Page 126 of The Newcomer
Please keep her safe…
Hallowed be Thy name…
Thy Kingdom come…
Letty rattled the heavy glass door of the rec room, but it was tightly locked, the interior dark. Letty looked down the breezeway toward the bank of motel units on the right. No signs of life. She decided to circle back toward her own place. Maybe Maya had goneout onto the patio and chased one of the tiny green lizards that fascinated her. Her mind raced with all the dark possibilities. What if…
Joe met her at the door of her unit. “The Feldmans were swimming laps and they said they haven’t seen Maya, but when I told them she was missing they got out of the pool and said they’d help look.”
Vikki jogged toward them. “I scouted out the beach. No sign of her there.” She hesitated. “I did see a set of men’s footprints in the sand, leading from the edge of the grass outside your room, Letty, into the dunes.”
“Those are mine,” Joe said quickly, shooting an apologetic look at Letty. “I needed to take a whiz and didn’t want to disturb you, so I went out to the dunes.”
“What if she went out into the parking lot?” Letty said, her voice rising in panic. She knew she sounded hysterical. Because she was right on the edge of hysteria. “Or out onto the road?”
“I called in to dispatch,” Joe said. “They’ve got patrol cars out looking for her.”
48
“SHHH,” DECLAN ROONEY WHISPERED INTOMaya’s ear. They were crouching in the concrete drainage culvert just a few yards from the motel dumpster. His hand was still clamped over her mouth. She had her eyes tightly closed, but still kicked at his thighs and wriggled in his arms.
He duckwalked toward the end of the culvert, peeking out at the lot. He’d seen the two old ladies in damp, baggy bathing suits trot past, fanning out toward opposite ends of the bank of motel rooms, calling the kid’s name. It was full daylight now, and he had a decision to make.
Should he stay? Maybe trade the kid for access to the motel room where that fucker Chuck had stashed the loot from their joint enterprise? Even after four years, he knew the stuff was there: bags and bags of sterling silver, watches, gold and silver jewelry with their gemstones intact, all the valuables they’d bought off the hapless clucks who’d flocked to their motel room convinced they’d hit pay dirt.
Chuck had sworn it was still there. It had to be.
Fucking Chuck. Rooney should have known better. He and Tanya were doing fine on their own, a hit-and-run kind of operation where they’d rent a room in a Holiday Inn, buy some stuff, and then move on to the next town a couple days later. The money hadn’t been great, but it was okay. Then they’d met Chuck at the Indian gaming casino in Tampa.
An older guy. Tanya said he reminded her of her granddad. They’d had dinner and some drinks and some laughs. Good old Chuck was quite the storyteller. Probably that’s why he and Tanyahit it off so well. Next thing you know, Chuck invited them to stay at his girlfriend’s motel on the beach, over in St. Pete.
The beach. That was all Tanya had to hear. A couple days turned into a week, and before Rooney knew it, Chuck was a full partner. They ran ads on Craigslist and in the local shopper papers. Chuck put up flyers in nearby shopping centers, in laundromats and barbershops and nail salons, at the Moose Lodge and the senior center. Rooney had to hand it to him, the old bastard knew their demographic.
Sellers were banging down the door of their motel room, lining up like sheep ready to be fleeced. Things were going so well that a week turned into two weeks, and that, ultimately, was their downfall.
Rooney wanted to move on. The motel owner’s son was a cop, a fact Chuck conveniently forgot to mention. Cops gave Rooney the hives. But Tanya was sick and tired of the nomad life. Literally, she was sick. And tired. And Rooney was already remembering his old man’s advice: He travels fastest who travels alone.
That last night, he and Chuck decided to hit the greyhound track. Rooney had a hot streak running—every dog he bet on finished in the money. Tanya started calling around eight, but he finally just turned the phone off. They drove across the bridge to Tampa, hit the Seminole Indian casino, where their streak continued. Chuck knew of a strip club near MacDill, the air force base. They were on their way when Rooney glanced down at his phone and saw the text from Tanya that he’d missed hours earlier.
OMG WHERE ARE YOU? THE COPS ARE HERE.
He’d shown the message to Chuck. They drove back to the beach, cruised slowly past the Murmuring Surf, where the parking lot was full of police cruisers. On their second pass they spotted Tanya, being led into the parking lot in handcuffs, by a black female patrol officer.
“Keep driving,” Chuck advised.
“But the stuff—all the stuff we were going to take to the refinery. I’m not driving away from my money,” Rooney objected.
“Don’t worry. I hid it. The cops will never find it. As soon as things cool down, we’ll go back.”
Rooney had been deeply suspicious. “How are we gonna go back? Everybody there knows you. And me. They’ll call the cops the minute they see us.”
Chuck patted his pocket. “We’ll wait a couple days, go over there late at night. I’ve got the passkey. I tell you what. Let’s go back to the strip club. I know a couple dancers there. We’ll get a room, get laid, then tomorrow night, we’ll pick up the stuff, right where I hid it.” He grinned. “And then we’ll move on down the road. A two-way split. It’s not like you were planning on staying with Tanya—am I right, partner?”
“Hidden, where?” Rooney demanded, deliberately avoiding the question about Tanya. “I’m not fucking around here, Chuck. You try and cheat me, I promise it won’t end well for you.”
“Cheat you?” Chuck looked offended. “I would never.”
Rooney had started hatching his own plan while they were on the way to the strip club. He’d get Chuck drunk. It wouldn’t take long; the guy really couldn’t hold his booze. He’d wait until his “partner” passed out, grab the key, and leave him behind in a puddle of piss and regrets.
