The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 10

                 

Red looks up from his newspaper, the St. Cloud Times. His eyes bring the Lincoln Depot into focus. An odd mix of college kids and truckers.

Jane agreed to meet Red halfway between Betrug and Minneapolis. She chose St. Cloud. It's more of a drive for Red than her. Way more.

Doesn't matter. The only distance that matters is money. Close that gap between his wallet and hers. Then on to solving Red's problem.

"Looks like your friend is a no show," the waitress says.

The watering hole sits a few feet from the railroad tracks. People cheer when the train shakes it. "That's how you mix a drink," they say.

"Give her another 10 minutes," Red says to the waitress. Pokes a steak knife at his napkin. "I'll order lunch if she doesn't show. Promise."

He watches the waitress walk back to the bar. Her shirt reads "Free Beer Tomorrow" on the back. It's a cliché at bars. Perfect for a place like this. Not interested in cleverness. Just biding its time until the train derails and comes through the wall.

Ten minutes come and go. Red's still alone. Jane's a no show after all.

Damn.

Red doesn't order lunch like promised. Just tips the waitress for her time. Leaves.

Red's fuming by the time he makes it to his truck. Jane was so particular on the phone. What time will you be there? What license plate is on your truck? Who else knows about the meeting? Makes him commit to St. Cloud instead of somewhere closer to him.

Then she bails on it.

Red starts up his truck. Rolls down the window. Feels the crisp sigh of autumn. That's when the waitress comes running out.

"You forgot this," she says. Got the newspaper in her hand. Minnesota Nice in action.

Red waves his hand. "It's yours," he says.

"Your damn right it's mine," the waitress says. She opens the passenger door. Gets inside.

"What the hell are you doing?" Red says.

His first instinct is to draw his revolver, a .357 Colt Python. It's in a hip holster concealed beneath his flannel shirt. What she says next changes his mind.

"Don't talk. Drive to Riverside Park," the waitress says.

It must be Jane. This is how she worked the last time. Nice disguise. Never saw it coming. Doesn't even look like the same person. Maybe it isn't.

Red parks under a bridge near the Mississippi. Faces the truck toward the water. Turns the ignition off. Pockets the keys.

Red sees a flash. The woman reveals a steak knife from inside the rolled up newspaper. Presses the tip against Red's side. Reaches for the revolver under his flannel. How she knew it was there is beyond Red.

"What the hell...?" Red says.

"Just give me the revolver. Now," she says.

Red obliges. No use in resisting. She's the one in control. Made that clear the last time they worked together.

Jane keeps the revolver aimed at Red with her left hand. Her right brings the point of the knife down on her thigh. The truck seat turns the color of Red's name.

"Hold this," Jane says. Offers the knife handle.

Red's in no position to refuse. He grips the handle for a second before Jane takes it back.

They sit in silence while she lets blood seep into the seat. Then she tosses the knife out the window.

"What are you doing?" Red says.

"Security. For me," the woman says. "If you can follow directions, you won't have to find out why."

"Seems a little excessive. I'm the one who wanted this meeting. Why would I want to rat you out? I would've the last time I worked with you, Jane," Red says.

Jane ignores his comment. Changes the subject.

"My name is Jane. The people I work with, we all go by Jane. That's all you need to know," she says. Cracks her neck. It gurgles before it pops. "You don't want to know my real name. It gives you plausible deniability."

Her hand with the revolver hasn't moved a micron. It's still on Red like a nail ready to be pounded.

"Plausible deniability. Don't recall asking for a lawyer," Red says.

"You have no way of identifying me. No name. No reliable physical description. You don't know me," Jane says.

Red nods. "Yeah, well, I sure appreciate..."

"What is it you want this time, prairie dog?" Jane says.

Red hates that nickname. Easy to overlook with how she works, though. Or how they work.

He pulls out a folder from under the seat. Jane grabs it without waiting.

"The guy's name is Wil Reynolds. Killed two people, then ran. There's a big investigation on. Feds. State. The whole works. I want you to find him first. Bring him to me. It matters that I get the final word," Red says.

"Done," Jane says. "This will cost extra. You still owe me from last time."

"Everything is deposited according to your instructions."

"Good," Jane says.

Without another word, Jane starts changing out of her waitressing uniform. The clothes snap off her body. She pulls out a dress hidden inside her pockets. Pulls it on.

There's a flash of bare skin near the knife wound. Red spots something that looks like a penis. Happened so fast, he can't be sure. There are scars all up and down her legs. Could've been a bit of healing meat near her groin.

"I'll call you with an update," Jane says. Exits the truck. "Thanks for the gun."

Red shakes his head. Starts the truck up. Jane keeps the revolver trained on him.

"Remember. You do exactly as I say," Jane says.

"I know," Red says through the open window.

He doesn't wait to hit the gas. The truck fishtails as he guns it out of the park.

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