Ten point Five: The Bait

I’m starting to think that my story isn’t going to have a happy ending. I guess that’s to be expected when you stumble along blindly against gangsters. Whose story really ends happily, anyway? Nobody gets out of life alive.

I’m just being morbid. Killing a guy does that to you. And though I’m getting all right with the killing, death is death. Strangely, it might be life, too. I’ve been on the edge. Ragged, sure, but I’ve never been so tuned in, so motivated. I don’t sleep well, still, but when I get up in the morning, I go. I do something. I’ve always been a physical, active guy, but now I have this sense of…not urgency, exactly. It’s not a panic, though I’ve been there, too. Immediacy. That’s the word. I’m here, doing. This time, this moment—it’s intoxicating. And a distraction from my morbid thoughts.

Lenny looks even worse than when I saw him last. He’d been in the trunk a long time. I’m looking at him from behind a one-way mirror. Beyond the dehydration, he looks lost, forlorn. Clearly, Lenny knows his gang has given him the pink slip.

“Well?” Rocky asks. He wants me to finger Lenny for my assailant. Why not? If he’s off the street, he’s not going to be looking for me. Why did his employer give him up, though? I mean, he’s lousy at his job. Goes to shakedown me, gets his ass handed to him. Goes to collect money from cowed merchants, gets his ass handed to him.

“You guys get anything more off the security camera tape?” I ask.

“We’re going over it again, trying to enhance it.” They’d shown me the tape. To my great relief, you can’t tell I attacked him or identify my truck. Second time, two guys, a short body builder and a tall, mean looking Latino let him out of the trunk. They talked to him, gave him some water, then shoved him back in. I assume the Latino is the guy Salamanca warned me about.

“So they knew him, liked him well enough to keep him from dying of thirst, but not enough to let him out of the trunk,” I say. “Why?”

“Looks like they wanted to give him up. Don’t know why, but he hasn’t said anything beyond his initial outburst when we found him,” Rocky says. “So is he the guy?”

There’s something here for me. Lenny’s employer could have dumped him someplace extra dead. Why risk him talking to the cops? Probably, he’s too scared of his employer to talk, or he knows he’s going to walk. The only way the police can continue to hold him is if they find the gun he shot Jerry Gold with, or if someone testifies against him for one of his crimes. Like, say, assaulting a firefighter. That person would have to appear in court, be available. And vulnerable.

“You know, Rocky, I can’t tell. It all happened so fast.”

Rocky’s not happy with my answer. His jaw’s open and his thick brow is extra furrowed. “For crissake, Spearsy, we both know this is the guy. Just finger him and we’ll lock him up.”

“Sorry, Rock. I’m just not sure.”

Rocky’s looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “Never figured you to be scared or a guy like him.”

“Maybe it’s not fear.” Confusion knits his brow. I walk out of the room while he ponders.