The Mistake

Chapter 3

Butch and Daryl sat in the restaurant across from their office watching as the police car drove slowly away from the curb. After waiting for an hour outside the Howden Hotel with no success, they decided to go back to their office and regroup. That's when they saw the police talking to the building manager and they skipped across to the coffee shop.

"How do you suppose they got onto us, Daryl?"

"They're cops. It's what they do."

"But how?" Butch repeated, annoyed.

"Well, I guess they either got that mountain man to say something—" Butch shook his head. "—or your stunning Miss Bondra Croft—" Butch bared his teeth. "—or the neighbour who was standing in the hall when we ran out, holding our sore and bleeding heads, mentioned that fact to the police and they just checked around town for two guys showing up for medical treatment." Daryl sighed in disgust.

"Why can't you be so goddamn smart when we're on the job?"

"Because we have you to make all our decisions, Butch." Daryl picked up a menu and began thumbing through it.

"Oh yeah? Well I'm decidin' this then. We are definitely not taking time to eat, we are going to go back to that hotel and shake that wiseass bartender until he gives us Wallace. Then, Daryl, we will take the money we get from Wallace and we will deliver it to Bondra Croft by eight o'clock tonight and then we will have that very long talk I mentioned the other day."

Daryl sat back in surprise. "You said all that without stoppin' for a breath!"

"D-a-r-y-l-l-l, I'm warning you!"

*****

Breakfast was as dissatisfying and bleak as the previous night's dinner. Walter turned the pages of the newspaper without really seeing the copy, his mind tortured by the pressure of his dilemma. Dodging Bernie could only go on so long, yet, if he didn't keep him at bay until the money was found he would be a dead man. He stood and took his dishes to the sink, frowning at the mess. Ever since his wife had left after catching him thrashing with Bondra on the bedroom patio on her new designer duvet, he had struggled with the demands of domesticity to the point where, once a week a woman came in and cleaned it all up until her next visit. The kitschy, cuckoo clock they had brought back from a trip to Europe, when times were still happy and exciting, began its melodic announcement that the time was one o'clock. Walter checked his watch and cursed. Where had the morning gone? He had to start getting some work done or there would be no place to go to do any work. Did he dare go into his office? What if the Toto returned? He hurried upstairs, washed, and dressed, skimming his chin with his electric razor as he came back down.

      When he heard the vehicle pull into the drive he hurried to the window, groaning aloud as he saw Toto emerge like the Michelin Man from the driver's side of the large van. How did he find his home? Sweat began an uncomfortable march down his sides, watching the huge man lumber up the walk to the door. Not a sound. Do not make one sound, he cautioned himself. The door chimes rang with a tinkling innocence—once—and then once again, then the knocker sounded, lightly at first, growing in intensity until he squealed aloud as the frame split and Toto burst into the front hall, still holding the brass knocker by his side.

"Hi Mister Jaeger. Mr. Bonducci said I had to come back and have a little talk with you. Turns out you fibbed to me about your partner getting the money." He glanced down at the knocker, moving it behind his back. "Uh, sorry about the door."

      Walter stared helplessly at the raw red skin of the man's face and the plaster patch on one cheek. This was to be his final memory? God help me, he begged silently. "Listen I- I didn't fib, Mister Toto, my partner was picking up the money when some goon broke in and started beating up everyone in sight, she only escaped by outwitting the dummy and spraying his fa-c-e... w-i-t-h... oh my." Too late, Walter realized his error and sagged against the back of an expensive, Queen Anne chair. "Toto, look..." His voice rasped, and he coughed to try to clear it. "I only need until the end of the week, can't you tell Bernie that...make him understand? I swear, everything will be paid in full, I just need these few more days." Toto set the broken knocker carefully on an end table by the sofa and moved slowly toward him.