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She dredged up a smile, locked in an admiring look. “I think Liam has gravitas, better fits a man who hit up a bank in broad daylight.” Give him respect, that’s what he wants. “I’ll call you Manta Ray, if that’s what you’d like.”
“Gravitas? I like that, Elena. Makes me sound important. Liam’ll be nice for a while, sure, go ahead.”
His Irish brogue had thickened and he gave her a potent smile, a smile she’d bet had nailed a lot of women. She smiled back.
If only this Irish shite didn’t hold all the cards. She continued, “I think you would have gotten clean away if your partner hadn’t been a moron and killed that bank teller.”
Manta Ray shrugged. “Marvin wasn’t that much of a moron, usually. He had this one problem: He was addicted to money. He saw it, he had to have it.” He raised his camp cup and saluted the silent air. “To Marvin. Goodbye, buddy. Too bad you couldn’t take it with you.”
“Take what? The money?” Jacobson asked.
Manta Ray nodded, said matter-of-factly, “Marvin Cass already had lots of money, a couple of million stashed with his mum. Now she’s rich. I wonder if she’d rather keep all of it or have her son back.”
“From the sound of him, I bet she’d vote for the money, no question,” Jacobson said. He took the last bite of his mac and cheese, swallowed. “Cass got you shot. How come you’re not pissed about it?”
“He paid the highest price, poor old bugger.”
Jacobson said, “I heard Cass had a habit of starting bar fights he couldn’t win, regularly got the crap beat out of him. Seems he wasn’t much into self-control.”
Manta Ray said, “Ah, you’ve heard of him then, have you? No, Marvin was a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy. In most things. But he told me he was planning a trip to Belfast and he wanted me to come with him, show him where I grew up, show him the Maze prison, where I vacationed for five years.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe when you’re dead, you can still dream, you think? Marvin can still dream about Belfast.”
Jacobson seemed to think about it, then shook his head. “Nah, dead is dead and that means you’re nothing anymore.”
Elena wanted to tell them they were both idiots, but she said, “Cass is dead, but you’re not, Liam; you were tough enough to survive, but we do owe him.” She raised her coffee cup. “To Cass. Without him none of us would be here.”
Manta Ray saluted her with his empty coffee cup, gave her another drop-dead-gorgeous smile. “Right you are. It’s one of life’s lessons—you do what you’ve gotta do.”
She heard a snort from Jacobson, shot him a look. He was ready to stick his oar in, the ignorant fool. He stared at Manta Ray, flexed his big hands. “It’s a lesson I know well,” he said, “so don’t think I’m not going to teach it to you all over again if you give me a reason.”
Manta Ray grinned at him. “I don’t take well to threats, mate, never have. Last time somebody tried to teach me what to do was in the Maze. They had to wash his brain matter off the wall next to my cell.”
“Shut up, Jacobson, you’re not in charge here.” Do you think you’re going to scare him after he survived five years in that hellhole in Belfast?
Manta Ray looked between the two of them, the muscle and the brain. It amused him to let Elena believe she was in charge. He saw she was watching him now, to see if he’d say more, respond in some way, maybe snap Jacobson’s neck for her? He was good at reading people, knew she was looking for an angle, a way to get him to open up to her. Jacobson was as easy to read as a child’s book, a tool that could kill without hesitation and with some skill, nothing more. But Elena was still a mystery. He appreciated their breaking him out of that marshals’ van, but he knew he had to be careful while in the control of people he knew nothing about. Torture wasn’t their plan, or Jacobson would have been at him already. Here was Elena, actually trying to gain his trust, and wasn’t that a good laugh? Why not let her try, use her to find out what he could? When they were finally out of this godforsaken wilderness, then he’d do what he wanted with her.
He stayed quiet, drawing Celtic letters with his finger in the dirt. He accepted a second helping of mac and cheese from Elena. It was bad, as bad as the prison food he’d eaten for the past month in Richmond, but he shoveled it down. When he was finished, he decided it was time to feed the animals. He smiled at Jacobson and Elena. “You guys did good, getting me away from the marshals this morning. Really good.”
“I planned it,” Jacobson said. “I’m thinking you could return the favor, tell us where you hid the crap you took out of that safe-deposit box.”
Elena wanted to pull out her Beretta and shoot Jacobson in the mouth. The buffoon wanted to take the lead? Did he honestly believe Manta Ray would give up the information that was keeping him alive because he asked him to? She said, “The boss was impressed you didn’t tell the FBI where you’d hidden the stuff, very impressed.”
“Relieved, more like, whoever your boss is.” Manta Ray shrugged. “The FBI were never a threat; they can’t break free of their own stupid laws and rules.” He spread his arms wide. “I love America.” Once again, the killer smile. “Anyway, it was a good job, mates. If you want to make this a lovefest, why don’t you tell me what the plan is? So we picked up all this camping stuff waiting for us in a car boot just outside the forest and now we’ve hiked to a nice spot by a creek. Are we going to see the boss tomorrow?”
Elena said, “No, not tomorrow. Consider this a camping and hiking vacation. All you need to know is that we’ll keep you safe from the FBI.”
“So we’re marking time in the forest until the heat is off? Not a bad plan. How long?”
“I’ll let you know,” Elena said.
Manta Ray hadn’t expected she’d tell him any more. He said nothing, took off his boot and his thick sock, and aimed his headlight at his foot.
Elena frowned, leaned toward him. “What are you doing?”
“My heel hurts.”
Jacobson was emptying a small bag of peanuts into his mouth. “What do you mean it hurts?”
“It’s red, and it hurts to touch it. I’m getting a blister. Why didn’t you get the right size boot?”
