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teeth, emptied his mouth and sent him careening backward into the Chevy.
Then he went through the light, turned sharp left, ran down the side street to
the freeway entrance, hit the ramp doing sixty and was on the San Diego before
the driver could load his buddy back into the trashwagon.
¡Huo de la chingada!
They caught him just beyond the interchange of the San Diego and Santa Monica
freeways. He was in the fast lane, the number one next to the divider. He was
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doing seventy-
five. The Chevy came up on the right and the berserk latino swung it over
hard; lock to lock, maybe not--but hard.
The Rolls took it just behind the door, slewed into the cyclone fence, scraped
along throwing sparks back in a fan, then shot ahead as Jimmy floored the
Corniche.
¡Puto pendejo!
Doing ninety, he cut out of the number one lane, slanted across the second,
third and
fourth lanes, and ran away. The Chevy caught up on the grade leading through
the saddle of the hills to the Valley. The culeros rear-ended him. Hard; once
twice three times. Jimmy braked, speeded up, cut in and out, but the Chevy was
hot, it ran him down like a bulldogger.
¡Vatos locos!
Two miles before the Mulholland offramp the cholos said aw, fuck it, and
decided to boom him. They came up in the number three, doing ninety-five, went
ahead by two car-
lengths and slant-drove across his bow. Jimmy stood on the brake but it didn t
count. They impacted at eighty-five, the Corniche went in hard on the right
front, ricocheted, spun out and went over the side. The Rolls hit the berm,
dropped and began to somersault. The Chevy was horizontal across the three and
four lanes, caught a centerpunch from a long-distance moving van, lifted, went
tail-over onto its roof, sliding across the shoulder, followed Jimmy over the
side two hundred yards beyond him and came to rest against a low hillside.
Behind the latinos the Rolls Corniche took one last roll, hit the crumbling
hillside and went off like a can of beer shaken in a centrifuge. It blew apart
scattering hot metal and parts of Jimmy allover the Santa Monica Mountains.
Say goodbye to Kercher O. J. Crowstairs.
 I m not feeling too giddy about all this, now that we re alone, Jimmy said
from the screen.  You five are the most I ve got left. Everybody else has been
taken care of; okay, they re okay; I took good care of them, in the ancillary
sections of the will. But you five are the big scores, and I wanted you to
hear it straight from. me.
He stopped, wiped his mouth.
Jimmy nervous?
Come on, give me a break here.
 Missy, you re first, he said, looking all the way to his left, directly
where
Mississippi was slouched in her seat, long legs crossed straight out in front
of her.  You get
The Kerch Corporation and all its holdings.
SylviaTheCunt gasped, off to my left. The smell of cardiac arrest was there in
the library.
Jimmy went on.  You keep it running. There s the land up at Lake Isabella, we
own it free and clear now, and it ll be built up pretty big within the next
five years, they re putting in that Kern County International Airport. Keep
adding to the art, find a place to show it, something nice and stately like
the Norton Simon Museum... you know... something toney and really chi-chi. Set
your own salary, keep on as much of the staff as you need, hire more, fire
some, do what the hell you want with it. It was just a dodge to keep the tax
fuckers off my carcass, anyhow. You make it into something terrific, kiddo. I
love you, babe. You watched out for me real good.
Missy was crying. Toughest woman I ever met, but she--even she--lost it when
Jimmy went to work at the top of his form. In Iran there s a word
--zirang
--it means
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cleverness, or wiliness. The Machiavellian quality. It s much admired by the
Shiites. Jimmy would have been a smash in Islam.
 And for the record, Jimmy added,  let it be known that never once in all the
years you and I worked together, did we once so much as fondle each other s
genitalia. The bantlings will need their gossip, m love; and they ll fasten [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]