“Dickie didn't tell me any of this.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He told me you had the key.”
“Yes. I had the key. But technically I don't have the key anymore.”
'Well, at least I can have the pleasure of killing you," Petiak said.
“You're not listening to me. I know where the key is. We just have to go get it. But here's the thing…”
“I knew there would be another thing,” Petiak said.
“You have to promise not to kill me. And I want a reward. A finder's fee.”
“And if I don't agree?”
“I won't help you find the key. I mean, what's the incentive to finding the key if you're going to kill me no matter what?”
“How much of a reward do you want?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“Five.”
“Okay, five.”
I didn't for a minute think Petiak wouldn't kill me. I was trying to make him feel more comfortable, maybe not keep me on such a short leash. I had the transmitter pen in my pocket. Ranger would wonder why I was at the salvage yard. He'd call Morelli. Morelli or Ranger would discover the car. If I stalled a little, there was a good chance I might not die a hideous flamethrower death. Plus, Morelli had called the Vic into the station. If I was lucky, the police would also show up. And if I kept thinking like this, I might not pass out and throw up from terror. Just focus, I kept saying to myself. Don't panic. Too late. Inside there was panic. A lot of it.
“Where is this salvage yard?” Petiak wanted to know.
“Its at the far end of Stark Street. Rosolli's Salvage.”
We all piled into a black Beemer. Probably not the same one that was in my parking lot because this one had four doors. Dave's partner and Petiak were in front and I was in back with Dave. The flamethrower was in the trunk.
Dave didn't look happy to be sitting next to me.
“So how's it going?” I said to him.
“Shut up,” Dave said.
“What's with the knee brace?”
“You fucking ran over me with your fucking car.”
“Nothing personal,” I said to him.
“Yeah,” Dave said, “and it's not gonna be personal when we barbecue you.”
The salvage yard was surrounded by nine-foot-high steel-mesh fencing. The entrance was gated and locked. I was guessing this was necessary because so many people wanted to steal cars that were squashed until they were only two feet high and had no working parts.
The Beemer pulled up to the gate and stopped.
“How do we get in?” Petiak asked.
“I don't know,” I said to him. “I've never tried to get into a salvage yard before.”
“Rudy,” Petiak said to Dave's partner, “take a look.”