The Last Tomorrow (40 page)

Eugene will be dead by the end of the day tomorrow. He’s sure of it. There’s simply no way he lives through what he’s trying to do. A matador attempting to get two bulls to
charge him from opposite directions by waving red, then stepping aside so they’ll crack skulls, instead he’ll end up gored. Twice.

And the worst part is, Eugene’s asked Fingers to sharpen their horns.

He’ll do it. He’ll do what his friend has asked of him. He put the man into this situation and can’t deny him his request.

But there’s no way it doesn’t end badly.

1

Carl and Friedman sit parked at the curb in front of a pink stucco apartment building. They watch the building, but nothing happens. Carl wishes he were somewhere else. This
sitting and waiting is giving him too much time to think and too little to think about. It means his mind is turning inward again, the last thing he wants or needs.

His arms itch, he’s beginning to feel sweaty, he’s very tired. How long has it been since he’s eaten a proper meal? A couple days at least. How long has it been since he took a
shit? That was only yesterday morning, and while there was no blood in his stool, he wishes there had been. That might mean he’d get to see Naomi soon. If he doesn’t have the courage to
tell her goodbye he might as well be with her. Living in-between as he has been isn’t living at all.

‘Here he comes.’ Carl looks up the street.

A cream-colored Chevrolet Bel Air rolls toward them. Thank Christ – something outside himself to focus on.

2

Fingers knew the detectives would return at some point, and probably soon, but wasn’t expecting them in front of his apartment building as he turned onto his street. He
was hoping for peace, some time to relax after the stress of what he’s just done and what he’s agreed to do.

His mouth goes dry and his palms get sweaty.

Be cool. You deal with dangerous people all the time. Do your thing, tell your lies when you need to tell them, and be careful not to light up the tilt sign. It’s that simple.

He drives his car slowly past the cops, holding a hand up at them as he does, then makes a u-turn and parks behind them.

It’s true. He does deal with dangerous men all the time, but they’re men he understands. He understands their motives and he knows how to handle them. He doesn’t understand
cops, doesn’t understand what gets them out of bed. And the fact that so many of them are easily as crooked as any criminal he’s dealt with makes him fear them as well. They’re
crooked but have the law behind them.

What’s not to be afraid of?

He steps from his car and walks toward the detectives in theirs.

‘How you guys doin?’

‘Get in the car.’

‘Is this gonna take a while? If it is I should water my plants.’

‘Get in the goddamn car.’

He nods his understanding, pulls open the back door, slides into the seat.

If anybody else did this it would be kidnapping.

So what’s not to be afraid of?

The cop behind the wheel, the older of the two, starts the engine.

‘Where we goin?’

‘Somewhere we can talk.’

‘We can talk at my place.’

‘No.’

The curtness of the one-word response marks it as punctuation: a period at the end of a conversation. The car pulls away from the curb.

They drive in silence for what feels like a long time, and every moment he’s in the back of this silent car Fingers grows more tense. He tells himself to be cool. He tells himself not to
let these guys shake him up. That’s clearly what they’re after, they want to get him fizzy, but he needs to remain calm. He’s determined to remain calm.

You got this, man. You know what you have to do.

They stop in front of the Shenefield Hotel, rolling up to the rear bumper of an LAPD radio car. Two uniformed cops stand on the street beside it, smoking. Then one of them glances over, flicks
his cigarette out to the street, and walks over.

3

Carl stands by the open door of his car and watches the two uniformed cops escort Darryl Castor into the Shenefield Hotel. One of the hotel rooms on the sixth floor has been
converted into an interrogation room, which they’ll be using later. For the next couple hours, however, they’ll let him sit. Let him think over every reason they might be holding him.
In Carl’s experience, both personal and professional, the best way to get to a man is to let his mind turn on itself.

Darryl Castor steps out of sight.

Carl falls into the car and pulls the door shut behind him.

4

The hotel room is nothing like a hotel room. The bed has been removed, as has the dresser. Any painting which might once have hung on the wall is now in a storage closet
somewhere. A square metal table sits in the middle of the room, four chairs surrounding it. A reel-to-reel recording device sits on the table. The windows are covered in dark curtains which allow
no light to enter from outside. All clocks are absent, making it impossible to tell what time of day or night it might be.

Fingers enters the room, escorted by two uniformed officers. One of the uniformed officers pushes the door closed and locks it.

Fingers turns in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings, then looks toward the police officers, both of whom are standing silent by the door.

‘What now?’ he says.

‘Wait.’

5

Carl looks at the twelve young detectives sitting before him. His eyes sting. His legs feel cramped. His stomach aches. He tries to ignore all of this. He needs his mind clear.
He needs to be able to think.

He closes his eyes and exhales in a long sigh. He tries to think about nothing but the case at hand. He needs to get these guys on the street. There’s someone in this city doing James
Manning’s bidding and they need to find him.

He opens his eyes.

‘All right,’ he says. ‘Let me tell you why you’re here.’

1

Eugene stands in the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel with a ringing telephone pressed against his ear. With each ring he dreads the answer more. From now on everything will have to
line up or he’s dead. Yet he knows if he does nothing he’s also dead, so he must try. He doesn’t feel up to this. He isn’t the type of person who does what he’ll have
to do if he’s to make it out of this alive. He isn’t the type of person who does much. He likes simplicity in his life, calm, which is perhaps the reason he was never in a serious
relationship, and the reason he was happy working as a milkman. He had a simple life and a simple job with a simple routine. He liked the job and he liked the routine. And he liked having a dream
– a perpetually unrealized dream. But now all that’s gone and he’s being forced to make decisions a man like him was never meant to make.

‘Hello?’

He swallows. This is it.

‘I have Evelyn Manning.’

‘Who is this?’

‘The person who has Evelyn Manning.’

A long pause, then: ‘I don’t believe you.’

Eugene swallows. His mouth is dry.

‘Open your hotel-room door,’ he says. ‘I’ll wait.’

2

Lou sets the telephone down on the table and walks to the door. He unchains the door and retracts the deadbolt. He wraps his hand around the knob and turns it and pulls. He
looks out into the corridor. It’s empty. He’s about to close the door and tell the man on the phone to go screw when he sees something hanging from the outside doorknob. He looks down
and sees a small locket. He pulls the locket from the doorknob and clicks it open. He finds himself looking at a picture of the Man with his arm wrapped around the shoulders of his smiling teenage
daughter. He steps back into his hotel room and closes the door. He walks to the telephone and picks it up.

‘Who is this?’

‘I’ve already given you the only answer you’re gonna get.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want the Man on a plane. He leaves for Los Angeles today with ten thousand dollars in cash. I’ve made a reservation for him at the same hotel you’re staying in. The
reservation is in the name of Humphrey Smith. When he checks in, there will be a note at the front desk for him. It will contain further instructions. This isn’t a negotiation. This
isn’t even a conversation. This is me telling you how it’s gonna be. I hope you have a good memory because I’m not repeating myself. I suggest you call him as soon as I hang up
and tell him what I’ve told you.’

Click.

Lou pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at it for a moment before setting it into its cradle.

He’s been wondering all morning what happened to Evelyn. Now he knows.

This is turning into a nightmare job.

He walks to his suitcase and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. He uncorks it, takes a swallow. It’s harsh and warm. As soon as he swallows he can feel acid boiling at the back of his throat
and taste bile. He replaces the cork and tosses the bottle into the suitcase. He finds a calcium antacid and chews it. He walks to the telephone. He picks it up. He doesn’t want to make this
phone call but knows he must.

An operator answers.

He tells her, ‘I’d like to place a long-distance phone call.’

3

Eugene sits on a couch in the lobby, the same couch on which he sat while waiting for Evelyn on the night of their date. He hides his face behind a newspaper and watches the
elevator. He tries not to think about Evelyn. There never could have been anything serious between them. He was deluding himself. He knows that.

He tries to read the paper but can’t process even so much as a single sentence. His mind won’t let him focus. Each word sits on the page alone, unconnected to any other by either
logic or grammar.

The elevator doors open. A pale, thin man with slicked-back black hair steps from within. He wears a pin-striped suit. His back is very straight. He walks to the front desk and speaks with the
gentleman there.

Eugene watches their exchange, and waits.

4

Lou hangs up the telephone, walks to his bed, sits down. He puts his hands on his knees and stares straight ahead, thinking about his conversation with the Man. It didn’t
go well. It didn’t go well at all. There was never any chance that it would, but it went worse even than he’d expected.

How could you let this happen? How in the name of an ever-loving
Christ could you let this happen, Lou? I swear to you here and now if her fingernail polish is so much as chipped you’re a dead man. You think I don’t mean it you just wait and see. I
don’t care how long you’ve worked for me. If she’s hurt in any way I will nail you to the floor, pour gasoline down your throat, and let you dehydrate until you’re dead. I
will dance to the tune of your screams. I’m on my way.

Lou asks himself who might have done this and thinks only one name. But is it really possible that the frightened-looking man he saw in the corridor at the Shenefield Hotel did this? He thinks
it is possible. He thinks it must have been him. Nobody else would be desperate enough to do something like this.

Nobody else would be stupid enough.

Lou gets to his feet. He has to do something. He can’t simply sit here and wait. He can’t. He has to do something. But at first he doesn’t know what, knows only that he
can’t sit still, so he paces the floor. He thinks better when he’s moving anyway. When he sits still too long his blood turns to sludge and his brain stops functioning.

What is he going to do?

What the fuck is he going to do?

Eugene Dahl might have already left the note for the Man at the front desk. If he did, and if there’s an address on the note, maybe he can take care of this himself. He can’t imagine
the milkman being much trouble. The guy’s got fight in him, and Lou can respect him for that if nothing else, but he’s still in over his head, and this is the kind of thing Lou handles
for a living.

Lou steps out into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

He takes the elevator down to the lobby.

He walks to the front desk.

A gentleman in a crisp uniform says, ‘How can I help you, sir?’

‘Someone left a letter for my boss. He’s asked me to retrieve it for him.’

5

Eugene doesn’t follow Lou’s car for long. He knows where it’s going and wants to get there first, which he can’t do from behind, so after a few blocks
he passes it on the left and twists the throttle, glancing in his mirror to see it shrinking into the background. The wind blows through his hair, and the sun shines down on him from a cloudless
blue sky hot against the bare skin on his arms and face, and he could almost enjoy the moment but for a single nagging question.

What exactly is going to happen in that warehouse? He doesn’t know. He knows what needs to happen, but he doesn’t know that it will. Now that he’s in the midst of this it feels
very messy. It’s too complicated. When he thought about it last night, before it was something he had to implement, when he thought of it in the abstract, it seemed like something that might
work. But no sane person could have conjured this plan. Now that he’s in the middle of it he sees it for what it is, madness, because what will happen in that warehouse is only one
uncertainty of many, the first of many, and if any of them goes badly it’s finished. He’s finished.

And even if everything goes the way he needs it to, he will walk away from this a murderer. He’s asked himself more than once if he could kill a person. He believes he could do it in
self-defense, but for this to work he’ll have to murder in cold blood. He must be careful about how and when he does it. It needs to look a certain way. The question is, can cold-blooded
murder also be self-defense? And is he capable of it?

He doesn’t know. He thinks of killing Evelyn and his chest feels tight and still, his lungs breathless; she’s the only woman he’s ever come close to loving; but he’ll try
all the same, because either he can do this or he’s dead, and he doesn’t want to die.

He brings the motorcycle to a stop in the parking lot behind the warehouse. He steps off it and lights a cigarette. He takes a drag. His exhalation is nervous and shaky. He walks up a set of
concrete steps, into the warehouse, to dock number three. The roll-up door is opened, revealing a tractor trailer which is parked against the rubber bumper bolted to the concrete edge of the dock.
The trailer’s back doors are closed and latched. A padlock hangs from the staple but isn’t fastened. There’s a triangular hole in the left door. It looks to have been made by the
corner of something heavy falling against it. Eugene picks the splinters away from the hole and puts his eye to it. The inside of the trailer is very dark, only a small amount of light splashing
into it through a rot-hole in the roof.