The Charlie Parker Collection 2

by John Connolly

  ‘Hey,’ said the voice, and Little Tom recognized Willard Hoag’s gravelly tones. ‘The fuck do you think you’re doing, boy?’

  The boy picked up the bat, and turned to face the new threat. Hoag, unarmed, stopped. The boy looked at Little Tom.

  ‘Another time,’ he said.

  He backed out of the bar, taking the bat with him. Seconds after he left, the bat came crashing through Little Tom’s window, showering the floor with glass. Little Tom heard a truck pull away, but when he got to the road it was no longer in sight, and he never did find out who had driven the colored to his place. It troubled him for a long time, even after he discovered the boy’s identity and found a way to pass it on to those who had their own reasons for dealing with him. As he grew older, the memory of the offense grew dim. Lots of memories faded, for by the time that he died, Little Tom was succumbing to dementia, even if he managed to hide its effects from those who frequented his increasingly ailing little bar, as the business went into decline along with its owner. Thus it was that when the boy eventually returned as a man, and made Little Tom pay the price for what he had done to Errol Rich, Little Tom was unable to connect him to the only colored who had ever laid a hand upon him.

  And as for why Louis took so long to avenge Errol Rich’s death, well, as he liked to tell Angel, Little Tom was worth killing, but he wasn’t worth traveling very far to kill, so Louis just waited until he happened to be in the neighborhood. It was, he said, a matter of convenience.

  That came later, though. For now, he headed west, and he did not stop until he could see and smell the ocean. He found a place in which to live and work, and there he waited for the men to come.

  10

  Louis was early for the meeting with Gabriel at Nate’s. He didn’t like being early for encounters of this kind. He preferred to keep people waiting for him, aware always of the potential psychological advantages to be gained in even the most apparently innocuous of encounters. It might have seemed that such precautions would be unnecessary in any meeting between Gabriel and himself, as they had known each other for many years, but both men were acutely aware of how difficult their relationship was. They were not equals, and although Gabriel had been more of a father figure to Louis than any other man in his life, taking the boy under his wing when he was still a teenager, teaching him how to survive in the world by honing his own natural skills, both men understood why he had done so. If one were to regard Louis’s instincts as a form of corruption, his willingness to use violence, even to the point of murder, as moral weakness rather than strength of character, then Gabriel had exploited that corruption, deepening and enhancing it in order to turn Louis into a weapon that could be used effectively against others. Louis was not so naive as to believe that, had he not met Gabriel, he might otherwise have been saved from himself. He knew that, had Gabriel not entered his life, he would probably be dead by now, but he had paid a price for the salvation of sorts offered by the older man. When Louis, the last of the Reapers, had walked away from Gabriel, he had done so with no regrets and without turning his back, and for many years after he had been wary, conscious that there were those who might prefer it if he were silenced forever, and that Gabriel might well be among them.

  The old man had been part of Louis’s life for longer than almost anyone else he had known, the few surviving female members of his own family apart, and he kept even them at a distance, salving his conscience by ensuring that they never wanted for money, even as he acknowledged to himself that they had little need of what he sent them and that his gifts were more for his own peace of mind than theirs. But Gabriel had been there from the crucial later years of his adolescence, then all through his adulthood until Louis had severed their ties. Now they were together again, one in his middle age, the other in his declining years. They had seen each other grow older, and it was strange to think that, when they had first met, Gabriel had been younger than Louis himself was now.

  Louis glanced at his watch. He was particularly unhappy about being early on this occasion, for he was in no mood to wait. He felt the tension building within himself, but he did not try to dissipate it. He recognized it as anticipation. Louis knew that there was conflict and violence on its way, and his body and mind were preparing for it. The tension was part of that, and it was good. The months of normality, of indolence, of ordinary life, had come to an end. Even when he and Angel had traveled to Maine earlier that year to help Parker deal with the revenger, Merrick, there had been little call for his specialized services, and he had returned to New York frustrated and disappointed. They had been glorified bodyguards, nothing more. Now he and Angel were under threat, and he was preparing to respond. What troubled him was that he did not yet have a clear picture of what form that threat had taken. That was why he was here, waiting in the old bar not far from Willie Brew’s auto shop. Gabriel had promised him clarification and confirmation of the information offered by Hoyle, and Gabriel, whatever his faults, was not one to renege on his promises.

  The delivery door at the back of the bar opened with a soft creak, and Gabriel entered. The door had been kept unlocked for him at Louis’s request, Nate leaving them to their own devices in the otherwise empty bar. Nate knew better than to bother them. The bar was another of Louis’s silent investments, a place in which to meet and in which to store some essentials should he ever need to go to ground: cash, a small quantity of diamonds and Krugerrands, a gun and ammunition. They were kept in a locked box in a safe behind shelves in Nate’s office, and only Louis held the combination. He had nests like this in five different locations throughout New York and New England, two of which, this one included, were unknown even to Angel.

  Gabriel took a seat and signaled to Nate for a coffee. Nothing was said until the cup arrived and they were alone again. Gabriel sipped at his coffee, his little finger held carefully away from the handle. The old man, thought Louis, had always observed the niceties of civilized behavior, even when he was arranging for men and women to be wiped from the face of the earth.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Louis.

  Gabriel shifted uneasily.

  ‘Ballantine disappeared on the twelfth. He was under investigation by the SEC. His assets were about to be frozen. Someone, it seems, sent the authorities details of insider trading by companies of which Ballantine was a director. He was facing a series of indictments. It was assumed that he was in hiding, or had fled the jurisdiction.’

  ‘Is there any evidence to suggest otherwise?’

  ‘He has a wife and three children. They have been interviewed, and they seemed genuinely at a loss to explain his absence. He hasn’t been in contact with them. His passport was found in his desk at home. There was a floor safe in one of his closets. His wife didn’t have the combination, or said she didn’t. A court order was obtained to open it. There was nearly one hundred thousand dollars in cash inside, along with almost twice that amount in negotiable bonds.’

  ‘Not the kind of baubles a man on the run would leave behind.’

  ‘Hardly. Especially not so conscientious a family man as Mr Ballantine.’

  Sarcasm dripped like snake venom from Gabriel’s words.

  ‘Too clean to be clean?’

  ‘He owned a house in the Adirondacks through one of his companies. A place in which to entertain clients, one assumes. And to be entertained in turn.’

  ‘Did you find the entertainer?’

  ‘A prostitute. Quite upmarket. She had been advised to keep quiet, even though she knew little enough. Men came. They took Ballantine. They left her.’

  ‘Did you know that he had disappeared before I asked you to look into this?’

  Gabriel met Louis’s gaze, but it was a calculated effort.

  ‘I don’t keep up with the activities of all my former clients.’

  ‘That’s a lie.’

  Gabriel shrugged. ‘Not entirely. Some remain on the radar for good reasons, but others I let slide. Ballantine I did not concern myself with. He was an interme
diary, nothing more. He used me. On occasion, I used him too, but so did many others. You, of all people, should know how these things work.’

  ‘That’s right. It’s why I’m trying to figure out how much you’ve been hiding from me.’

  For the first time since he had arrived, Gabriel smiled. ‘We all need secrets. Even you.’

  ‘Was Kandic one of yours?’

  ‘No. After you left me, my interest in such matters ceased. There is a new breed of independent contractor out there now, some of them veterans of the conflicts in Chechnya and Bosnia. They’re war criminals. Half of them are on the run from the UN, the other half from their own people. Kandic was running from both. He was a former member of the Scorpions, a Serbian police unit linked to atrocities in the Balkans, but it seems that he had a history to hide long before he began killing old men in Kosovo. When the tide began to turn, he sold out his own comrades to the Muslims and made his way over here. I haven’t yet managed to trace the means by which he was hired by Hoyle.’

  ‘Was he any good?’

  ‘I’m sure that he came highly recommended.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d like to see the reference. It probably didn’t mention that he was prone to decapitation. Is that all you have for me?’

  ‘Nearly.’ Hoyle had confirmed what Milton had told Gabriel: there was a link to Leehagen. Now Gabriel explained what he knew of the man named Kyle Benton, and his connection to both Leehagen and one of the men who had died outside Louis’s building, although he did not tell Louis how long he had known about Benton.

  ‘I’m looking into the rest,’ he concluded. ‘These things take time.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘A few days. No more than that. Did you believe all that Hoyle told you?’

  ‘I saw a head in a jar, and a girl being eaten by hogs. They both looked real enough. Did you know that Luther Berger was really Jon Leehagen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Would it have made any difference?’

  ‘Not then,’ Louis conceded. ‘Did you know who his father was?’

  ‘I was aware of him. He was a creature of contradictions. A hoodlum from the sticks, and an astute businessman. An ignorant man, but with low cunning. A cattle breeder and a pimp, but with mines to his name. An abuser and trafficker of women, who loved his sons. Not a threat, not in the circles in which you and I moved. Now he has cancer of the lungs, liver, and pancreas. He cannot breathe unaided. He is virtually housebound, apart from occasional excursions around his property in his wheelchair to feel fresh air upon his face. Therein lies the problem. I suspect that Hoyle may be right: if Leehagen is behind this, then he will keep coming at you, because he has nothing to lose. He will want you to die before he does.’

  ‘And the enmity with Hoyle?’

  ‘True, from what I can find out. They have long been rivals in business affairs, and were once rivals in love. She chose Leehagen, and gave him his two sons. She died of cancer, perhaps the same form of the disease that is now killing Leehagen himself. Their mutual antagonism is well known, although its precise roots appear to be lost in the past.’

  ‘Did his son deserve to die?’

  ‘You know,’ said Gabriel, ‘I think I preferred you when you weren’t so scrupulous.’

  ‘That’s not answering the question.’

  Gabriel raised his hands in a gesture of resignation. ‘What does “deserving” mean? The son was not so different from the father. His sins were fewer, but that was a consequence of age, not effort. A believer in God would say that one sin was enough to damn him. If that is true, then he was damned a hundred times over.’

  For a moment, Louis’s features, usually so impassive, altered. He looked weary. Gabriel saw the change, but did not comment upon it. Nevertheless, in that instant Gabriel’s opinion of his protégé altered. He had, he supposed, entertained hopes that Louis might yet prove useful once again. He had been good at what he did, good at killing, but to maintain that edge required sacrifice. Call it what you would – conscience, compassion, humanity – but it had to be left bloody and lifeless upon the altar of one’s craft. Somehow, a little of the decency had been left in Louis’s soul, and over the last decade it had prospered and grown. Yet perhaps Gabriel too had failed to smother all of his natural feelings toward the younger man beneath a blanket of pragmatism. He would assist him in this one last matter, and then their relationship would have to come to an unconditional end. There was too much weakness in Louis now for Gabriel to be able to risk keeping the lines of communication open. Weakness was like a virus: it transferred itself from host to host, from system to system. Gabriel had survived in his various incarnations through a combination of luck, ruthlessness, and an ability to spot the flaws in human beings. He planned to live for a great many more years. His work had kept him young inside. Without such amusements, he would have withered and died, or so it sometimes seemed to him. Gabriel, despite all of his many talents and his instinct for survival, lacked the self-knowledge to understand that he had withered inside a long time before.

  ‘And Bliss?’ asked Louis.

  ‘I have heard nothing.’

  ‘Billy Boy was driving the car on the day that we took out Leehagen’s son.’

  ‘I am aware of that.’

  ‘Now he’s dead, and Ballantine’s gone – dead, according to Hoyle. If those killings are linked to Leehagen, then only you and I are left.’

  ‘Well, then, the sooner we clear this whole affair up, the happier we will both be.’ Gabriel stood. ‘I’ll be in touch when I have more to offer,’ he said. ‘You can make your final decision then.’

  He left the same way that he had entered. Louis remained seated, considering all that he had been told. It was more than he had before he arrived, yet it was still not enough.

  From his perch on a garage roof, Angel followed Gabriel’s progress, watching as the sinister old man walked slowly up the alley, watching as he reached the street and looked left and right, as though undecided about which path beckoned him, watching as an old Bronco with out-of-state plates passed slowly, watching as flames leapt in the darkness of its inter ior, watching as the old man bucked and clouds of blood shot from his back as the bullets exited, watching as he folded to the ground, the redness pooling around him, the life seeping from him with every failing beat of his heart . . .

  Watching, feeling shock, but no regret.

  ‘He’ll live. For now.’

  Louis and Angel were back in their apartment. It was late afternoon. The call had come through to Louis. Angel did not know from whom, and he did not ask. He only listened as his lover repeated what he had been told.

  ‘He’s a tough old bastard,’ said Angel.

  There was no warmth to his tone. Louis recognized its absence.

  ‘He would have let you die, if it suited him. It wouldn’t have cost him a moment’s thought.’

  ‘No, that’s not true,’ said Louis. ‘He would have spared a moment for me.’ He stood at the window, his face reflected in the glass. Angel, damaged himself, wondered how much more damaged in turn this man whom he loved could be to retain such affection for a creature like Gabriel. Perhaps it was true that all men love their fathers, no matter how terrible the things they do to their sons: there is a part of us that remains forever in debt to those responsible for our existence. After all, Angel had wept when the news of his own father’s death had reached him, and Angel’s father had sold him to pedophiles and sexual predators for drinking money. Angel sometimes thought that he had wept all the harder because of it, wept for all that his father had not been as much as for what he was.

  ‘If Hoyle is right, then Leehagen found Ballantine,’ said Louis. ‘Maybe Ballantine gave him Gabriel.’

  ‘I thought he always insulated himself,’ said Angel.

  ‘He did, but they knew each other, and there was probably only one layer, one buffer, between Ballantine and Gabriel, if that. It looks like Leehagen found it,
and from there made the final connection.’

  ‘What now?’ asked Angel.

  ‘We go back to Hoyle, then I kill Leehagen. This won’t stop otherwise.’

  ‘Are you doing it for your sake, or for Gabriel’s?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Louis replied.

  And in that moment, had he been there to witness it, Gabriel might have seen something of the old Louis, the one he had nurtured and coaxed into being, shining darkly.

  Benton called from a phone box on Roosevelt Avenue.

  ‘It’s done,’ he said. Benton’s wrist and shoulder ached, and he was sure that the latter had begun to bleed again. He could feel dampness and warmth there. He should not have taken it upon himself to fire the shots at the old man, not with the wounds that he had received at the auto shop, but he was angry, and anxious to make up for his failure on that occasion.

  ‘Good,’ said Michael Leehagen. ‘You can come home now.’ He hung up the phone and walked down the hall to the bedroom in which his father lay sleeping. Michael watched over him for a couple of minutes, but did not wake him. He would tell him of what had transpired when he awoke.

  Michael had no idea who the old man really was. Ballantine had spoken of him only in the most general of terms. It was enough that he had been involved in his brother’s slaying, and was meeting Louis, the man directly responsible for his brother’s death. The attack would be one more incentive for Louis to strike back, one more reason for him to travel north. At last, Michael had begun to understand his father’s reasoning: blood called for blood, and it should be spilled where his brother lay at uneasy rest. He still believed that his father was overestimating the potential threat posed by Louis and his partner once they were lured north, and there had been no need to involve the third party, the hunter, the one named Bliss, but his father was not to be dissuaded, and Michael had given up the argument almost as soon as it had begun. It didn’t matter. It was his father’s money and, ultimately, his father’s revenge. Michael would acquiesce to the old man’s wishes, for he loved his father very much, and when he was dead, all that was once his would become his son’s.