Maven said, “Come on.”
“You don’t trust me now? That it? Me, who’s held your hand and taken care of you every fucking step of the way?”
Maven was breathing hard, harder than he expected. It was the way Royce got inside you and figured out what mechanism needed to be pulled to make you work. That Maven’s sequence was a little more complicated than the others’ only energized Royce.
“Where’d you get your religion all of a sudden?” said Royce. “‘A robbery.’ You’re awfully pure. You want to burn your share, that makes you feel better? Go ahead. But in the meantime, you will carry your fucking weight.”
Maven stood there and showed Royce he could take it.
Royce said, “Milkshake, you back on the inside. Maven’s losing his nerve.”
“My nerve?” said Maven, knowing Royce was trying to get to him, and letting it happen anyway. “I don’t see you out there with us.”
Royce stared, furious as ever, but now trying to figure out the reason behind Maven’s pushback. “What the fuck did I ever do to you? Except make your life one thousand percent better. All of a sudden, that’s not good enough. Well, fuck you again. What are you without me, Maven? What are you?”
Maven didn’t answer.
Royce looked at the others. “Where else could you guys live so well and make what you’re making? Let me know your prospects.”
No one spoke.
Back to Maven. “A guy makes some money and all of a sudden he’s smart. He must be smart to have all this money, right? Must be a genius. Money doubles your IQ and triples the size of your cock. You know what?” Royce made a hand motion as if he were waving off a second cup of coffee. “I thought I’d built up some credit with you guys,” said Royce. “Some goodwill — thought I’d earned that. Some respect, and some motherfucking courtesy. I even thought we were a unit. But there is a chain of command here, though I don’t like to bring it up. Questions go top down, they don’t come bottom up. I give the marching orders. And never have I sent you walking through a door ‘dick in hand.’ So fuck you.”
Termino said, “Maven, you’re being an asshole.”
Maven didn’t dispute that. He was acting out on his fury for Danielle, his guilt about screwing Royce’s girl, his fear of Lash and the DEA — trying to blow up the crew rather than deal with these issues.
Royce said, “You know what? Walk if you want to. Go. Termino says you’ve been flaking off anyway. You’re a fucking mess to look at, you’re never around. Spending so much time with this girl, playing real estate agent. Go ahead.”
Suarez said, “You going to ditch us now? You’re leaving us a man down.”
“Biggest haul of our young lives, Mave,” said Glade. “Why you pick now to flake?”
Their words were nothing compared to what Maven saw in Royce’s face. Maven had ruined what they’d had, and he wondered what it would look like from here.
Black Falcon
Tricky sat all the way to the left in back, up against the tinted window so he couldn’t be spied through the windshield — so far over that he disappeared out of Lash’s rearview mirror altogether.
Lash took him down the street past the Black Falcon marine industrial park. The Edison plant was across the channel to the right, Logan Airport ahead of them across Boston Harbor. Lash said, “What about this blond guy here?”
The guy was well built, athletic, wearing a green tracksuit and jogging slowly with white speaker buds in his ears.
“Naw,” said Tricky. “Don’t know him.”
“He’s been hanging around. Did this loop three times yesterday.”
“This is still Southie right here. Lotta fools dope up and go exercise. White guys, mostly.”
Lash followed the road left around the turn. “We’re gonna unplug this thing today.”
“Today?” Tricky sat up a bit. “You sure?”
“Never sure. Never, ever sure.”
The light, repetitive thumping was Tricky’s fingers paradiddling on the back of Lash’s headrest. “Damn.”
“What?”
“Just... did I make the right decision, you know? For me.”
“You made the right decision.”
“If things go wrong, then what? Where am I then?”
“Nobody on my end knows about you yet. No one’s known this whole time, and there’s no point in bringing them in now. But people will know you after.”
“Fuck,” Tricky said. “That’s dangerous shit. They gonna put me and my money on a beach somewhere?”
“Not likely. But someplace safe.”
“Nowhere’s safe for a snitch.” Lash heard a sigh come out of Tricky. “I must be out of my Negro mind. You always said you wanted me out of the game.”
“And you better stay out.”
Foot tapping joined the thumping, a riff of nerves. “Where is this place anyway? I never been down here.”
“Just passed it.”
Tricky turned to look, his fingers stopping. “Bandits profit from inside info — why not me?”
“First smart thing you’ve done since I’ve known you. Just keep thinking about the money.”
“Exactly right,” said Tricky, his fingers resuming their patter. “You just read my damn horoscope.”
Glade called in. “Movement up in the windows, but nothing by the door. Guess I’m in for another loop.”
Maven thought that Glade’s jogging around the Black Falcon in a tracksuit was way too obvious, but couldn’t say anything to Termino and Suarez. They sat together inside a van in a lot at the head of the loop. They were having trouble getting their eyeballs on the stash house — the “house” in question being the office of a seafood importer sandwiched between freight terminals.
Maven said to Glade, “What about that Sequoia that went by?”
“Didn’t see it.”
“Silver. Tinted windows in back.”
Glade said, “Lotta cars out here, Mave.”
Maven hung up on him. Over on Dry Dock Avenue, an Edison crew worked their second day on a streetlight, with no cop detail. Maven mentioned it earlier, but Termino only thought he was looking for a way out.
Maven said, “This loop is essentially a dead end. Only one exit.”
Suarez said, “We could go into the drink.”
Termino said, “First of all, and come up where? We’d have to swim two miles — and they’d still find us. Second — I, for one, don’t love that dirty water. Syphilis down there.”
Maven said, “We don’t even know how many doors we have to go through.”
Termino said, “So we have to get fancy. We’ve done it before. Stop shitting on this, Maven, and man up.”
The passing rumble was that of the Edison truck surging down the street, pulling up just out of sight — right about where the seafood importer’s office was.
Two SUVs followed it at a high rate of speed.
They heard the loud banging of a door being rammed open.
Termino said, “What in the goddamn—”
Maven picked up the ringing phone. Glade said, “Shit, I’m fucking bailing.”
Three gunshots — muffled, from inside the building — were followed by yelling.
“A setup,” said Termino.
Maven broke apart the work phone and reached for his backpack.
More gunfire. Glade went jogging past them, toward Summer Street. Suarez jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine, but Maven pulled on his arm. “Leave it. Bail.”
Termino was already out the side door and walking away. Maven went out the other door, then Suarez, heading off in different directions.
People exited the adjoining marine park buildings, fleeing toward Maven as he crossed onto Dry Dock Avenue. He saw the Edison truck and the SUVs with police lights flashing in their taillights.