Trautmann was laughing. “AC? Jesus, Brian, how fucking stupid was that? And playing the slots? What were you thinking? Shit, you might as well take your money and burn it-save yourself the trip.” He laughed some more, very relaxed. Mr. Friendly. “So, did it work-the dealing? Did you pay the guy off? He leaving you alone?” Mr. Friendly-Concerned now.
“Yeah, yeah he is.” Brian was relaxing. “Jesus, what a fucking prick that guy is, too. A big fucking hard-on.” Laughing now.
“Don’t you hate that?” Trautmann asked, chuckling. “Don’t you just fucking hate that?” And then there was a loud, wet, cracking soundlike a watermelon hitting pavement, and a startled cry and the sound of a body falling down.
“Gee, did that hurt, Bri? I guess that was my bad, huh?” Trautmann said, laughing. “Now don’t go crying like some kind of pussy, Bri. Be a man, for chrissakes. Here… stuff this in your mouth if you can’t fucking control yourself.” And then there was another cracking sound and muffled sobbing.
“So, this Hempstead guy’s a real hard-on, huh Bri, a real prick? Jeez, what does that make me? Fucking Mickey Mouse? Is that what I am, Brian?” Another crack, and then a bunch of dull thuds, like a sack of potatoes falling down stairs. More stifled sobs. “You think I give a shit what you do? You can fucking sell skag to babies for all I care. Just don’t do it on my time, or at one of my places.” A flurry of smacking sounds, like somebody pounding cutlets, and then some pleading words I couldn’t make out.
“Shh… shh… take it easy, now, take it easy.” Some shuffling and dragging sounds. “There you go, there you go… jeez, Brian, you fucking pissed yourself. Yuck.” Trautmann was laughing harder. “Okay, okay. Give me your wallet. Fuck, I’m not going to touch it. Just take the money out.” Trautmann chuckled. I heard bills folding. “You still driving that Camry? Yeah? Give me the keys. You’re going to send me the title when you get home today, right?” I heard jingling, then a quick shuffling of feet and a loud smack and another desperate moan. “Just so you don’t forget to send my title, yeah?” Then, the sounds of someone brushing off his hands and his clothes.
“Got to boogie, Bri, it’s been a blast. You go clean yourself up and then you get the fuck out of here, ’cause if I see you again, you’re going to think this was a walk in the park. Capice, buddy?” The outer door opened and closed, and then all I heard was Brian’s exhausted sobbing, my own heart pounding, and “Rockin’ Rudolf” playing through the loudspeakers.
The corridor was still empty. A ribbon of sweat slid down my spine. I headed back the way I’d come, at a jog. The mall was still pretty empty. I pushed through the doors to the parking lot and spotted my Taurus. The rusting pickup was gone, and in its place was a black Audi A8. I walked toward it. Trautmann got out and rested his forearms on the roof of the car and looked across at me.
“Do I know you?” he asked, smiling. “I mean, we’ve spent so much time together today, I feel like I should fucking know you.” His smile was broad and a little ironic, and there was an amused look in his narrow blue eyes. His leather jacket hung open, and I saw an automatic holstered under his left arm. I looked at him a while. His smile never wavered.
“We don’t know each other, Bernie, not yet. But I think maybe we should,” I said.
“Ohhh… you know my name,” he said in mock terror. “I got goose bumps all over.” He was still smiling. “You have some business with me-need to hire on some security, maybe? Or maybe you got a crush on me, looking for a pair of my shorts to sniff?”
“I’m sure your underwear’s really cool, but I just want to talk.”
“Talk is great, I love it. Can’t get enough talk. We can sit down and have some cocktails and talk our fucking heads off, just as soon as you tell me who you are and what you want and why you’re following me all over the fucking place.” He was still smiling, and his eyes hadn’t left me.
“My name’s March, and I want to talk to you about MWB and Gerard Nassouli,” I said. I didn’t expect he’d go pale and break out in a sweat and get weak in the knees and confess all-though it would’ve been nice. I didn’t think he’d go for his gun and shout, “You’ll never take me alive” and start blazing away, either. I wasn’t expecting anything dramatic, and Trautmann didn’t disappoint me. The smile stayed fixed, and so did the gaze. He didn’t bat an eyelash. He just was quiet for a couple of beats.
“You’re not a fed.” It wasn’t a question. He looked at me some more. “Not a cop. You private?” I nodded. His smile widened a little. “Maybe while we talk you want me to throw in some tips on running a tail, huh? I mean-no offense, buddy-but you were fucking terrible. You might as well have been riding in the car with me.” I smiled but didn’t say anything. Trautmann held his hands up. “Hey-I’m just busting balls. It’s a bitch to do with just one guy, I know. Who’d you say you’re working for?”
“I didn’t,” I answered and kept on smiling. Trautmann laughed. We stood there for a while, looking at each other and smiling, a couple of smart guys, wise to the world. Then I told him my story about the writer. He nodded while I told it, like it was the most reasonable thing he’d ever heard.
“A writer… that’s cool. I’m a big reader-love reading the way I love talking. Maybe I read some of this guy’s books. What’s his name?”
“You’d probably know it, Bernie. He’s a pretty well-known guy. And that’s the thing-until he decides he’s going to take on this project, he doesn’t want his name mentioned. Afraid it might get too many other people interested-kind of muddy the waters.” He nodded again, like this was just getting more and more reasonable.
“Muddy waters… yeah, I hate that shit too. And you want to talk about the bad old days, huh? Well, I’ll tell you… you got a first name there, March?”
“John.”
“I’ll tell you, Johnny, I spent about a million hours under the hot lights, talking to Uncle about the bad old days-everything about ’em, down to what socks I wore and when-and I’m pretty fucking talked out on that subject. Know what I mean? But, shit, I tell you what-you go down to Federal Plaza, and tell the boys down there they have my okay to tell you everything I said to them. You tell ’em Bernie sent you. They’ll fix you right up.” He laughed deeply. Then he put his hands up again. “Hey-I’m just busting balls again, Johnny. I can’t help myself, I swear. I need like a twelve-step or something. Seriously, you want to talk a little? You got some questions? I’ll see if I can help you out.” It was my turn to nod, like I believed every word. “Come on, let’s go grab some coffee. Or you want something stronger?” he asked.
“Coffee’s good,” I said.
“There’s a Starbucks up the street. Hop in; I’ll bring you back here after.”
I shook my head. “Right here is fine with me. I want to try one of those pretzel things.”
“Whatever,” Trautmann said, shrugging. He shut his car door and locked it with an electronic key. He walked around the car toward me. I stepped back a few paces and gestured for him to go first through the glass doors, into the mall. He smiled some more and walked ahead of me.
“Business must suck, huh, if the best you can do is that fucking rent-a-ride,” he said, walking ahead of me and chuckling. “Shit, there I go again. I told you, I can’t help it.” He reached for the doors, and an alarm exploded behind me.
He was fast-very fast. I was looking for it-waiting for it-and all the same he nearly cleaned my clock. I started when the alarm blaredmy eyes flickered involuntarily to the Audi, and my attention wavered for a half second-less. But it was enough for him. Trautmann pivoted into a high, fast, spinning kick, and if I hadn’t been already tensed and waiting it would’ve taken my head clean off.
I leaned away and tried to block it with my right arm, but his boot tagged me on the shoulder and slid off and grazed my head above the ear. My arm went numb, and I heard the muffled whump before I felt the impact and saw the stars. I rolled with it, then bent and pivoted on my right foot and threw a kick backward at him with my left. I don’t know what I was aiming at or if I was aiming, but I caught him on the hip as he was setting up another kick. It threw him off balance and sent him skidding backward into the doors. I followed fast and covered up with my right arm, which was still mostly useless, and caught him once with my left fist in the kidneys and again with my forearm in the face. It was like hitting a sandbag.