You Could Get Hurt With That

by Matt Webb

I walked into Mac's Tavern, not quite sure of what I would find. I didn't appreciate getting called in the middle of the night.

She had told me to come right away, saying she would recognize me when I got there. I looked around and spotted her too. She sat alone at a round table in one of the dark corners, carelessly sipping her drink. Her high cheekbones gave her a stately appearance. She had blonde hair that came down to her shoulders with veins of silver running through it. She had aged gracefully. This woman didn't fit in.

I walked over to her table and slid in the booth.

"I'm here," I said. "What the hell do you want?"

"Thank you for coming. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Yeah. Coffee. Strong."

She signaled a waitress.

"You must be Vince Fanelli," she said. "I am Vanessa Corvin. My husband, Alvin, and I run a horse farm a few miles from here."

"Look, I don't mean to be rude but I didn't pull 80 driving up the JFX just to make small talk."

" Alvin was kidnapped recently."

"Okay, I'm listening."

"He took frequent business trips. This time it was Louisville . A driver went to the airport to pick him up. But this time the driver came home empty-handed. Al never got off the plane."

"They must've put a lot of thought into it if they were able to nab him in Louisville . So, what do you want me to do?"

"I don't want to get the police involved," she replied in a deep voice, "I don't want to endanger Al's life." She took a sip of her drink. "They called me a little while ago. They wanted to meet me here. They explicitly said not to call the authorities. You helped a friend of mine a while back. She recommended you. Said you would be discrete."

The waitress brought over a large white mug. Steam rose from it.

"So, you think by calling me, you found a little loophole around their request not to contact the authorities?"

"You're not exactly a police officer."

"Still--I carry a gun."

"That's beside the point, Mr. Fanelli. I don't need you to stop them. I just need your protection."

"Are you planning to cooperate?"

"Of course. They're asking for a million. I'm prepared to pay them."

"So what do you need protection for?"

"They wanted me to meet them here. I'm scared. I'm not use to dealing with this kind of people or frequenting this sort of establishment by myself. I just need someone on my side."

"Why'd they want you to meet them here?"

"They'll give me pictures showing that he's okay. He'll be holding up a copy of this morning's Sun . If the meeting goes well, they'll give me further instructions. I just need you to watch from a distance. Over there." She pointed to an empty spot at the bar directly across the room. I'd be far away but still have a good shot.

"Look, I usually don't do any work without a signed contract."

"I didn't want to do this alone. Please, they'll be here soon."

"Fine," I said, picking up my coffee. I walked over to the corner of the bar. If I was being used, there'd be hell to pay. No one was going to play me for a sucker.

***

My seat in the corner gave me a decent view of Vanessa.

Mac's Tavern wasn't that bad. I wasn't sure what she meant by "this sort of establishment." It wasn't like it was a biker bar or anything. It was just a typical tavern in a rural area northwest of Baltimore out on Route Nine. It was an average Friday night, but people were laughing and dancing and carrying on like it was New Year's Eve. Couples held each other. Friends drank together. People came here to have a good time and to unwind with those nearest to them. Most of the couples here looked like they had kids at home, being watched by a babysitter.

A country band had just finished a set and was taking a break. All you could hear was the dull rumble of a few dozen voices going at once. People wearing blue jeans, suede vests, leather boots, and cowboy hats took a break from their line dancing on the wood-plank floor and sauntered up to the bar for another drink. Neon lights along the walls shouted out the names of brands of beer. The corners of the room were dark.

Perhaps that was why they chose the place.

I continued to watch across the room. It was hard for the elegant Vanessa Corvin not to stand out. She took another sip from her tumbler without looking in my direction. I only took occasional glances. If these kidnappers knew what they were doing, they had already staked out the place--looking for undercover cops. Hopefully, they hadn't already seen me talking to her. I seemed to blend in well enough. I wore jeans and a brown leather jacket over a maroon T-shirt. I took another sip of my drink.

The band came back out and walked up to the platform. They picked up their instruments and began to work on them, adjusting and tuning them for the next set. You could hear a little feedback coming from the large black and silver-lined speakers.

A man walked in, wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. He had a thick head of black hair and the face of a weasel. I stared down at my glass, keeping him in the corner of my eye. As soon as I noticed movement, I looked up again and saw him sit next to Vanessa. He sat close to her but kept his back to the wall. A waitress came over and got his drink order. She left again. Vanessa began to talk. The weasel said something quick and nasty, and her mouth snapped shut. He had one finger hooked in a belt loop and his legs spread apart. He was a bully who enjoyed posing. The waitress came over with his drink. The weasel nodded without smiling and drank it with heavy gulps. He sat the glass back on the table and swished the liquid in his mouth before swallowing.

The lead singer said hello to the audience. She spoke in a soft friendly voice and looked as if she had come right off the farm. She made you feel at home. A couple of lights came on the stage, and a couple went out on the dance floor. A few people cheered; a few people clapped. The band started again, playing with its heavy twang.

That's what the weasel was waiting for. He wanted the noise to drown him out. He talked to Vanessa, wagging his forefinger as she nodded along. Then he passed her a yellow envelope that I guessed were the pictures. She said something back and they continued to talk for a few more minutes. Vanessa never once opened the envelope. Finally, she stood up. She hollered something at him. The music was too loud for me to hear it. She stomped towards the door, carrying the envelope. The weasel grabbed for her bare white upper arm but missed. He jumped up and followed her out. Neither paid for their drink.

I threw a five on the counter and hopped off the stool. I casually walked out of the bar.

Outside, it was quiet save for the dull rumble of bass and the cacophony of a million chirping crickets. Occasional cars sped along the road. Powerful lamps above lit up thousands of white insects dog fighting in the sky and gave the trees across the street and eerie green effervescence. I walked along the gravel parking lot towards the arguing couple.

"No," she screamed at the weasel.

"Hey," I shouted. "Why don't you leave the lady alone?"

"Why don't you mind your own business?"

He drew a small snub-nosed pistol on me, but not before I pulled my .45 on him.

"Looks like we have a little problem here," I said.

"Not really," a voice behind me said. Another man was already in the parking lot, waiting for me. He was tall, with a flannel shirt and gray skin. He moved slowly around me. I had one gun drawn and two drawn on me. I was outnumbered. "Now, drop it slowly," the new man said.

"What's this all about?" the weasel asked Vanessa. "You brought protection?"

She nodded slightly. Her mouth hung open in a pouting manner.

"Guess what?" the weasel continued, looking back at me. "I brought protection too. Maybe you should've thought of that wise guy."

"Look, I don't want any trouble. I'm here to help Ms. Corvin. We're prepared to cooperate. We just want to make sure we get her husband back alive." My gun was still trained on the weasel.

"Well, we can talk as soon as that gun's lying on the ground."

I heard a pistol cock. There was another man. He had his gun trained on the new guy behind me.

"Bruce," Vanessa snapped. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The weasel panicked. He whipped his gun around at the new guy, arm extended, before realizing that he was leaving himself open. His mind only had seconds to process this change of predicament. He whipped the gun back at me.

"I was only trying to help," Bruce said in a meek voice. He was a scrawny speck of a man with a balding head and a shadow of facial hair. He wore charcoal slacks and a white open-collared shirt. He held a .44 magnum that looked like it could shatter his arm if he pulled the trigger. I didn't feel too confident.

I grinned anyway. "It looks like the sides just evened up. Now are we gonna talk or what?"

Then I heard an explosion.

Bruce had fired at the tall man behind me.

I emptied my clip on the weasel before he had a chance to fire back. It was either him or me. The whole thing ended in a matter of seconds. Vanessa screamed.

Things could've gone better. Bruce ran over to comfort the trembling woman. I reholstered my pistol and studied the situation. The weasel was a bloody mess. The taller second man was even worse. His head was a jar full of mulberry jam that had dropped and shattered on the pavement.

I drew my cell phone, called 911, and told them what happened. I had a license to carry my handgun and the shooting was in self-defense, but having your own bullets buried in a dead body doesn't exactly help your career as a private investigator.

"We'll have to hang around and settle up with the authorities," I told Vanessa after I got off the phone.

Bruce was a bit shorter than Vanessa who was now holding him. She stroked the thin brown hair on the back of his head. He still clutched the giant gun, which had a whiff of white smoke snaking off of it.

"Who is this anyway?"

"Bruce works for me," she said. "He mucks the stables and tends to the horses."

"You certainly came at a good time."

He nodded.

"Did you have him come here also? As backup?" I asked.

"No, of course not. But I guess it would've been a good idea. Bruce was just trying to protect me."

"He certainly did. Bruce, why'd you shoot the man?"

"I didn't mean too. I just got nervous."

"You're a hell of a better shot than I would've given you credit for. However, you may want to be careful. You could get hurt with that."

He let go of Vanessa and shoved the gun down the back of his pants.

"Unfortunately, we may have lost your husband in the process," I said.

"Don't say that," Vanessa said.

"Look, when the authorities get here, we'll have to explain to them just what happened. We'll need their help in tracking down your husband."

"But we may be endangering his life."

"Look lady, the perps are right here."

"Now, you're talking like a cop."

"Sorry 'bout that."

"I don't need a cop right now. I just need to get my husband back."

"What do you propose?"

"There is another."

"There's a third man?"

"Yes, they told me they had another waiting with Al."

"Then I guess we don't have much time."

"That's what I've been trying to say."

"He'll kill him as soon as he finds out the other two aren't coming back."

"Please, Mr. Fanelli, let's go back to my place. We can't afford to spend all evening at the sheriff's office."

Against my own better judgment, I decided to go with her. I needed to see just what was going on. We hopped in her car. It was a black BMW. I got behind the steering wheel and adjusted the settings on the seat. The other two got in the back. I felt like their chauffer. I'd have to leave my own car behind. It was a blue Chevy Caprice and could probably stay there all night without attracting attention or getting robbed.

Once we were on the road, I placed another call to the police department and fed them a line to buy us some time. My license was on the line, but that didn't mean anything if I couldn't use it to save Corvin.

***

The Corvins lived in the Valley. It was a rural area just north of Baltimore where CEOs, ball players, and the all-around well-heeled lived on sprawling estates with fences that ran like railroad tracks up and down the rolling verdant hills.

I'd been out here myself a few times to take photos. When I'm not taking photos of cheating spouses, I'm taking photos for my own personal enjoyment. I guess it helps keep me sharp. Most of my photos are of the grittier urban kind. But it doesn't hurt to get out of the city from time to time.

Before long, we arrived at Vanessa's estate. We drove down a long road, paved only in white dirt. Pines lined both sides of the drive. At the end, the road changed to a circle with a fountain in the middle. It didn't appear to be on. A row of white columns guarded the entrance. The house appeared to be more stately than it probably was. We parked and went in.

Vanessa tapped a code into a beeping security pad. Bruce disappeared into some faraway place.

"Drink?" Vanessa asked.

"I'll have a Coke."

She led me to a room built onto the side of the house. It was an expansive sunroom. There were plants everywhere. Plants grew from large pots sitting on the hardwood floors. Plants grew from pots hanging from the vaulted ceilings. Vanessa handed me a drink. Mine was brown, and hers was clear with a lime. Otherwise, we drank from identical tumblers. We sat on wicker couches across from one another. There was a chest between us, which was used as a coffee table and covered with travel and wine magazines.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"We wait for this third man to call. See if we can arrange an alternate deal. It's gonna cost you with two of his friends dead."

"I'm not sure if they were actually friends. I can call him now." She picked up a cordless phone sitting on an end table next to her and pressed a button. Maybe it was Redial. She held the phone to her ear.

I reached across and grabbed her wrist.

"What?" she said.

I snatched the phone with my free hand, pressed the Talk button to turn it off, stood up straight, and threw the phone down on the couch.

"What're you doing?" she asked, standing up.

"Woman, you haven't told me the truth all night, have you?"

"I don't understand."

"You know their phone number? You've called them before? You know these people."

"That's not true."

"How many kidnappers give a callback number?"

"Oh."

"And you knew there would be a third man waiting with Alvin . You knew. How well do you know these people? Did you talk about the whole kidnapping over brunch?"

"No."

"Is this some kind of a set up? Because if it is, I'll leave right now. And the only car out there is yours. I hope you have insurance on it."

She stared off into space. Lines formed on her cheeks. Tears streamed down her eyes.

"You do realize I could lose my license over this."

"All right. I'll tell you everything."

I sat back down on the couch.

Vanessa sat on the edge of her couch with her elbows digging into her knees. She twisted her hands together nervously.

"My husband's dead."

"What?"

"I'm being blackmailed. You can see for yourself. They had photos. They handed me the prints at the club."

"What're you saying? You killed him?"

She nodded.

"Huh. So, why'd you do it? Couldn't share the horses?"

"My husband was an abusive drunk. I did it in self-defense. He had driven home from a meeting in Baltimore . I'm just thankful he didn't kill anyone on the road. He accused me of cheating. He always got like that when he drank. He thought I was having some sort of an affair with Bruce. But I told him it wasn't like that. He was just the stable boy. That didn't stop Alvin . He just kept slapping me. He could be nasty when he wanted to. There was a gun in his nightstand. He said he kept it there for protection. I pulled open the drawer and pulled the gun on him. He dared me to fire it at him. I didn't know how he could be so callous about the whole thing. Afterwards, I discovered that the magazine was empty. He knew that. That's why he dared me. But what he didn't know was that there was still a round in the chamber. He should've known better. It was his gun. But, of course, he was drunk. Anyway, one shot was all it took. He flew backwards and landed on the bed.

"I slept that night beside him, the mattress soaking with his blood. I didn't know what to do. The next day three men came by looking for work. They were old friends of mine. They worked in the stables years ago. I told them what happened. I trusted them. They told me they would take care of everything. I left for the day. They disposed of the body, the sheets, and the mattresses. When I returned, the place looked good as new. Still, I had the maid scrub the room completely. It wasn't the perfect crime, but it would do. However, that night I got a call from them. They had taken pictures. They said they would mail them to the authorities if I didn't play ball. Oh Vince, you just don't understand."

I tried to be compassionate, but it was difficult. "Why did you lie to me?" I asked.

"Because I'm a killer. I didn't think you'd trust a killer."

"You're also a liar. I trust liars even less."

"Please. You've got to help me. I don't know how to deal with the police."

"I don't know what to tell you. Sure, it was self-defense. But you hid the body and destroyed the evidence. It could look like premeditated murder."

"No."

"And what about motive? He was a drunk and beat you, sure. But you had a lot to gain by rubbing him out. There's a whole stable full of horses out there now that are all yours."

"No. I never would've done that."

"I'm just trying to put myself in the grand jury's shoes. Where're those prints?"

She got up, left the room, and came back with the envelope. She handed it to me. "I haven't even seen those yet," she said.

"Well, maybe they won't be so bad?" I slid the prints out of the envelope. They were bad. Her husband was sprawled across the bed. The lower half of his mouth was gone. She was a good shot herself. I looked over at an end table where my drink was sitting. There was a picture of Vanessa with that very same man on a yacht. The sky was a light royal blue, and the water was a dark indigo. Vanessa had her arms completely wrapped around his torso, and he had one arm around her. They looked very much in love. I turned my attention back to the photos in front of me. They were in color, and you could clearly see they were taken in her bedroom.

"You could always redecorate," I said.

"Don't joke."

"Seriously though, this is good enough to get a search warrant. Blood never comes out. They'll get samples from your bedroom. You better have the best damn cleaning lady this side of the Mississippi . And even if he gives you back the negatives, who's to say what he's really after? We killed his partners. He can still keep prints--for insurance. The fact that your husband is missing at all could still raise enough suspicion to get a crime scene unit snooping around in your bedroom. You said you knew these people?"

"Yes. Louie and Carl were the two that died tonight. Barry was the third one. He probably still has the negatives. Oh God, I don't want to go to prison. Tell me what I should do, and I'll do it."

"If this Barry guy was willing to betray one of his old friends, maybe he won't be completely brokenhearted over the loss of his partners. I'll talk to him."

She picked up the phone, pressed the single button, and handed the phone to me.

It was ringing when it got to my ear.

"Yeah," a raspy voice said.

"This is Vince Fanelli."

"Okay?"

"We had a little problem at Mac's."

"I know."

"Really? Was it on C-Span?"

"I was in the area. I try to keep my ear close to the ground."

"Do we still have a deal?"

"I never made a deal with you. But seeing as how I'm talking to you now, I guess Ms. Corvin already broke her end."

"We didn't plan it that way."

"What--bummed that you didn't find the negatives on the bodies?"

"It wasn't like that."

"I'll tell you what, Vinnie. Today's your lucky day. I'm willing to deal. Two dead partners mean two fewer ways to split the dough. I'll meet you at the Thorton plant off Broening Highway in an hour and a half. You bring the cash, and I'll bring the negatives. And no funny business."

"Of course."

"I'm assuming you ain't dumb enough to have cops listening in on this. If I get caught, I'm facing a racket count. But Ms. Corvin's gonna face murder."

"You certainly know your law."

"I try to have a full understanding of the rules before I play the game."

"You're a wise man."

He hung up.

I wanted to keep him happy--keep him on our side. I didn't want to remind him that he could also face a charge of accessory after the fact.

"Okay," I said. "So, you have a million lying around?"

"Of course."

I followed her into another room. This one was a combination drawing room and library. The walls were covered in dark mahogany panels. Vanessa grabbed a wooden back chair and placed it under a painting of what was probably an old ancestor. He had black hair and thin pink lips and dark eyes that followed you no matter where you stood in the room. Vanessa kicked off her shoes and gracefully stepped up on the chair. She pulled open the painting as if it were a door in the wall. The eyes of the painting continued to stare at me even as the face swung around. Behind the painting was a safe.

"How typical," I said.

Vanessa opened the safe with quick deliberate turns of the knob. The safe was large enough that she was able to pull a brown leather briefcase out of it. She stepped down off the stool and walked to a wooden coffee table that had a brass lamp on it. She flipped on the lamp and popped open the briefcase. I peaked inside. Neatly wrapped, worn hundred dollar bills stared back at me.

"You're prepared."

"I knew it would come to this sooner or later."

"But withdrawing this kind of money would leave a paper trail."

"We already keep a large amount of cash on hand."

"That's convenient. I should try it sometime. Lord knows, I'm always hunting around for spare change."

I closed the briefcase, picked it up, and turned to leave.

"Wait," she said.

"Yeah." I turned back.

She put a hand on my shoulder and looked right into my eyes. "You will come back, right?"

"Of course. I'll be back with the negatives before you even know it."

"Be careful."

***

I drove south on the Jones Falls Expressway in Vanessa's Beamer. There was little traffic on the roads. It was a Saturday, and most people were still at home sleeping. On the way, a thin sliver of red sun came creeping over the tree line. Crimson clouds like gossamer wings spread through the sky. I got off the elevated expressway and drove through some back streets until I got to an industrial district on the east side of the city. I was familiar with the area. I had taken photographs out here before, trying to make something aesthetic out of the urban wasteland.

The Thorton plant was an abandoned factory. I parked in an alley between the Thorton plant and another black building. It felt as dark as night again.

I walked around to the front. The door hung on its hinges. A chain and padlock swayed impotently on the door. It had been placed there by the city. It had been hacked off by Barry. I walked inside and placed the briefcase on the floor. I pulled out my .45 and pulled back the slide to chamber a round. The sound of cold metal echoing off the walls made me wince. I placed the gun back in my shoulder holster but kept my coat open for easy access. I wanted to be prepared this time.

I picked up the briefcase again and walked down a shadowy corridor. Pipes, beams, conduits, and wires crisscrossed above me. Large dead vats stood on either side of me. I could hear the echo of each footfall bounce off of some far away wall.

"Stop right there," a distant voice said.

I stopped.

"Put the briefcase down on its side."

I did.

"Now kick it forward."

I did.

"Put your hands behind your head. Lock your fingers."

I did as I was told.

About a half a minute later, a man came silently out of the shadows. He had a revolver drawn on me with his left hand. He kept it close to his body as he extended his right hand to pat me down. He found my gun and pulled it from its holster.

"Of course," he said.

I recognized the raspy voice from the phone. But it sounded a bit different in person. I had heard it before, many years ago. "Your name's not Barry."

"No? You don't say." I got a good look at the man after he stepped in front of me. The man wore jeans and a fleece jacket that was buttoned to the top. He had short rusty hair that was made up of tiny curls and a strong flat face that was chiseled out of granite. He'd be handsome except that half his face looked like it had melted off years ago. This man was a burn victim.

"Jack Hanson, as I live and breath," I said.

"Well," he replied, "don't get used to it. You won't be breathing much longer."

"Hey, it wasn't personal." I had busted a meth lab some years ago when I was on the force. At the time, a lab like this was still rare in Baltimore --you mostly saw them on the west coast. But we knew they were usually run by addicts rather than dealers. We knew the men running the place wouldn't be rational. We were right. They weren't going down without a fight. We had the place surrounded. They fought with such zeal and fervor you'd have thought they were fighting for some sort of cause--as if meth was their religion. It was stupid. No one had to die. They were armed to the teeth, which was equally stupid. The ingredients used to make the drug are highly volatile. All it took was one spark. I got down in time. The others weren't so lucky. Jack was the unluckiest in the gang. He lived.

Jack kept his gun trained on me.

"So, I see shooting at cops doesn't buy you a lot of time in the slammer anymore."

"It ain't what it used to be."

"You have your money, and you have my piece. You got what you wanted. Let's just say we go our separate ways. No harm, no foul."

"Wrong. You're what I came here for."

"I don't get it."

"When we got out of the slammer, our first goal was to line up steady, honest employment. We headed up to the Corvin farm."

"To muck the stables?"

"No. To work in the meth lab hidden in the stables. When we got there, Vanessa was already dealing with the mess she made. That's when I saw my chance. I'd heard you went private. I set up the whole deal. This extra cash was just gravy."

"Vanessa was in on it?"

"Yeah, you're pretty bright. I can see you're already putting the pieces together in your head. Remember in the bar how she stood up and ran away like that? Without any explanation? We wanted you out in the parking lot. We were supposed to nail you at Mac's, but her damn stable boy got in the way. Fortunately, she managed to pull a save out of her hat. To think, she threw you to the lions twice. Who can you trust these days?"

"Why was she so eager to comply? The shooting was in self-defense anyway."

"Think about it."

"Of course, the lab. Those cops would've picked their entire estate apart. But what's she going to tell people once folks realize that Alvin 's missing?"

"Hopefully, you were keeping good records back at the office. The cops'll find you dead, then go through your stuff to see what you were working on. Oh, it was the Corvin kidnapping. He's dead so Fanelli must've botched it. The kidnappers got away, and they made good on their threat. They'll find Corvin's dead body somewhere in Leakin Park with a bullet in the head."

"But they'll still go rooting through the Corvin estate. They'll find out what line of work he was in."

"Well, I guess that's just something Vanessa's going to have to figure out on her own. She's a smart woman. Hell, you'd have been dead by now if it weren't for her stable boy. He pulled your ass out of the fire once, but don't count on lightning striking twice. Now's it's just the two of us."

"Real nice. Except you're the one with the gun."

"Hey, it was an even fight. You did show up with a piece of your own didn't you? Oh well." Jack lifted his gun to fire.

"Come on Jack. Prison couldn't have been that bad. At least, you didn't have to worry about the showers. Your face would've scared everyone away."

"I'm going to enjoy doing this." He aimed the revolver at my head. No one else would hear the gunshot.

Then there was a loud bang. It echoed off the metal vats and brick walls of the factory. It wasn't what I had expected. I didn't think I would hear anything.

Jack's head exploded in a red mist. The gun fell from his hand, and his body slumped to the ground.

I bent down and looked around me.

Bruce came quietly out of the shadows.

"How do you do it?" I asked, standing back up.

"I followed you, of course." He shuffled over to me. "I knew you'd be in trouble."

"Yeah, thanks to that boss of yours." I pulled on some rubber gloves I kept in my pocket. I knelt over the body and slipped my pistol out of Jack's coat pocket. I picked up a manila folder that was also in his jacket and opened it. Inside were the pictures along with the negatives. I assumed they were the rest of the copies. The damned fool actually brought them with him. "Well, I said it before, and I'll say it again. You're a hell of a shot with that .44."

Bruce looked down at his work with disgust.

"Don't worry about it," I told him. "He didn't have much of a face to begin with."

Bruce talked in a soft voice. "It wasn't her fault. She was trying to do what she thought was best."

"You mean like bumping me off."

"Ms. Corvin was trying to protect me. She was an honest woman. The meth lab wasn't her idea. She's planning on dismantling it now that her husband is gone."

"Yeah, thanks to her."

"No, it wasn't like that. Mr. Corvin got exactly what he deserved. I shot him."

"What?"

"Ms. Corvin was trying to protect me. She always took care of me. It was the least I could do for her. He was beating her again. Mr. Corvin got that way when he was drunk. I think he may have found out about us."

"Us?"

"She was like a mother to me."

I looked at him with a twisted, perplexed face. I didn't want to pursue that relationship any further. "Why didn't you help her with the body? Why didn't you call the cops right then and there? Oh yeah, I take back that question--the crank factory. But still, you could've helped her with that body rather than letting those other boys get their mitts into her."

"Ms. Corvin rushed me out of the room. She didn't want me to see what I had done. She wanted to protect me."

I shook my head, flabbergasted. "I don't think I'm really equipped to understand all of the psychoses going on at the Corvin estate. I think you folks need some good psychiatric help--the Freudian kind."

"Please," the little man with the big gun said. "Ms. Corvin wasn't going to let anything happen to you. Having me follow you was her idea."

"Yes, and for that I thank her. But what about Mac's? She didn't know you were coming then."

"Perhaps she's grown more fond of you."

"Hey, that's great." I slapped the photos against his chest.

He took them.

"As for those," I said, "you can do whatever you want with them. This is your mess to clean up now. I have my own problems to worry about. I've gone a long way to keep my record clean. I don't need it dirtied up because I was duped into your little game. There's a body in the Baltimore County morgue with my slugs in it. Now that's something I'm gonna have to deal with."

"There must be some way Ms. Corvin can make it up to you."

"There is." I picked up the briefcase, opened it, and stared at the cash. The potent smell of whatever was crawling on that paper hit me in the face. "This would handle my payment nicely."

"I won't tell," Bruce whispered.

"Forget it." I grabbed one pack of hundreds and then dropped the case on the ground. "I'm already too wrapped up in this mess. I don't need to get my hands dirtier than they already are. They're probably marked as it is. Besides, I've never been good at money laundering. I'd raise all kinds of red flags if I took it to the bank." I walked out of the factory with nothing in my hands and my gun back in its holster. "You can pick up Vanessa's Beamer at Mac's. I'm heading there now to get my own car. If it hasn't already been impounded."

"Mr. Fanelli," the man gently called behind me.

I kept walking.