Beano cleared his throat again. "Actually, DNA has not yet been absolutely proven to determine behavioral characteristics. It deals only with physical genetic-code markers," he said academically.
"Don't fuck around with me, asshole," Tommy warned. "Just listen. Now, I'm sayin' this to you because I would have absolutely no difficulty goin' down to the hardware store an' buyin' a Black an' Decker, an' chain-sawin' you two pricks up a thin slice at a time. I would not cringe from this event in any way, because I have decided not to violate my natural instincts. I'm at peace with this brutal fact."
"Mr. Rina, I wish I could tell you I had your money, but it's gone," Beano said, his eyes magnified through the thick glasses.
"Gone." Tommy looked down at the floor, then over at Duffy. "Gone?" he asked Duffy, who was just coming back to the party and nodded his head. Tommy pulled the gun up and put it under Beano's chin, then he moved it up until the barrel clicked against Beano's still-sore teeth.
"Okay, okay… It's not gone, it's… well, it's…" Beano looked at Duffy.
"Don't tell 'im," Duffy croaked in despair.
"You fuckin' guys misevaluate what is going on here. I am a fuckin' murderous psychopath… clinical. It's no shit! I got medical papers from Leaven worth shrinks. My dick gets hard over this shit."
"We used the money to buy stock certificates," Beano blurted.
"Don't!" Duffy screamed.
Tommy stood and kicked Duffy's chair over. Since he was firmly tied in it, he stayed aboard and hit his head on the floor.
"He's an old man," Beano pleaded. "Stop it."
And Tommy moved over and hit Beano three hard shots in the head. His glasses flew off. This time he almost went out. Fireworks exploded in his brain. When Beano finally pulled it back together and squinted at Tommy without his prop glasses, he could see Tommy had a ghastly expression of carnal pleasure on his simian face. Beano pointed weakly: "In the bedroom, under the bed, there's some loose panels… Pull them up. There's a metal lock box."
"No…" Duffy croaked.
Tommy nodded at Jimmy, who moved quietly into the master stateroom and returned a few minutes later with a metal lock box.
"The key's around his neck," Beano said and they grabbed the chain from Duffy's neck and pulled the key free, unlocked the box and pulled out ten beautifully engraved stock certificates for the Fentress County Petroleum and Gas Company. Each certificate was worth ten thousand shares. Also in the box were several color printed brochures for the Fentress County Petroleum and Gas Company. The folder that contained the press kit was a bright, glossy, rust-red color, loudly announcing the company's bright future from every page. There was an entire section describing and highlighting a great projected field in Oak Crest with helicopter photos of Carl Harper's newly painted, rust-red pipes and cisterns. There was a corporate photo of Paper Collar John. Under the picture, it said he was Linwood "Chip" Lacy, Chairman and CEO. Under that was the Chairman's message detailing the rosy future of FCP amp;G.
"What the fuck is this?" Tommy growled in dismay. "Where's my million dollars?" He threw aside the brochures and rifled through the certificates.
"Stock certificates. We used the money to buy them. The stock is trading at ten dollars a share. We got a hundred thousand shares, but it's not enough. We didn't win enough at craps to gain control."
"You dumb shits used my cash to buy oil stocks?" It was beginning to dawn on Tommy that his money was gone and the two men tied in chairs before him, despite being scientists, might also be world-class dimwits. Beano read the look and went to work.
"You just don't get it," Beano said indignantly, beginning his spiel. He always liked to hit a mark with a little attitude before selling him. "You wouldn't understand what this is all about. You couldn't understand. It's too technical for you and you're too stupid to see it." Tommy's anger flashed. A psychopathic rage swept through him that was overpowering. It obviated all reasonable thought.
Beano knew in that instant he had overplayed his hand. He could see the white-hot craziness flash in Tommy's eyes as the little mobster turned the gun on Beano and instinctively thumbed back the hammer. In those horrifying split seconds, Beano knew he was dead. He knew that he had made a fatal error in judgment. The mark had "come through" on him. Beano hadn't counted on Tommy's hovering insanity. He had always been able to read and control a mark; it was a skill he counted on. The click of the hammer filled the room. Tommy's finger went white as he started to pull the trigger. It was over.
Then something exploded off the sofa and launched itself at Tommy's neck… Roger-the-Dodger was only twenty pounds, but he hit Tommy's throat like a Romanian bat, knocking the mobster over. Roger's jaws were firmly clamped on Tommy's throat. Tommy struggled to his feet, grabbing at the terrier, who was locked in a death grip. Blood was beginning to flow from the wound. Tommy dropped the gun and staggered around the cabin trying to get the terrier off his neck. Roger was snarling viciously and hanging off the mobster's neck like bad Indian jewelry. Tommy finally got his hands around Roger's throat and began to strangle him. The dog continued to snarl, but he was losing air, and when he was almost unconscious, Tommy finally pulled Roger off and flung him across the room. Blood was flowing down Tommy's neck, staining his white shirt collar. He screamed in fury and then grabbed for the SIG-Sauer, which was on the floor at his feet. He snatched it up and fired at the terrier, who had recovered and was now moving fast toward the rear door. The first shot was high-it broke a window and whirred away over the mud flats-but the second shot hit Roger in the hind end and knocked him down. He squealed in pain, but he rolled up and kept going out the door and across the deck. Tommy ran after him, but it was too dark outside and he couldn't see the brown and black dog, who was running and whining somewhere up the dock.
Tommy stormed back into the saloon. He grabbed the chair Beano was in, shoving the gun into Beano's mouth. "That fucking mutt tried to kill me!"
"Listen to me, that stock is worth billions," Beano slurred, his tongue tasting the gun barrel. He was desperately trying to focus Tommy on the bait. Beano's eyes were straining to see the black steel weapon that was in his mouth, buried up to the ejection port.
"Yeah? You little fucks. How is this shit worth billions?" Tommy backhanded the stock certificates off the table and then he pulled the gun out of Beano's mouth so he could talk.
"We found the biggest oil pool in North America, even bigger than the Alaskan strike. All those graphs there on the table confirm it. He and I are the only ones who know where it is," Beano said in a rush, looking toward Duffy. "The field's been proved out, but the oil company that's developing the field, FCP amp;G, they don't even know it's there, 'cause we haven't told them. We're buying up the company stock instead."
The crazy murderous glare that had been in Tommy's eye now more closely resembled puzzled antagonism. "Oil?" he said. "What the fuck you talking about?"
"Shut up," Duffy yelled at Beano from the floor. "Don't tell him… Don't… Please. My whole life, my whole life I been waiting for this."
Tommy growled, already losing his patience, which was not a quality he was known for in the first place. He grabbed Duffy's coat and started to pull the chair upright. Jimmy and Wade moved to help.
"All of these graphs, all of this stuff… It proves that Oak Crest, California, is the biggest undiscovered oil find in North America," Beano continued, "and nobody but me and Dr. Sutton here, and Donovan Martin, know about it."