The Wheelman by Duane Swierczynski Read Free Book Online Page B

quickly and quietly? I thought I’d be reading about your extradition from Montana at some point. But the fact that you’re still here makes me think the job didn’t come off as ducky as everybody thinks. Which raises even more questions.”
    The guy—Lennon wasn’t exactly sure he was a cop anymore; he definitely used to be, but something about him said early retirement —paused to adjust the crotch of his pants. The pistol remained on target.
    “Where are your partners? There were three of you. You’re the wheelman, and the black guy and the wigger were the heavies. Maybe they’re back waiting at the hideout up there in jiga-bootown, and you’re staked out here for some reason. That’s it, isn’t it? The money’s still here. You’re waiting until it’s safe.”
    The guy paused, waiting Lennon out. After about a minute of silence, Lennon simply shrugged his shoulders.
    “Strong silent type, aren’t ya? Well let me get to the point.”
    At long last.
    “I could shoot you in the face right now, in the next very second, and make $20,000. Which is very nice money.”
    Definitely not a cop anymore. Not that cops didn’t do shit like that, but he wouldn’t be yapping about it. Of course, the fact that he was yapping about it also meant that this guy was going to shoot Lennon in the face, no matter what. Next, he was going to ask about the money.
    “Or, we could go recover that bank money, when it’s safe, and arrange a deal. Nod once if you understand me.”
    Lennon nodded once.
    “Goody. So here’s how we’re going to—”
    Lennon swatted his right arm outward, his wrist catching the guy’s wrist and deflecting the Glock away, pointing it at the back windshield.
    But not before the guy managed to squeeze the trigger. He was fast. He must have been prepared for Lennon to try something like this.
    The shot felt like a hammer slamming his left shoulder. The area exploded into numbness as his blood tried to circulate itself anywhere but there. The blood failed, and started geysering out of his shoulder, soaking the Penn State sweatshirt. It looked black in the darkness.
    “Now see that,” the guy said, calmly pulling his gun hand away from Lennon’s weakening right arm. “We’re not going to get anywhere like this. And I’m not ready to let you make your decision so hastily. A man should be able to think about these kinds of things in peace and quiet. Where’s the keys to this car?”
    Lennon shut his eyes, trying both to block the pain and plan his next move. There would be no point in trying the same stunt twice. He had to think.
    The guy tapped him in the face with the still-hot barrel of the pistol. “Hey. Come on now. Simple question. Keys.”
    Keys. Above the driver’s seat visor. Keys meant the guy wanted to drive him somewhere. It was a chance to think, to plan something. He couldn’t drive with a gun on Lennon the whole time.
    Lennon gestured to the visor. The guy smiled. “Well thankee greatly.” He stepped out of the car, walked around to the driver’s side door, opened it, and snatched the keys up. Then he walked around the back again and used the keyless button to pop the trunk. “Damn, Pat, you should see the shit back here,” he called from the outside. “Sorry to say, this ain’t going to be very comfortable.”
    It wasn’t.

SATURDAY a.m.
     
     
     
    Do I look like a bank robber to you?
    —WILLIE SUTTON
     
    Sickness and Wealth
     
    K ATIE LEFT MICHAEL IN THE COTTAGE AT 1:55 A.M. AND asked him to stay there until she called. He said it was okay; he had some loose ends he had to tie up anyway. He told her to be safe, and call him if anything got out of hand. He’d be there in a heartbeat. Katie said she’d be fine. She really didn’t want to involve him in this.
    At 6:10, Katie’s flight from San Juan landed at Philadelphia International Airport. By 6:40, she was in a rented car, a black Buick Regal, her one piece of luggage stowed in the trunk. By 7:05, she was at