Shallow Graves

the pay’s great. A thousand bucks for one stunt.”
    Rebo’s eyes were getting bigger. “Hey, man, tell him about your car.”
    “Well . . .”
    The Mötley Crüe boy steamed ahead. “Pontiac GT. He put in a Chevy 442 all by his lonesome.”
    Nick’s grin was back, spreading like a sunrise. “Hurst shifter,” he said. “Did that myself too.”
    Pellam whistled. “You sure know your hardware. How ’bout it?”
    Nick shrugged. “Let’s go.”
    Rebo stood up but Pellam shook his head. “Just gotta be the two of us. Insurance problems, you understand.”
    Rebo nodded and dropped back into his seat as if Duane Allman himself had told him to sit.
    Outside they walked to the car and Pellam looked around. The streets of Cleary were deserted. He said, “Oh, let me get something.” He disappeared into the camper for a minute and came out with thebottle of Wild Turkey. He handed it to Nick. The boy looked at it but shook his head. “Maybe afterwards, man. Not a good idea if I’m going to be doing high-speed work.”
    They walked to Nick’s black Pontiac.
    High-speed work. Like he did it every day.
    Pellam unscrewed the lid of the bottle. Nick watched him, frowning.
    “You don’t drink and drive?” Pellam asked. “That’s funny. You were the other night. I could smell it. On top of your aftershave. That’s what I recognized. Brut, right?”
    The eyes were fishy and the grin came back. “The fuck’re you saying?”
    Pellam nodded toward the car. “Heard your car this afternoon, thought it sounded familiar. Then checked it out and smelled that same drugstore aftershave inside. Didn’t your mother raise you with any class?”
    “Huh?”
    “How’s your friend with the broken nose? I hope he’s in a lot of pain.”
    “You fucking crazy?” He’d turned solemn as a mortician.
    “I know, you’re going to tell me it was nothing personal.”
    “What wasn’t personal?” But the eyes disclosed all the facts. Nick paused then said, “You got me good.” He touched his jaw. “I won’t be eating solid food for a week. My tongue’s sore as a whore’s tit. Why didn’t you tell Moorhouse?”
    “What good would it’ve done? He’d let you go, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “So he was in on it, right?”
    “In on what?”
    “Paying you to beat the crap out of me and plant the drugs?”
    “I don’t know what—”
    The Colt appeared in a flash, pointed straight into the boy’s belly.
    “Shit,” he whispered. “Oh, God, mister.”
    “Who paid you—” Pellam paused. Suddenly he was curious. “How much was it?”
    “A hundred bucks.”
    “That’s all? That’s crap.”
    “No, man, no. It’s totally true. I swear.”
    Pellam felt insulted. “You should’ve charged more. Now tell me who?”
    “We didn’t have nothing against you. We heard—”
    “Who?” Pellam whispered viciously and cocked the Colt, praying that his thumb wouldn’t slip off the hammer. The gun was loaded with 130-grain, .45 caliber bullets. The boy was fat but he wouldn’t even slow up a slug that size.
    Both hands in front of him, palms out. “Okay. Fine. Listen, I’m going—”
    “Asked you a question,” Pellam growled.
    “—to tell you. Just put that—”
    “Who?”
    “Mr. Ambler. Wexell Ambler. Well, was a guy works for him—name’s Mark, but I don’t know his last name, I swear I don’t. This guy Mark talked to Mayor Moorhouse and they wanted me and my friend to rough you up a bit.”
    “Where’s he live? The Ambler?”
    Pellam touched Nick’s chest with the Colt. A good way to get directions fast. Nick became a regular Triple A guidebook. “Barlow Mountain Road. Just off Route Nine, north. Past the Shell station. Go two hundred yards past then make a left. Really, mister, I didn’t have nothing against you.”
    “Well, what’s he got against me?”
    “I don’t know, swear to God. Please, mister, point that someplace else.”
    Pellam aimed at the ground before he eased the hammer to half-cock then slowly spun the cylinder to put an empty chamber beneath the hammer, which he then lowered all the way. He held the gun in his right hand while he handed the whiskey bottle to Nick with his left.
    “Take a drink.”
    Nick’s voice shook as he said, “I don’t want to take a drink.”
    “We both want you to.” Pellam pointed the Colt at him again.
    “Oh, shit, come on—”
    “Drink it down.”
    Nick took a swallow.
    “Come on, a couple more. Drink like a man. You hit like a girl. At