He didn’t add that he only hoped that was true. Jesus Christ, bringing a gun. All those years in prison hadn’t taught Evan anything. Not anything worth learning, at least.
Danny worked swiftly but gently, wrapping the boy in bandages. He was afraid tying his wrists would cut off circulation, so he just looped the fabric firmly around Tommy’s whole chest, binding his arms to his sides in a wide cocoon. He repeated the process with the boy’s legs. It wouldn’t hold against serious effort, but it would serve their needs. Duct tape would have been more secure, but Danny couldn’t do that to a twelve-year-old.
To Evan, maybe.
When he was done, he straightened, thumbed the safety and tucked the stun gun in his pocket. The phone was on the ground, and he picked it up, walked to the kitchen and hung it up, swinging back through the mudroom to lock the deadbolt. When he returned to the TV room, he found Evan lifting the corner of a framed modern art print and peering behind it.
“You got to be kidding me.”
“What?” Evan asked.
“He’s a contractor. Even if he has a safe, you think it’s going to have bundles of hundreds?” Danny sighed. “Grab his feet, I’ll get the hands.”
Evan gave him a contemptuous look, bent down and came up with Tommy in a fireman’s cradle. The kid probably didn’t weigh much over ninety pounds, but still, the absolute effortlessness was impressive. Like he weighed nothing at all.
Danny stabbed the TV power, silencing a rap star tricking out his third Lamborghini with gold rims, and took one last look around. Everything seemed clean. “Let’s go.” He shouldered the bag and walked out.
The garage was orderly, no tools or lawn equipment, just a couple of bicycles and space for two cars. Evan had parked the stolen Saab dead in the middle, the trunk gaping open. The inside was lined with thin carpet, and the former owner’s golf clubs took up half the space. They hadn’t thought to check the trunk. Danny shoved the clubs to one side, frustration beginning to infect his cool. It was always the little things that got you caught. If he was going to get Tommy out of this, get himself out of it, he couldn’t afford not to think of everything.
Evan bent over and laid Tommy in the trunk, more gently than Danny expected. “Okay,” he said, brushing his hands off. “We done?”
Danny nodded, started to shut the trunk lid, and stopped himself. They didn’t have far to go, but still. “One second.”
He turned and went back to the TV room. Half a dozen throw pillows of different colors and patterns rested on the couch. He grabbed three. Who really noticed their couch pillows? He walked back to the garage. The boy mumbled something and pulled unconsciously at his bindings.
“Shhh.” Danny ducked down and braced Tommy with pillows. He put one under his head, and the others on either side. Hardly the Ritz, but it would keep him from rolling into the golf clubs or the wheel well. Good enough. He closed the trunk. “Let’s roll.”
Evan smirked and shook his head, but reached for the car door. Danny caught the frame. “I’m driving.”
For once Evan didn’t argue.
“Greenleaf, Greenwood, Forest. These dumbfucks live in Chicago, but all their streets have tree names.” Evan’s voice had a playful tone, the same as when they’d taunted each other playing Pisser all those years ago.
Richard’s house was two blocks behind, and Danny wondered if they had closed the garage door. He knew they had; the worry was just part of the jangling of his nerves as he came down. Same with the urge to giggle, as though they were only shoplifting Playboys from a Loop liquor mart. He willed himself cool. They were away, but the job wasn’t over yet. They had to get Tommy to the construction trailer. Then he could let himself relax.
A little.
Because nothing was over, he reminded himself, until Tommy was home. Until Danny could go back to his old life. Paperwork. Project management. Renting movies for couch-lounging Sunday afternoons after Karen slept off her night shifts.
That seemed about as real as a prison fantasy, a late-night conversation with a cellie about what you were going to do when you got out. The Italian beef with extra peppers, the redhead that seemed like she might wait. The promise that you’d never again do anything boneheaded enough to return you to jail. For a moment he imagined he were still in prison, that the last seven years had just been a particularly vivid dream.
Then he pulled his shit together. “Yeah, well. Lots of trees.”
Evan grunted, looking out the window to shaded lawns fronting million-dollar homes. “S’pose.”
“Okay. We head back to the trailer. Debbie meets us there. After we get Tommy inside, I’ll make an appearance at the restaurant construction site. You take the car and get it stolen. Then-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Evan yawned. “We been over this, man.”
“Then,” Danny continued, “we meet up and make the call. We’ll go over what you’ll say beforehand, but it’ll be short and simple. Then-”
“Then we get a pint and wait.”
Danny nodded, keeping to himself that he didn’t plan to play buddies. The man wanted a drink, fine. He wasn’t a freshman thief likely to start bragging on his fourth whiskey. But Danny was going home. He flipped the turn signal, his gloves against the wheel suggestive of the coming winter. They’d wind south to Lakeshore – there’d be traffic, but anonymity, too. The stop sign at the corner had a sticker that said RAPE pasted just below the STOP part. He checked his mirror as he slowed.
The sedan in his rearview had a blue siren on the dash. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Security.”
“Shit.” Evan straightened in the seat.
The car was a recent-model Ford, the windows tinted just enough that all Danny could make out was the driver’s silhouette. His heart banged against his ribs like an animal throwing itself at the bars of its cage. How long had the car been there? He’d been too distracted with his thoughts to know for sure.
A block or two, though.
He braked at the sign, a full stop. The bumper of the Ford crept up in the rearview. Danny touched the gas and turned, just another civilian going about his business in a nice car.
The blue light flashed on as he rounded the corner.
His sweating palms made the gloves sticky as he braked, gliding the car to a smooth stop. Put it in park but left the engine running. The Ford pulled up behind them, the light still going. Soundless, though. No siren.
“He alone?” Evan asked, not turning around.
The man stepped out of the car, a tall guy, thin, with a mustache. He wore a black uniform with a red patch on the chest. “Yeah.”
Evan nodded. The revolver appeared in one hand. He opened the cylinder, spun it, and flipped it back in place. Then he rocked his head to either side, fast. Danny could hear his neck pop. Evan winked and transferred the pistol to his right hand as he reached for the door handle with his left.
This couldn’t be happening. History couldn’t be about to repeat itself, not while he just sat there and watched everything spin out of control.
It never was in control, Danny-boy.
You were just kidding yourself.
A thought gut-punched him: If the situation could be saved, it would be because he saved it. He flung open his door and stepped out before Evan could react.
The security guard jumped, one hand straying to his belt. His fingers cupped over something, it looked like pepper spray.
“Hi there.” Danny made himself smile, a resident talking to an employee. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Evan had his door open an inch or two, but he hadn’t gotten out. Danny took another step toward the guard, putting his body in Evan’s line of fire.