Red Twilight: Long Distence Runners

Chapter 4

Money

As Snake and Moses discuss the value of gold, a hand takes Larry's shoulder. He spins about, catching a glimpse of a man at the door to the bar fifty feet away grasping a duffle bag and vintage revolver. The strange man then vanishes into the blackened depths of the Lamia's Back. Larry watches a moment, trying to decide whether or not he believes his own eyes.

"OK." Moses nods after several minutes of arguing. "I'll pay it, but I'm not happy."

"I don't give a shit. Do you have any idea how hard this much gold is to get a hold of? Besides, supply and demand, I have the supply on hand, and I want cash."

Moses laughs at Snake and his clever crime savvy. "Snake, you piece of shit, you have more lives than a cat and are just as cunning. Follow me home and I'll get you the rest of the money."

"Good." Snake nods and retires his gun to its holster in his overcoat. He calls over, "Lances, kid, come on. I'll give you a ride to the next town down. You're on your own from there, though. Larry, let's go. Moses is taking us to his place."

The group of them gathers into Snake's car and begins their journey, Snake driving, Jacob in the passenger's seat, Larry and Ashley in the back. "Lances, I just noticed you're wearing a ring." Jacob looks down at his hand as Snake talks. "Opal stone for the back, set gold, diamond-shaped, etched, inscribed with the letter G. You're a knight, aren't you?"

Jacob nods. "Snake, it's not a man's past that makes him who he is. It's his future."

Snake nods. "I know, Father. The circ.u.mstances of one's birth are not so significant to his life as the choices one makes and the path he carves through history."

Jacob nods, dumbfounded by the seeming clairsentience of the other man's words.

"So, Father, where will the future take you?"

"The Church of Jesuit. I will tell them my story and take my rightful place amongst them in my fight against evil."

"The warrior priests of the first Masonic right organized 400 CE, right?"

"Yes, that is absolutely right. How did you know that?"

* * *

The ride into town is far quieter than the night before. Traditionally, Snake likes life fast and loud, but after what he had just seen, the two thieves are ready for some relaxation.

Larry was hurt in a fight yesterday. Something bit him; the wound just won't stop bleeding. For the most part, the pain has passed, but anyone that knows anything knows that a snake bite requires medical attention no matter how minor. Snake and Larry are both wanted men in the United States. They need to get to Mexico if they want to get help and avoid federal integument. Thankfully Moses is here; without him, the brothers would be lost.

Navu is only an hour up the road. Moses is the fun-loving type; when they arrive, the first place he wants to stop is a place for a drink. Snake and the others need to find a phone . . .

. . . Outside a steak house, Snake finds a pay phone and leaps out of the convertible and walks away, leaving Larry, Lances, and Ashley to their own devices.

Lances leans over the back set and begins whispering to Larry.

"Larry."

"Lances?"

Lances reaches over the set and grabs Larry's good arm. "Larry, your brother can't help you."

"Hmm?"

Lances exhales heavily. "Larry, you're dying. Snake can't help you. The Jesuit and I can. Come with us. We can heal you."

Larry shakes his head. "I don't think so, Jacob." He reaches up to push Lances' hand. He freezes and looks at his hand, almost jumping at the sight of black and green scales crawling up his hand. Peeking out beneath his cuffs almost tooth-shaped horns mark the edges of his growth. "Jesus!" Larry falls off to one side of the car, holding his arm out in disbelief. Ashley pushes against the opposing wall in fright as well. Lances stares at Larry as if waiting for him to speak with an expression that almost shouts, "Told you so."

Ashley breaks the silence with possibly the most uncomfortable statement one might muter at the moment. "Does that hurt?"

Snake is completely unaware of the fright back in the car as he is arguing with the cops over the phone. "I don't know how much more clear I can be! I'm telling you there is a blood bath at the nightclub Lamia's Back! There are like three hundred wrecked cars and twice as many dead bodies!"

The operator's voice comes from the other side. "OK and how did you come across all of these?"

Snake runs his fist into the phone booth. "Are you f.u.c.k.i.n.g stupid? I'm telling you I can help you solve hundreds of missing persons' cases and you're making fun of me! F.u.c.k you! I want to speak to your LT!"

"Calm down, sir. Please tell me your name and we will send a detective out to meet you."

Snake is feverish with rage. "You want my name! Snake Gekks! F.u.c.k.i.n.g

Google it if you want."

"Right, gecko snake. Son, this is the PD. Don't waste our time with jokes."

"You peace of shit!" The operator hangs up without giving confirmation as to whether or not officers are on the way. "F.u.c.k! C.o.c.ks.u.c.k.i.n.g son of a shit." Snake slams down the phone not once but three times, then kicks the phone.

* * *

In the police station, Officer Kelly places his headset down and chuckles at the prank call he had received. He tips his head back and comes face-to-face with a yet unfamiliar face. A young Chinese—English American with mid-length unkempt black hair, half his face hidden thereby. He stands slouched, thumbs tucked into loops of his belt, wearing a white long sleeved T-shirt and blue jeans. He has the look of a man that has far more on his mind than how he looks. He is clearly only a boy, but endless hours of reading, an unhealthy diet, and narcolepsy have undoubtedly left their mark as his eyes are lined with dark lines shadowing them.

Officer Kelly turns in his chair to face the young man. "Hey, if you're going to be in here, I need to see some credential."

"Reizuki Lowe, Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'm here to assist in the investigation of the mass vehicle disappearances," Reizuki speaks in a single breath; his voice is drugged and slow.

"You're a federal agent?"

"Indeed." Reizuki spins a chair backside out and leaps into it, sitting like a gargoyle; one arm is tucked under his c.h.e.s.t, the other pulled over his body, and he bites into his hand as he stares down the sluggish looking cop. "Who were you speaking with?"

"Please sit down, Agent Lowe." The esoteric investigator can taste the mutinous intent of his otherwise ally.

"Impossible, I always kneel. Sitting would place me in a compromising position. Who was the caller as I entered the room?" Lowe leans in close enough to smell the opposing officer's aftershave. It is almost as if Reizuki never blinks, and his fellow enforcer begins to sweat under his inquisitive gaze.

Kelly swiftly turns away and starts to meaninglessly arrange papers as an escape from Reizuki's glare. "Some kid with a reptile fetish. He wanted me to believe his name was snake gecko."

"Hmm . . . I don't know any geckos. But I have heard of a Snake Gekks. He is wanted for questioning for dozens of petty thefts, racketeering, sedition, privateering, drug smuggling, and is a suspect in two ongoing murder investigations. His kid brother was also accused of **** five years ago down in V.i.r.g.i.nia, but the prosecutor ended up dropping the charges . . . ?" Reizuki trails off, looking entranced as he searches his memories for more information.

"Really?"

"Both brothers are well on their way to the top ten list in my opinion. It is also my feeling that Larry Gekks was involved in an espionage case in which a number of s.e.n.s.i.t.i.v.e files were stolen from bureau headquarters. Mind you, this was Internet piracy, almost impossible to track with our current tools but still . . ." He gets lost in thought again mid-sentence. "Why would someone like Snake Gekks want to talk to the police?"

"He was talking crazy. He was willing to say anything It would take to get me to dispatch units to this truck stop twenty miles from anywhere." Kelly tries to protect himself with a bold statement.

"No doubt you're right. This is nothing but a joke, but let's send a car there anyway just for the fun of it.

"Whatever Snake said was true or not, he would not have called the PD unless there was truly something urgent going down. A man like him is too smart to prank call the police. A man like him survives by outfoxing the opposition," Reizuki deduces. "On the point of foxes, I wonder if this is a job my Fox would be interested by."

* * *

From the steak house, it is only a hop, skip, and jump to the church Lances had requested to be dropped off at. After climbing out, Lances reaches over the car to lift Ashley out. Lances turns his attention to Larry, who has taken off his coat and tied it around his arm to cover the strange growth. "This is your last chance, son."

Snake cuts Lances off, "I'm sorry, Father, but I don't believe in voodoo. I respect your struggle and your commitment to an idea, but my brother is sick and I really don't think that hokey religions and dark age magic is going to do anything to help him."

Lances exhales heavily, removing his glasses for a moment to clean them. Ashley starts to speak out in protest of Snake's bullheadedness. "For the love of . . ." Lances places his hand on her arm to stop her verbal beratement.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Snake. I supposed that between Charlie and I, we might have changed your mind."

"It's not happening, Lances. You and I will never see eye to eye on this."

Lances lightly tugs on Ashley's arm and leads her to the door of the church. Snake and Larry watch for a moment as the door is pulled open by an angler looking man with raven hair; he speaks in a strange sounding language that Snake assumes is Romanian. It looks as if he is going to slam the door on Lances, but Lances sticks his foot in the door to stop him and presents the monk with the blade off the tail of one of the Thralls they had encountered the other day. Quickly the monk changes his tune, opening the door wide, inviting in the old priest and his daughter. That would be the last Snake and Larry are likely to hear from their one-time friend . . .

* * *

A day and a half pass. Moses grants the pair the money they asked for, and they found their way in and out of a Spanish hospital, but that was far from the end of their problems. The thieves speed thought the Texan deserts far form the road, the two have reason to run, things at the hospital did not go as well as Snake would have hoped . . .

Larry holds out his hand now covered in black scales; his fingers have in extra joint and his nails have taken on the texture of bone. "Eczema! Eczema? Maybe it's eczema. Maybe I just need a really good skin conditioner. Maybe it's eczema, Snake. What do you think? Because I think it's eczema!" Larry jumps over the backseat into the front as he is talking.

"Stop acting like a nut," Snake grunts at his younger brother.

"Acting like a nut? This is coming from the guy that just shot up a hospital?"

"Well, I wouldn't have had to do that if you hadn't killed the head physician. Besides it wasn't like it was HCMC. The whole staff was only like eight people."

"He called me the devil and threatened to chop of my head with a pair of garden shears." Larry gets progressively louder as he shouts, "What are we going to do know, Snake?"

"Were going to go to the Mayo clinic in Roc.h.e.s.ter, Minnesota. They have like the best facilities in the world. Someone there will know what is going on."

"Yah, we'll just drive there, right? Snake, we are wanted for murder in three states."

Snake cuts him short, "And two counters as if three o'clock." (understanding that after their last ordeal likely booth the Amarican and Spanish police are looking for them.)

Larry strangely calms a tad. "I wonder how high on the most wanted list you have to be before they name a satellite after you?"

"How much cash do we have on us, Larry?"

"Like eight grand, plus my credit card."

"That's not good enough."

"Are we really going to do this, Snake? Just drive cross country with the Feds on our tail?" The brothers' argument quickly accelerates out of control to the point in which only the other brother can understand each other's train of thought, if even that.

"You make it sound like I'm the crazed one here. I guess you just forgot about that 'Rock Candy' thing . . ."

"Yah, which one of us had the bright idea to bomb a Halloween party anyway . . . ?"

"I have a pretty good idea that was you. You know she was like fourteen, right?"

"So what? I was seventeen . . ."

"No, asshole, you were twenty-three. You pretended to be seventeen to get in the party."

"She asked for it anyway . . ."

"Yah, right, and you two were such good friend that we skipped town as soon as we heard a whistle blow."

"Hay, it's not like you never f.u.c.k.e.d me, c.o.c.ksucker."

"You were the one that s.u.c.k.e.d the c.o.c.k, if I remember correctly."

"Do you remember that time I got sick when we were out with the 'fat cats' and you got so f.u.c.k.i.n.g toasted that you covered me with PBJ and had that dog eat me."

"At least she didn't try to mount you."

"And then after that . . ."

"Stop! We agreed not to talk about that ever again, remember?"

"I'm your brother, you sick son of a bitch."

"Stop!" Snake reaches over and slaps his brother on the side of the head to silence him in a fatherly display of dominance and affection. Larry hushes himself without needing any further provocation. Now speaking only slightly over the roaring of the engine, Snake takes Larry's good hand. "How do you feel, big guy?"

Larry reaches up to adjust his glasses and rubs his eyes, forgetting that he had lost his glasses earlier. "Like I might need a flee caller soon, Snake. I don't want to be a crocodile."

"Don't worry. It's just some kind of rash. When we get to Roc.h.e.s.ter, we will get this all fixed up, then we're off to Vancouver to live the good life. It's going to be dark soon. Do you want to stop in the next town for a 'tall, cold one' and maybe some 'TNA,' hmm?" Larry is at the tip to get easily frustrated, and on top of that, he suffers a wide assortment of neurotic complexes, social anxiety, and a long list of phobias, which make up the tip of the iceberg. If they try to drive though the night tonight, Snake feels tomorrow Larry would be insufferable.

Even if it had not been for Larry being ill as he is, Snake has had time to work out a series of little tricks that have allowed them to live on the road at almost no expense. Why sleep in your car when someone might just pay you to sleep in their bed for them?

Trick no. 1: Change gang—all you need is a pocket full of small bills and loose change. Walk into any establishment, gas station, diner. Make a small purchase, pay with a big bill (twenties work best), wait till the cashier starts counting change, make small talk to distract them. After they give you your change but before they lock their till, offer to buy with a smaller bill (grab your change first). Then as they scramble to do the new arithmetic, start counting up change yourself, then offer to give them perfect change. Ask for your last bill back and pocket your cash as they count out your change. You just got your product free plus fifty to a hundred bucks extra if you are quick on the draw.

Trick no. 2: The one up—drive into any fast food place in order. Start talking on your phone as you pay (pay with a fifty or greater). Wait to take your change till after you are given your food. Tell the cashier you want to return your food and get your money back. "Something has come up." When they give you your change, place that in your pocket and pull a separate cash of change from your coat sleeve that is "a little short." Let them give you back double your money and take off before they have time to count it out.

But today calls for a bigger hustle than that; today the brother employs "the pidgin drop" and "the card trick." These tricks need two people to pull off.

* * *

"The card trick"

To start the evening of the card trick. Buy two packs of basic playing cards and go to any bar. Keep one pack sealed; pull a single card out of the other. Snake takes out the "ace of spades"; one brother goes out in search of a likely victim. Anyone who has three or more drinks sitting in front of them is likely a safe bet. Larry makes the first move.

Larry sits down next to his unlucky sap—an older man in a red flannel over shirt with a beard with skunk strips. "How is it hanging, skipper?" Larry greets the old man at the bar. The drunken lumberjack-looking man speaks; Larry doesn't listen. Larry just nods and replies with some generalized statements. "Yep, I hear you on that one." Then after several minutes of small talk he throws in, "Sounds like the daily grind." That is Snake's signal that Larry has found the first domino in their line.

"Evening, gents." Snake sits on the other side of the pigeon. "Life is good, isn't it?"

"Shut up, clown," Larry orders.

"What if I told you I would give you $200 bucks if you could bet me in a game of chances, and if you lose, it would only cost you fifty."

The pigeon looks up interested; the brothers know they have this in the bag.

"How is the game played?" The inebriate looks at the conmen.

Snake slaps the pack of cards on the table.

"You want to play? Open this up, shuffle it up, count the cards if you must, then place fifty bucks on the table." Snake places down his two hundred, Larry his fifty. As the patron reaches into his pocket looking for his cash, more members of the bar approach interested by the steadily rising ante. Snake reaches into his pocket and slaps atop the pile of cards an envelope (tucked carefully underneath the ace of spades). "One empty envelope. Take the top card from the stack and without looking at it place it inside and seal it." The man in red sweater follows instructions. "Now anyone that wants in on these, slap down your cash and write on the envelope your predictions and your initials."

Larry steps up first, writing down the black ace just as they had planned. A fourth party steps up, placing down another stake of cash. Before they know it, fifteen or more people that had been eavesdropping on their bet have approached, wanting their chances at the big bucks now up for stake. Quickly, people have forgotten who had even set up the game, and word of mouth carries the wager around the bar. It's not long before close to a grand is on the table.

Snake calls out, "Open the letter. Let's see who is the winner."

A young man that was amongst the last to bet picks up the ballot and opens it up calling, "Ace of spades, LG." Larry cheers and claps; most of the rest of the players join in, and Larry pockets the cash. In the midst of confusion, he slips out the back door. Snake packs up his card and waits twenty minutes before joining him. Another perfect scandal!

* * *

"Pidgin drops"

This one takes a little more setup and you don't make as much money per hit. But you can do it more times in a day and are less likely to get caught. You need a road map and two billfolds, one with eight to nine hundred dollars in large bills in it, the other filled with construction paper. You need a spotter and a hit man. Your spotter stands outside any hotel around check-in or checkout with the roadmap and the billfold filled with paper. The spotter stands outside and asks for directions, suggesting that he is waiting for his friend to get the car. Wait for someone that is in the mood to stand and chat. The hit man waits nearby, car hidden alongside the building.

Today, Snake plays the spotter. A dozen people pass him by as he plays up the tourist role, but then . . . "Hey, someone told me there was a theater around here? But I . . ."

An older man comes in. "I think I know the spot you talking about." He stands over Snake, looking at his map.

Larry spots the two talking; it's time to move in. Larry comes in from one side and knees next to the two men "picks up" a lost wallet. "Excuse me, sir. I think you dropped your wallet."

Snake reaches around himself. "No, I have mine," Snake suggests confusedly.

The older man feels up his pockets and shakes his head.

Larry shrugs. "Maybe there's an ID." Larry pauses. "Jesus, there's like a grand in here." The old man and Snake both lean in to look; Larry offers the wallet to the old man to look at first. "I suppose I could look in the hotel see if anyone is asking about it." As Larry is talking, Snake reaches over to pick up the wallet to look at its contents. "If no one seems to know anything, we could split up the contents?" Snake hides the wallet full of cash under his map switching it for the one filled with paper.

"I'm waiting for someone," Snake explains.

"All right, what if you two wait here while I step inside and then we deal with this?"

Larry raises his head, thinking, Would you guys mind fronting me a few buck in good grace?

The old-timer looks apprehensive; Snake pulls two fifties out his pocket. "I have a hundred on me."

"What is the collateral for?" the man asks. "I don't have the wallet."

Larry looks around. "Where did the wallet go?"

Snake holds it up; Larry points at the old man. "Why not let him hold it?" Snake nods, handing it over. "Do you have a hundred on you?"

The old man wants a cut of the grand. Who wouldn't? And having already seen Snake fork over his hundred, the old man reaches into his pocket without another thought, handing Larry the money.

"I'll be right back." Larry walks away.

Snake and the old man stand around for another minute before a car pulls up, and disappointedly he looks at his comrade. "I gotta go. When the other guy shows up just split it between you." Chances are by the time your victim even thinks about the possibility that he had been duped, you're already working on your next job.

* * *

There is a difference between a robbery, a con, and a heist. For the most part, here is how it breaks down. In a con, you need to be fast and a good actor at that; you need to talk your posy into giving you something, preferably without them even noticing that they handed it to you. In a robbery, you plan to take something and it doesn't matter if you are seen or not. In a heist, you take something and you can't be seen or the gig is up. For this, you need every trick of the trade at your disposal, and if you don't have it, you find some that has what you are missing, Snake doesn't like sharing his loot, but it has come up in the past.

* * *

After a hard night of helping others with their short-term investment planning the brothers settle in for the evening.

"Snake, do you know how hard it is going to be to play arcade games if this won't heal?" Larry points at his swelling arm after taking off the blanket he had been using to cover it.

"Thought hadn't really come to mind."

"So the plan is still to go to Minnesota, right?"

Snake 'face plants' on the bed, arms out-streached as he lies down still in his suit. "Yep."

"Then what?" Larry asks, discarding his coat and slacks.

Snake rolls onto his side, making room for Larry to share the bed. Snake's eyes slide back as he drifts into a fantasy for a moment, envisioning the perfect tomorrow for him and his little brother. Snake reaches out to hold the sides of his brother's face in his hands as he lies down, pulling him in close. Their foreheads touch as Snake whispers to his beloved brother, "We swing by the Mayo clinic. We have you all patched up within an hour, then we go up to Fargo and sell that junk-heap of a car downstairs for a mountain's worth of gold. We buy some backpacks and hunting outfits and all the canned food we can carry. Then we can through the rest of the money out on the street because we won't need it anymore. After that we will start walking north and we won't stop till we meet up with 'Dougly Dowright' or we see igloos, whichever comes first. And for the rest of our lives, we will never be in need or want again."

"Really, no more guns or robbers, fast cars, or fast women?"

Snake laughs with Larry. "We'll be in Amish country, Amigo. You wouldn't want to be with any women out there." The brothers turn to face away from each other. The fantasy is fun, but neither of them expect things to go that cleanly.

Neither brother sleeps soundly in the night.