The Man Who Came Uptown
- Автор: Пелеканос Джордж
- Год: 2018
- Язык: английский
- Год: Mulholland Books / Little, Brown and Company
- ISBN: 978-0-316-47982-0
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Man Who Came Uptown». Краткое содержание книги:
Ward, who understood a good deal of Spanish, thought it was a curious comment but let it pass. He glanced at Ornazian. “Go to the kitchen and bring back a couple of those chairs.”
Ornazian left the room. Ward held the shotgun on Cesar, which was an insult to Gustav, telling him he was not a threat. With his left hand Ward pulled back his jacket to show them the grip of his Glock.
Ornazian returned with the chairs and set them at the foot of the bed. They were ladder-back in design, constructed of metal and tubular steel.
“Sit down,” said Ward to Cesar.
Cesar sat. As Ornazian covered them with his revolver, Ward used large plastic cuffs to bind Cesar’s feet and smaller ties to secure his hands behind the chair. Cesar did not resist.
When he was done, Ward said to Gustav, “Strip.”
“Eh?”
“Take your clothes off, fat man. Everything.”
Gustav reddened but took off his clothing piece by piece, folding each item neatly and placing it on the shag-carpeted floor. He stood naked before them. He was misshapen, with saddlebag boobs and a stomach that fell in waves over his groin.
“Damn,” said Ward. “You are one fucked-up-lookin individual. Where’d you get them girl-titties at? I mean, you look like a man with your clothes on, but shit...”
Ward continued along those lines, breaking Gustav down, commenting on his uncut penis, its lack of size, and his generally revolting appearance. Then he tied him to the second chair the same way he had bound Cesar. Ornazian hadn’t uttered a word. The psych game was Ward’s specialty and he was doing fine.
After Gustav had been secured, Ornazian opened the briefcases and inspected their contents. Both were filled with rubber-banded cash, but the amount seemed unremarkable. Twenties, mostly, with a smattering of fives and tens. Ornazian shut the lids.
“Where’s the rest of it?” said Ward.
“Huh?” said Gustav.
“High-rollin pimp like you, I know you have a stash.”
Gustav stared straight ahead.
“Never mind,” said Ward. “We’ll find it our own selves.”
Ornazian and Ward tossed the bedroom sloppily. They checked every drawer. Ward used his Buck knife to slash open the mattress and box spring, then swept everything off the dresser top because it felt good. Finally, Ornazian checked the closet. Behind the hung-up clothing was a safe set in the wall. It was the type found in a hotel. There were decaled instructions on its face.
“Well,” said Ward.
Gustav hocked on the carpet.
“It’s your shag,” said Ward. “Spit on it, you got a mind to.”
“Give us the combination,” said Ornazian.
When Gustav said nothing, Ward said to Ornazian, “Try the usual.”
Ornazian began entering the most common four-digit combinations into the pad of the safe. Starting with 1-1-1-1, moving on to 2-2-2-2, and so forth. When he got past 9-9-9-9, with no result, he went with the tried-and-true 1-2-3-4.
“Nothing,” said Ornazian. Beneath his stocking mask, his face was damp with sweat. All of them were perspiring profusely now. The room stank of it.
“What’s your birthday, Goo-stav?” said Ward.
Gustav did not reply.
Ward went to the clothing pile, kicked it apart, and picked up Gustav’s pants. He lifted his wallet out of the back pocket and opened it. He extracted the cash in the wallet and stuffed the bills in his own pocket. Then he slipped Gustav’s driver’s license out and read it.
“December seventeenth, 1974,” said Ward. “Try seventeen seventy-four.”
Ornazian punched the numbers into the grid but the safe did not open.
“Nope,” he said.
“Okay, try twelve seventy-four. One-two-seven-four.”
Ornazian entered this combination and a green light glowed on the face of the safe. Its door sprang open.
Gustav muttered something unintelligible as Ornazian reached into the safe and extracted several banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills. He made a couple of trips to the bed to fit the newfound cash in with the old. He snapped the briefcases shut.
“Chinga tu hermana,” said Gustav, tears of anger in his eyes.
“Why’d you have to say that?” said Ward. He reversed his grip on the shotgun and with great force pushed its butt into Gustav’s chest. The chair tipped back and Gustav crashed to the floor. His hands, bound behind him, were crushed by his own weight. Gustav cried out.
Cesar looked up at Ward. “Nos encontraremos otra vez.”
“Maybe,” said Ward. “But not tonight.”
They left the house the way they’d come. The security light activated as they stepped out onto the deck. Ward kicked Cesar’s gun over the edge before he took the steps down to the yard. Then they crossed the yard and passed through the space in the fence. Michael popped the trunk’s lid as he saw them approach the car. They dumped their weapons, gear, and the briefcases into the trunk, then their stocking masks and gloves. They closed the trunk and got into the Impala, Ornazian in the front bucket, Ward on the back bench.
“Let’s go,” said Ornazian.
Just as he spoke, a car turned right off of Rhode Island Avenue and stopped at the head of the street, before the buckle in the road. The driver hit his high beams, blowing his headlights fully into their eyes.
“It’s a Mustang,” said Michael. He drew his seat belt across his lap and seated it in the latch.
“The follow car,” said Ward.
“He’s not moving,” said Michael.
“Go,” said Ornazian.
Michael put the transmission arm in reverse, placed his hand on the top of Ornazian’s bucket, and turned his head to look behind him. He hit the gas. The Impala slid into the curve but Michael corrected and headed for the concrete pylons. As he did, Ornazian saw the Mustang accelerate and hit the V in the buckled road. The beams of the Ford’s headlights went down and then up into the sky as the car dropped into the V and shot back out of it.
“Watch those barriers,” said Ward, but Michael had swerved to the left of them, crossing the narrow area of brush that bordered the woods. He drove in reverse down the path along the soccer field, and when he came to the T of it, he swung the wheel, braked, and slammed the shifter down into drive. Headlights off, he headed down the wide asphalt path. He climbed a steep hill, accelerating rapidly. They could not see over the hill’s crest.
“Hey,” said Ward. “Slow down.”
In his rearview, Michael could see the Mustang in pursuit. He did not slow down. At the top of the hill the Impala caught air as all four wheels left the earth, and for a moment they were staring down the other side of the hill as they descended, and when they hit the pavement, a steep ravine to their left, they were jostled wildly and nearly slid off the edge, but Michael, two hands on the wheel, steadied the car. At the bottom of the hill the land leveled and Michael pinned the pedal, negotiating the slight curves artfully. He looked again into his rearview mirror. The Mustang had gone over the crest of the hill, hit air, and come down sloppily. It slid over the edge of the ravine and came to a stop by the rocky bulkhead at the water’s edge.
“He’s done,” said Michael.
Michael eased off the gas pedal. They rolled on the path beside the river, the moonlight shimmering bright on its water. Soon they came to a road and a parking lot. There were more pylons ahead and Michael jumped off the path and into the lot, then took the road. He turned on his headlights.
“The next traffic light is Hamilton,” said Ornazian. “Take a left onto that and then continue on to Queens Chapel Road. It becomes Michigan Avenue.”