One Mississippi by Steve Ulfelder

Author:Steve Ulfelder [Ulfelder, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: OhFive Publishing
Published: 2019-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

“Waltham?” Pilar said.

“Not six blocks from where we’re sitting,” Arch said.

It was that evening. They were in a small-plates Cuban restaurant on Main Street. Pilar’s suggestion.

Arch cut a tiny pork-belly in half with his fork, ate it, and crossed his eyes with pleasure. “Oh my God.”

“I know, right?”

She sipped her wine.

He responded by sipping his beer, Rolling Rock in a pilsner glass.

Arch had decided on a strategy: He would drink only when Pilar drank. Make sure he stayed even with her. Make sure he didn’t … do anything he’d regret.

He regretted the strategy.

Pilar could go a long time between sips.

A man could get parched.

Hell, a man could die of thirst.

Now she was looking at him. She’d said something and he’d missed it. Thinking about his Rolling Rock.

He said, “Pardon?”

“I said, do tell. Tenterhooks over here.”

“You won’t believe it.”

“Try me.”

“He took me to the Porsche.”

“The Porsche?”

“He’s the one who stole it back from the Nigerians.”

Pilar dropped her fork. “Dude. No fucking way.”

Arch smiled.

“What?” she said.

“That sounds cute. Coming from you. Also sexy, I have no idea why.”

“Where is it?”

“In a crappy little garage with the windows boarded over. In a neighborhood full of Hyundais and Chevys on blocks. Ingenious, really. He hid it in a place you’d never dream of finding a Porsche.”

“But why? How?”

“Becket figures the Nigerians stole it from Linnick because … well, because that’s what they do. Mint newish SUV, close enough to Boston, half-assed garage security. Becket knew nothing about this. But he came north gunning for Russians—Voronovs—who killed his brother. He was tailing a pair of them shortly after the Porsche was stolen, and they led him straight to?”

“Linnick.”

“Yup. Picture it. The Brothers Voronov, same ones who threatened me, show up at your apartment asking why your car’s been stolen. You manage to convince them you don’t know why. Finally they leave. Two minutes later, Becket knocks on the door and starts asking questions about the Russians.” Arch shook his head. “It’s enough to make you feel for Linnick.”

“Wait. Why did the Russians know about the car? Why did they care?”

“Becket doesn’t know. Yet. But he’s been stealing cars since he was eleven. He figured if everybody wanted the Porsche so badly, he might as well help himself to it.”

“But how?”

“He followed various Voronov stooges until he figured out where the Nigerians’ cooling lot was.”

“Cooling lot?”

Arch explained it.

“And then he stole it? You said there was a guard. A fence.”

“I also said Becket’s good at this. He said he disconnected the chain link at one corner, rolled it back, drove the car through the gap, and reconnected the fence.”

“This is one highly coveted car.”

“That it is.”

More food came. They ate. Each small plate was better than the one before. Which Arch would have thought impossible.

Outside, the sun set.

The waiter came by and lit their candle.

Pilar finally (finally!) finished her glass of wine and ordered another.

Which meant another beer for Arch.

The talk moved on from Becket to life stories. Favorite books, favorite foods, awful roommates from the past.

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