Cut to the Bone(24)
Earl’s brain clutched. He came here to “help” me with Brendan Stone!
He recalled too late now that Danny was at crew headquarters - an abandoned gasoline station on a lonely road outside Naperville - the day the court clerk called to report Brendan’s hideout and grand jury schedule. The crew was bitching about what a commie rat fink their bookkeeper turned out to be, giving up the boss to the authorities. Earl paid no mind - Brendan’s “tell-all” was a complete and utter con job. He’d tell the grand jury about every one of Earl’s crimes as head of a Chicago Mob gambling-machine crew, ensuring Earl’s indictment. Then he’d recant at the real trial, ensuring acquittal on all charges. Double jeopardy would wipe the slate clean forever. The idea was to make Wayne Covington, the bulldog assistant prosecutor trying to make his bones by tossing Earl’s narrow butt in Stateville, look like such a sap he’d have to quit.
It all came about when Brendan was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. “You take care of my family when I’m gone,” he’d said when pitching the idea to Earl, “and I’ll take care of Covington.” Earl ran it past Chicago, who approved on the spot - drowning a prosecutor at birth was a rare treat. So here they both were on a hot August morning, playacting.
But Danny didn’t know that.
His brother was never in the “family business.” Not now, not even when Dad ran the crew. “It’s not for me,” he’d said when Earl asked why. “I have different plans for my life.” Even the cops left Danny alone, knowing the smart young man was on the square, and that he stopped at the garage only to see his brother. Visits Earl hugely enjoyed - he loved Danny to distraction - but never imagined would lead to something this insane.
“Where’s your brains, college boy?” he spat. “You got one gun? They got twelve. And a tommy gun backing them up.”
He calmed himself, trying to think.
Walk over right now, he decided. Danny sees me, he’ll hack off whatever lame-brained scheme he’s hatched.
He jumped from the Galaxie and hustled across Ogden Avenue, twirling his shiny keys to attract his brother’s attention.
* * *
Andy steered Brendan through the double doors, scanning for threats. So far, so good. The only person besides cops and witness was the janitor. And some cat crossing the street . . .
“Sarge!” he hollered, reaching for the Smith & Wesson under his coat.
“Earl Monroe!” the sergeant bellowed, drawing his own .38. “Halt right where you are!”
“Earl Monroe?” Wayne gasped, splashing himself as he jerked toward the bathroom door.
“You OK, Brendan? These coppers rough you up? I just came to make sure you’re all right!” Earl bellowed, pushing the drama to the hilt. “You don’t have to do this, you know! They can’t make you testify against me if you don’t want!” He started raising his hands so the cops wouldn’t panic and open fire-
“Yow!” he yelled as he tripped into a pothole. He threw out his arms to save his face.
The keys flew straight at the cops.
“Monroe’s attacking! He’s throwing something!” Wayne bellowed as he charged from the bathroom. “Andy, get down, get down!”
Danny tore three hand grenades off his belly. Last time he’d visited the garage, he’d overheard Earl brag that he’d “accepted a crate of Kraut-blasters” as payment from a busted-out gambler who worked at the National Guard armory. He liberated four when everyone went out for a poker machine installation. As an engineering student, he was fascinated by explosives. Maybe he’d wander down to the river and blow up fish. Knock over one of the abandoned silos that dotted the Naperville countryside. Something useful, anyway . . .
He yanked the safety rings, flung the pineapple-shaped explosives, and dove behind the concrete flower planter choked with dandelions.
“Aaagh!” the sergeant screamed as shrapnel blasted his chest apart. He fell into Brendan Stone, whose blown-off head was spinning the other way.
Glass from the burning Plymouth Fury scythed the air, ripping flesh into oozy puckers, spinning one broken cop after the next onto the bird-spattered sidewalk, rooster tails of blood spitting into the wind. The motel’s burglar alarm erupted, adding to the confusion.
Wayne grunted to his feet, woozy from concussion. He staggered into the smoke and flames, desperate to find his brother.
“Danny, Danny, what did you do?” Earl wailed, yanking his busted leg from the hole. “Brendan wasn’t ratting me out, he was saving me! It was a setup! We were home free!”
He started crawling back to the Galaxie. He needed to disappear before responding officers shot him a few hundred times. From the corner of his eye, he saw the janitor race around the back of the motel, unseen by the writhing cops.