Page 34

It’s Starting to Rain

Larry and Andre remained side by side on Hector’s mother’s sofa. Hank cleared his throat. “Hector. There’s one more thing we were hoping you could do for us. We’ll pay you, of course.”

“Of course.”

“There’s a business opportunity on the coast; you know the language, so we’d like you to go ahead and check it out, take some pictures. Maybe feel them out a bit on price. Be kind of our . . . you know . . . advance man.”

The barber nodded. And became quiet. Hector looked from one of them to the other, then said, “Let me understand this. You’re saying you feel comfortable enough to move forward with your plans. You feel you are no longer in danger.”

Hank made sure to maintain eye contact and nodded. The barber couldn’t know they had just over nine million casino reasons to still feel in danger.

Hector leaned back in his chair. “Yet you’re nervous.”

“No. We’re not nervous,”

Hank said.

Hector tilted his head. “Really?”

Hank nodded. “Really.”

“I’ve been here fifteen minutes, and Larry jumps every time a car door slams, Andre’s leg hasn’t stop jiggling since he sat down, and you, Hank, that floor fan is blowing straight at you, but you’re sweating like a pig.”

Hank longed to wipe his face with his T-shirt. “I’m not used to spicy food. That’s all.”

He had to give Hector something. A diversion. The one he and the guys had talked about. “Okay, Hector. Full disclosure, we think our wives were trying to kill us for our insurance money. Who wouldn’t be rattled?”

There. He’d said it. That would satisfy the barber. Hector wouldn’t know how ridiculous that notion was; that Pam, Shalisa, and Nancy didn’t have it in them to ever do anything even remotely that sinister. That the highlights of their wives’ lives revolved around finding a new jam for their charcuterie boards and spotting a sign declaring “take an additional 50% off.”

Plotting their husbands’ murders was totally beyond their skill set.

Hector set his drink on the table. He leaned back and crossed his legs. His hands draped over the chair’s arms. “So, you know about that.”

Hank’s head jerked. Something was wrong here. He scrambled for a response. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you know your wives wanted you killed.”

Hector picked up his drink, took a sip, and said, “I wondered.”

Hank shot looks at Larry and Andre and wished they’d close their mouths. He swallowed. “Say what?”

Hector repeated himself. “You know your wives wanted you killed.”

Hank’s voice sounded unnaturally high. “Of course, we know our wives wanted us killed. That’s what I just told you.”

Hank tilted his head back and peered at Hector down his nose. “But how did you know that?”

Hector smiled. “Because they hired me.”

He replaced his drink on the table.

Andre’s knee bounced to a stop, and Hank’s heart flipped.

“Say what?”

Hank wasn’t sure he’d heard that right.

Hector uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way. “Your wives hired me to kill you.”

Hank’s heart was shadowboxing against his ribs, and he exchanged furtive glances with Larry and Andre.

Hector brushed a piece of lint from his pants. “You were right. Someone did want you dead. At first, I wondered if perhaps you were a bit paranoid. Understandable with what happened to Dave. Such a shame.”

Hector closed his eyes and crossed himself. Then he looked back to Hank. “But then one day I was closing up, and your wives, the three of them, pulled up in their minivan, asked me to jump in, passed me a donut, and hired me to kill you.” He smiled.

What the fuck was Pam thinking? Was she out of her fucking mind? Hiring Hector to kill him. He knew things had been bad, but were they bad enough to want him dead? Then he remembered the way she had looked at him when he’d eaten her pad thai. He closed his eyes, then reopened them slowly.

Hank had the same feeling he’d had when he was a kid and a magician challenged him to follow a marble trapped under a cup as he moved a trio of identical cups about. Hank was so sure he knew where the marble was, he would have bet his whole baseball card collection. Yet when the magician lifted the cup, Hank discovered he was wrong. He was sure he had kept his eye on the marble. Yet he’d been duped. The three men exchanged puzzled looks.

Hector leaned forward. “Frankly, I was happy to so easily have identified who was after you. I would have killed your wives to complete your job, but then your job changed.”

Hector circled his hand, apparently meaning their faked-death situation.

Hank looked from Andre to Larry and then back to Hector, and squeaked, “What did you tell them?”

“Your wives? When they asked me to kill you?”

Hector raised an eyebrow at Hank, then nodded. “I said, sure.”

Hank’s head snapped back, and he stared at Hector.

Hector shrugged. “It’s not like we have a non-compete clause.”

Hank whipped his eyes around to look at Andre and Larry. Were they hearing what he was hearing? Then Larry asked, “How much did they pay you?”

Typical Larry. Always about the money.

“Hundred and fifty grand. They’ve paid fifty. Still owe a hundred.”

Andre gave a low whistle and looked from Hank to Larry. “Where’d they get that kind of money?”

Larry shook his head, then sat straight. “Of course! Marlene got Dave’s insurance money and told them about it. They really were killing us for the insurance money.”

His mouth gaped in horror.

Hank considered Hector. As the barber studied him back, was he seeing a price tag hanging over Hank’s head? He’d already collected fifty grand. A wave of terror traveled to his toes as he realized Hector might be here to finish their wives’ job.

Hank gulped. “You don’t have to kill us. They think we’re dead. That’s good enough. Right?”

Hector smiled. “I like to complete a job. It’s an honor thing.”

Larry’s eyes went wide. He spoke in a calm voice. “Hector, it’s not as though anyone’s going to report you to the Better Business Bureau.”

Hank said quickly, “You could just take their money. They already think we’re dead. They’ll never know you double-dipped.”

“I just learned that term. Double-dip. I like it. Sounds like an ice cream cone. Sweet.”

Hector chuckled.

Hank thought of a better argument and blurted out, “They can’t pay you! They’re broke. There is no insurance money.”

Hector tilted his head, and Hank felt the pressure ease up.

Larry said, “Hank’s right. We canceled our policies.”

Hank noticed Hector’s jaw clench, ever so briefly, then the barber asked, “Why the fuck would you do that, Hank?”

Hank rushed to answer, “So there wouldn’t be an investigation into the boat explosion. At least an insurance one. If someone’s going to pay out three million dollars . . . that’s how much the insurance would have been . . . we each had a million-dollar policy . . . they’d maybe find remnants of the explosives you planted. Maybe figure out your boat was near mine, at the same time. We didn’t want to chance that kind of scrutiny. So we canceled our policies. It was smart thinking. Really.”

He nodded and then stilled his head when he realized he looked like a bobblehead in the back window of an old Cadillac.

The room was quiet for a few moments as Hector adjusted his watch strap, and then he looked up. “I see you have not been honest with me, Hank. At all.”

Hank didn’t like the way Hector kept saying his name. What was he getting at? Plus, he didn’t think honesty was necessarily a prerequisite when engaging nefarious types. Hank hadn’t been in a fight in a long time, but he remembered a quote he’d seen on a T-shirt: If you’re going to fight, fight like you’re the third monkey on the ramp to Noah’s Ark, and brother, it’s starting to rain.

Hector’s mother was back in the kitchen, probably with her machete. The other man was eating at the dining table a few feet away, with a fork and butter knife. Hank could throw his drink in Hector’s eyes and make a run for the door. Although Larry and Andre would probably be stuck to the sofa’s plastic for a few seconds, he could create enough of a distraction, hopefully they’d catch up. Hank leaned forward and picked up his chichas glass. He concentrated so Hector wouldn’t see his hand tremble.

In turn, Hector picked up his glass, took a sip, then put his drink down on the lace doily atop the coffee table and looked directly at Hank. “There’s been an interesting development at the casino.”

Hank’s head snapped up, and he loosened the grip on his glass.

“Brenda tells me your boss thinks someone’s been stealing from the slot machines. For about four years.”

Hank almost made a fist pump but caught himself. Hector couldn’t know it was them, but fucking hallelujah! Hank knew it! Way to listen to your old gut, Hank Montgomery. He caught Larry’s and Andre’s eyes, and they blinked their understanding. Their every conversation eventually defaulted to whether or not Hank was sure the casino knew about the theft, and if they really had to run. Or was he being paranoid? And no, he wasn’t sure, but he felt it, so he’d held steadfast. That’s why they were sitting in a San Salvador living room. And now he finally knew, without a doubt, he had made the right call. Thank fucking God for that. They were safe and so was their $9.3 million.

But now they had a new threat. The barber was smiling.

Is this what it was like to have money—always having to protect it from someone? Maybe Hector wouldn’t connect the dots of the theft to them. Maybe he didn’t know how much was stolen.

“Yep. Brenda’s boss figures someone stole about ten million dollars from the casino. She doesn’t know who, for sure. But she’s starting to put it together.”

Hank wished Larry hadn’t let his eyes go so wide, or that Andre’s knees weren’t bouncing so fast, or that his own T-shirt wasn’t sopping wet.

Hector looked from one man to the other. “Ten million dollars is a lot more than the hundred grand your wives owe me. Am I wrong?”

Hector let that question hang in the room while he went to the kitchen to see his mother. At least now Hank knew Hector wasn’t going to kill them for the money their wives were paying him. Not now that the barber suspected millions might be up for grabs.

Hank might be able to make a deal here.

A noise prompted them to turn, and they watched Hector’s man scrape the straight-backed chair from the table across the ceramic tiles to a spot in front of the door and sit down.

Andre leaned in and said in a low voice, “Am I the only one who gets the feeling we just went from being customers to hostages?”