“No. Left it by a police station.”
“Crazy,” Ty said. “So why you stop there? At your store, paint guns, whatever?”
East had to remember before Shandor, before Perry, when he was just a kid in the street. “I got cold, man. Cold and tired. Sign said HELP WANTED, so I went in.”
“I know they liked you, didn’t they? Had you pushing a mop?”
East shrugged. “Hundred dollars a day.”
“White man stealing from you,” Ty jeered. “I hope you stole a little back.”
“I don’t steal,” East said.
“You stole that lady’s car.”
“Yeah.” East’s blood quickened. “That was different.”
“Oh.” Ty’s fingers tapped the wheel. “Tell you one thing different. Bet it wasn’t no white lady’s car you stole.”
East shut his mouth and looked out at the dirty snow, stinging. Ty hummed. He drove fast, relaxed. Fourteen now, and he seemed to know driving by heart. He seemed to have the airport route in his head. He seemed just to pick things up like that.
East said, “Ty. Back at the gas pumps, when you held the gun on that dude. What were you thinking? What was the play?”
“You mean,” Ty said, “before you shot me?”
“Before I had to. You were out of control, man.”
“Maybe I was,” said Ty. “But come off it. Who was saving your ass, every time? In Vegas, from Michael Wilson, from that hick-ass town? And who did the job?”
“What job?”
“The judge.”
Then East remembered the judge: his name, his face. The dark shape of him moving around in the bright cabin like a rat in an experiment. “Ty. Did the judge know you? He looked at you.”
“I bet he did.”
“He smiled at you,” East said.
Ty just laughed.
“You ain’t gonna tell me?”
“No,” Ty said.
This shit, thought East. “But now you’re saying I’m in charge.”
“Play that,” said Ty. “You always in charge. Fin had a hundred hungry niggers working, but you’re the only one ever follows directions. Did you ever wonder how I had a gun after they took one off me?”
“You had a second one,” East said, “they didn’t find.”
“Same one,” said Ty. “Fin gave it back. You listening now?”
“Forget it,” East seethed.
“East. You got your way. You understand that your way goes on top of my way. But your way don’t stop me?”
“Just be quiet, man,” said East. The rain was letting up, and Ty took the exit to the airport. But East was in his mother’s apartment again, arguing. Arguing for his life against this impossible boy.
“You stick to business,” said Ty. “But I am business, East.”
They sat hot in their seats, hating each other like brothers, till they pulled up to the terminal, gray planes hanging in the sky.
22.
Along the departures curb, the gray Lincoln stopped. NO PARKING. DROP-OFF ONLY.
Ty said, “When you’re ready to drop it off, call this number.” A sticker on the dash. “Give them one hour. They meet you here. Or wherever you need.”
“What do I need? Credit card? Fill the tank?”
“Bitch, this ain’t Avis. Just give the car back.” Ty handed East the keys. “Walter said you don’t fly. So if you got to drive this car back to LA, okay. But call and let them know.”
East scanned the line of windows along the terminal. Airline porters. Police. Families pulling suitcases on small invisible wheels.
“Two more things,” said Ty. He popped a compartment between the two seats. “There’s your phone. A charger too.”
East spun his phone in his fingers. The familiar weight and shape.
“Just be careful. Don’t say much. Be smart. I called you. So my new phone is the last number on it.”
East stared at the phone. “Thanks,” he made himself say.
Ty reached down into the compartment again and came up with a roll of bills.
“Three thousand dollars, if something comes up,” he said. “This is my money, now. A loan to you from me. Understand? Say it.”
“It’s your money.”
“All right. Take it.”
East let the money sit in Ty’s hand for a long time. A debt he didn’t want. But there was nothing else now.
He put it away in his pocket.
“Don’t lose it.”
“I won’t.”
“Plus this.” Ty fished a little silver gun out of the compartment, showed it, and replaced it. Then he took an envelope out and laid it on his thigh as he threaded the zipper on his jacket. FIRST CLASS, it said, just like East’s. DATE OPEN. JOE WARNER.
“So, this is it,” East said. “No luggage? Nothing?”
Ty shook his head.
“So. Six days. You got what you need. Any questions, you call me.”
Ty picked up his ticket. East studied him for a long moment. The sharp easiness. His long little balding head. Kidney bean—that’s what their mother had called him.
“I don’t want to come back here. Winter and shit. If I do, it’s the old rules. There will be consequences.”