The Racketeer

jumpsuit covered with dried blood.
    We both lean forward, our faces just inches apart. “Help me,” he manages to say, almost in tears.
    “Here’s the latest, Nathan,” I begin. “The crooks are demanding$1 million from the jet’s owner, and he’s agreed to pay it, so these scumbags will get their money. They’re not going to charge me with anything, as of this morning. For you, they want a half a million bucks. I’ve explained, through Rashford, that neither of us has that kind of money. I’ve explained that we were just passengers on someone’s jet, that we’re not rich, and so on. The Jamaicans don’t believe this. Anyway, that’s where we are as of right now.”
    Nathan grimaces, as if it hurts to breathe. As bad as his face looks, I’d hate to see the rest of his body. I’m imagining the worst, so I don’t ask what happened.
    He grunts and says, “Can you get back to the U.S., Reed?” His voice is weak and scratchy; even it is wounded.
    “I think so. Rashford thinks so. But I don’t have a lot of cash, Nathan.”
    He frowns and grunts again and looks as though he may either faint or cry. “Reed, listen to me. I have some money, a lot of it.”
    I’m staring him straight in the eyes, or at least his right one because his left one is closed. This is the fateful moment upon which everything else has been created. Without this, the entire project would be a gargantuan disaster, one horrific and lousy gamble.
    “How much?” I ask as he pauses. He does not want to go on, but he has no choice.
    “Enough to get me out.”
    “A half a million dollars, Nathan?”
    “That, and more. We need to be partners, Reed. Just me and you. I’ll tell you where the money is, you go get it, you get me out of here, and we’ll be partners. But you gotta give me your word, Reed. I have to trust you, okay?”
    “Hang on, Nathan,” I say, pulling back and throwing up both palms. “You expect me to leave here, go home, then come back with a sackful of money and bribe the Jamaican police? Are you serious?”
    “Please, Reed. There’s no one else. I can’t call anyone at home. No one there understands what’s happening here, only you. You gotta do it, Reed. Please. My life depends on it. I can’t survive here. Look at me. Please, Reed. You do what I ask, get me out, and you’ll be a rich man.”
    I back away some more as if he’s contagious.
    He’s begging: “Come on, Reed, you got me into this mess, now get me out.”
    “It might be helpful if you explain how you made so much money.”
    “I didn’t make it. I stole it.”
    No surprise there. “Drug money?” I ask, but I know the answer.
    “No, no, no. Are we partners, Reed?”
    “I don’t know, Nathan. I’m not so sure I want to start bribing Jamaican police. What if I get busted? I could end up just like you.”
    “Then don’t come back. Send the money to Rashford, get him to make the delivery. You can figure it out, Reed, hell you’re a smart man.”
    I nod as if I like the way he’s thinking. “Where’s the money, Nathan?”
    “Are we partners, Reed? Fifty-fifty, just me and you, man?”
    “Okay, okay, but I’m not risking jail over this, you understand?”
    “I got it.”
    There’s a pause as we study each other. His breathing is labored and every word is painful. Slowly, he extends his right hand; it’s puffy and scratched. “Partners, Reed?” he asks, pleading. Slowly, I shake his hand and he grimaces. It’s probably broken.
    “Where’s the money?” I ask.
    “It’s at my house,” he says slowly, reluctantly, as he gives away the most precious secret of his life. “You’ve been there. There’s a storage shed in the backyard, full of junk. It has a wooden floor,and to the right, under an old Sears push mower that doesn’t work, is a trapdoor. You can’t see it until you move the mower and some of the junk around it. Watch out for snakes—there are a couple of king snakes that live there. Open the trapdoor, and you’ll see a bronze casket.” His breathing is labored and he is sweating profusely. The physical pain is obvious, but he’s also tormented by the pain of such a momentous revelation.
    “A casket?” I ask, incredulous.
    “Yes, a child’s casket. Closed and sealed, waterproof and airtight. There’s a hidden latch at the narrow end, where the feet would go. When you lift it, the seals release and you can open the casket.”
    “What’s inside?”
    “A bunch of cigar boxes wrapped in duct tape. I