Storm Prey

me,” Honey Bee whispered. “Oh, God, Joe, I’m so sorry about everything.”
    “Yeah, me too,” Joe said. “What about you and the cops?”
    “I think they suspect everything, but they don’t know anything, for sure. They’re tearing up the world looking for you, though. They think you went to Mexico.”
    “I almost did,” Joe Mack said. “Listen, did you bring the money?”
    “Yeah. Right here ...” She dug it out of her purse.
    Joe Mack waved her off. “Put it back in the bank box,” he said. “Everybody’s dead. I’m turning myself in.”
    “Oh, Joe!”
    “It’s okay,” he said. “You been a good friend, Honey Bee. I’ll probably wind up doing some heavy time. Maybe you could give, like, ten K to the attorney ... Keep the bar going, send me some spare change now and then.”
    “Is there anything I can do now?” she asked.
    “Just keep the bar running.”
    “Well, I meant, you know ... you need a little friendship, or anything?”
    He hadn’t thought of it, but looked quickly around the parking ramp. They could use Eddie’s van, tell Eddie to take a walk. He looked at his watch. “I gotta be outa here before three o’clock,” he said. “But we got fifteen minutes.”
     
     
    BARAKAT COULD no longer keep track of the world.
    He was high most of the time, but still operating; but the whole business of planning, of figuring out the future, had gone away. He now lived thirty seconds at a time, one twist at a time. He’d had the pound of cocaine for less than a week, and already had the feeling that he was running dangerously low.
    Had to find an outlet for the dope he had. Had to find a way to move it.
    Couldn’t plan.
    Needed another twist.
    Looked at the kid’s sprained ankle, couldn’t focus. Said, “I’ll be right back. I don’t think it’s broken.”
    Needed the twist.
     
     
    JOE MACK SAT in the snow, in the dark, actually inside the hedge. He was wearing insulated coveralls, his Carhartt coat draped over his shoulders, with his hands pulled inside. He was wearing gloves and boots and a black watch cap pulled down over his ears.
    He’d been waiting since twenty after three, head down, not moving: a technique he’d perfected hunting deer, back when it snowed during Wisconsin deer season.
    Three-thirty came and went, then four o’clock. Moved only twice, to stretch his legs out in front of him.
    Cold and clear; the storm was done, the cold coming in behind it. At four-twenty, a car turned into the driveway, bucked up the hump. The drive hadn’t been shoveled.
    The car stopped, and Barakat stepped out. Joe Mack saw his face when the car’s interior lights went on. The tall man got out and slammed the door, slipped a bit as he turned in the snow to head around the nose of the car. When he did, Joe Mack rose out of the dark behind him.
    Joe Mack threw his right forearm around Barakat’s neck, his hand catching the inside of his own left elbow, while his left hand went behind Barakat’s neck. The other man struggled, tried to turn, but Joe Mack held him fast, bending Barakat’s neck over his forearm.
    He said, “You killed my family, you motherfucker.”
    Barakat tried to choke out some words, but failed. He actually heard his neck break; an instant later, he was gone.

24
    AFTER THE DISCUSSION the night before, Lucas and Marcy decided they should watch Barakat for a couple days, until they knew what possibilities the DNA samples might hold. If he tried to move what might have been the drugs, if he visited a place where the drugs might be stashed, they’d have that.
    And they’d figure something out.
     
     
    AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK the next morning, Marilyn Crowe called Marcy for the third time and said, “Still no movement. I’m thinking I should knock on his door.”
    “Still a problem ...”
    “We know he was supposed to be at work. The phone is ringing in there. The car’s here ... I think I should go knock.”
    Marcy exhaled, then said, “All right, but take Dick with you. The excuse sounds pretty weak. He’s gonna know we’re watching him.”
    “But something’s not right,” Crowe said. “If he’s skipped ...”
    “Okay. Knock on the door,” Marcy said.
    She was a little annoyed when Crowe called her back thirty seconds later and said, “He’s here.”
    “I was afraid of that.”
    “He’s on the ground in front of his car,” Crowe said. “Dick says somebody snapped his neck.”
     
     
    THEY ALL RECONVENED at Lucas’s place, which was