The Reapers: A Thriller-CP-7 (14 page)

“It’s cold for lemonade, isn’t it?” said Louis.

“Cold doesn’t trouble me,” Gabriel replied. “And one can get coffee anywhere, even if the coffee here is particularly good. I suspect it may be to do with the gas urns. But great lemonade, well, that is rarer, and one should grasp the opportunity to taste it when it arises.”

“If you say so,” said Louis as he slipped into a seat opposite, careful to keep both the staff exit and the main door in view, and placed the newspaper he had been holding in the center of the table. He didn’t touch the glass.

“You know, they filmed parts of Three Days of the Condor here? I think Redford sat just where you are sitting now.”

“You told me that before,” said Louis. “A long time ago.”

“Did I?” said Gabriel. He sounded regretful. “It seemed appropriate to mention it, given the circumstances.” He coughed. “It’s been a long time: a decade or more, ever since you discovered your conscience.”

“It was always there. I just never paid too much attention to it before.”

“I knew I was losing you long before our paths diverged.”

“Because?”

“You started asking ‘Why?’”

“It began to seem relevant.”

“Relevance is relative. In our line of work, there are those who consider the question ‘Why?’ to be a prelude to ‘How deep would you like to be buried?’ and ‘Roses or lilies?’”

“But you weren’t one of those people?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that. I just wasn’t ready to feed you to the dogs. I tried to ease your concerns, though, before I allowed you to go free.”

“‘Allowed’ me?”

“Permit an old man to indulge himself. After all, not everyone got to walk away.”

“There weren’t many left when I did.”

“And none like you.”

Louis did not acknowledge the compliment.

“And, if I may say so, my moral compass was surer than you gave me credit for,” said Gabriel.

“I’m not certain I believe that, no offense meant.”

“None taken. It is true, though. I was always careful about the work I farmed out to you. There were times when I walked a thin line, but I do not believe that I ever willingly overstepped it, at least, not where you were concerned.”

“I appreciate that. I just think the line got thinner as time went on.”

“Perhaps,” Gabriel conceded, “perhaps. So, what happened last night? I understand you received visitors?”

Louis was not surprised that Gabriel was aware of what had occurred at the apartment building. At the very least, he would have made inquiries after Louis’s call was received, although Louis suspected that Gabriel knew of what had happened before the call was even made. Someone would have told him. That was how the old systems worked, and that was why the silence over Billy Boy’s death had disturbed him so much.

“It was amateur hour,” said Louis.

“Yes. The auto shop was a surprise, though. It appeared unnecessary and crude, unless someone was trying to send out a message. If so, then why target your residence at the same time?”

“I don’t know,” said Louis. “And it made the papers. Willie won’t like the publicity. I don’t like it either. It’ll draw attention. Already has.”

Gabriel dismissed Louis’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “The papers have no interest in who owns buildings, merely who dies in them and who has sex in them, and not necessarily in that order.”

“I wasn’t talking about reporters.”

Gabriel glanced out of the window, as if expecting agents of the state to suddenly materialize from the gloom. He seemed disappointed when they did not. Louis wondered how distant Gabriel now was from his former life. He no longer had his assassins, his Reapers, to call upon, but he would not have resigned himself to a quiet retirement. He knew too much already, but he always desired to know more. Perhaps he no longer dispatched killers to do dirty work for others, but he remained a part of that world.

Discreetly, Louis tapped the newspaper. Inside it was the flattened candle holding the wounded man’s prints and copies of the photographs taken with Arno’s cellphone, as well as additional prints from the two men who had died at the apartment building.

“I brought you some items that caught my eye. I’d like you to take a look at them.”

“I’m sure the police will be looking at them, too.”

“Maybe you can do it more quickly. A favor from your friends.”

“They’re not the kind who give favors without asking something in return.”

“Then you’re going to owe them two, because I have another one to ask.”

“Name it.”

“There were two federal agents nosing around Willie’s place. They were asking questions about Leroy Frank.”

“I’ve heard nothing about an investigation. It could be that they found a thread elsewhere and something has unraveled. Then again, they’ve become so much more dogged in recent years. There was a time when terrorism used to be good for business. Now it’s all become very complicated: the slightest hint of a suspicious payment and there are all kinds of questions being asked, even of someone as blameless in such matters as Leroy Frank.”

“Well, it could be embarrassing for a lot of people if they keep tugging on threads.”

“I’m sure that something can be done,” said Gabriel. “In the meantime, the matters in hand are more pressing: who did this, and how can we ensure that it does not happen again?”

“‘We’?”

“I feel a certain responsibility for your well-being, even after all this time. Also, in a sense, your problems are my problems, especially if they relate to something that occurred on my watch, as it were. It could, of course, be the case that it’s related to your other activities. Your friend Parker has a way of making interesting enemies.”

“Willie said the guy never mentioned Parker. It was about me.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“It narrows the field. I haven’t heard anything about a price on your head and, as you say, this was amateur hour. Anyone who put a paper out on you would be sure to hire more professional staff. If I were you, I’d be rather offended that someone might think you could be dealt with in such an uncouth fashion.”

“Yeah, I’m all torn up. Speaking of which, I hope you sent flowers for Billy Boy.”

Gabriel nodded sympathetically. “It wasn’t entirely unexpected. His illness was quite advanced. Radical surgery was called for. It appears somebody took it upon himself to offer it.”

“I’m sure he would have liked a second opinion.”

“He got the best treatment available. The end, when it came, was quite swift.”

“Blissful, even.”

A spasm of unease animated Gabriel’s face.

“I should have been told,” said Louis.

“What have you heard?”

“Rumors, that’s all.”

“It’s been a long time since anyone encountered him. It had been suggested that he was dead.”

“Wishful thinking.”

“Does he frighten you?” asked Gabriel slyly, calm now returning to his face.

“Do I have reason to be frightened?”

“None of which I’m aware. But in the case of the gentleman to whom you’re referring, I wouldn’t be privy to that kind of information. He’s been off the radar for a long time, but you two do have a history. If he did return, he might be in the mood to renew old acquaintances.”

“Not very reassuring for me. Maybe not very reassuring for you either.”

“I’m an old man.”

“He’s killed old men before.”

“I am different.”

Louis conceded the point.

“Still, you and your partner handled today’s upsets rather well. I imagine that you’d present quite a challenge to him, even after all these years. What did you do with the trash?”

“I had it taken away. Landfill.”

“And the old lady?”

“We bought her chocolate cake.”

“Would that everyone were so easily mollified. How are your friends from the auto shop?”

“Shaken. I told them to close up for a few days. They’re staying at a hotel.”

Gabriel finished his lemonade and stood, picking up the newspaper as he did so and sliding it into his coat pocket.

“I should have something for you in a day or two,” he said.

“I’d appreciate it.”

“Well, it’s not good to have this kind of thing going on. It makes everyone look bad.”

“And we can’t have that.”

“Indeed not. Walk safely.”

And with that, Gabriel was gone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TWO MORNINGS LATER, GABRIEL held another meeting, this time in Central Park. The sky was clear and blue, unmarred by clouds after the gloom of the previous days, and there was a crispness to the air, a cleanliness, as though, however briefly, some of the fumes and filth of the city had been miraculously purged from it during the night. It was a day from childhood, but as he grew older Gabriel struggled to remember a time when he was young. The fragments of memory that remained to him seemed to involve another person, one unrelated to himself yet distantly familiar nonetheless. The sensation was similar to watching an old movie and recalling that, yes, one had seen this film before, and it had meant something, once upon a time. He hated getting old. He hated being old. Seeing Louis had reminded him of all that he had once been, of the power and influence that he had wielded. There was still a little of it left, though. He no longer had Reapers at his beck and call, willing to do his bidding or the bidding of others for money, but favors were owed to him for favors done, for confidences kept, for problems buried and lives ended. Gabriel had stored his secrets away carefully, for he knew that his own life depended upon them. They were his security, and a currency to draw upon when necessary. A younger man joined him, falling casually into step beside him. He was taller than Gabriel by a head, but Gabriel had almost three decades of often bitter experience on his companion. His code name was Mercury, after the god of spies and spooks, but Gabriel knew him as Milton. He suspected that it might be his real name, too, for, although an educated man, Milton’s knowledge did not appear to extend into the field of literature, and an allusion to Paradise Lost by Gabriel early in their relationship had been met with a blank look. Then again, one never knew with agency men, and particularly ones of Milton’s pedigree. One might have offered Milton intimate evidence of his own sexual preferences, complete with photographs, illustrations, and even former partners, to a similar end: a blank look. Blank. It was an appropriate word, in this case. Everything about Milton suggested a man who had been created in a laboratory in order to attract no attention whatsoever: average height, average looks, average hair, average clothing. There was nothing remarkable about him at all. In fact, so unremarkable was he that the eye tended to skate over him, barely registering his presence, and then instantly forgetting what it had seen. One had to be an exceptional individual to go through life so unnoticed. Milton and Gabriel strolled by the lake, walking slowly enough to allow joggers to outpace them but fast enough that they could not be followed themselves without noticing. Milton wore a gray wool overcoat and a gray scarf, and his black shoes shone in the fall sunlight. Beside him, Gabriel, his white hair sprouting untidily from beneath a woolen cap, looked like a genial tramp. After some minutes had passed, Milton spoke.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said. His voice was as average as the rest of him, so that even Gabriel, who had known him for many years, could not tell if the words were meant or not. He decided that the sentiment might be genuine. It was not, as far as he could recall, something Milton said very often.

“And you,” Gabriel lied, and Milton smiled, any offense caused by the untruth exceeded by his happiness at catching it. Milton, thought Gabriel, was the kind of man who was only at ease when the world was disappointing him, and therefore living down to his expectations. “I didn’t expect you to come in person.”

“It’s rare that we have a chance to meet these days. Our paths no longer cross as once they did.”

“I’m an old man,” said Gabriel, and he was reminded of the context in which he had used those same words earlier in the week. He wondered if he had been correct then, if his age and his previous status might be enough to protect him from Bliss’s predation. The thought had troubled him. He bore some responsibility for what had been done to Bliss, although Bliss could hardly have been surprised when retribution was visited upon him for his own actions, but the animosity between Bliss and Louis was of a deeper, more personal nature. No, if Bliss had returned, Gabriel would not be in his sights.

“Not so old,” said Milton, and now it was his turn to lie.

“Old enough that I can see the tunnel at the end of the light,” said Gabriel. “Anyway, it’s a new world with new rules. I find it harder to recognize my place in it.”

“The rules are still the same,” said Milton. “There are just fewer of them.”

“You sound almost nostalgic.”

“Perhaps I am. I miss dealing with equals, with those who think as I do. I no longer understand our enemies. Their purpose is too vague. They don’t even know what it is themselves. They have no ideology. They have only their faith.”

“People enjoy fighting for their religion,” said Gabriel. “It’s inconsequential enough to matter deeply to them.”

Milton didn’t say anything in response. Gabriel suspected that Milton was a worshipper. Not a Jew. Catholic maybe, although he lacked the imagination to be a good one. No, Milton was probably a Protestant of indistinct color, a member of some particularly joyless congregation that thrived on hard benches and long sermons. The image of Milton in church led Gabriel to imagine what Mrs. Milton might look like, if there was such a person. Milton did not wear a wedding band, but that meant nothing. It was in the nature of such men to give as little as possible away. From something as simple as a wedding band, a whole existence might be imagined. Gabriel pictured Milton’s wife as a pinched woman, as stern and unyielding as her religion, the kind who would spit the word “love.”

“So, you’ve had contact with our lost sheep,” said Milton, changing the subject.

“He seemed well.”

“Apart from the fact that somebody appears to be trying to kill him.”