CHAPTER FIVE
I raised the steel shutter that covered the storefront and we went inside. I put the cardboard box with Vincent’s belongings in it on the counter, and then Rick and I sat in the office playing rummy and bullshitting while the sun came up. Eventually a pounding bass line rattled the windowsand parked behind the shop. After a minute the bell over the door tinkled and Vincent stumbled in, shaking his head and wiping his eyes. He had a spill-proof mug of coffee in one hand and a messenger bag over his shoulder. He got to the counter, dropped his messenger bag, and unzipped his expensive-looking motocross jacket before he saw us. He froze. I looked up at him.
“Don’t bother taking off your coat.”
His jaw dropped. “Wha. What?”
I shrugged. “You’re fired.” I stood up and walked out of the office and up to the counter. Rick pocketed the playing cards and followed. Vincent backpedaled, looking back and forth between us—Rick is only a little bit taller than I am, and neither of us was wearing a friendly expression. Rick set his shoulders against the wall that separated the office and the shop proper while I walked around to Vincent’s side of the counter and slapped the cardboard box in which I’d put his stuff with the back of my hand. “I took back the tools I lent you and the ones you stole from me,” I said.
Vincent looked astonished. “Why am I fired?” he said indignantly.
I wanted to smack him. “You really don’t know?” I said.
He thought about it for a minute and slumped down. “I probably do. Why, though?”
“Number one, you swore to me that you didn’t know why Sam’s people wanted a piece of you. You knew perfectly well what the problem was and you let me go over there and look like an asshole anyway. Number two is what I found in your cubby. You’re lucky I don’t turn you over to the cops.”
Vincent flinched as if I’d slapped him. I went on. “I’d have fired you anyway, though, because you don’t do the work you’re required to do. You pinned fourteen locks for a sixty-lock order and then fucked off and left me to do the other forty-six.”
Vincent breathed hard, but he didn’t move. “I’m sorry.”
I shook my head in anger and amazement. “Man, fuck you ‘I’m sorry,’ Vincent! Get the fuck out of here!”
“Can I have my stuff?”
“Can I have my company cell phone?”
Vincent unclipped the phone from his belt and put it on the counter. I tossed him the box. “Get out. Don’t let me see you around here anymore.”
Rick lifted his head up. “Find something other than locksmithing to do for work, Vincent.”
Vincent snapped his head around to look at Rick, and then looked around wildly. He turned around and walked out into the rain without another word. I heard his car start and then I heard thumping bass, and then the music stopped. He stayed within the speed limit for as long as I could hear the roar of his souped-up exhaust.
Rick turned away from the front door and looked around the shop. “This is the first time I’ve been inside Vaughn’s shop since the wake.” He walked a little ways around the periphery of the shop interior and then stopped. “Jesus.”
“Leave Him out of this,” I said automatically. It was something Vaughn used to say.
Rick turned to look at me. “He’d be proud of you, Skip. Vaughn would.”
“I don’t know what for,” I said.
Rick took the playing cards out of his pocket. He changed his grip on the deck a few times, then shot a card up in the air and caught it. “How’s the wife?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. Worried. She’s not making this easy.”
Rick grinned and shot up another card. “Uh huh. Perhaps you need a temporary diversion to improve your mood…” He stroked his chin and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling.
I rolled my eyes. “Hmm, let me interpret that. Wait, wait. I’ve got it. We could pick up floozies!”
Rick gazed at the ceiling. “I find the floozies calming. A veritable tonic for the nerves.”
I had to laugh at that. “Pass on the floozies. I don’t need that kind of karma waiting for me when I go home to my wife.”
“Christ, Skip. When was the last time you got ass?”
I shrugged. “Last time I was home.”
“You need to avail yourself of some of the delights of the city. I hate to see you turn into such a pussy.”
“If I were going to go availing myself, I’d get that waitress on the phone right now.”
“I am unaware of any waitress. Explain.”
“Sam’s waitress. Tall redhead. I unlocked her car and she gave me her number in lieu of payment.”
“Wait, with the mohawk?”
“That’s the one.”
Rick grinned. “I know who you’re talking about. I seen her wiping down tables when I passed by Sam’s Place on my way over here yesterday.”
“Then there you go.”
Rick’s happy smile was devoid of mercy. “But you won’t, because despite the fact that she’s both really hot and dumb enough to give you her phone number, you already have her earmarked for going down to that coffeeshop on Owl Street and whining about how you miss your wife.”
“Jesus, Rick,” I said mildly.
Rick leaned against the wall next to me. “Leave Him out of this. Just think about what I’m saying, okay?”
I didn’t say anything. Rick looked impatient. “I know you’re all married and shit, but she ain’t here and you got no ETA for there.”
I shook my head. “It’s going to be sooner rather than later, Rick.“
He stood up to go. “If you say so.”
I held out my hand. “I say so. Cards?”
He put the deck in my hand and walked out.
I went to pickmy coat up off of the back of the desk chair and something small and solid dropped out of the inside pocket and skidded under the desk. I swore under my breath and went down after it. It took me two minutes to coax the little Altoids tin out from under the radiator with the blade of my knife. Triumphant, I sat up, cracked my head on the desk, and landed flat on my ass on the floor. I rubbed my head and looked at the heavy little rectangle in my hand.
Vaughn had made little pocket survival kits in tins. It was a hobby I’d picked up from him. I’d made this one a week before our final phone call. I peeled off the duct tape that held the lid closed and looked inside. A hundred dollars in mixed currency was taped to the bottom of the tin. A pair of nitrile surgical gloves in a little plastic bag was taped to the tape holding the money. A miniature Bic lighter, a P-38can opener, a small anodized aluminumwhistle and a tiny Photon LED light sat flat on top of the tape holding the gloves. A cut-down set of lockpicks, a razor blade anda handcuff key were taped inside the top of the tin. A seven-foot length of duct tape folded flat was taped to the bottom, and another piece of tape held the lid closed. I hadn’t meant to keep this kit. I’d meant to give it to him for Christmas.
I closed the tin, got up and turned on the “Oliver” sign and opened up the shop. I wandered around for a few minutes and then got to work with a whiskbroom and a dustpan. I took care of the key cutter and the space around the counter and I was trying to get at the space just behind the register when I knocked something loose. I swore under my breath and hoped I hadn’t dislodged a live wire or anything related to the credit card reader. As I withdrew the whiskbroom, there was a clunking sound and a small shiny rectangle bounced onto the counter. I stared at it for a moment and picked it up. It was a sterling silverpipe lighter with a tamping tool that slid out of a hole in the base and doubled as a screwdriver with which to adjust the butane pressure.Vaughn’s. I looked at it for a minute and put it in my pocket, feeling vaguely guilty for doing so.