Ice and Dust

"That's the place. Pull in here, pull in."

"I can see, damn it."

Figgis spat out of the car window, a huge wad of soggy black tobacco that hit the dirt and lay there like road kill. He swung the car into the motel yard, sending up an arc of dust that hung in the hot, breezeless air.

"Goddam it," cursed his passenger, gripping the dashboard with white knuckles, "why'd you always drive like that?"

"Drive it like you stole it." laughed Figgis, tall, skinny and with a scrubby five day beard. "You weren't so fat, you could get your seat belt on."

Dooley open the car door and swung his legs out, wheezing and coughing as he struggled up onto his feet. Two large damp patches showed under his arm pits, another on his back. He reached back into the car and retrieved his white linen sun hat, jamming it onto his head.

"What's this guys name again?" he asked.

"Chambers. Don't you ever pay attention."

Dooley stuck a half smoked cigar between his lips and lit it.

"Don't need to, what with you being the brains of the outfit, and all."

"Ain't that the truth." said Figgis. "He stays in some nice places, though, don't he."

He took in his surroundings. The paint peeling from the row of cabins, the flickering neon sign fighting the glare of the mid day sun, the " Vacancies" board hanging by one corner.

"You reckon anyone's actually staying here? We aint seen another car for an hour or so." said Dooley, doubtfully.

"There's a pick up in the barn out back," said Figgis, screwing up his eyes against the glare. "And that old beat up Camaro. Bet that's him."

He moved around to the rear of their car and wrenched open the trunk. He tossed the sawn off to Dooley and stuck a holstered .38 special in his waistband.

"Best make sure first. Let's go see the man."

They walked over to the end cabin which was decorated with a badly painted sign that announced "Office". Figgis gestured to Dooley.

"Keep that damn thing out of sight. We're not here for this guy."

He put his weight behind the door and stepped inside. The red faced clerk behind the desk glanced up from his magazine, took in Dooleys cut off chinos, linen hat and violently coloured Hawaiian shirt and resumed reading.

"No gays." he said. "Try Barryville, twenty miles south. They ain't fussy."

Dooley made a choking sound and swung the sawn off from behind his back. Figgis knocked it down before the suicide saw it.

"You got us wrong, mister." he said in a pleasant voice. "Were looking for a friend. A Mr Chambers? We were supposed to meet him here."

The clerk never looked up.

"No one by that name here. Now even if you ain't gay, if you ain’t going to be wanting a room, I can't help you. Have a nice day."

Dooley reached over the desk and, taking a handful of vest, dragged the clerk across it. The man looked into his eyes, glanced down at the shotgun and felt his stomach turn to water.

"No one by that name here. I told you. No need for this."

"The Camaro?"

"Jeffries. That's the name he gave."

"How long he been here?"

"He came in yesterday. Booked two days."

The clerk struggled against Dooley’s grip but felt his feet slowly losing contact with the threadbare carpet. Figgis leaned across and spun the register to face him, running his finger down the list. He didn't have to look far. He nodded to Dooley.

"Now we're going to have a word with this Mr Jeffries," he said. "You will not call him. You will not call the police. You will not try and shoot us in the back as we leave. And do you know why you will do none of these things?"

There was a weak shake of the head, then Dooley bought the butt of the sawn off down sharply on the top of his head. The clerk went heavily limp and Dooley let him slide to the floor.

"That's why." said Figgis, icily.

"Gays." growled Dooley and kicked the man where he lay. "Do I look gay? Figgis, do I look gay? What you laughing at, Figgis?"

He followed Figgis down the row of cabins until they came to the one with the Camaro parked outside. Figgis nodded and Dooley raised one foot and kicked the door in. They went in fast and low, keeping out of the back light. The cabin was empty. Not just empty but uninhabited. The bed was made. A relatively clean towel hung by the sink. There was no sign of occupation at all. An ancient TV stood in one corner of the room, so old you could probably get Amos and Andy on it. Figgis felt the cabinet. Cold.

"He was never here." swore Figgis. "He just parked in front. In case."

A car spluttered into life outside, then died. Figgis and Dooley barrelled out the door in time to see a large figure in the Camaro desperately trying to get the car to start. As he caught sight of them the would be driver opened the door and crouching behind the car fired off a volley of shots from a semi automatic. Figgis threw himself to the ground, rolling over and firing as he did. Dooley ducked back into the room, blind firing both barrels of the shotgun. The big man, dressed only in undershorts and t shirt, made a dash for the office. Without shoes he was never going to be fast and at the moment he reached the office door Figgis fired again. Chambers clutched his chest, spinning on his heel. His gun flew out of his hand and he collapsed into a heap.

Dooley poked his head cautiously round the door.

"Get him?"

"Yeah. You can come out now."

"Fuck you," said Dooley, smiling. "Crafty bastard, wasn't he."

They searched the body, then the cabin he had been sleeping in.

"Nothing." snarled Dooley.

"Well, it's always easier if you can ask 'em. Must be in the car."

"You think he'd leave a mills worth of sparklers in his car overnight? You not thinking straight, Figgis."

"Yeah, yeah. It ain't you gotta call Costello and tell him we shot his man but can't find the goods. Jeez, he'll go crazy."

"I'm hungry." said Dooley, trying to get his partners thoughts off of Costello. "Anything in here?"

"Half eaten sandwich, that's all. You want it."

"I'll pass." said Dooley. Even so he lifted up one edge of the bread to see what filling there was.

"Fuck me." he said.

"Now what?" Figgis walked over to the table.

Dooley opened the sandwich and tipped out the contents. A few lettuce leaves, a piece of cheese and a butter encrusted, glistening diamond.

"Where'd you get that?" exclaimed Figgis, snatching up the stone.

"It was in the sandwich. Why would he hide it in the sandwich?

"Guess he thought that we wouldn't think to look there."

"He was right. But just one stone. Where are the rest? What's he done with them?"

Figgis froze. "Oh no. Oh shit. He didn't, did he?"

"What you on about, Figgis?"

"He saw us pull in. If we couldn't find the stuff, he thought he could convince us he wasn't Chambers. While we were pissing about with the clerk, he was swallowing the stones. In a sandwich. Digest 'em easier."

"Could he do that?"

"Of course he could, dummy. We could strip this place. And him. We could take the car apart and never find them. All he had to do was get clear for a day or so and wait for nature to take its course. Bastard."

"Hey, so we still got the ice. They're in Charlie out there." He paused. "How we gonna get them out?"

"Well, we can't rely on him passing 'em any more. You still got that big old knife?"

"No, and you can forget that. I ain't no butcher. They could be anywhere by now."

"Anyway, let's get him inside. Can't leave him lying out there."

They unceremoniously dragged Chambers back inside his room. Figgis put his foot on the mans chest and pushed down hard, hoping a fountain of diamonds would spout from his throat. Nothing.

"I'll call Costello. You go check on the clerk." he said. He didn't want Dooley witnessing this phone call. It wasn't going to be pretty.

He sat on the edge of the bed and dialled the number. It rang three times then..

"Yes?"

"Mr Costello?

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Figgis, sir."

"Who?"

"Kyle Figgis. Looking for Chambers."

"Oh, right. You found the snake?"

"Er, yessir. I'm afraid he's dead."

"I should care. You got the stuff I take it."

"Yeah, but there's been a hitch."

"You trying to hustle me, boy. I'll cut your balls off if you are."

"No, no. I wouldn't do that, Mr Costello. It's just that Chambers saw us coming. I think he swallowed the stuff. We got one." he added hopefully.

"One? He took a couple of dozen. So what he swallowed them. Get them out. Get them out and bring them to me."

"Er, I'm not sure we'd know where to look, Mr Costello. I mean, they're in there somewhere but I don't know where. It needs a professional. A doctor or something."

There was a silence that seemed to last forever. Finally he could hear Costello's heavy breathing again.

"Jeez, Santini said you were good boys. Reliable. You're a joke, you hear me. A joke." His voice rose an octave. "Now you listen to me. You get that son of a bitch to me. Put him in your trunk and get back here and I'll tear the stones out of his body with my teeth if I have to. Got that?"

"Mr Costello, that's a two day drive." whined Figgis."It's about 300 degrees out here. In the shade. And there ain't no fucking shade. He'll be as high as hell in a couple of hours. Can't you get someone down here?"

"Just do as you're told because if I have to send someone down there, it'll be to blow your damn head off."

Figgis heard movement behind him and turned sharply. Dooley stood in the doorway. Switching the phone off Figgis grimaced.

"You hear that?"

"Most of it. How about you take Chambers back and I'll follow on the bus?"

Figgis couldn't help but smile. Dooley had always been able to cheer him up, from way back, when they were kids.

"You put Chambers back in his room?"

"Yep."

"Well now we gotta put him in the trunk. How's the clerk?"

"Resting."

"OK, let's get on with this. Back the car up."

They dragged Chambers' body out and tossed it into the trunk of their car, followed by Dooley’s sawn off. Figgis kept his .38 holstered on his belt.

They drove for a couple of hours, the unending sameness of the countryside combining with the heat making it difficult to stay awake. There was almost no traffic on this back road. Figgis punched the buttons on the radio, looking for country music but finding Pavarotti.

"Would you listen to the lungs on that guy." he said.

"Italian." stated Dooley. "All Italians are pimps. Or at least, those with sisters are."

"Where did that come from?" asked Figgis.

"And all Italian women are whores."

"Ah, I get it. Sophia."

By some miracle Dooley had spent almost eighteen months with a voluptuous, sweet natured woman named Sophia Rossi. It had ended a couple of months ago, leaving Dooley perplexed and bitter.

"Don't talk to me about that bitch." he said.

"Still feeling it, huh."

"Gave her everything and she drops me. I'll never understand women, Figgis."

"You never did treat her right." said Figgis. "What did you give her for Christmas?"

"Perfume. I gave her perfume."

"You gave her deodorant. You know what message that gives? You deserved to lose her."

"Well at least I ain't gonna die a virgin, like you." snarled Dooley.

"But you're the one folks think is gay." laughed Figgis.

Dooley was about to reply when he was interrupted by the "yip yip yip" sound of a police siren. Glancing in the rear view mirror, Figgis cursed.

"Dammit, where'd he come from."

"What we do now? asked Dooley.

"We play it by ear and let me do the talking."

Figgis swung the car off the road, throwing up a cloud of dust and gravel. They sat in the car, not moving. The patrol car could hardly be seen in the rear mirror even though it had pulled up within a few feet of their trunk. No one got out.

"What's he doing?" growled Dooley. Figgis shrugged.

Finally, when the dust had settled, the door of the patrol car opened and a heavy set figure in a sand coloured uniform climbed slowly out, putting on a white Stetson as he did. He approached the drivers side door, one hand on his gun butt, the other holding a book of tickets. He leaned down and spoke to Figgis through the open window.

"Good morning, sir. Can I see your drivers licence?"

He was middle aged, a greying moustache turned down slightly at the corner of his mouth so that it looked like he was permanently frowning. On his crisply pressed shirt he bore a little brass name badge. "Ray C Bickle, Sheriff" it said. There wasn't a speck of sweat on the man. “Oh for a working air con,” thought Figgis.

He gave the sheriff a wide smile.

"Beg pardon, officer. I run a red light?"

Ray Bickle was famed for his lack of humour.

"No lights of any colour twenty miles either way." he said, his expression stony. "Is this your car, sir."

"Sure is. Bought and paid for."

Bickle shuffled through the handful of papers Figgis had handed him, then passed them back. He bent even lower, peering into the recesses of the vehicle taking in the discarded beer cans and cookie wrappers.

"I'd like to check the trunk now, sir. Hand me your keys, please."

"No need, officer. I can pop the trunk from in here."

"Keys, please." Bickle remained with his hand out and Figgis cursed. He'd hoped to gun the car as soon as the cop had got around the back. After that, he wasn't sure what he`d do.

He shrugged and took the keys out of the ignition and handed them over. He felt Dooley getting restless beside him. Sheriff Bickle took the keys and moved away from the car, then towards the trunk.

"Now what." hissed Dooley. "The sawn off's in there too."

Figgis reached around and handed Dooley the .38. Dooley didn't mind killing cops. Dooley positively enjoyed it. They felt the bump as the trunk swung up and open. At the same time they grabbed the door handles, Figgis hoping to distract the cop while Dooley opened fire. Almost immediately the interior of the car seemed to explode. Dooley jumped out, revolver held in both hands, pointing toward where the sheriff should have been but he could see nothing. Carefully he made his way along the side of the car. The first thing he saw was a tooled leather cowboy boot, toe pointing heavenwards. Then the rest of Bickle came into view, spread eagled on the dirt some way behind the car, a bloody mess where his head should have been.

There was a groan from the trunk and Dooley jumped around to see Chambers, his shirt front covered in blood, eyes staring wildly at the sky and holding the shotgun. Dooley emptied five rounds into him before Figgis barrelled into him, knocking the big man to the ground.

"What the fuck?..." shouted Figgis, staring wildly first at Chambers then at Bickle. "What are you doing?"

Dooley was shaking. It wasn't often Figgis had seen his partner rattled but this time he had gone. He pointed to Chambers, sweating, shouting.

"The bastard wasn't dead. He was waiting for one of us to open the trunk so he could blow our head off." He glanced around once more at Bickles ruined face. "The bastard. Well he's dead now. Hah."

"Yeah, I noticed." said Figgis slowly, as if speaking to a child. "Problem is, Dooley. We really could have done with him being alive. Like, it was a second chance. See what I mean?"

Dooley stayed silent for a moment, then his head dropped.

"Shit, Figgis. I never thought. He walked dejectedly back to the passenger seat and slumped into it, his feet still outside the car. He sat like this for a few seconds until he jumped up, calling to Figgis.

"Hey, buddy, I remember reading once. There's this muscle seals up your ass. Something to do with the sphinx, I think. Anyway it said that when you die this muscle don't work no more and you crap yourself. Maybe we got lucky?"

"Let me get this right." said Figgis, without the enthusiasm Dooley had hoped for. "Were out here in full view of anyone driving by, a dead cop in the road, a dead crook in the trunk and you want to go searching his diaper? What's the matter with you, Dooley? Help me get Wyatt Earp here into his car and you can drive it over to that scrub, see if you can hide it from the road. And smash the radio. I think they can zone in on it's position. Can you do that? "

"Dooley scowled at his partner, but said nothing. He grabbed the sheriff's feet and waited for Figgis, but the scrawny hit man was deep in thought.

"You helping, or what?" said Dooley.

"Change of plan." said Figgis brightly. "Put him in the trunk."

Mumbling under his breath Dooley helped Figgis heave Bickle`s not inconsiderable dead weight on top of Chambers.

"Next time we bring a truck." he said, and to his surprise, Figgis laughed.

Costello was waiting for them when they arrived at the deserted storage barn. Figgis drove into the centre of the barn, switched of the engine and climbed stiffly out, stretching. Dooley did the same, a kerchief held up to his face.

"You two took your time." snarled Costello. "Jeezus, what's that smell?"

"Dooley has a body odour problem." said Figgis. "and Chambers is no honeysuckle, either."

"Wise ass." said Costello, and motioned for one of the four other men in the barn to open the trunk. The little guy in the jeans and t-shirt must have been at the bottom of the food chain because the job got passed down to him. He yanked it open and reeled back, as much from the stench as what he saw there. He turned and recycled his breakfast onto the floor. Costello, a fat man in a white linen suit, stepped back quickly, cursing. Some specks of vomit had soiled his immaculate shoes and he whipped out a handkerchief from an inner pocket and wiped them clean, throwing the handkerchief away in disgust. He peeked cautiously into the trunk.

"What the... What happened to his head?"

"He ran into a sawn off just before it went bang." smiled Figgis. "It'll do that to you." One of the heavies Costello had bought along made a move toward him but the fat man waved him away.

"Plenty of time for that if we find these two are lying. Get that thing out and put it on the table."

Reluctantly the help grabbed a leg and an arm each and lifted the body over to where a tall thin man in a white lab coat stood waiting.

"Doc?" said Costello. A cloth roll of surgical instruments lay at the end of the table. Figgis, for all his bravado, had the uneasy feeling that they could well be used on him and Dooley before the day was out.

The doctor took out a long vicious looking blade and started in on the abdomen. He seemed totally unaware of the smell or gruesome nature of his work. He was humming, softly to himself. After a while he looked up.

"Nothing in the stomach." He turned to Figgis. "How long after eating the sandwich did he die?" he asked.

"You mean the first time or the second?" thought Figgis, but decided to be non committal.

"Cant be sure. Half an hour, maybe. Could be less. We're just assuming he swallowed them when he saw us. That would make it about ten minutes."

The doctor grunted and began working his way up the cadaver, which was becoming increasingly unattractive. After a while he gave a satisfied cry and held up a blood covered stone in his forceps.

"Let me see." said Costello, pouncing forward. Then "Well, wipe it first, man."

The doctor rubbed the diamond clean and handed it over. Costello held it up to the light streaming through the ruined roof. "That all?" he said, menacingly.

"No, here's another," said the doctor. "and if I'm not mistaken, one more."

It was another hour before the doctor stood back and declared he could find no more. Costello swore.

"That's only eleven. There was over two dozen that cheating bastard took. You sure?"

The doctor indicated the remains, laid out like a badly spatchcocked chicken.

"You're welcome to have a look, if you like but I think even a non medical man can see, the body is clean."

"He had them for over two weeks before we found him, Mr Costello. Said Figgis. "He probably got rid of some, spent some time in Vegas, that sort of thing."

Costello sneered but said nothing. He walked across the barn to where his stretched limo stood waiting. Before he got in he called back to Figgis.

"If you'd done your job like you should have, you'd have caught him before he had a chance to offload them. Dispose of that thing, and don't let me see your faces around here again." With that he climbed ungraciously into the limo while the others got into a black SUV parked behind it.

"Guess we don't get paid, then." said Dooley. "What we going to do with this mess?"

"Is that Costello's handkerchief I see over there?"

"Yeah, from when the kid got sick."

"I think we'll just leave everything as it it, then. The County can give this poor soul a decent burial and if their forensics are up to much, they can look after Costello for a few years, too."

Dooley laughed. "We bad." he said. "He ain't going to be happy with us."

"Just as well we ain't going to be around, then." said Figgis.

They walked back to their car and lifted the carpet at the rear of the trunk. Half a dozen spray cans of air freshener, apple and rosemary, sweet honeysuckle, summer jasmine, were emptied into the car until it almost shimmered. It didn't matter, a day or two they would have new cars. New lives.

The spray cans weren't the only things they had bought on their way to meet Costello. The small town hardware store had come up with rubber tubing, waterproof clothing, a canvas tarp, a saw for lopping off branches which worked just as well on bones, face masks with filters, two spades, various knives and other instruments.The shopkeeper must have wondered what this recipe would cook up but he just took the money and smiled.

The scenario just enacted in Costello's barn was just the sequel. A day before Dooley and Figgis had gutted poor Chambers and retrieved twenty seven stones. They figured eleven would be enough to placate Costello, for a while anyway, and had inserted these into Sheriff Bickle by means of poking a rubber tube down what was left of his throat and blowing hard. They stopped every now and then to throw up, but it was amazing what the thought of almost a million in diamonds could make a poor boy do.

They had buried the remains that had once been Chambers at night, unable to dig the hard ground in the heat of the day. No prayers were said, not even a prayer of thanks that Figgis had seen the similarity between Bickles body and that of Chambers.

"So," said Dooley."What you gonna do with your share?"

"Fancy a nice beach-side apartment, maybe Acapulco. You?"

"Might look up Sophia. Give the girl another chance. Mexico's almost Italy, ain't it?"

"Identical." said Figgis. "Shall we go?"