“Yes, of course,” Raynor said.
Dante, occupied with the stain, didn’t notice Raynor glance at him in the rearview mirror, couldn’t see the disdain flare in eyes hidden behind dark glasses. Once he had done enough dabbing, Dante’s gaze shifted to the verdant Virginia farmland rolling past his window. “What the hell am I going to do out here? If you got me picking freakin’ potatoes or something, I’ll shoot you between your goddamn eyes.”
Raynor cracked a half smile Dante couldn’t see. “You won’t have to pick potatoes.”
“Yeah, I better not,” Dante said, spitting out the words. He adjusted the lapels of his suit as if the act somehow bolstered his credibility as a man not to be reckoned with. “Farming is undignified.” He undid a button on his silk shirt, opening the collar to expose several gold chains resting against skin artificially tanned to an unnatural shade.
“Four months ago, I was bagging ten g’s a week, moving so much Big H up and down the east coast I could have made this field look like it was coated in snow. And you know what that kind of dough got me?” He ran a hand through the wisps of his remaining hair and smiled broadly enough to give a flash of his gold tooth. The brightening expression tightened the loose skin flapping beneath his chin like a turkey’s wattle. “It got me a lot of play. Hotties, all fine, nubile young things. And look at me. Fifty-five, not much muscle, a threat to blow away on a windy day. You think they would have done me without the drugs and the cash? I’m talking foursomes, brother, that made my balls fall off.”
Raynor said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Dante leaned back in his seat, confused for a moment, before eventually figuring it out. “It’s a figure of speech, you jackass. My balls didn’t literally fall off. I’m just saying, I’m used to a certain lifestyle and this crap-ass backwoods place you’re taking me to doesn’t quite meet my standards.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Lerardi, where you’re going, you won’t miss one thing from your old life.”
Dante picked something out from between his teeth using a manicured fingernail. “Yeah, I better not with what I’m giving you guys. My contribution shut down most of the Big H supply coming into the ports.”
“It was very helpful information,” Raynor said. “I’m not going to deny you that.”
“I’m just saying, I expect to be well compensated for my sacrifice.”
“Oh, you will be.”
“By well compensated I mean, I like redheads,” Dante said. “No BS, either. I want the carpet to match the drapes, if you know what I’m saying.”
In a humorless voice Raynor replied, “You’re a man of very refined taste.”
“Whatever,” Dante said, his gaze shifting back to the window and the world zooming along outside.
“So who am I going to be anyway? I want something badass, something that says I’m nobody’s jerkoff.” Whatever was lodged between Dante’s teeth needed a bit more picking to get out. “What about Clint?” he suggested. “That’s a badass name. Like Eastwood, but you know, something different obviously, because that’d attract a lot of attention.”
“If your new name was Clint Eastwood? Yes, I think it would.”
“Right. But like Clint Eastwood. Maybe Downing. Or is there a Robert Downing? You know, Iron Man.”
“That’s Downey, I believe.”
“Iron Man is Robert Downey?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so good. What about Clint Downing?”
Raynor glanced back at his passenger. “I believe your new name is Albert Tuttle.”
“Albert Tuttle?” Dante couldn’t believe his misfortune. “That guy sounds like an asshole.”
Thirty minutes later, the conversation hadn’t much improved. Raynor was glad they were nearing their destination, or he might have done something impulsive. He turned the Cadillac onto a dirt road devoid of any structures and drove exactly three point six miles before he came to a stop in front a field of sweet corn, stretching for miles along both sides of the road. The corn would be harvested late June through mid-September. By the looks of it, this field would be ready on the early side. The green stalks were already waist high.
He cut the engine. “Wait here.”
Dante took one look out the window and scoffed. “Like I’d go anywhere,” he said, examining his fingernails. “Just hurry it up, will ya? All this country scenery makes me itchy.”