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“I ca
Michael felt like he’d been bitten by an electric eel.
“Relax. He’s fine,” Mr. T. said. “He said he didn’t know where the load was so he’s been manhandled a little. He’ll need to be delumped before he goes looking for a new job.”
Two very large men got out on the passenger side of the Lincoln, front and rear. Over the roof of the car, Michael saw Larry and TJ get their toy weapons up, as if ready to squirt water at the two goons. Tonya keyed the trunk open and a bloody Paul, bound and gagged, was lifted out. He was conscious and he looked extremely pissed off.
The men set Paul on his feet and one produced a switchblade to cut the rope around his legs and wrists. The other guy peeled the tape off his face. Even the sound of it hurt, but Paul was silent.
“See, Paul,” Mr. T. said, “this is why I have a rule. No cigarettes or liquor. They are just too tempting a target for shenanigans.”
Paul said nothing, and Larry and TJ came over to help him back to the van. Paul got in, and the other two turned to keep an eye on Chuck and Brucie.
“In case you’re wondering,” Mr. T. said, “you’re fired too.”
“Okay, but now I really need that hundred thousand. Then I’ll go quietly.”
“Why would I pay you? We’re going to deliver the cigarettes this afternoon,” Mr. T. said.
“No, you’re not. You’d have called the cops. Instead you switched the numbers so I got the wrong box. You’re stealing it too. Your plan was to keep the smokes, file a claim with the insurance company. They’ll pay Blue Ribbon for the missing butts.”
“You’re a shrewd one. When Raymond called last night, I thought this was a chance to make lemonade from lemons. Brucie was going to take the real cigarette trailer out of the yard after the 8 o’clock driver rush was over. But he couldn’t find it, so we figured out where Paul was making a sales call and picked him up. But he didn’t know anything, so he said. Now Brucie will take this truck down to Jersey. We’ll sell the cigarettes there. Cigarettes are way too tempting. But I promised myself I’d just have one.”
“Famous last words,” Michael said.
“And I’m entitled to collect a fine from Junior. Sounds like it will be about two hundred thousand.”
“May I suggest a way to make an additional fifty grand?” Michael asked.
“Please do.”
“Keep the tractor and trailer down in Jersey, put new numbers on them, and file a claim for lost equipment.”
“You are a smart kid. You’ll go far, if someone doesn’t kill you first.”
“I know it won’t be you,” Michael said.
“How do you know that?”
“You need me to talk to the insurance company so you can get your claim paid. You don’t want to have to pay Blue Ribbon out of your pocket. If I’m found dead right after talking to the FBI and the insurance men, that won’t be good.”
“I like the cut of your jib, mister.”
“Aw shucks,” Michael said. “I’m just helping you have a productive day.”
“It is a good idea to stay busy at my age,” Mr. T. said.
“Yeah? I figured a guy your age would rather be home praying for a peaceful death.”
Mr. T. barked two sharp sounds to indicate mirth. “Ha! Ha! I like that.”
“So don’t I,” Michael said.
“That sounds like a Boston thing.” Mr. T. turned and looked at his three people. “Wait in the car.” He gestured for Michael to come closer. “I feel bad about your father. I’m glad he’s off the booze. I’ll give you fifty thousand when Junior gets back. Give some to your pop.”
When they got back to North Quincy, Larry dropped the brothers at their parents’ house. Paul was going to clean up and they were going to borrow the old man’s car to get back to the Triple-T parking lot to pick up Michael’s GTO.
Michael started up the front stairs with the bag of money for his father under his left arm.
“Hey,” Paul said, “my back is sore. Give me a hand going up the stairs.”
Michael went back down, and Paul draped his arm over his shoulders. After a moment’s thought, Michael handed Paul the bag of cash, reached up and took his brother’s left hand in his, then slipped his right arm around Paul’s waist and helped him up the stairs.
Their father came out of the house and held open the screen door. “What happened?” he asked.
The brothers made it up to the porch and the door clapped shut behind them.
“It got a little rough,” Paul said, “but I got you some money from Tortello.” Paul handed the bag to his father and smiled at his brother. “Mikey helped too.”
ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS
Jen Dolan
RUSS ABORN was born in Boston and lived in Dorchester before the family moved to North Quincy, which he was told was in “the country.” He has spent his youth, adulthood, and, most likely, will spend his declining years in the logistics profession. He is married to his high school sweetheart, Susan.
James Goodwin
DANA CAMERON is the author of the Emma Fielding mysteries, including the Anthony Award-wi
Michael DuBois
BRENDAN DUBOIS is the award-wi
Elizabeth Kortlander
JOHN DUFRESNE is the author of two story collections and four novels, the most recent of which is Requiem, Mass. His story “The Timing of Unfelt Smiles” appeared in Miami Noir and in The Best American Mystery Stories (2007). He teaches writing at Florida International University.
Andrei Jackamets
JIM FUSILLI is the author of five novels. In 2008, he was editor of, and contributed a chapter to, The Chopin Manuscript, Audible’s best-selling “serial thriller,” and is editing and contributing a chapter to its sequel, The Copper Bracelet. Fusilli is also the rock and pop critic of the Wall Street Journal. Pet Sounds, his book on Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys’ album of the same name, was published in 2006 by Continuum.
Michael Malysczko
LYNNE HEITMAN worked for fourteen years in the airline industry. She drew on that rich and colorful experience to create the Alex Shanahan thriller series, including Hard Landing, which takes place at Boston ’s Logan Airport, and Tarmac, which was named by Publishers Weekly as one of the year’s best thrillers. Her current titles, First Class Killing and The Pandora Key, are available from Pocket Books.
Nance Wiatt
DON LEE is the author of two novels, Wrack & Ruin and Country of Origin, as well as a story collection, Yellow. He has received an American Book Award, the Edgar Award for Best First Novel, the Sue Kaufman Prize for First Fiction, an O. Henry Award, a Pushcart Prize, and the Fred R. Brown Literary Award. For nineteen years, he was the principal editor of Ploughshares. He now teaches in the graduate creative writing program at Temple University.