Boost by Steve Brewer

Author:Steve Brewer [Brewer, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fulcrum Publishing
Published: 2017-09-06T19:33:46+00:00

24

The feds had been gone two minutes when Sam’s doorbell rang. He opened the door and found Joe Winter staring up at him through his thick glasses. The condo manager’s white hair was askew, and his face was flushed.

“Hey, Joe.”

“Those more cops?”

“Feds.”

“I thought so. I recognize the type. Cocksuckers.”

“What have you got against cops?”

“I used to have my little run-ins with the law. Now and then. Man’s got to make a living. ‘Course, that was before I got older than God’s baby teeth.”

Sam laughed, but Joe’s face turned somber.

“I understand about cops coming around, sticking their noses in people’s business,” Joe said. “Up to me, I wouldn’t say a word to you about it. You’ve always treated us well. Paid your bills on time.”

“Somebody complain?”

“A couple of your neighbors, asking about the ‘police activity’ at your place. I told them to mind their own business, but they didn’t like that answer. You know how it is. They worry. Some of ’em have their life savings tied up in these units. They don’t want bad publicity—”

“I understand completely. I don’t want cops coming around either. They stink up the place.”

Joe squinted up at him. “You got problems? Anything I can help you with?”

“No, it’s all a big misunderstanding. It’ll get straightened out soon.”

“You know me, Sam. I never ask questions. Never asked you what you do for a living, even. I wonder about it sometimes, but I mind my own business.”

“I appreciate that, Joe.”

“It’s just that the tenants, when they complain, I have to do something.”

“Right. I’d expect you to do the same for me, if I were the kind of fucking rat who complained about his neighbors.”

Joe grinned at him. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

The old man started to leave, then turned back. “You need any help, Sam, you call me.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

Sam watched him totter off, straight across the manicured lawn, leaving big damp footprints behind.

“Goddammit,” Sam muttered as he shut the door.

He crossed the living room, looking around at the bookshelves and the record collection and the cushiony furniture. A comfortable place. Quiet. Simple.

He’d hate to move. But he couldn’t afford neighbors who were watching him all the time, waiting for the next episode of COPS. He needed to get the police out of his life. Let it all settle down, then see whether he could stay here.

He felt edgy and confined. Too many pressures coming from too many directions. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

When he opened his eyes, he saw clearly again: All this turmoil centers on Phil Ortiz. Get him out of the picture, and the feds, the cops, the corpses, the nosy neighbors all go away. Eventually.

But how to make Phil Ortiz disappear? Set him up for the DEA? Let Way-Way pull his head off?

Might be simplest to just go up to Santa Fe, find the Our Lady of Guadalupe low-rider, steal it, and return it to Ortiz. Perhaps if the guy got his sainted car he’d go away, and everybody could get back to their quiet businesses.

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