“Well, that’s not how your Saturday is going to play out. You won’t be there for the fireworks.”
He’d then gone on to give him detailed instructions on where to go and what to do to whom.
“Can you remember all that, the names and addresses?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
He tapped his temple. “All up here. But can I ask you a question?”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to piss you off and end up like him,” he said, glancing at Malone’s carcass, which by then had almost bled dry.
“All right, ask.”
“I thought you two were thick. Why’d you want him dead?”
“Roland was doing something behind my back. He was unaware that I knew. It was something that could have compromised him, me, the entire operation. But I tolerated it because I needed him. I was biding my time until someone came along who was as dispassionate about killing as he.”
“Me?”
“You have the job if, when I tell you to do something, you get it done quickly without getting caught. If you do get caught, you’re on your own. It can’t come back to me because you don’t know who I am.”
“Malone knew.”
“Yes, and you see how vulnerable that made him.”
He’d looked over at the corpse again. “Yeah, I get it. I’m better off not knowing.”
“Exactly. Now, listen and do everything I say. Use that hose to wash the blood down the drain. That barrel behind you is full of bleach. Put all the gear into it and replace the lid. Then, wearing a fresh pair of gloves, drive away in the truck, but ditch it soon, preferably in an area where it’s certain to be stolen and taken to a chop shop within half an hour. There’s a phone for you under the driver’s seat. Don’t forget to take it. For the time being, that’s what I’ll use to communicate with you.”
“What about the garage door, the alarm?”
“Never mind. Just walk out and get into the truck.”
And that had been the conclusion of his bizarre job interview. He didn’t know how Oz had gotten into the building. Even Malone had been surprised by his unexpected appearance. He hadn’t heard him leave, and that was unnerving. He’d stood there for a time, wondering if it was safe to leave. But then, when nothing else happened, he’d gotten busy. Fearing Oz might still be observing him, he’d followed his directives to the letter.
He’d gotten away clean, no hassle.
It had been so easy, he’d even given some thought to playing double agent by calling the Caballeros and telling them that Oz was wise to them. But he’d decided that his prospects for advancement were more favorable with Oz.
So here he was, and here he’d been for hours, following Oz’s specific orders.
And it sucked.
He was huddled behind a dumpster beneath the corrugated tin covering of a used car dealership’s parking lot. He was stiff from staying in the same position for so long. His sneakers were wet, his clothes were damp.
His stomach was growling, and his mouth was watering because the nearby diner was giving off the aroma of hamburgers cooked on a griddle. But he’d noticed that many of the customers were cops and, in any event, he didn’t dare be seen so near the place where he was about to kill somebody.
He’d thought that becoming Malone’s replacement would entitle him to more benefits, that he’d have more prestige. Being sent to squat behind a dumpster was anything but glamorous. Where was his chauffeur-driven car?
Malone had bragged about how brilliant Oz was, but he might have exaggerated. Or just been wrong. This could be afool’s mission. Or maybe Oz was using this shitty detail to test his loyalty and endurance. In any case…
His mother had been a filthy two-dollar whore, but she hadn’t raised him stupid.
“Enough of this shit.”
