. His breathing was heavy, doing all he could not to lose Carl Murphy already running between two houses.
Carl tried to climb another fence but this time caught his foot on top and dropped on his back, screaming in pain. But he was back up on his feet and headed toward another street.
Joe was gaining ground when he stopped, watching Carl run out in front of a Volkswagen Bug. It hit Carl, knocking him into the air and clear across the street into a collection of trash cans on the sidewalk.
The car kept going without stopping.
Joe ran across the street with his gun in his hand, breathing hard, pointing it at Carl before he could get up.
Carl moaned in pain, rolling on the ground holding his leg.
Headlights came around the corner and stopped, shining on Joe and Carl. The driver’s side door opened and Bart stepped out, the cane in his hand this time, walking toward the two.
Carl got up on one knee, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at Joe, as if just noticing the gun pointed at him, and raised his hands up over his head. “Please! Don’t shoot!”
Joe shook his head. “We just want to talk.” He reached down to help Carl to his feet.
Carl rubbed the back of his head, looking around the ground. “Where the hell’s my gun?”
Bart walked onto the lawn of the house the three were standing in front of and bent over. He picked up a small .38 revolver. “Play nice, and I’ll let you have it back.”
Carl touched his mouth, looked at his fingers with blood on the ends. “You guys cops?”
Joe and Bart both exchanged a glance, neither giving him an answer.
“I haven’t done anything,” Carl said. “So I don’t know what the hell this is all about.”
“Then why’d you run?” Bart said.
He looked at Bart but didn’t answer, easing his hands down by his side.
An older woman with a robe on and curlers in her hair came out from the house. “Hey! What’s going on out here?”
Bart pulled out his wallet, flashed it at the woman even though he didn’t have a badge. “Miami-Dade Police. Please go back inside your home, ma’am. And keep your door closed.”
The woman was already halfway down her steps but turned right back around and went inside, closing her door without another word.
Carl looked from Joe to Bart. “Who the hell are you guys?”
Joe tucked the gun in the back of his pants, grabbed Carl by the arm and pulled him toward the Mercedes. He gave Bart a nod. “You all right driving?”
Bart didn’t answer but got back in the front seat behind the wheel.
Joe walked Carl around to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid the seat forward, pushing him into the back seat. Joe got in behind him, pulled the door closed, and pulled the front seat back against his knees. He had his gun out again, pointing it at Carl.
“So if you ain’t cops,” Carl said, “then who the hell are you? Did Nick send you over?”
Joe gave Bart a quick glance and said to Carl, “Why would Nick send someone over?”
Carl shook his head. “Oh, uh, no… nothing. I was just… I was just asking.” He shifted his eyes from Joe to the gun. “Are you gonna kill me?”
“It depends,” Joe said. “How about you go ahead and tell me what you know, and we’ll see where we end up?”
Bart pulled the Mercedes away from the curb and started toward Northwest Ninetieth.
“Tell you what I know about what?” Carl said. “I don’t have any idea what this is about?”
Joe gave him a crooked grin. “You don’t, huh? How about we start with Scarlett. You know her, don’t you?”
Carl froze for a moment, and Joe lifted the gun, pointing it at Carl’s face. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who she is. Or that you had nothing to do with her being killed.”
Carl held his gaze on Joe, then finally shook his head. “I had nothing to do with it. I swear. I really liked Scarlett.”
“You liked her, huh?” Joe said. “But that didn’t seem to make a difference, did it.”
Carl cleared his throat, looking forward at Bart behind the wheel. “I don’t know nothing.”
“That’s a double negative,” Joe said. “So what you’re really saying is you do know something.”
Carl’s mouth hung open, staring back at Joe like he didn’t know how to respond.
Joe said, “Do you want to explain why you asked if your own cousin sent someone after you? Is there a reason you’re worried he’ll come after you? Does it, by chance, have anything to do with Craig Peters?”
Carl swallowed again, Joe starting to see why the guy was called The Weasel.
Carl said, “How do you know Craig Peters?”
Bart took a quick glance into the back seat.
Joe said, “How about I ask the questions, since I’m the one holding the gun.”
Carl nodded. “Sure, yeah. Okay. Sorry.”
Joe shifted in the seat, getting comfortable so he could face Carl without having to turn his neck. “Is Scarlett dead because you told her some things maybe you shouldn’t have? Does it have anything to do with this scheme Craig Peters was wrapped up in?”
“How’d you know about that?” Carl said, although the look on his face said he hadn’t meant to let it slip out that he knew exactly what Joe was referring to.
Joe grinned. “I’m glad we’re almost on the same page. Now, why don’t you tell me exactly what your involvement was. Did your cousin get you to kill Suzanne Peters?”
Carl shook his head. “No. No way. Nick doesn’t have me do stuff like that. I swear. He said I have a big mouth, so he doesn’t really trust me.”
“I think I’d have to say I can’t blame him,” Joe said, huffing out a slight laugh. He glanced at Bart’s eyes, watching them in the rearview.
Carl turned away from Joe, shaking his head as he looked out the driver’s side. “I liked Suzanne,” he said. “She didn’t deserve to die the way she did.”
Joe slapped Carl’s arm with the back of his hand. “Why don’t you turn this way, look at me, and tell me what you know.”
Carl turned to him. “I told you, I don’t know nothing.”
Joe lifted the gun and poked Carl right in the face. “Again with the double negative. Do you even know what that is?”
“What what is?” Carl said.
Joe rolled his eyes. “What’s Nick’s story? Did he have Suzanne killed?”
Carl shrugged. “I barely talk to him anymore.”
Joe said, “You barely talk to him, but you asked if Nick sent us after you? There must be a reason for that, no?” He pressed the muzzle into Carl’s cheek.
“I don’t know what Nick knows,” Carl said.
“What Nick knows about what?”
Carl tried to shake his head. “No. Nothing.”
Joe moved the gun up toward Carl’s temple and pushed it into his skull with a little more pressure. “Nothing? Are you sure?”
Carl didn’t respond, the sweat dripping down his face, his breathing getting heavy.
“You obviously know whatever it was Craig did to your cousin. So either you were involved, or…” He thought for a moment. “Did you know Wendy Johnson?”
“Wendy?” He said it like he knew exactly who she was but then tried to take it back. “Who? Uh, no. Never heard the name.”
Joe smiled and looked up at Bart. “What do you think? Sounds to me like Carl might’ve been involved in ripping off his cousin.”
Carl shook his head. “No way! It wasn’t me. I swear. I had nothing to do with it.”
“But you just happen to know exactly what I’m talking about, and the other two people involved? And I’d say I’m almost certain that big mouth of yours is what got Scarlett killed.” Joe reached for Carl’s throat and squeezed it with his free hand, pressing the gun into the middle of his forehead. “Start talking now, or your brains’ll be splattered all over Miami.”
Bart looked into the back seat once more. “Hey, maybe you should take it easy, Joe.”
But Joe kept his eyes on Carl, holding him by the throat. “I said you’d better start talking. I’ll give you ten seconds, or this isn’t going to end well.”
“Okay! Okay!” Carl cried. “I’ll talk. But, you have to promise me you won’t go back to my cousin. He finds out I was involved, I’m…”
“Involved in what?” Joe said. “Start talking.”
Carl took a deep breath. “Okay, so… it was me. I was the one, me and Wendy, I mean. We put the whole plan together to rip off Siskey Foods.”
Joe stared back at him, somewhat but not completely surprised at the revelation. “I thought so,” he said. “So it was you. The other person involved with Craig and Wendy.”
“Well, like I said. It was really me and Wendy. At least at first. The thing about Craig is he wasn’t even supposed to be involved. He only came in, almost by accident, when my friend Lionel got cold feet and bailed on us.”
“Lionel?” Joe said.
Carl looked up at the gun over his eyes. “You mind moving that? It’s hard to talk with a muzzle pressed into your skull.”
Joe let up on the pressure, and eased the gun down, but kept it pointed at Carl. He repeated, “Who’s Lionel?”
Carl rubbed the area on his head where the gun had been pressed. “Lionel was a friend. He used to run the route to the National Pancake House. It was the three of us when we first started. I was in the warehouse, Lionel doing deliveries, and Wendy, she was the manager at the restaurant.”
“The National Pancake House?”
“Yeah,” Carl said. “At least until she left to run that bar. She didn’t have a choice. And she was afraid someone had figured out what we were doing.”
“Nick?” Joe said.
Carl shook his head. “I don’t think so. But, of course, it got back to him.”
“And what was your role in all this? You worked at Siskey Foods too?”
“Yeah, in the warehouse, getting the trucks loaded. That’s where I came up with the idea to start a little wholesale business on the side.”
“What’s that mean?” Joe said. “What’d you do, steal food from the truck, sell it to your own customers on the cheap?”
Carl shrugged. “Something like that.”
“So, your cousin puts you in the warehouse, you load up the trucks and, what, deliver half to the customer who paid for it?”
“Not half. They’d notice if it was too much. So, National Pancake House’d get their delivery, but we’d hold back a portion of it that I’d sell to my own customers.”
“And you did this all working from the warehouse? Your own cousin couldn’t even give you a desk job?”
Carl laughed. “You kidding? Lucky Nick the Prick even gave me a job in the first place. You know that business was started by our family? Nick took over when our uncle died, kicked all the relatives out of the business and took it over for himself.”
Bart looked over his shoulder. “No shit, huh?”
Carl said, “So, you know what? I took what I deserved. I don’t even consider it stealing.”
“So, what happened to Lionel?”
“I wish I knew. He disappeared. He might be dead, like the rest of ’em. I went into work one day, he wasn’t there. Had the truck already loaded the way we’d been doing it. Then I find out Craig was taking over that route. He’d only been working there a few weeks, and at that point, I had no choice but to clue him in. I could only hope he’d be on board with putting a few extra bills in his pocket.”
“Guess he was,” Joe said, looking at Bart watching them in the rearview. “Your cousin really has no idea you were involved?”
Carl shook his head. “I don’t work there anymore. And we haven’t talked much since. But I’m afraid his goons are going to show up at my door any minute now. I was sure that’s who you were.”
Bart looked at Carl in the rearview. “So why haven’t you gotten out of here? Disappear, before your cousin figures out you ripped him off?”
Carl shrugged. “That’s a good question.”
Chapter 26
Joe got less than a couple hours of sleep and woke up early, sending Lauren a text to make sure everything was all right for her and Dickie out at the farm where they were staying. He made himself a coffee waiting for her to reply.
He poured himself a mugful once it was ready, and his phone rang as he was about to take his first sip. He hurried over to pick it up off the counter, expecting it to be Lauren.
But it wasn’t. It was Bart.
He answered, “Bart?”
“We’ve got a problem,” Bart said, before Joe had said another word. “Officers from Miami-Dade PD were called to Carl Murphy’s house last night, not long after we dropped him off. Neighbor called after hearing gunshots. The man’s dead, Joe.”
Joe placed his coffee down on the kitchen table. “Murphy? He’s dead? Are you serious?”
Bart was quiet. “Dead serious. But that’s not the problem,” he said. “Somebody reported an older model, green Mercedes in the area late last night. They saw your car, Joe.”
Joe stood silent and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “That’s not good, Bart. You think they’re looking for me?”
“Well, don’t forget about me, Joe. I was with you. I was planning to make a call in, see if there’s someone there I can talk to. But I thought about it, and we may want to meet with Woody as soon as we can.”
“But you said it’s Miami-Dade Police.”
“You think just because he’s City of Miami PD, he can’t help us? He’s in the middle of multiple murder investigations right here in the city. The sooner we let him know what we know, the faster he can coordinate with Miami-Dade and keep our asses out of the fire.”
“Don’t you know someone over there?” Joe said.
“Of course. But I don’t think that’s the best avenue right now. This is Woody’s case.”
Joe thought for a moment, finally taking a sip of coffee. “Here’s the problem: Nick Juliano gets wind I went to the police… he gave me his warning, and he’s the reason Lauren’s out at that farm. I can’t take the chance.”
“You think it’s better you sit around, wait for them to figure out it was your car? It could be today. It could be next week. But they’ll show up at your door, Joe. I promise you that.”
“They have my plate?” Joe said.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like it. But, you know, a 1986 Mercedes, painted forest green, isn’t a vehicle you see every day. That’s why I’m telling you, it’s only a matter of time they track you down. Then what? You lie to them? Tell them you weren’t there? Nobody’s gonna buy it.”
Joe was about to take another sip of coffee but paused, holding it in front of his chin before placing the mug on the table again. The way his stomach felt, all tied up in knots, he wasn’t sure he needed to drink it anyway. “Bart, what the hell are we supposed to do?”
“I just told you what to do. We go see Woody. Tell him what we know.”
“I can’t take that chance,” Joe said, pulling the phone from his ear to look at the screen. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with Lauren, but she hasn’t responded.”
“You called her?”
“I sent a text.”
“When was the last time you heard from her? Or Caldwell?”
“Not since they left. I would’ve called her if we hadn’t spent the evening with our friend.”
“Our dead friend,” Bart said, the line going quiet.
Joe was thinking. “Christ, you know, I didn’t really want to panic Dickie and Lauren, but I wish I’d mentioned for them to pay attention, make sure nobody followed them.
“I think you’re being a little paranoid,” Bart said.
Joe shook his head. “No, Bart. This guy Nick… look at the people he’s killed.”
“The people you think he’s killed. We have no proof of anything, and until we do, nobody knows for sure it’s him. That’s why I’m saying you need to get law enforcement involved. This is beyond anything either of us are capable of dealing with. It’d be different if I still wore the badge.”
Joe walked into the living room with his coffee and sat on the couch. He placed his mug on the table in front of him. He said, “I didn’t actually tell you this yet, but last time I spoke to Woody, I told him I believed Juliano had something to do with Suzanne’s death.”
“You told him that?” Bart said. “Without any proof to back it up?”
Joe said, “Well, he didn’t believe it then. And I’m not sure he’s going to buy it now.”
