“What the hell——”
“Grab an arm,” Homer said.
Supporting Ramiro like a drunk between them they walked him toward the corner. He was in enough pain to disable him. They walked him around the corner and the Cadillac was just up the block.
They propped him against the back door of the car. “Keys,” Homer said. Mathieson went into Ramiro’s pockets again.
Ramiro was getting his breath. “I can’t see …”
“Take it easy, George, you’ll be all right in a minute.”
Mathieson unlocked the car door and reached inside to pull up the knob of the back door. They got it open and shoved Ramiro into the back seat. Mathieson got into the front seat and took out the Magnum and held it against the headrest, casually aimed at Ramiro’s belly.
Homer pushed Ramiro across the seat and got in beside him. The doors chunked shut.
The UN street lamps were bright; they threw reflected illumination against Ramiro’s features. He clutched the handkerchief and scrubbed at his eyes. “Jesus I’m blind—I can’t see. You fuckin’ bastards.”
Homer said, “I’m going to put some drops in your eyes; it won’t hurt you. Hold your head back now.”
“Fuckin’ bastards.” But he was still in terrible pain and he didn’t fight it when Homer shoved his head back and squeezed fluid from the little plastic bottle into the inside corners of his eyes.
“Now blink. Wash them out.”
Ramiro straightened slowly, blinking like a fish. He squinted, watery-eyed, trying to hold them open, lids fluttering like moths’ wings.
“Settle down, George, just take it easy. We’ll wait while you get your wind.”
“Jesus. Jesus God that hurts. Oh God you son of a bitches.”
“Just let them wash themselves out now, that’s a good boy.”
The inside of the car smelled of the stale sweat of habitual garlic eaters. Ramiro’s breath was like the panting of an overheated dog. Mathieson shifted his grip on the heavy Magnum. If it were fired inside the car it would deafen them all. He had no intention of firing it but it made an impressive prop—especially to Ramiro who doubtless had seen the results it could effect.
Ramiro threw his head back along the rear-window platform. He took in a deep breath that swelled his chest and stomach; he let it out and shook his head violently as if to clear it. He wiped at his eyes again and began to peer narrowly through his trembling inflamed lids. “Yeah. OK, OK. I still can’t see too good.”
“It’ll come back.”
“What the hell you guys want?”
Homer said, “It could have been acid, George. It was supposed to be acid.”
“Supposed to be.” Ramiro still wasn’t tracking too well.
“Put your hands in your lap and keep them there. It won’t do your eyes any good to keep rubbing them.”
“Aagh.” Ramiro clawed at his face again.
Homer batted his arms down. “Now keep them in your lap. Do as you’re told, George. You might live a little longer.”
Ramiro blinked at the Magnum. Mathieson curled his thumb over its hammer and drew it back slowly. The series of sharp clicks seemed very loud.
“Jesus. Take it easy with that thing.”
“You paying attention now, George?”
“What the fuck do you want?”
Mathieson showed him a slow cold smile. The gun in his hand was trained motionlessly on Ramiro.
Homer said, “You listening now?”
“I’m listening. Who the fuck are you guys? Do I know you?”
“No. We’re imported. You don’t know us.”
“Imported by who? For what?”
“To waste you, George.”
“To what?”
“A job of work. A hit, you know how it goes.”
“Me?”
“You’re George Ramiro, ain’t you?”
“You must have the wrong George Ramiro, man.”
“No, I guess not. It’s supposed to be an acid job, George.”
“What the fuck for?”
“Don’t ask me.”
“Who’s paying you guys?”
“Even if we knew that, we’d hardly tell you. Would we.”
“Well what the fuck do you want?”
“A few kays. Money, man. You know.”
Ramiro’s face was screwed up; he kept trying to look at them but his eyes kept squinting shut.
“See if you can follow this, George. You listening to me?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“The man gives us a down payment on you. You follow?”
“Yeah——”
“We finish the job, we’re supposed to get another five kay. Between us. Twenty-five hundred apiece. Capish?”
“I hear you.”
“There’s talk you’re a pretty rich guy, George.”
“I ain’t poor.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so. What’d this car set you back? And that boat out on the Island—fifty-two-foot power cruiser, right? Now a guy like you, comes from some foreign country someplace, he probably don’t trust banks a whole lot. Probably keeps a good stash someplace. In cash. I’m right, George?”
“What do you want from me?”
“Well, here’s the thing. George, you’re worth five kay to us dead. Now we figure maybe you want to tell us how much you’re worth to us alive.”
“Huh?”
“Maybe you scratch up enough cash, George, we let you live. You understand what I’m saying?”
Ramiro peered at him through the slits of his swollen eyes. In his lap his square fingers were at war. He had been in pain; now he was afraid. Mathieson could smell the rank sweat of it.
Homer said, “We’re offering you a rare opportunity, George. All we’re asking in return is a little grease. We’re asking for your help, see?”
“You got a strange way of asking.” Ramiro glanced at the Magnum.
Homer reached out suddenly, grabbed the middle finger of Ramiro’s hand and bent it back hard. Ramiro shouted and reared back in pain, clutching his hand protectively.
Mathieson moved the revolver slightly—just enough movement to draw Ramiro’s eye. When Ramiro looked balefully at him, Mathieson smiled.
Homer picked at his scalp and studied his fingernail. “You see how it is, George.”
“How much you want?”
“Twenty-five kay.”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars?”
“Apiece, George. Each. Per person. Capish? Adds up to fifty kay if you got a slow head for figures. Fifty kay, George. You think your life’s worth that much?”
“Where the fuck you think I’m going to lay my hands on fifty thousand cash this time of night?”
“You got a stash, ain’t you?”
“Well I——”
“You take us to the stash, George. Easy.”
“And I hand it over to you and then you turn me loose? Yeah, sure.”
“George, we might be lying about that. We might knock over your stash and then waste you anyway. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it.” Homer turned his cold smile toward Mathieson. “You see, Al, you see how he’s thinking.”
Mathieson neither smiled nor spoke. He dropped the muzzle of the Magnum half an inch and centered it on Ramiro’s heart.
Ramiro swallowed spasmically. Homer said, “The thing you can know for sure is we’ll waste you right here if you don’t turn the stash. You die here for certain or you take a chance we’re straight. What do you want, George?”
“Look, how do I know——”
“George, I’ll spell it out crystal clear. Now you pay attention. Al and me, we’re supposed to come into town tomorrow night and waste you with acid and a knife. That’s what the contract says. Tomorrow night. So we got into New York a day, two days earlier than we’re supposed to. We noodged around a little, we find out George Ramiro’s a big important rich guy. We can use a side profit on this deal. You see how it goes? What we do, we go with you to your stash tonight. We take our fifty kay. Anything over fifty kay you got in that stash, that’s yours to keep. You take it with you. We all three of us go straight from your stash to the John F. Kennedy Airport. You following this, George?”
“I hear you talking.”
“We don’t care where you go. Just so it’s a long way out of this country. Europe, Africa, Hong Kong. That’s up to you. You pick your spot, you buy the ticket. You got a passport?”