The Golem by Edward Lee

Author:Edward Lee
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

III

“Where you at?” Rosh asked into his “special occasion” cell phone, a simple TracPhone with a calling card and no server to subscribe to. “I need to rap with ya.”

“Rap, huh?” replied D-Man’s fuzzy voice. “Can’t wait. I need to rap with you, too. We’re near the clearing—you know the little place at the edge of the woods, near...you know.”

Rosh thought he did. His curiosity twisted. “Isn’t that where you guys bury—”

“Yeah, we bury people here—usually for you, R—” “Don’t ever use my name—or anyone’s name—over the phone,” Rosh ordered. “Ever.”

“Yeah, I know...”

“What’s that?” Rosh snapped. “Yeah, I know...sir.”

“Good, and don’t forget that shit. We’re in town now, but sit tight. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll be here,” D-Man’s voice fuzzed out.

What the fuck are those two idiots doing up there? Rosh snapped his phone closed and grimaced at the scene.

The SWAT men were packing up, the responding patrol cars already pulling away from the teetering house whose roof looked sucked in. Another day, another crack house, the corrupt captain mused. Just...not the right one...

The sun set quickly, as if escaping; it left Rosh to stand in orange-tinted darkness. Stein came out of the house and walked over.

“Can’t believe it,” Rosh complained. “Lazy gave us bad info. How do you like that for audacity—lying to cops.”

“Actually, Captain, she wasn’t lying.”

Rosh felt a surge of expectant joy. “You’re not telling me you found Jary Kapp on the second sweep of the house?”

“No,” Stein said with little interest. “All I said was Lazy wasn’t lying. Jary ain’t inside but he was.” Stein flapped something against Rosh’s chest.

A Boston Red Sox hat.

“You’re right,” Rosh admitted. “His brother wore Yankees but Jary always wears Red Sox.”

“Thought you’d like the souvenir,” Stein commented with a snide smile.

“Yeah, thanks a fuckin’ lot. Now come on. You drive.” They got into the car and pulled off.

“Jary ain’t stupid, Captain,” Stein observed. “He knows there’s a dragnet on for his ass, so he’s not holing up in the same place for long.”

“Probably stays in a different hideout each night. Fucker must think he’s Bin Laden.”

Stein lit a cigarette at the wheel. “We’ll probably get him when he tries to get back to Florida.”

“Probably’s not good enough, Stein.” Rosh dug his own fingers hard into his thigh. “I want him.”

“You gonna tell me where we’re going?” Stein asked. “That clearing where the Two Stooges bury the scum-bags we contract.”

“What for?”

“I just want to...ask them something. D-Man said he needs to talk to us, too.”

“Next switch is two days from now. Maybe he’s got it early.”

“Maybe,” Rosh muttered, and watched the moon follow them along the top of the endless switchgrass.

Both men made sour expressions when they pulled into the clearing behind the familiar black step van. A gas lantern hung on a pole, lighting the macabre scene: D-Man and Nutjob both digging a hole.

“I thought those assholes only did button jobs and disposals for us,” Rosh said.

Stein shut the cruiser off. “I guess we’re not their only business.

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