To Sleep Gently Read online

  "I still do it. I'll always do it, whether I want to or not. I've just lost interest in trying to get it out there, that's all—at least for now."

  "Well, you certainly make a good-looking book manager."

  Mike laughed. "It's sure good to see you, Demp."

  "Yeah, you too."

  "How long are you planning on being around?"

  "A week, maybe a little longer. It all depends on how I feel, I guess."

  "It wouldn't depend on anything else, would it?"

  Dempster leaned back. "What'd you mean?"

  The first awkward silence of their reunion played out. It felt like an old-time record had just finished and the needle wasn't picking up.

  Mike shook his head and went at his pizza. "Nothing," he said. "I'm sorry. Guess I'm just wondering what you're gonna do."

  "You mean am I still gonna be a hoodlum?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "That's what you meant, though."

  "Jack."

  "Forget it, Mike. Don't worry about it. Right now I'm just vacationing. I'm here, and I don't know where I'll be next. Who knows what the future holds?"

  More silence. This time it engulfed not only their table, but also the restaurant around them, and the mall around the restaurant, maybe even the city beyond.

  Then Mike said, "We've been friends a long time, haven't we?"

  "Just about our whole lives."

  "Met in the first grade, is that right?"

  "Yeah, that sounds right. First day of school you brought a garden spider in a small plastic cage. A few hours later it got out and climbed on you and you freaked out. Even when the teacher took the spider outside you still wouldn't go anywhere near that empty cage."

  "I'm scared of spiders to this day," Mike said, and slid his plate away. "Can I ask you to be straight with me on something?"

  "With you, I'm always straight."

  Mike nodded, drew the plate back in front of him then slid it away again. "Are you really just in Santa Fe for a vacation?"

  Dempster leveled his gaze at him. "What do you think?"

  "I dunno, that's why I asked."

  Popping the last bite of pizza into his mouth, Dempster chewed methodically, taking his time. When he swallowed he made a show of it, and when he spoke his tone was matter-of-fact. "Mike," he said, "I wanted to see the sights and see an old friend." He paused here and waited for Mike to believe him.

  Eventually, he did.

  "Now," Dempster said, "let's get the hell out of here."

  "Yeah, all right. I need to get back to work."

  They left the table and made their way back toward Essentials. The entire mall consisted of earthy tones. The floors were dark brown, the walls were tan, the ceiling was beige, and within the gigantic crystalline skylights hung what looked like enormous dream catchers. Everywhere were wooden benches, some of them occupied. There was no official food court, only a couple of restaurants here and there. De Vargas Mall wasn't so much a mall as it was a large building with some shops in it, most of them locally owned but selling stuff Dempster couldn't care less about.

  "How long have you been working in this place?"

  "About two years," Mike told him. "Before this I was doing graphic design work for this woman who turned out to be a psychopath. Was having some sort of mid-life crisis or something, and decided to take it all out on me. So I said sayonara and came here, partially because I wanted a change but also because the job market isn't very good. The few jobs that are available are run by people like the woman I worked for. Trust-funders who have nothing else to do, start some half-assed business, watch it flop, and don't really care. If they feel like it, they start another one."

  "Sounds like you've got something against trust-funders."

  "I do, and they're everywhere."

  When they entered Essentials, Dempster wasn't sure, but it sounded like the same dance song he'd heard when he'd been in here over an hour ago. He followed Mike over to his little workstation, where he watched him clock in on the computer, then go into a cabinet beneath, from which he removed his green Essentials vest.

  "Hey, how come you wear a vest and the kid I spoke to earlier had an apron on?"

  "Managers wear vests," Mike told him.

  "Classy." Dempster couldn't help snickering.

  "Well," Mike said, slipping into his work attire, "back to work. What are you doing tonight?"

  "I'm actually pretty tired," Dempster told him. "Probably just gonna get in bed and watch a movie."

  "Oh yeah, I meant to ask, where are you staying?"

  "Some hotel out that way." He gestured vaguely in some random direction.

  "Do you have a phone number, or is there any way to contact you?"

  "I'll call you," Dempster said. "Maybe tomorrow."

  "Okay, sounds good." Mike extended his arms and when they embraced Dempster felt a genuine closeness that rated right up there with his first bourbon at Freddy Skeele's.

  "Good to see you, Jerky."

  "Good to see you, Perky. I'll call you tomorrow."

  "All right."

  Dempster turned away.

  "Oh, Demp?"

  Turning back he saw Mike looking him over.

  "Welcome back...to the world, that is."

  "Yeah, thanks." He turned away again, walked passed the magazine racks until he found himself on the outskirts of the video section. There was a part of him that wanted to wander through the isles, see all of the movies he'd missed over the past five years.

  No, he decided, not right now. Get out of the store, leave Mike to his work. You can look around some other time. For now you should probably get back to the house and see what the guys are up to.

  He looked toward the front entryway, and from the corner of his left eye he saw her, holding a small stack of movies and wearing a red, tight-fitted sweater that emphasized her curves, even under the green Essentials apron. As she walked, the sweep of her mid-cut skirt drew attention to her full calves, which tapered smoothly down to her ankles and clog-encased feet, while her red hair bounced upon her back like roses swaying in a breeze.

  When a customer stopped her for help, she had a warm, bright smile, and a friendly, enthusiastic disposition. "Absolutely," she told the customer. "I'd be happy to, just follow me."

  Dempster told himself to stop looking at her. Yet something about the sight of her brought about an impure feeling that excited him. He told himself again to stop looking, but his eyes kept focused on her as she glanced casually at him, then turned and disappeared down one of the aisles.

  Chapter Six

  He didn't much like Doug Gardner. Right from the get-go the guy came off as an arrogant twit. He wore a tan Brooks Brothers suit with a dark blue tie that had been loosened around the neck, and he sat at the kitchen table with near perfect posture. Not more than twenty-eight or -nine, his hair had thinned out considerably, and what was left on top was shaggy, making his otherwise presentable appearance seem disheveled.

  Flat on the table was an 11x17 layout of the Eldorado's ground floor. Evan and Clark sat on either side of Gardner, while Dempster and Jimmy stood across from them. They all peered down at Gardner's finger as it gave them an overhead tour.

  "Directly on the right here," Gardner said, "just when you enter the lobby, is the front desk." His voice bordered on flamboyant. "To the desk's left here, these three little boxes are elevators."

  The rooms on the layout were labeled—"Lobby," "Lounge," "Eldorado Court," "Sunset Room," a seemingly endless "Concourse" which led passed the "Pavilion" and "Kitchen" to the "Zia Room" and "Anasazi Ballroom".

  "What's this room behind the front desk?" Dempster asked. It was the only room not labeled.

  "That's where you'll want to go," Gardner told him. "You walk around behind the front desk here on the left. It's a two-way door, between the desk and the elevators. Cross it and you'll find a stock area with a copy machine and office supplies and forms and such. There will be a locked door. In that room you
'll hit the jackpot."

  "That where the safe is?" Clark asked.

  "Yes, the safe, as well as the safe deposit boxes."

  "How many of those are there?"

  "Two hundred."

  "Two hundred?" Jimmy's tone was shocked and indignant. "We'll be there all night."

  "No we won't," Evan said. "They're not all gonna be full, and Doug will know which ones we want, right?"

  "That's right," Gardner said. "It won't be a hundred percent accurate of course, because of a few comings and goings, but earlier in the day or the day before I'll get you a numbered list of which boxes are occupied. Whoever's going into that room will have to memorize it to the best of their abilities."

  "What kind of safe deposit boxes are they?" Dempster asked.

  "Standard steel bond boxes. Double nose locks."

  "Double nose locks are gonna take a couple seconds longer apiece," Clark said. "That'll really add up."

  "Nothing to worry about," Evan told him. "If all is cool and things are smooth, we can take as much time as we need."

  "Where do you keep the keys for those boxes?" Dempster asked.

  "There is a set kept in the same room," Gardner told him. "That won't be a problem."

  "Okay, and what about the safe?"

  "It's in the right corner at the back, along side the boxes. Forty-nine inches high and twenty-four inches wide. It has two safe locks that require double-bit keys, and also a combination lock."

  "You know the combination?"

  "It changes weekly, but yeah, I can get it."

  "And there's a set of keys for the safe in there, too?"

  "Yes."

  "All right, and what's security like in that room?"

  "Two guards in that room at all times, each armed with a pistol. Monitors for the hotel cameras are in there too." Here he withdrew a pen and made little Xs everywhere a camera was positioned throughout the entire bottom floor. Just the lobby alone had four cameras. There was also one behind the front desk and one in the safe room.

  "One concern, which is out of my hands," Gardner said. "There is a silent alarm trigger beneath the monitor table in the safe room."

  "That's pretty risky," Clark said.

  "We can handle it," Evan told him. He looked at Dempster. "That shouldn't be too hard, right?"

  "I'm not overly concerned about it at this time," Dempster said.

  "There is a small security station just above the parking garage, between the front entrance and the Old House restaurant." Gardner pointed to the left of the entryway. "Usually two or three men. They have monitors for the cameras in there too."

  "So the cameras are really gonna be tricky."

  "We can work it out."

  "Are there cameras in the parking garage?" Dempster asked.

  "No, there aren't."

  "Good to know."

  "Also," Gardner said, "another thing you need to be aware of is the stairway to the right of the front desk."

  "Why's that? Where does it go?"

  "It goes up to a computer room—a place where guests can go to check their e-mail or use a computer for whatever reason. It's available twenty-fours hours a day, but there's no staff up there after eight."

  "Not much of a problem," Clark said.

  "Unless a guest or two happen to come down from there unexpectedly," Jimmy said.

  "What's beyond the computer room?" Dempster asked.

  "The engineering area," Gardner said. "You need to enter a code on the keypad to get in, but there aren't any cameras in there."

  "Can you get that code?"

  "What for?"

  "We need everything we can get."

  Gardner glared at him for a brief moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I'll give that to you."

  "How much longer before we do this, you think?"

  "Oh, I'd say at least a few days," Gardner said. "maybe a week. I'll let you know when everything's right."

  For the next half-hour they went over the rest of the hotel, learning more about the security systems, where the exits were, how many people were likely to be on duty on any given night.

  "Okay," Dempster said, "we'll figure out more of this in the next day or two. Where's that Santa Fe map?"

  Jimmy raced into the other room and returned a few seconds later unfolding it.

  "Here's the Eldorado," Evan said, pointing. "On the south side here, where the entrance is, is San Francisco Street. The cross streets are Guadalupe and Sandoval, and behind the hotel is Johnson."

  "I suspect we can all read," Gardner said.

  "Shut up," Dempster told him.

  "The fastest route," Evan continued, "I think would be to take Sandoval to Cerrillos here, then take that to St. Francis Drive. It goes all the way out to I-25, a direct shot all the way to Albuquerque."

  "Those are the biggest streets in town," Clark said. "Even at two or three in the morning they've gotta have traffic, and I bet they're swarming with cops."

  "This town isn't that big," Evan said. "There won't be too many cars out at that time. But you're right as far as the cops go. We'll have to make sure we drive within the speed limit and obey all the laws."

  Gardner laughed and said, more to himself than anyone else, "Obey the law."

  Dempster glared at him. "Something funny?"

  Taken aback and then humbled, Gardner frowned and turned away.

  Dempster looked back at the map. "Is that really the best getaway, you think?"

  "The downtown area is completely congested," Evan told him. "The streets are tiny with too many stop signs and too many people walking around because of all the bars and stuff around there. Taking the bigger streets makes the most sense. It's way too easy to get trapped otherwise."

  "Okay," Dempster said. "Tomorrow we should all drive around the area. Test the route casually during the daytime, see how it feels, look for alternate routes." He walked around the table and put his hand on Gardner's shoulder. "You know what you're supposed to do, right? You understand your part in all of this?"

  Gardner ran fingers across his brow and looked at Dempster. "Sure," he said, then licked his dry lips. "Yeah, I know."

  Dempster looked the man over. He didn't like him and didn't trust him. The way he held himself, the attitude that seeped from his very being, the man was a determined amateur with little else going for him. Dempster still wasn't wholly confident with Evan, Clark and Jimmy, but he knew they at least understood the rules of the game. If things went awry, the first thing Gardner was going to do was talk. That was obvious just from looking at him. He would sing and sing and sing, but that was only if he didn't let the cat out of the bag earlier, before they even got started.

  "All seems pretty good so far, I'd say," Clark said, looking over the layout again as he fished out a cigarette. "What'd you think?"

  "I'm not concerned about the job itself," Dempster said. "I'm concerned about everything operating smoothly."

  This drew pause from everyone in the room.

  When Dempster saw he had their full attention he spoke. "Years ago I was on a job with some other guys in Indiana," he said. "One of these guys had a twelve-year-old son who managed to figure out what we were up to, thanks to Dad being a bit dim-witted and letting too much slip. When we got to the job site it was crawling with cops." He continued, though as he did he looked at each of them in turn. "Everyone knew what had happened," he said. "We cruised on by, forgetting the whole deal, stopped and picked up the kid and all rendezvoused back at the house we were using as a hideout. I don't want to bore you with all the details, so let's just say, to make a long story short, both father and son were buried in the cellar of that house." At the end of this last sentence he made sure he was looking good and hard at Gardner.

  Already Gardner was wiping his brow again. It gleamed with perspiration. The look in his eyes was deep stark fear, as though he'd just discovered that the monster in his childhood closet was real, and after all these years it had finally revealed itself to be the man that now stood acros
s from him.

  "I imagine it's agonizing," Dempster said, "knowing you're digging your own grave."

  Nervously Gardner looked into Dempster's eyes, then looked past him and into some other world as comprehension set in.

  Dempster winked at the man, nodded to the other three, and left the room.

  2

  In bed that night, he almost felt paralyzed. Through the darkness he saw pictures on the ceiling above him. He wasn't sure if his eyes were opened or closed, but it didn't matter because the images were there anyway, and they made him anxious. Flickering images of what had been and what might be, cranking forward and back in time. Fact and fiction mixing together, swirling about, separating.

  He saw himself standing outside of the Eldorado on the steps, gun in hand, cops and police cars surrounding him on all sides, guns drawn and aimed, trapping him, screaming at him. There was blood on the steps and he didn't know whose it was.

  Sirens blared.

  Innocent bystanders stood on the street beyond, watching. They were all people he knew, or had known over the years to one extent or other, from Mike and Angela to Freddy Skeele to the homeless bum who'd asked him for change. Shelley was there, rubbing her belly. Charlie Powers was there but he had a beard again. The girl in the red sweater he'd seen at Essentials was off to one side. Donald Wycza and his twelve-year-old son Lawrence stood positioned as though posing for an oil painting. And Sandra Colvin was there, hanging her saddened head, hand half-mast in futile outreach. All of them watched with shame and disappointment as the cops screamed and told him to drop his gun, it was all over and done with and he was dead unless he dropped his gun right now.

  Every cop had his face.

  Chapter Seven

  The ringing of his cell phone jolted him up from his restless sleep.

  Climbing out of bed and crossing the room, he saw on the Caller I.D. that it was Freddy Skeele, unplugged the phone from its charger and answered.

  "Hope I'm not calling too early," Freddy said.

  Dempster looked at the bedside clock and saw it was seven-thirty. "No problem," he said rubbing his eyes. "You in Albuquerque?"