Dan had to fight to catch his breath. He swung the shotgun around so it was pointing at the Hispanic man down below. The barrel of the shotgun bobbed up and down. He clenched the stock tight, trying to squeeze the shakes from his hands. Would the Hispanic make a move? Or maybe even worse–would Dan have to use the shotgun?
Things were definitely not going as planned.
The Hispanic glanced around, unscrewed the silencer, put it back in his pocket, and tucked the gun somewhere in the back of his pants. "He was in the way of us making a deal, wasn't he?"
"Was he?" Dan kept Betsy pointed at the Hispanic.
"Of course he was." The man was real calm and confident, like he did this every day. "And you didn't see a thing either, did you?"
"Not a thing." There was something weird about how this was unfolding. Here he was pointing a shotgun at a man who'd put his gun away and the guy was telling him what to say.
"He wasn't going to let you leave with the money, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"Simple. He was going to do to you what I just did to him."
What the Hispanic said blew away the valium in Dan's bloodstream.
The Hispanic pointed the toe of his shoe at the body on the sand. "He was lying to you all the way. He was going to kill you. I told him not to; he wouldn't listen. Like I said, he was in the way of us making a deal."
Dan stared at the Hispanic with the gym bag full of money. Maybe this man didn't realize that all Dan wanted was the money, nothing else. He wouldn't double-cross the guy, not with his family vulnerable. And he wanted no part of the cocaine. But he'd have to make this new guy believe it if Dan wanted to walk away from Singing Beach in one piece and with the money.
How do you tell someone you don't want something worth millions of dollars? How do you tell him–and get him to believe you–so he doesn't think it's a trick?
"I know it's the money you want," the man said, pointing at the bag on the sand. "Why would you have gone this way if it was anything else? All I want is the product."
"If I tell you where it is, you'll leave the bag?"
The Hispanic nodded. "Of course. Like you said–if I didn't, maybe you'd call the cops, have them get there before I do. I'm ninety percent sure your family means too much to you to try that little trick. And I'm willing to pay a security deposit for that ten percent I'm not sure sure about." He kicked sand at the gym bag. "Two hundred grand. All yours."
"How do you know I'd be telling the truth when I told you where it was?"
The Hispanic very serious now–no bullshit. "Because I'm telling you the truth . . . the money is yours. But I'm also telling you the truth when I tell you that if you try to screw me, I'll hunt you down and that'll be after I visit your family."
Dan took the key out of his pocket and tossed it. The Hispanic snatched the key hard with one hand.
"Safe and Sound Storage on Route One in Saugus," Dan said. "Storage room number's on the key." He gripped the shotgun hard, pointing it at the man below.
Nothing left to do now except pray the Hispanic walked away without the bag. If he didn't, Dan just might go crazy and blow the guy away. Without his restaurant and the chance it might've given him to win his family back, well, he might as well put the shotgun in his mouth right now.
Dan stared at the bag until his stomach tied itself into knots. Finally, the Hispanic flipped the key up in the air, caught it again, and turned to leave.
"What about him?"
The Hispanic jerked his chin at the body lying there with bullets in its head. "No one's going to cry over him, not even the cops. Although I'd advise you not to be here when they come." He hesitated, then added, "Kid." He smiled and walked away.
Dan hesitated for only a minute before scooting down the rocks and grabbing the blue gym bag. He forced his gaze away from the body as he hefted the bag in his right hand. Felt good, heavy. Then he bounded back up the rocks, grabbed the shotgun, and got the hell out of Dodge.