Chapter 2

They drove in silence. Herbert kept his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. Darius sat in the passenger seat, watching the brick developments pass in a red blur. Herbert's eyes wandered to the skyscrapers looming overhead, shimmering in the mid-morning light. The North Rim was a different world, a pocket of wealth and culture in a lawless desert wasteland. Police routinely patrolled the streets, rooting out any unsavory elements and sending them back to the brick rat trap they came from. Herbert steered the car North, where they would return the now-clean rug to the scene of the crime.

            “You think there'll be anyone there?” Darius turned to look at Herbert.

            Herbert shrugged.

            “Like, what if the cops are there?”

            “There's no body. No crime scene. No proof.”

            Darius considered this. “All right. But there's still a missing person.”

            “Missing person ain't a murder. They'll be going about it completely differently. House won't even be a crime scene. Nobody might even know he's missing yet.”

            Darius nodded. “Yeah, all right. Okay...”

            Herbert exhaled and felt his own fears dampen. There wasn't anything to rope them into...whatever this was, save for the physical evidence buried in the desert. The rug was clean. All evidence was blasted away by a cloud of chemicals and superheated steam. He thought about the money and nodded. It was just a very expensive errand. The hard part was over. All they had to do was drop off the rug. He glanced at himself in the rearview mirror, unable to completely shake his sense of foreboding.

            The van came to a rattling stop in front of a brownstone. It was a relatively small building of three floors with a set of tall stone steps leading to an impressive wooden door. There was a walkway leading around to a small garden in the back of the building, where Herbert and Darius had picked up the carpet in the darkness of the early morning. This was their first time seeing the building in the daylight.

            The engine clicked as it died, but neither man moved from their seat. They scanned the streets. There were a few people walking down the sidewalks, but they were too preoccupied to pay these blue-collar workers any mind. Cars drove past them on their way to work, but traffic was ubiquitous. It would have been stranger if the streets were deserted. Deciding the coast was clear, Herbert turned to Darius. “Let's unload it.”

            The two hopped from of the van and threw open the back doors. They hauled the clean carpet out and double-timed their way around to the back of the brownstone. The back of the building was a fenced in garden. Sunflowers grew tall and leafy, casting shadows over the cast-iron patio furniture set up near the back door. Even in their hurry, Herbert couldn't help but notice how nice it was.

They dropped the rolled-up carpet on the warmed stone patio near the back door where they once found it in basking in chill and darkness. Like a pair of phantoms, they disappeared when their business was finished.

            With his knuckles clenched around the steering wheel, Herbert pressed down on the gas. Their van rumbled down the street. His heart rate steadied. It was nothing. He eased off the accelerator.

            “Hey, Herb,” Darius spoke up from the passenger seat. “I think he wants you to pull over.” He cocked a thumb toward the back of the van.

            “What?” Herbert said, noticing the sirens for the first time. Blue and red flashed in the mirrors. He pulled over and exhaled a rattling sigh. “Fuck.”

            Parked behind them was an unmarked police cruiser. The officer took his time getting out of the car. Out of uniform, he strut his way over to the window and tapped on the glass with a single knuckle.

            Herbert closed his eyes and swore under his breath. A detective. The absolute worst-case scenario. He rolled down the window. “Good morning.”

            “Mornin'.” He spoke slowly, his voice drawling out over the droopy set of lips framed by the beginnings of a beard. He stood tall and sturdy with his thumbs hooked around the belt loops of his jeans, looking as if he were waiting for his drink at a bar instead of enforcing traffic law. “You know why I pulled you over?”

            Herbert looked at the cop. “Did I do something wrong?” His face was a mask of tranquility. The carpet didn't enter his thoughts. There was only the willful projection of innocence silently broadcasted from the deepest reaches of his mind. Herbert knew that the first person to convince of the lie was himself. If he believed it, nobody would suspect him.

            “You ran a red light back there. Bout two blocks back.” The detective sniffed. “License and registration.”

            Herbert dug in his pocket for his wallet and produced his driver's license. He elbowed Darius, who opened the glove compartment and tore the registration from the clutter. Herbert passed over the documents for the detective's inspection.

            He barely looked at them before passing them back. “Tell you what. I'm gonna make you a deal. I'll let you off with a warning and you give me a business card.”

            “What?” Herbert's eyebrows shot up. “Uh...” He remembered himself. “Excuse me?”

            “You heard me.” The words slid over his teeth in that same slow way, but there was a glint in his eyes that Herbert didn't like. He motioned to the decal on the side of the van reading Winslow and Son Carpet Cleaners. “I got a lot of dirty carpets hanging around. Could use a cleaner.”

            Herbert looked at Darius, who stared back open-mouthed. He flashed his eyes at his passenger, now was not the time. Immediately, his mouth snapped shut and he opened the glove box to grab a business card. Herbert passed the card to the cop.

            “Great.” He looked down at the card in his callused hands. “You'll be hearing from me real soon.” He nodded as he slid the card into his front pocket. “Try to drive carefully.” He slapped the top of the van and swaggered back to his car.

            “Holy shit.” Darius said, the color draining from his face. “Did that really just happen?”

            Herbert closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the steering wheel to keep his hands from shaking. He was definitely going to have to make a phone call.

            Darius dug in his pockets and produced a flattened package of cigarettes. He placed one in his mouth and lit up. He shook his head as Herbert pressed down on the gas. “Do you think he saw us?” He exhaled a stream of smoke, which curled in a cloud around them.

            Herbert rolled down his window.  “I don't know. I might've run the light. I wasn't paying attention.” He shook his head. “Even if he did, we weren't doing anything except our job.”

            Darius took another long drag. “I dunno, Herbie. You don't think it's kinda...funny that we get pulled over after finishing off that...uh...Roland job?”

            Herbert glared at his passenger. “I don't know what you're talking about. Just keep your mouth shut and stop asking questions. It's shit like this that gets guys like you buried by guys like me.” He shook his head. “Forget all about this Roland shit. You'll live longer.”

            Darius sulked in the passenger seat the rest of the way back.

X

They got back to the shop. Darius manned the counter while Herbert holed up in the back with his cell phone. His fingers dialed the number without him having to consciously remember it. He listened to it ring.

            Finally, a low voice rasped into his ear. “You must be in some deep shit for you to be calling me.”

            “I need to meet with you. I gotta find out what you got me wrapped up in, Blackjack.”

            Herbert was answered with rumbling laughter like the sound of a far-off storm. “All right. Come on down to the office.”