The Retirement Plan

Chapter 20

"We've got a problem," Chris said, standing at the rear of the minivan.

Reggie pulled the ski mask off his head and closed the passenger door over. He made his way around the van, aware of his boots crunching on the gravel drive. "You don't lower your voice," he said, "you gonna have a problem your own damn self. Don't you know I got neigh—You have got to be shitting me."

The two men stared down in amazement at the body wriggling about like a fish out of water on the cargo areas carpeted floor.

Reggie looked up, counted the three bullet holes perforating the rear hatch. "Well, I'll be a motherfucker. This is some miracle man shit we dealing with right here." He looked down at Vic, twisting and turning. "Shit, they be making a lifetime movie about your blessed ass."

Chris, his right hand leaning against the frame of the vehicle, said, "Those movies show pictures of the real perps in jumpsuits at the end, before the credits roll. Mate, I can't be having all that—my mum watches that shit."

Reggie ran a gloved finger around the rim of the holes. "This is the most remarkable shit I've seen since the Red Sox came back from three nil down to take the world series back in oh four."

"Mate, we ain't having a pub-quiz here. This is not the time for sports trivia. What're we going to do?"

Reggie whistled.

"We going to off him, or what?" Chris said, patience about to snap.

"Kill him? This mother's had bullets whizzing around him like a wild night in Fallujah, and he ain't even bleeding. Gonna take a stake through the heart to end this asshole."

"Well, can we do something quick, before the rain starts up again."

"Right, grab his legs," Reggie said. "We gonna take his ass inside."

"How comes I always gotta take the legs?" Chris said, curling the fingers of his left hand. "Nearly lost a nail last time tryna keep hold of the slippery prick."

"Man, put your damn gloves on."

"I had the gloves on before, didn't help nothing."

"Not to preserve your pedicure," Reggie said, unsuccessfully trying to control his tone. "So you don't get no prints on this death-defying motherfucker right here." Reggie leaned over the writhing body. "And you, mister invincible, you don't hold still, we gonna see how good your bullet-dodging capabilities are, when you got a muzzle pointed at your temple. You dig, dawg?"

The head inside the black hood moved back and forth.

The two men carted Vic into the villa. Reggie struggled to nudge the light switch on with his shoulder. It took three goes and a stream of curses before the interior of the villa flooded with light.

Grunting like porn stars, they shuffled across the tiled floor to the spiral stair. "Easy does it," said Reggie between heavy breaths, lowering his left foot onto the step.

"Don't be pushing," Reggie said, his back striking against the metal railing.

"You wanted to take the head," Chris said, relish in his tone, watching beads of sweat breaking on Reggie's brow.

"Careful, we about to turn—shit." A muffled groan came from beneath the hood as the body bashed against the rail. Reggie glared up at Chris. "What I just say? This a human-being, not some shitty ol' mattress you tossing out 'cause the springs are gone."

"What do you care?" Chris said. "We're going to snuff him tomorrow, anyway."

"Don't mean we have to give him brain damage 'fore we do. Show some respect. The man never did nothing to you. He's here because fate playing her little games on all us. Unfortunately for him, his presence here puts my liberty at risk, so he gots to go. That's just the way it is. But it's not like I've got anything personal against the man." Reggie lifted the shoulders. "Now, can we please get this mother downstairs in one piece, so as I can get upstairs and get some peace."