Dirty Words - [13]

Rusty held up the hundred.

"Hundred is fake."

Rusty muttered a stream of curses as he stormed out the door.

Ali was still yelling as the door shut behind him. "Ali give you nice set of steak knives for bad bill! No gun, but you stab somebody good!"

Walking down Houston, Rusty turned into a quiet bar. He ordered a scotch, downed it, ordered another before the cute bartender put the bottle back. First luck he had all day. The bartender didn't catch the fake bill. God bless New York's bar scene, where perky tits outweighed brains and skill any day.

He sat in a cloud trying to think. Who was he kidding? He had nothing. He was five miles north of nothing and three west of clue one.

It couldn't have been anything that the cowboy wanted public, or else why not just send cops?

Weapons? By his best estimation, he'd acquired about a half dozen guns or so over the years. All of them went to Ali. Maybe one of them could have been evidence in a murder case? Nope. Figuring in the cowboy's style and readiness to draw, none of the guns he'd stolen were six-shooters.

Drugs? Nope. Couldn't have been. In many a safe, Rusty found the gamut from Valiums into what looked like a half-pound of uncut Colombian. They always left it behind. He and Dante agreed that drugs weren't any direction they wanted to head in, business-wise. Dante may have been an idiot, but he wasn't stupid.

Computers? Dante took care of the computers. He wiped out the hard drives, then sold them in his computer shop. Maybe there was some kind of damaging file on one of the computers. It still amazed Rusty that someone as mentally and physically clumsy as Dante could have such careful fingers on a keyboard.

Deft fingers that were capable of pocketing something before Rusty knew what was in the safe. Jumpsuits had lots of pockets.

Before Rusty could leap up and run over to strangle himself a retard, the bartender squealed and ran to the door. "Yancy! Get in here! You better not be walking by without saying hi." In the doorway, she leapt into a pair of arms, peppering the face with affectionate kisses. Very big arms. The cowboy's goon carried the girl back into the bar, placed her down and sat in the stool next to Rusty.

"Hiya Rusty," he said.

"Hiya Yancy. Funny coincidence isn't it?"

"What? Oh. Well, to be honest, yeah." Yancy actually blushed.

The bartender started pouring a pint before the tap sputtered and died. She clucked her tongue. "I got to go down and change the keg. Don't you leave." She pointed an admonishing finger at Yancy before she walked out back.

"Cute kid," said Rusty.

"Yeah. I used to work the door here. I was following you. The coincidence was that you came in here."

"This before or after Tua?"

Yancy looked surprised. "I guess it wouldn't have taken you long to figure it out at this point. Did you see it?"

"In person." Yancy Benevides was a young heavyweight who made the mistake of running into six too many of David Tua's hooks one night in Vegas. Rusty watched the whipping from the front. The fight was on the same card as one of Rusty's not-so-hopefuls. That was why he looked familiar. "Was that your last?"

Yancy tapped his right eyebrow. "They removed part of my ocular bone. Nicely dislocated my cornea too. Fucking Hawaiian hits harder than a mule kick."

"He's Samoan."

"Either way. Was Hearns your last?"

Now it was Rusty's turn to be surprised. "Yeah. The famous right. Did you see it?"

"Over and over. Broke my Dad's heart. You were his Great White Hope. In a way, I was kinda honored when you punched me in the gym. Until you hit me in the balls."

"Sorry." Rusty wasn't sure if he was apologizing for the low blow or for Mr. Benevides's broken heart.

Yancy shrugged. "S'okay, I guess. I'm gonna stop following you now, since you know I'm here and all."

"All right."

"Mr. Queen wanted me to tell you that you got one more day." Yancy caught himself. "Forget I said that." He tapped his eyebrow again as he stood in explanation of his gaffe.

"Already knew," Rusty lied. "Queen of Hearts. That where you met him?"

"Yup. Working the door."

"So, boxer, to bouncer, to goon? Dad must be proud."

Yancy shrugged. "Pays better than either of the first two. How much does thief pay?"

"Touché."

"Oh, and I owe you this." Yancy brought his huge fist down onto Rusty's crotch, mashing his testicles into the bar stool. Rusty moaned and slumped to the floor. When he found the strength to open his eyes, he was looking up at the bartender.

"You're gonna have to leave, Mister."

They are remarkably perky tits, Rusty thought as he wondered whether his balls would ever work again.

*****

The hole was small and right between Dante's eyebrows. Dante's vacant eyes were crossed, as if trying to look up and into the hole that had opened there. Rusty fought the crazy urge to look in the hole for any evidence of a brain. Instead, he rooted through the pockets of Dante's jumpsuit. Seventeen hundred dollars. Not bad. Rusty knew the old adage to be true. Nobody was more paranoid about theft than a thief. Lucky for him, Dante wasn't bright enough to find a hiding place anywhere but on his body.