54. Money, Honey

I felt bad about leaving Az to deal with the fallout from ‘Rita Cansino’s solution to the Police problem. As we were waiting to cross the highway, two truckers and two bikers were carrying the bodies out to a sixteen-wheeler with a refrigerated container, out on the car lot. It was dark. Popeye’s had been closed since before Trump and the nail bar had shut its doors at dusk. Uncle Joe Stalin’s Pawnshop might have been open or closed, since the electric shutters only opened for people who passed inspection by CCTV. People stood with their hands up as though the video camera might shoot them dead if they didn’t. When the shutters went up, they walked through the door sideways, hands still in the air. Uncle Joe only took moveable goods, the kind that fit in people’s pockets. Sometimes I liked to watch the show through the windows of Az’s bar.

We crossed the highway eventually when the truck with the bodies pulled out, holding up the traffic whilst we walked over to the Best Western. Miss Peroxide 1999 wasn’t on duty behind the desk. Just a pair of feet in half a pair of good shoes, judging by the hole in the leather on one sole. Some snoring was coming from behind them somewhere. He must have de-gassed the pump in the office chair to get himself so low behind the counter. I sent Sam and Ms. Cansino to the lifts, waited until they stepped in then banged hard on the desk. The feet moved quickly and the guy fell out of the chair altogether. It skidded backwards to the wall behind, rebounded and hit the clerk in the head. I waited for him to stand up.

‘You all share it?’

The man shook his head like a dog with water in its ears. ‘Share whut?’

I grabbed his man-made fibre jacket, pulled him over the desk. He was too old for the kind of acne he had. That his diet wasn’t good was confirmed by his breath.

‘Extras. For funny business.’

‘Mrs Delray splits it at the end of the week.’

‘Bottle-blonde, granite-faced. Maybe in the life 20 years ago?’

‘Guess you know her then.’

‘She take it home? Or keep it here?

‘Hey, no! It’s all above board, we keep a ledger and everything.’

I didn’t say that it was so far under the counter that I’d be surprised they didn’t keep it under the floorboards.

‘So where is it?’

He didn’t surprise me.

‘Get it up and get it out.’

He made like he was reaching for a panic button. I laughed.

‘If you had one you’d have pressed it already, Sonny.’

He took up a loose board and brought out a tin box with the key in it. I told him to open it up. There were a couple of thousand in twenties, some fifties and a few hundreds. I didn’t need the money, naturally. Although I couldn’t do Mr D’s trick with the doubloons, we could always produce dollars out of thin air, faster than a South American politician. I stole the money so I could explain away the fact that I had any to the two women.

The lift door opened. Sara and Margarita stepped out. They were both in what you might call business-wear - in the red-head’s case if you were going to make one of those So-Cal movies about the lady boss and the pizza-delivery boy. I held up the money.

‘Let’s drive into town and make a night of it.’

Sam Sara sighed. Margarita Cansino flashed the eyes and the teeth,

‘Now you’re talkin’, Sugar.