Strong arms caught her. Her head screamed to attack now, that he couldn’t at once prop her up and
have the gun trained on her, but her body was shaking, blood thumping hot and heavy. Two serious blows to the head in one
day. What were the odds. She closed her eyes, concentrated on deep breaths. This close, she could smell Galway, his familiar
cologne like woodsmoke. How many times had she smelled it, rolling with him through Crenwood, bullshitting and philosophizing,
listening to him talk about his life, his divorce?
Galway guided her hands to the car door, helped her get a grip, then stepped away as her vision cleared. ‘Christ, Elena.’
He shook his head. ‘Why did you have to get involved?’
‘It was my case.’
‘And I told you how to close it. Would it have been so bad to put everything on a waste like Playboy? Just let one job go?
So
what
if he didn’t kill Palmer? You know Playboy has more than one body on his resume.’ He shook his head. ‘I never wanted you
to get caught up in this.’
‘It was my case,’ she repeated.
Galway snorted. ‘Yeah.’
Her vision had steadied, and she looked around. A house, shit, a mansion more like. Boxy Bauhausknockoff nestled under ancient
oak trees. The air was fetid with the smell of growing things.
‘You feeling better?’
She looked at him, the stern face now wearing thin, in need of a shave, with pits under his eyes and a faint twitch to his
lip. The pistol at his side, like he
just happened to be holding it. ‘Why are you doing this, Tom?’ He didn’t reply, and she took a careful step, then another.
Her strength seemed to be returning, though pain was coming with it, a deep ache sloshing between her temples. ‘Was it money?’
The high heels were the wrong choice, near impossible in the wet gravel. She stepped to the lawn, turned to face him, bent
a knee to hike a leg up and undo the strap of one shoe. ‘I know you’ve got bills, your son. But I never would have figured
you to go bad.’
He shook his head. ‘Quit stalling.’
She dropped the shoe to the ground, put her bare foot in the wet grass, bent her knee to work on the other. ‘There were always
rumors. That guy shakes down pimps, this one freelances for a dealer, the other steals cash from crime scenes. But it was
always lousy cops waiting out their pension. You, you’re a great cop. What happened?’
‘Elena, look.’ The lights from the porch framed his shrug in silhouette. ‘I’m sorry you’re mixed up in this. I really am.
But cut the true confessions crap, okay?’
She tossed the other heel. ‘Are you really going to shoot me? Your partner?’ She took a step toward him, bound hands low,
not threatening. ‘I know you’ve done some bad things, but are you willing to go that far?’
‘I haven’t shot anybody.’ He spoke quickly.
‘What about down by the river?’ Maybe guilt would shake him. ‘You shot at me then.’
‘No.’ His voice firm. ‘That was DiRisio. I saved your life. He would have hit if I hadn’t stopped him.’
Hope flared in her chest. Maybe they could work this out yet. ‘You see? I knew you were still police.’ She took another step.
‘Let’s figure this out together, cop to cop. There’s got to be a way out.’
‘I wish,’ he said, and brought the gun up to shoulder height, the barrel at her torso. ‘But I saved your life once already.’
She stiffened, the backs of her arms cold, goose-bumps breaking out on her shoulders. Overhead, a wisp of gray clouds parted
to reveal a tarnished silver moon.
‘You want to know what it was? You really want to know?’ His eyes flashed, and he flexed the fingers of his gun hand, tapping
them against the grip. ‘I got
tired.
Tired of hauling in fourteen-year-old kids for murder counts. Tired of trying to track down their parents, finding Mommy
three sheets at eleven a.m. and Daddy ten-years gone. Tired of standing over different teenaged corpses on the same corners.
I mean, that corner at Fifty-fourth and Damen, you know how many bodies we had there last year?
Five.
On one worthless corner. Kids dying over ten feet of cement in front of a gas station.’ He paused. ‘I used to believe that
we could change things on the street. I used to think the work
meant
something. But it doesn’t. We’re not cops. We’re zookeepers. And I got tired.’
‘So you figured you may as well make a buck?’ She didn’t even try to keep the acid from her voice.
He shook his head. ‘That’s not why.’
‘But there was money.’
‘Of course there was money. But it wasn’t
why.
I did it because…’ He blew a long breath, looked around, as if the words he needed were over her shoulder. ‘One night I stared
at the mirror and asked myself if the world wouldn’t maybe be a little bit better if somebody burned Crenwood to the ground
and rebuilt it with a Starbucks on every corner and a nice private school. If we forgot “political correctness” and “giving
everyone a fair shot” and just got rid of the assholes. And if we had to hurt a few people to do that, well, they were already
so busy hurting each other I couldn’t see the difference.’
In the silence that fell she could hear the faint patter of water dripping between the oak boughs. She supposed she ought
to be horrified at what he’d said, but she’d been a cop for too long. He hadn’t said anything they hadn’t all thought at one
time or another. No way around it, prowling war-zone streets day after day. She couldn’t refute him without lying, couldn’t
agree and remain true to herself. So finally, she just said, ‘Don’t do this.’
Galway stared with sad Irish eyes. He looked like an upscale drunk, one of those dissipated men that spent their afternoons
in hotel bars. ‘It’s too late. I’m in too deep.’ He shook his head. ‘Besides, I tried to keep you clear. I told you how to
fix it. I practically begged you to stay out. You ignored me. There’s nothing I can do now.’
‘Tom –’
‘Let’s go,’ he said, and something in his expression
told her he’d made up his mind. She grit her teeth, turned around, started for the house. The gravel was rough and wet against
her bare feet.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘somebody sent that evidence. Whoever it was, they’re going to try again. You may not be able to stop
him next time. And if that happens, you think the alderman is going to go down alone?’
‘The alderman?’ He sounded amused. ‘Look around you. This house ran four, five mill. You think he can pony that? And all the
property in Crenwood, even cheap, it adds up. Owens doesn’t have that kind of cash. And he doesn’t have the brains to come
up with a plan like this. Hell, without that assistant of his, I doubt Alderman Owens would know how to lace his Stacy Adams.’
She paused, turned. Perplexed.
‘Elena, we don’t work for the alderman.’ Galway spoke slowly, like he was explaining to a child. ‘He works for us.’
Jason froze midlunge, forward motion checked by surprise. He’d only seen the man behind the desk once before, but it hadn’t
been five hours ago. Seen him from Washington’s living room, standing beside Ronald, the two of them staring out the front
window at a man who could give away a half million dollars and not miss it. ‘You’re Adam Kent.’
The man behind the desk narrowed his eyes, looked past Jason to DiRisio. ‘Did you –’
‘Of course not.’ DiRisio’s voice was calm. ‘He’s a smart kid. I told you that.’
Kent nodded, sighed. ‘Ah well.’ He unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, soft and expensive looking, not the shiny fabric of a rental.
Jesus. He was at the party, too.
And on the heels of that,
Of course he was. He
threw
the party.
Jason’s mind whirled. It didn’t make any sense. This guy had given Washington all that money to
save
former gangbangers. And at the same time he was arming them, setting them against each other? Burning out houses and buying
up property?
Kent gestured to a chair. ‘Mr. Palmer. Have a seat.’
Jason hesitated, then started forward, eyes scanning. Studying the battlefield. A large office. Padded
chairs fronting an open fireplace big enough to park a car. August, the rest of the city gasping and sweating, and Kent had
a fire battling his air-conditioning. In the center of the room lay an elegant desk of pale wood fronted by three angular
chairs, the lines modern and uncomfortable. Jason spotted his cell phone and wallet along with Cruz’s purse, sitting on the
center of the desk. Behind it stood French doors leading to the backyard, the darkness outside dotted with landscape lighting.
He sat on the edge of his chair, watching DiRisio and Scarface take up guard positions. After a moment, Kent came around the
desk to lean against the edge, his posture casual and friendly. He looked like a bank manager. Medium jaw, plain features,
salt-and-pepper hair. Ronald had nailed it: you’d walk right past him on the street, never think a thing.
Then Kent crossed his arms, blew a breath and said the last thing Jason expected. ‘Mr. Palmer, I owe you an apology.’
If the man had screamed and raged, Jason would have been prepared. If he’d made threats of torture, promised pain beyond bearing,
he would have been ready. But this, this left him speechless.
‘First, I’m sorry for the way you were brought here. The circumstances demanded it, but it’s a bit crude. Which leads to my
second apology.’ He laced his fingers in a gesture of contrition. ‘I am so very sorry for what happened to your brother.’
Jason’s mouth fell open.
Kent continued. ‘Anthony is overzealous. All I asked him to do was
talk
to your brother. The last thing I want to do is hurt people like Michael. It’s bad for business.’
Jason looked back and forth, feeling like he was racing to keep up. Scarface looked at him impassively. DiRisio picked at
something in his ear. If what his boss said bothered him, he didn’t show it.
‘Business?’ Jason could feel the heat rising in his cheek. ‘You mean inciting a gang war for profit? Burning a neighborhood?’
‘Yes.’ Kent’s voice was matter-of-fact. ‘Look, when a house is infested with termites, you don’t put up new drywall. You tear
it down and start over.’
This
man gave Washington a half million to help gangbangers? Then the last piece clicked into place. It made sense, in a twisted
sort of way. ‘I get it.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Why you helped Washington. You borrowed a play from the CIA. Because you’re a white guy from the suburbs, and all of Crenwood
looks the same to you. You need on-the-ground intelligence. Right?’
Kent nodded. ‘Washington is a good man, and I’m happy to help him help those boys. Especially since that also means I can
learn everything I need to know.’
‘
Help him?
’ Jason sputtered. ‘You used him to commit murder.’
He shook his head, sucked air through his teeth. ‘No. “Murder” is an emotional word. It’s petty, and small. You may not like
my methods, but I’m building
something. When I’m done, Crenwood will be a safe neighborhood, the kind of place people want to raise kids. And yes, before
you bring it up, of course I’ll make a lot of money in the process. But the world will be better. I’m a businessman and a
pragmatist, but I’m not a monster. I don’t even have a moustache.’
Jason narrowed his eyes. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’
He remembered Cruz on the river front. ‘A friend of mine taught me that as long as someone’s got a gun on you, the correct
answer to anything is “okay”.’
Kent laughed. ‘I see your point. But I want your full attention.’
‘Believe me, man. You’ve got it.’
‘Fair enough.’ Kent glanced over to DiRisio, gave a quick nod. DiRisio made the gun vanish, then left the wall and moved to
stand just behind Jason. ‘Now,’ Kent continued, ‘you have something I need.’
‘You really think I’m going to give up my nephew?’
‘Your nephew?’ A bemused smile played on Kent’s lips. ‘What would I want with him?’
The skin of Jason’s shoulders crawled. ‘But the gangbangers, and DiRisio –’
‘Were all looking for what I wanted.’ Kent leaned forward. ‘The papers, Mr. Palmer. All I want are the papers your brother
had, the ones you told the alderman about. You give me that, we’re done.’
Jason stared, fighting to keep a straight face as the
gears clicked. Remembering the party, how he’d hedged with the alderman, not explicitly telling him the evidence had been
destroyed because he didn’t want to shake the guy’s trust. The alderman had reported back to Kent, who now believed Jason
had his brother’s files.
All Kent wanted was something Jason didn’t have.
‘You’re saying that you’ll not only let me walk out of here, you’ll leave Billy alone?’ He put as much scorn into it as possible.
‘Absolutely. That’s all we’ve wanted all along,’ Kent said. ‘Mr. Palmer, I realize you don’t like me, and I understand why.
But the truth is that I don’t bear you any ill will. For you, this is a personal matter. But for me, it’s just business. I’m
in the middle of a very complicated financial venture. Your brother got involved when he shouldn’t have. He wouldn’t listen
to reason. I didn’t kill him for plea sure any more than I brought you here to show off my evil plan.’
‘Okay.’
‘All right. You’re hurting and I can’t change that. But listen to what I have to say.’ Kent ran a hand through his hair. ‘There’s
no
advantage
to killing you. Without evidence, there’s nothing you can say that could hurt me.
Nothing.
I have a lot of money, and a lot of people eager to do me favors. What do you have? A history of petty theft and an “other
than honorable” discharge from the Army.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re outmatched. So let’s keep it simple. Give me
what I want, and I’ll give you back your life.’
Jason felt sick. Wrong as it was, the man was right. But he also believed Jason had something he didn’t.
‘Look,’ Kent said, ‘this is a one-time opportunity to save the lives of your nephew and your lover. To watch Billy grow up.
It’s a good offer. Take it.’
Jason sat back in his chair, met Kent’s eye. The guy looked sincere, but that was like gauging the intentions of a crocodile.
Still. Much as Jason wanted to doubt, Kent made sense. They were out of plays. Going to the alderman had been a last-ditch
hope. If Kent let them go, there really
wasn’t
anything they could do to hurt him.