That's How I Roll: A Novel Read online

  “I can’t not go out there, Esau. I’ve got … all kinds of business that needs to be done from that place. Hell, that’s why I bought it—nobody could get close enough to listen, and there’s no place to plant a microphone.”

  “Can’t have your men think you were scared off, either. Or that you might be questioning someone’s loyalty.”

  He smiled at that. “So you’ve got a plan, do you?”

  “I do.”

  “How are you going to spot a sniper’s roost up in all that mess? It could be damn near anywhere.”

  “I’d need two men,” I said. “Not hired hands, men you’re willing to trust with your life. I’m guessing that both Eugene and Coy are on that list.”

  “If I’m wrong about them, I’d rather die than learn of it.”

  “I understand,” I told him. And I truly did.

  oy put me over his shoulder and carried me all the way to where we finally found the sniper’s hide. Whoever had put it together had spent a lot of time and effort on the job.

  And I was right—the sniper had bailed out after his one shot missed. No point in hanging around. Lansdale’s survival instinct had kicked in the second he’d heard the shot. He rolled behind one of the boulders, and all his men had taken cover, too. Some had scoped rifles; they were already scanning. A couple of others had backed all the way out without showing themselves, and the sniper had to figure they were on their way up to where he was.

  He’d left plenty of things behind. Nothing that would tell us who he was, but more than enough to catch sun-glints from the refractory mirrors I’d set up for Eugene and Coy to move around every time I told them to.

  “A setup like this, he wouldn’t need anything but patience,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Lansdale said, “I’ve got a bit of that myself.”

  But I could see he wasn’t really paying attention. From the moment we’d found that hide, he’d been grinning like a kid who got a pony for Christmas.

  “I knew that stupid Polack couldn’t wait his turn,” Lansdale crowed. “Probably thinks all that’s left to do is pay the sniper off with the same coin he deals out, and then everything’s his.”

  “Can you be sure it was Judakowski?” I said, more out of concern for Lansdale than anything else. “Might be more than one person around who felt unkindly toward you.”

  “Might be at that,” Lansdale said, chuckling. “Come on, Esau, aim your own weapon. Use that deadly brain of yours. A man might get mad enough to take a shot at me, sure. But any sniper that patient and that professional, he’s not going to come cheap. Times are hard. Who’s got the money to be throwing around like that?”

  f you’re wondering about how Lansdale knew I’ve got what it takes to shoot a man in cold blood, I can tell you how that came about.

  It was mid-afternoon when we all heard a car’s tires crunch against the pebbled parking lot behind Lansdale’s office. In front, it was a poolroom, but it was no secret that the back office was where you had to go if you wanted to do business.

  “It’s a dark-red Hummer, boss,” Zeke said, peeking out between the blinds. “Tinted windows, big wheels. Parked sideways.”

  Lansdale didn’t say anything, waiting on more information. I rolled my chair into a corner, adjusted the blanket over my lap, and slitted my eyes.

  “Three men,” Zeke said. “Could be more of them in there—that’s a damn big ride, and the windows are tinted so dark I can’t make out a thing inside.”

  “Strangers?” Barton asked.

  “Niggers,” Zeke said.

  “Not what I asked,” Barton said. He was just as loyal as Zeke, but a whole lot smarter.

  “If they know enough to come in the back way, we may not know them, but they know us,” Lansdale said. He pointed to his right. Barton stepped into that spot. Zeke went over to the door and opened it, like it had been standing that way all along.

  There were three of them, but it was clear there was only one in charge.

  “My name is DeAngelo White,” he said, talking right at Lansdale, who was still behind his desk. “I came a long way to see you. We can make some money together—serious money, I’m saying.”

  He hadn’t offered his hand. Neither did Lansdale. “Have a seat” is all he said.

  As DeAngelo sat down across from Lansdale, his two men moved smoothly to each side, standing like bookends. That triangle-forming move looked so natural you could tell it was something they were used to doing. Even though each of them was outflanked by one of Lansdale’s men, they stood relaxed, keeping their hands in sight.

  That looked practiced, too. Or maybe they just shared the same overconfidence as their boss.

  DeAngelo got right to it. “You’ve probably never heard of me. I believe you’ll agree that’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s what you might call a business advantage.”

  His voice was that of an educated, intelligent man. He spoke like a college graduate, not a thug. I felt ashamed—professionally ashamed—for the assumptions I’d been making since he and his two men walked in the door.

  Around here, a dangerous man wouldn’t call attention to himself, never mind wear such outlandish clothes and jewelry. A man in my business has to be able to judge dangerousness in others, and overlooking their intelligence is a good way to get yourself killed.

  “But I’ve heard of you,” DeAngelo went on. “I know I need to reach an understanding with you if I want to move my product in this part of the state.”

  “Not going to happen,” Lansdale said. “Your people come to these parts, they’re going to stick out like the bull’s-eye on a shooting range.”

  “No, man. I’m not talking about some little hand-to-hand stuff. In the business I’m speaking of, you’d be a retailer, okay? Which means you have to get your product from a wholesaler. Now, me, I am a wholesaler.

  “All that means is weight; it doesn’t say a word about quality. So I came here to give you my personal guarantee that my product is pure. You can step on it a lot heavier than anything you’re getting now and you’ll still be selling better stuff. Despite that, I’ll match any price you’re paying.

  “So far, all I’ve done is talk. You don’t know me, you don’t know my reputation, so I understand that I have to prove myself in. And I’m ready to do just that.

  “How would it be if I left you a serious sample—I’m talking three keys—completely on trust? You take my sample, you test it anyway you want, then you’ll know how much cut it’ll hold. After that, you just distribute it. You’ll at least double your usual take from the same amount. And you don’t owe me a dime until my stuff proves out.

  “Now, sure, you could just give me a blank look when I showed up later, looking to get paid. You could say, ‘What three keys?’ I’ll take that chance, because, once you see how much money there is to be made, ripping off three keys wouldn’t be worth it. A bad business decision.

  “See what I’m saying here? No way you can lose. When you’re out of product, you just let me know—we got all kinds of ways you can do that—and I come back with a new load. All you have to do is pay me for the one you already made serious money on.

  “Now, where else could you find a wholesaler who’d hand over product on trust? That’s not the way the game works. But I’m not just a wholesaler, I’m an innovator.

  “If you and me can do business, then we both make bank. I get a bigger market for my product than anyone expects I could—and you make more money for yourself … a lot more money.

  “And I don’t want to stop there. We can agree to sharing the wealth, sure. But if we increase the wealth, we could end up sharing a much bigger pie. You feeling me?”

  It was quiet for a couple of seconds. Then Lansdale said, “I wouldn’t feel you with barbecue tongs.”

  Then it was DeAngelo’s turn to go quiet. But not for long. “Yeah. All right, my man. I see where you stand on this. I’m a student who does his homework. That’s why I’ve never taken a fall—I study the situation before I ev
er make a move. I gave you the respect of making you my first visit. But you know how the game works: one player passes, another one sits in.”

  “No” is all Lansdale said.

  “What is it that you’re trying to tell me, man? I already got your answer. Next stop is this guy they call Jackhammer. You’re not telling me I can’t ask him if he likes my offer, are you? I mean, the way I understand it, you guys aren’t exactly cut buddies.”

  “What I want to hear—and this is the only thing I want to hear—is that you’re leaving,” Lansdale said. “Leaving now. And not coming back.”

  “You don’t need to be worrying about that. DeAngelo White never goes where he’s not wanted.”

  “I guess I’m not making myself clear,” Lansdale said. “I’m not talking about coming back to me; what I’m saying is, don’t come back here. Anywhere around here.”

  “Be serious, man. I’m in business. You can turn me down, and I can respect that. But no way you speak for your competition, am I right?”

  “This isn’t about who I’m speaking for,” Lansdale told him, “it’s about who I’m speaking to.”

  “You might not like certain colors; I get that. But the only thing whiter than my own name is my product.”

  “I wouldn’t know that,” Lansdale said. “And I’m not ever going to find out.”

  Something in his tone told DeAngelo that his antenna had been tuned to the wrong station. “People know I’m here,” he said. Said it calm, like he was doing Lansdale a favor, keeping him from making a big mistake.

  “Who?” Lansdale said. “Your parole officer? I’m not going to keep saying the same thing over and over.”

  “Not necessary. Neither am I. And when—not if—when I come back up here, I won’t be coming with a couple of friends like I did today. You feeling that?”

  “I am,” Lansdale said. He looked kind of sad when he spoke. The instant I saw DeAngelo’s two men slowly shifting their outside shoulders, I shot DeAngelo in the back of his head.

  The single-shot pistol I used was my own invention. The barrel was as big as a 12-gauge, but that was mostly the baffling—the bullet was the same .220 Swift I like so much, but I’d packed it with far less powder, to keep it subsonic.

  The shot made a noise like a puff of air. DeAngelo crumpled to the floor, the slug still inside his skull.

  His men froze, not sure what had just happened. It was only for a split second, but that was enough for them to realize Zeke and Barton already had them covered.

  “I’m truly sorry about this,” Lansdale told DeAngelo’s men. “But your boss brought it down on both of you.”

  “DeAngelo never could make up his mind about what he was. Which means he was guaranteed to overstep his bounds one day,” the man standing to my right said. There was no fear in his voice; just a man reciting some facts. “We ain’t his partners; we ain’t in his crew. We’re just men he hired to come along today. That’s what we do, hire out. DeAngelo pays good, but he don’t think good. Likes to put on a show. That’s why he had us both facing you. Looks cool, but don’t leave nobody to watch his back.

  “Like you said, he brought it down on himself. Just something that happened. Got nothing to do with us.”

  “It kind of does, now,” Lansdale said. “I don’t bear you any ill will, but I also don’t know you. So letting you walk away, that would be a bad business decision. You feeling me?”

  Barton and Zeke fired at the same time. Their pistols boomed like thunder inside that closed space.

  Zeke got down to check that all three men on the floor were gone. He spent quite a bit of time on DeAngelo. He and Barton had fired heavy hollow-points at such short range that survival wasn’t possible, but he had no idea what had taken DeAngelo out.

  “I can’t see no blood, but this one’s gone for sure, boss,” he said, his fingers on DeAngelo’s carotid artery.

  Lansdale just nodded.

  Barton came back into the office. “There were three more of them inside that Hummer, boss. The engine was running. Real quiet—probably never turned it off. One was behind the wheel. The other two had MAC-10s.”

  “Cover fire,” Lansdale said.

  “Had to be,” Barton agreed. “That’s why they had the back doors standing open. Just enough so they wouldn’t have to waste time piling in.”

  “I didn’t hear any shots.”

  “With Eugene, Coy, and Adam, why would you?”

  Lansdale smiled. Not his usual grin; this was more like just showing his teeth. “If that car of theirs could carry six of them out here, it can just as easy carry them all away. We’ll have to flatbed it. Call Delbert. And make sure he brings a big tarp with him.”

  en came into the back office and rolled up the bodies on the floor in individual shrouds. It was clear they’d done it before by the way they used box cutters on the room-sized sheet of heavy black plastic that was always under the rugs.

  “You want—?” Zeke started to ask.

  “Not until Junior runs his blue light over the floor,” Lansdale stopped him. “We might have to bleach the wood, then sand it down good, before we put the new rugs in. And we don’t want to move the bodies out of here until it gets just a little darker, so you can leave them right there for now.”

  After the men left, it was just me and Lansdale.

  “You’re a man of many talents, Esau” is all he said.

  After that, the range of jobs I did for him expanded significantly.

  t was almost fifteen years before I could make things right with Mrs. Slater. She still lived in that same house, so I was a little concerned about how Tory-boy would react when we had to go back past the place where all those ugly things had happened. But if he even recognized what was left of that burned-out shack, he didn’t show it.

  I hadn’t needed to wait that long to stack up money; it was my timing that had to be perfect. Not only would I have to wait until Mrs. Slater needed something more than just my thanks, I knew I’d be facing some powerful resistance from her.

  Lansdale had someone at the bank. That’s how I learned Mrs. Slater was a widow. And that her husband hadn’t carried any life insurance since he’d been laid off from his last job.

  The house should have been paid off, anyway. The way the banks do it, you have to buy insurance from them, so that if you die that pays off whatever’s left on the mortgage.

  But the bank said the policy only covered the face amount of the mortgage. With all the late charges the Slaters had racked up, plus the interest on that, never mind that they were already some months behind on their payments, by the time they finished playing with their computers Mrs. Slater owed almost three thousand dollars.

  Still, she was working, and the bank could have written her a new note. Refinanced the property so that her payments wouldn’t be more than a few dollars a month.

  But the bank knew real estate was really going up. Rich folks from the big cities were “discovering” towns like ours all over the state. Nice and cool in the summertime, with plenty of fishing.

  And with all the work Mr. Slater had put into the house, it was worth a lot more than when they’d first bought it. The vultures floated high, riding the air currents, always watching with great care. They had to be sure their prey was really dead before dropping down to feed.

  Foreclosure was the meal they planned on having.

  With such a small balance left, Mrs. Slater could have just sold her house and walked off with a profit. But she wasn’t going to do that.

  People around here, they don’t do that. It just doesn’t feel right to them.

  Lansdale also told me Mrs. Slater had an old Ford. She didn’t owe anything on it, but it was damn near shot; probably wouldn’t see her through the next winter. Not only that, she had to drive about forty miles a day just to get to the only job she could find after her husband had stopped bringing home a paycheck.

  When I asked Lansdale about her children, I admired the way he answered my question. “Never had
any” is all he said.

  The women around here can be crueler than the men. They can say things that cut to the quick, and they’re not reluctant to use that knife. When they talked about a married woman who had no children, they’d always use that sympathy-sounding voice that was nothing but gloating covered with fake skin.

  “That poor Mrs. Johnson. The Lord never blessed her with children.” That was the nicest way they’d put it.

  “It’s too bad about Mrs. Johnson never being able to give her husband any children.” That was a step up their cruelty ladder, but nowhere near the top.

  The meanest—and their favorite—was to just shake their heads in false sorrow whenever they referred to Mrs. Johnson, always making sure the word “barren” found its way into their pretend-pity.

  That really made me think on how—“prepared,” I guess is the word I’m searching for—on how well prepared Mrs. Slater had been to help me with Tory-boy when he first came.

  hen we pulled up in the van, Mrs. Slater came out onto her porch. That’s the way folks do. No need for a doorbell when your driveway is gravel or chipped stone. Or if you have a dog.

  She looked like most of the women around here do after a while: gaunt, hard lines cut into her face. Worn hands, suspicious eyes.

  But all that changed when the van’s side door opened and the release system lowered my chair to the ground.

  “Esau? Esau Till. Is that you? My goodness. And this is—”

  “This is my little brother, Tory,” I said. “That’s why we chose Mother’s Day to visit. Had it not been for your saintly kindness, he wouldn’t be standing next to me right now. The way I always looked at it, you’re Tory’s real mother. I’ve been telling him about you since he was old enough to understand.”

  She clapped her hand over her heart, like she was about to faint. “My goodness! I’d heard … Well, just listen to me! Like I was raised in a barn. Can you sit a spell?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I came out here for that very reason. There’s something that’s been worrying at me for a long time, and now that I’ve been led to the righteous answer, this was the place I had to come to.”