The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10)

The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10) Page 65

“I prefer Mr. Brand.”

“When I was a kid, I wanted everyone to call me Deadeye, Deadeye Dyson, but no one ever did.” I pulled a chair out and slowly sat while keeping both hands on the edge of the table. The big man leaned against the closed cabin door, his hands crossed in front of him, the gun pointed at the floor, and watched. Fenelon watched, too.

“You said you were expecting me,” Brand said.

“I figured you’d turn up eventually, just not in the middle of the night like a sneak thief.” The insult registered on his face, yet Brand said nothing in reply. “Has everybody been properly frightened?” I gestured toward the living room. “Have you and your pet thug made all the threats you care to make?”

“You’re cutting it pretty thin, Dyson.”

“John.” I spread my hands wide, then set them back on the edge of the lightweight kitchen table again. “You came here to negotiate. You brought Fenelon and your muscle in the middle of the night so you could negotiate from a position of power. That’s cool. I understand that. Let’s talk. Here’s what I want you to do…”

“What you want me to do?”

“Well, you’re big man on campus, aren’t you? The man who runs everything.” I gestured with my chin at Fenelon. “No matter what Brian has to say.”

Fenelon stiffened at my words yet said nothing.

“What did Brian have to say?” Brand asked.

“He said he and I could run this town. I’m sure he was exaggerating.”

Brand smiled at me. “You’re deliberately attempting to induce a quarrel between me and my associates, aren’t you, Dyson?”

“Why would I do that? After all, I don’t think I’ve made it a secret that I’m just passing thorough on my way to Canada.”

“Yet you intend to stay long enough to conduct a little business before you leave.” Brand tapped his chest. “In my town. You don’t do business in my town without I get a taste.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re nothing new to me, John. You’re no different than the guys in the Cities or San Francisco or Chicago or any other place I’ve worked except that you’re small market. You were here first so you think you deserve a little extra consideration. Fine. When in Rome, right? Now, John, what I want you to do…”

“Mr. Brand,” he said. His voice confirmed his growing frustration.

Good, my inner voice said. Angry people make mistakes.

I sighed dramatically. “Mr. Brand,” I said. “Are you happy now?”

I heard Fenelon whisper “Jesus” under his breath.

Brand pointed a finger at me. “You’re a funny guy, Dyson. A real comedian. Funny’s gonna cost ya.”

“Cost me what?”

“Half. I want half.”

“Half of what?”

“Half of everything.”

“That kind of steep, isn’t it, John—excuse me, Mr. Brand?”

“Do you know what kind of heat robbing an armored car will bring”—he tapped his chest again—“to my town?”

“More than you think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to rob a single armored car. I’m going to rob them all.”

“All?” Josie asked from the living room.

“No,” Jill said.

“Yes,” Jimmy said.

“What is he talking about?” Liz asked.

“Shhh,” said Dave.

“People, please,” I said. “Contain yourselves.”

Brand stared at me as if he didn’t know if I was crazy or just joking with him. “Would you care to explain yourself?” he asked.

“Yes, yes I would. I would care a great deal. I believe you already know too much about my business.”

“Your business?” Brand was shouting now. He tapped his chest yet again. “In my town, it’s my business.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to argue with you, John—”

“Mr. Brand.”

“Whatever. If you want a full share, you’re gonna have to earn it.”

“A share?”

“I’ll need at least three AK-47s, eight magazines fully loaded, four Kevlar vests, half a block of Semtex 10, two blasting caps—”

“A share?”

“How long is it going to take you to get all that together?”

“A share? Do you think you can pull a job in my town and dictate terms to me?”

“You keep saying your town, but the borders seem kinda loose. Where does it begin, where does it end?”

“It’s whatever I say it is.”

“Where are you going to get the guns? Brian said something about Mexicans.” Brand gave Fenelon a look that could have powdered concrete. “Personally, I don’t know what Mexicans are doing on the Canadian border…”

“That’s none of your business,” Brand said.

“If we’re going to be partners…”