'What about the friend?' Juan waved the piece of paper at him, a look of hopeful expectation on his face. José stopped picking at his nails.

'What do you think?'

Juan's face split into a massive grin. He drew his finger across his throat. José sniggered obscenely behind him, the sound of the knife snapping shut loud in the room.

'Knock yourself out,' Chico said, 'but don't let him'—he gestured towards José with his chin—'stretch it out too long. She hasn't done anything to deserve that.'

Chapter 37

Dixie had just parked up in the parking lot at the front of MacQuaids when he saw Jackson crossing the street on foot. He got out and went to meet him.

'No car?' Dixie said.

'I didn't bother bringing it,' Jackson said. 'I've got two years worth of beers to catch up on.'

They went inside and took a couple of stools up at the bar. Jackson ordered a beer and raised a questioning eyebrow at his brother.

'The usual,' Dixie said and Jackson ordered him a coke.

'You shouldn't drink so much of that crap. Makes you fart, rots your teeth. Makes you hyper too.'

Dixie smiled. 'I need all the hyper I can get at the moment.'

'Things are bad?'

'Could be better.' He took a sip of his drink. 'Anyway, you don't want to hear any of that. What about you?'

Jackson shook his head. 'I'll tell you another time. So tell me, what's going on with Ellie? You didn't get back together with her did you?'

Dixie laughed out loud. 'God, no. After the way it ended?'

'Not the forgiving kind?'

'Uh uh. You know what it's like. Women are so unreasonable.'

'Amen to that,' Jackson said, clinking his glass against Dixie's coke, before taking a long swallow. 'What was it she called you again?'

Dixie grinned. 'A cheating dickweasel.'

Jackson nodded and tried the word out in his mouth. 'I like it. I don't think anybody's ever called me that.'

'What? Not even in the joint?'

For a second Dixie thought he might be wearing a beer in his lap even if he couldn't drink one, but Jackson just gave him that sideways grin he knew so well. The one that said: you got away with it this time . . .

'Anyway, she got together with Ricardo straight after,' Dixie said.

'You're joking.'

Dixie shook his head. 'You must have heard. It was before you went away.'

It was Jackson's turn to shake his head. 'I didn't know that.'

Dixie saw that Jackson's glass was empty. He nodded at it.

'That one barely touched the sides.'

Jackson grinned at him. 'Didn't you hear me earlier? I've got a lot of catching up to do.'

Dixie ordered him another beer but didn't bother getting himself another coke. Jackson was right about rotting your teeth.

'Is she still with him?' Jackson said.

'No, he ditched her.'

'There must be something about her. Poor personal hygiene, maybe? In the toilet area?' He pointed a finger at his crotch and raised his eyebrows, a stupid grin plastered across his face.

'This is where it gets interesting though,' Dixie said ignoring the puerile comment. 'She was so pissed when Ricardo gave her the push for some mamona as she called her, that she came to see me—'

'You're kidding. Not to get back together?'

Dixie laughed again, gave a don't-be-ridiculous flick of the hand. 'No way. She had a proposal she wanted to put to me. Strictly business. As I said, she was really pissed at Ricardo and she wanted to find some way to get back at him. Plus, she wanted out. She didn't like the fact that when they were together Ricardo started taking her along on the deals and now it was a regular thing even though he'd dumped her—'

'So her nasty little mind came up with an idea to kill two birds with one stone.'

'Exactly. She said she wanted to bury the hatchet with me, forget about all the trouble that happened between us—'

'Ha. Fat chance.'

'—that there was one last deal that she was going along on—'

'And she thought it might be a great idea if somebody was to rip them off. I assume that's where you come in. The go-to guy for ripping people off.'

Dixie nodded. 'You got it.'

'So what happened?'

'We did it.'

Jackson did a spit take, nearly slopping his beer down his shirt front in his surprise. 'You did it? Just like that? After what happened last time?'

Dixie shrugged. 'It wasn't as if I had a week to think about it. She didn't give me any notice. I went for it.'

Jackson shook his head in amazement.

'What happened?'

'They had this deal arranged with Alvarez—you remember him?' Dixie said. Jackson nodded in an I'm not likely to forget way. 'I was already waiting there when they arrived. They went in, came out again and I tailed them. Ellie was driving. I don't know if it was luck that they needed gas or if she drained the tank first to make sure they did, but they stopped at a gas station.'

Dixie's mouth was dry as old Larry with all the talking. He took a small sip of his warm coke and looked over his brother's shoulder at a guy standing a few feet away. He looked to be about sixty, lean and wiry, wearing a ragged M-65 field jacket. Under the jacket, his shirt was buttoned wrong so his collar stuck up on the left side. The jacket itself was covered with patches, not all of them sewn on straight. They were the sort of things he'd seen Vietnam veterans wearing before: I'm sure to go to heaven because I've spent my time in hell circling a map of Vietnam was one you saw all the time, but there were other, more inflammatory ones: If you haven't been there, shut your mouth and Viet Cong Hunting Club.

The guy was looking right back at him, his head cocked to the side and a slight frown on his face, as if he was trying to place him. Maybe he'd overheard what they'd been saying, the talk of deals and ripping people off. Dixie gave the guy a small nod, the sort of nod you give to strangers when you sit down at a bar next to them. The guy looked away and picked up his drink.

'Who's that?' Jackson said, turning to look, but the guy had turned his back to them now.

'It's nothing,' Dixie said in a quieter voice. 'As I was saying, they stopped for gas—'

Jackson held up a hand. 'Let me guess. Ricardo went to the men's room.'

Dixie nodded, a frown creasing his forehead. 'How did you know?'

'Everybody knows the little prick never misses a chance to go look in the mirror. It's his favorite pastime after playing with himself.'

It made sense to Dixie now. 'Ellie probably figured he'd do that. The other guy was filling up. I snuck up on him and brained him with a baseball bat and Ellie took off.'

'You let her take the money?'

'We didn't want to waste time moving the bag between cars. Ricardo might have come back out any second.'

Jackson shook his head in an irritating way. 'Still risky.'

Wait until I finish the story, Dixie thought, knowing some wise-after-the-event wisdom would be coming his way.

'I'd rented a self-storage unit. She was meant to take the money there until we could meet up.'

The first hint of a told-you-so smile appeared on Jackson's lips.

'Meant to? As in, she didn't?'

Dixie shook his head, his jaw clenched like he was having trouble getting the words out. 'She took it there, no problem. I went there this morning.'

'And?'

'And the bag's there. Unfortunately, it's—'

'Empty.'

'As a politician's promise.'

Jackson finished his beer and called the bartender over for another one. Dixie looked in the mirror behind the bar and saw the guy in the M-65 field jacket staring back at him, except the curious look seemed to have morphed into a belligerent stare now. Perhaps he'd sent him to prison at some time in the past. A lot of Vietnam veterans had come home with post-traumatic stress disorder and had ended up in trouble as a result. Despite that, he knew it wouldn't take much for him to get into it with him after the morning he'd had. The catharsis of mindless violence. The guy looked like he'd be up for it despite his age. He opened his mouth and gave a slow beery-nacho-popcorn burp, his eyes never leaving Dixie's. An obvious up-yours insult . . .