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Joe rubbed his forehead. The whiskey had hit him hard, and it was probably the booze talking when he said, “You could call the cops yourself.” He couldn’t believe the words had left his mouth, but there they were, humming through their two cell phones.
“I thought of it,” Foster said. “Before I called you, I seriously thought about it.”
“Why didn’t you? The pact?”
“No. I’m clinging to the hope that we’ll actually get away with it, without…without somebody getting hurt.”
Joe didn’t think there was a chance in hell of that happening, but he didn’t share that pessimistic outlook with Foster, who had continued to talk around sucking in gulps of air.
“But the real reason I didn’t turn myself in,” he said, “is because, if I did, I wouldn’t live long. Rusty would kill me.”
“He wouldn’t—”
“He’d have it done. Even if I was locked up for my own safety. Deputies run the jail, you know, and they’re all under Mervin Dyle’s thumb. They’d probably stage my ‘suicide.’”
Joe didn’t doubt it, but he argued it anyway. “Rusty has browbeaten you into being paranoid and afraid of him.”
“You’re darn right I am. Aren’t you?”
Yes, he was. More than a little. Rusty would have his daddy and the whole corrupt sheriff’s department vouching for his son’s whereabouts tonight, paving his tracks with alibis that Mervin would make certain were ironclad.
Out of the four of them, only three would be made to pay for their thievery.
Thinking about the likely penalty, and the effect it would have on his already fractured family, Joe almost barfed up his whiskey.
“You’ve got to tell me what to do,” Foster wailed.
“Don’t do anything. Don’t show up at the meeting place. Leave the little bastard waiting.”
“He will come after me.”
The longer they talked, the faster Foster was unraveling. Joe had to keep a cool head, as hazy with liquor as it was. To panic was begging for a disastrous outcome. At the moment, disaster was only a possibility, a good possibility, but preventable if he could talk Foster off the ledge.
“All right, meet Rusty as scheduled. Hide the money. But then call his bluff.”
“Wh…what…what do you mean?”
“Tell the asshole you won’t be part of any scheme he has in mind for me. Tell him—”
“He would kill me!”
“He’s not going to kill you. Think about it. He was the ringleader of this. He originated the plan, made himself boss. Up to this point, he’s pulled off a successful heist. He’s sitting on five hundred grand.”
Through his heavy breathing, Foster murmured agreement.
“So he’s not going to do something now that would get him caught. Killing you would be a senseless thing to do.”
Foster thought it over, then to Joe’s aggravation he said, “No. I can’t stand up to that guy. I just can’t. It’s not in me.”
Joe didn’t think Foster had it in him, either, which meant that he couldn’t just sit here, getting drunker by the hour, waiting to see what trickery Rusty had in store for him. For all he knew, Rusty had already ratted out the rest of them, and arrests were imminent. That was a bleak but galvanizing prospect.
He had to act, and he saw only one option open to him. He asked Foster when he was due to meet Rusty.
“Half an hour. Well, now, twenty minutes.”
“Where?”
Foster was about to answer, then stopped himself. After a beat, he said, “I took a big risk by calling and telling you.”
