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“What’s this then?” said Sean, giving the thumbs-up.
“Keep walking,” Briggs ordered the accountant, “and stay out of the poison ivy.”
The accountant started back down the narrow path, brush on all sides, trees overhanging the trail.
“Fine,” said Sean, hurrying to catch up to them, “don’t answer me.”
Five minutes later, the accountant turned to Briggs. “Are you saving your money?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Briggs.
“A simple interrogatory,” said the accountant, his yellow necktie crusted with blood. “I wanted to know if you saved a portion of your money or lived paycheck to paycheck.”
Briggs swatted at the mosquitoes darting around him. “I do okay.”
“I could give you some suggestions,” said the accountant. “Something that would allow you to defer taxes and put your money to work for you-”
“Taxes?” Briggs laughed.
“You don’t pay taxes?” said the accountant.
Sean shook his head. “Me, neither.”
“Big mistake,” said the accountant. “You don’t want to fool with the IRS.”
“How much farther?” demanded Briggs.
“I kind of like the idea of my money working for me,” Sean said quietly. “Like having a maid. Or a slave.” He made a motion like he was cracking a whip.
“Good for you, Sean.” The accountant tried to scratch his nose with his shoulder. “Now you’re thinking. I can give you some tips-”
“You think this is a fucking seminar?” said Briggs. “Move!”
“Is that how you got this place?” Sean said to the accountant. “Making your money work for you?”
“Absolutely,” said the accountant. “I’ve got forty-five acres here, owned free and clear. Practically surrounded by national forest. I enjoy privacy…up until now.”
“We should listen to this guy before we pop him, Briggs,” said Sean. “Maybe take some notes.”
Briggs slapped a mosquito that had landed on his cheek, his face flushed and as red as the tracksuit now.
The accountant stopped.
“This it?” said Briggs. “Are we there?”
“Can you help me out here?” said the accountant. “I…I have to urinate.”
“You’re only going to have to hold it for a little while more,” said Briggs.
“I have been holding it,” said the accountant.
“What do you expect us to do about it?” said Briggs.
“I expect you to cut my hands loose,” said the accountant.
“I got nothing to cut the tape with and not sure I would if I could,” said Briggs. “We might not be able to find you if you take off ru
“I have no intention, Mr. Briggs, of wetting my pants,” said the accountant.
“If it puts your mind at ease, sir,” said Sean, “you’re going to piss yourself anyway when I give you the double-tap. It’s a natural reaction…loss of control, you know? A real mess, too. I seen it plenty times.”
“Yes, Sean, but I’ll be dead then, so it won’t matter to me,” said the accountant. “Now, being presently alive, it does matter.”
“Oh.” Sean nodded. “I get it.”
The accountant wiggled his fingers behind his back. “Do you mind?”
Sean bent over the accountant’s hands, tearing at the tape, while the accountant shifted from one foot to the other.
“Please hurry, Sean,” said the accountant.
“Tapes all tangled up,” said Sean. “I…I can’t do it.”
“Told you, dumb-ass,” said Briggs. “That’s why I use that kind of tape, ’cause you can’t get it off.”
“Then one of you is going to have to unzip my trousers and hold my penis while I urinate,” said the accountant.
Both Sean and Briggs burst out laughing.
“I’m quite serious, gentlemen,” said the accountant.
“Pal, if you want someone to hold your joint, you’re out of luck,” said Briggs, still laughing. “Now, I had a partner ten years ago…he might have accommodated you.”
“If you force me to wet myself, Mr. Briggs, I can promise you with absolute certainty, that I will not lead you to the ledger, no matter what you do to me,” said the accountant.
Briggs punched the accountant in the side of the head, knocked him onto the ground. “You sure about that?” He kicked the man in the chest, then grabbed the accountant’s bound hands, jerked him to his feet, bones popping. “You sure?”
The accountant didn’t say a word.
Briggs lifted the accountant’s hands higher and higher, the man bent forward, silent, tears rolling from his eyes onto the dirt. Still silent. Briggs finally released him, out of breath.
“Damn, Briggs,” said Sean. “I believe him.”
“Yeah,” panted Briggs. “So do I.” He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “So grab his joint and help him take a piss.”
“Me?” said Sean.
Briggs shrugged. “I cleaned up after the two software geeks. They must have had the combo platter at El Jaliscos but you never heard me complain. While you were ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ over their fancy laptops, I was mopping out the car.”
“I’m not doing it,” said Sean.
“You were the one who forgot the handcuffs,” said Briggs. “That’s why I had to use the tape.”
“I don’t care,” said Sean.”
“Gentlemen,” said the accountant. “Decide.”
“Did I share on the last job?” said Briggs. “I didn’t have to, but I did.” He glanced at the accountant. “Last job we found…I found a half-kilo of smack in Mr. Unlucky’s dresser. I didn’t have to share it with you, but I did.”
“The smack was stepped on, and we probably should have turned it over to Junior anyway,” said Sean.
“Gentlemen?”
Sean stared at Briggs.
“You know it’s fair,” said Briggs.
Sean jabbed a finger at the accountant. “I ain’t touching it with my bare hands.” He walked around until he found a tree with wide leaves, tore a couple off and strode back to the accountant. “Don’t say a fucking word.” He unzipped the accountant’s trousers, fumbled out the man’s penis holding the leaf around it, then pointed it into the brush. “Hurry up.”
The accountant closed his eyes.
“Come on,” said Sean, giving the accountant’s penis a slight shake.
“I’m trying,” said the accountant.
“You’re the one who had to go so bad,” said Sean.
“Oh, Sean,” drawled Briggs, “I cain’t quit you.”
“That ain’t fu
The accountant sighed. “I…I can’t do it. It’s just…I can’t.”
“Fine.” Sean stuffed the accountant’s penis back into his trousers, didn’t even bother zipping him up, the leaf sticking out of his fly. “Just take us to the damn ledger so I can blow your brains out and forget this ever happened.”
“I’m sorry,” said the accountant. “It’s not easy, you know.”
Sean wiped his hand on his pants.
“If it helps,” said the accountant, “we’re almost there.”
“About time.” Briggs looked down at the patches of standing water all around them. “Getting really muddy.”
“ Lot of rain lately,” said the accountant, walking ahead, the ground sucking at his shoes. “It’s really beautiful here after a storm, all kinds of flowers popping up.” He walked slightly off the trail, splashed through a puddle. “See that tree up ahead?” He pointed with his chin. “The one with the split trunk? The journal’s in a waterproof container under a large flat rock-”
Briggs pushed him aside, stalked across a mossy clearing toward the tree, right through the water. He was in past his ankles trying to high-step free before he stopped and looked back. By then it was too late. He was up to his knees and sinking fast.
“Don’t move!” said the accountant.
“Get me out of here!” shouted Briggs.
Sean pointed a pistol at the accountant. “You did this.”
“There’s underground springs all over this part of the woods,” the accountant said to Sean, ignoring the pistol. “Nobody knows where they’ll pop up next.”
“Hey!” called Briggs, the muddy slurry almost to his waist now.
“Quit struggling, Briggs, you’ll only sink faster,” said the accountant, stepping slowly into the clearing. “Stay calm.”