by J. Calamy
*
“Boss, hey Boss,” Bishop said, snapping Graves out of his reverie. His voice was rough. Bishop had loved Mac, too, in his own way, and when Mac’s little brother was killed, Bishop had wept like a child. He had told Graves afterward that he loathed himself for the way they’d left the kid’s mangled body as they’d rushed a dying Graves onto the bird.
“I think they—”
Graves saw the shadow, looked down at the feed again I know that smile, the way he hops into his trousers, everything. He did the math instantly, with the perfect clarity that only came to him when he was shooting.
“Get ready…” David said, but Graves had already fired.
“Shots fired. Confirm kill?”
“Confirm. Target down,” Bishop said faintly.
Graves watched on the feed as Mac scrabbled out from under his lover’s body, rolled to the door, moving fast and smooth despite his bulk. In his anger, Graves sent a warning shot after him, able to see into the alley now without the need of the video.
“Endex. Let’s get out of this weather,” he snarled.
*
He was only sober long enough for the helicopter ride to Scimitar. He gave the order to head north again and got on the phone.
“Nelson fucking Graves,” came the oh-so-familiar voice.
“Good morning, Thomas,” Graves said.
“Why did you do it?” Mac asked.
“Keep my hand in, you know, can’t have these cubs thinking the old skills have gone soft. Glad to see I can still make that kind of shot. Damned tricky, you know. The rain was dreadful up there.”
“You knew who he was?” Mac’s voice was rough, slurred. Was he drunk? Probably.
“I knew someone in Anatoly Morozov’s organization was a mole,” Graves said. Now for the real killing blow. “But who? No. Not until last week. Not until you called him.”
There was silence, and Graves knew he had hurt him. Good. He hoped he did.
“Sonny,” Mac whispered. “Why did you do it? He was a good guy. He was just someone who made me happy.”
“He was a CIA agent working deep in the organization of one of my allies,” Graves snarled. “Do you really think I killed him because of you?”
“You made it personal because of me,” Mac shouted, his voice cracking. Graves laughed.
“And to see if I could still make the shot,” he said. “Don’t forget that!”
He cut the call and leaned back. He glanced at his pipe but then turned away. No, not yet. One more call. Then he was going to get so stoned he wouldn’t wake up until Singapore.
“Anatoly.”
“Lord Graves,” Anatoly Morozov sounded wary.
“I’ve fixed your little problem,” Graves said. “And answered what happened last month.”
“This is good news,” Anatoly Morozov said. “How can I repay you? This will cost me more than a night with my wife I think.”
“It will,” Graves said. “I need your contact in Louie Tang’s office.”
*
“But do they know what Thanksgiving is?” Lena asked. Nick shrugged. He was back on the old patio, watching Morris grill their chicken. Robbie was shaking his head.
“You’re so lucky,” he muttered. “I’m on duty that whole week. It isn’t fair.”
“It’s fair,” Lena said. “It’s so the junior enlisted can be off. You want time off for the holidays, then give up those stripes.”
“Hell no,” Robbie laughed.
“But what will they even serve at this dinner?” Lena continued. Nick had no idea. He poured the last of the wine into Lena’s glass. Nick wasn’t sure if Jeanne understood the concept, but since she and Roger Yeung insisted, he was willing to go along.
“Rich people nonsense,” Morris laughed. “Hummingbird wings.”
“Well, Roger is planning the food, so it might be okay,” Nick said. He had been pleased to see Roger again. The CFO-turning-food-blogger had returned to Singapore on a kind of culinary sabbatical. To build my brand, Nicholas, to build my brand.
“I mean, Roger lived in the states for two years,” Nick continued. “He has presumably been to an actual Thanksgiving of some kind?”
“Well, I’m looking forward to it,” Morris said. “Talk about name dropping. Oh, I say, Nicholas, do you remember that time we had Thanksgiving with San Soe Jeanne Kyaw?”
“You mean the Asian Peace Prize winner? The world famous art patron and designer?” Nick replied, playing along. “I do! Such a good time we had! You were there, weren’t you, Ms. Jarrett?”
“I was,” Lena said. “The hummingbird was exquisite!”
They fell over each other laughing, imagining Peterson’s face. Robbie grumbled some more until Lena planted herself in his lap.
“Lena! You home?” Came a voice from the street below. Nick glanced over the side and nearly spit up his beer. It was flip-flop guy.
“Hey, Big Mac!” Lena said over his shoulder. “Come on up!”
Nick gaped at her. But then flip-flop guy was there and greeting everyone and helping himself to beer. He froze when he saw Nick, his brown eyes going wide.
“Nick, Robbie, this is Thomas Macauley,” Lena said. “We’ve been on detail. Mac this is my boyfriend, Robbie. And I think you know Nick Erickson—he used to be the Chaplain’s assistant.”
“Hey, kid,” Mac said. His voice was raspy. “Dunno if you remember me…” He was rubbing the back of his neck and gave Nick a shaky smile.
“I remember you, snitch,” Nick said but held out his hand to take the sting away. He wasn’t angry. His life was good now. Better than it had been. He had forgiven the contractor long since. Mac shook his hand with obvious relief on his face.
“I told you he wasn’t mad,” Lena said, kissing Mac’s cheek.
“I should be,” Nick said. He meant to be teasing but Mac’s face fell.
“All right look,” Mac said. He shifted awkwardly. “I told you then, and I’ll tell you again. I took the pictures, didn’t think nothin’ of it, just going over the security the night before, tryin’ to see who was on what door. Peterson’s the one who lost his mind. I didn’t know you ’n him had beef like that.”
“I’m fine,” Nick said. “I work for Jeanne Kyaw now. Peterson can suck my cock.”
“Jesus, th’mouth on you…” Mac muttered. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Ms. Kyaw is good people.”
“She is,” Nick said. He couldn’t help but smile. Jeanne had that effect.
“So Daddy Warbucks did right by you then?” Mac asked.
“You mean Nelson Graves?” Nick asked. Mac started coughing, his face turning red. He had tried the chicken. Morris and Robbie laughed while Lena rescued Mac’s beer.
Nick leaned forward to rub Mac on the back. Mac’s face drew tight for a moment, and Nick noticed the rings under his eyes. This close, the big bear was pale under his beard and looked like he hadn’t slept in ages.
“Thanks,” Mac said. “Yeah I mean—goddamn that’s hot!—he’s kinda known for throwing his weight around.” His face tensed again but then cleared as he took a drink of his beer.
“He did,” Nick said. “He called Young, and Young called Peterson to say I was working for Jeanne.”
“Well, that’s classy,” Mac said as he glared at the chicken on his plate. “The hell is wrong with you people? This is hot as hell!”
Nick didn’t want to talk about Graves. His feelings for him were such a confused mix of lust and anger and hurt and frustration it was hard to think straight. But he was curious about one thing.
“Why were you taking pictures of us anyway?”
“Not y’all,” Mac said, waving his chopsticks. “The damn door. I do security audits. That’s my job. There’s supposed to be two Marines on every door.”
“Yeah he was trying to get me fired,” Morris said, kicking at Mac’s leg.
“Security audits?” Nick said, “Shit, I thought you was CIA?”
“Hell, no,” Mac said. “I get called
in to look at security protocols.” He saw Nick’s face and held up his hands. “I mean, not like you was in danger or nothin’. Seein’ who you were with an’ all.”
Nick controlled his face. Not only was this “security protocol” bit bullshit, but talking about Graves was twisting him in knots. I would never let anything happen to you. That’s what he said to me. And he meant it. He wanted to take care of me and then he…changed his mind?
Nick forced himself to focus on the conversation in front of him.
“That’s the job I want,” Robbie was saying. “I wish I could work for someone like Daddy Warbucks. But I’d never see North Carolina again.”
“Yeah,” Nick said. “I guess he travels a lot.”
“I bet,” Mac said. “Way too much of a hassle for me. But okay for young guys like you.”
“Honestly, I don’t have anything to do with him,” Nick said. “He’s up there,” Nick waved a hand over his head. “And I’m down here. We don’t cross paths.” He managed to keep most of the bitterness out of his voice. Most of it.
“So you only work for Jeanne Kyaw then,” Mac said. “I hear she does these big ol’ parties.”
“We were just talking about some Thanksgiving thing she is planning,” Lena said. “Hummingbird wings!”
“Quail eyeballs,” Nick laughed. Mac shuddered.
“You should invite Daddy Warbucks,” Morris said. Nick shook his head.
“No fucking way,” Nick snapped. “He ain’t even in town. Gone off somewhere doing stupid important-guy shit.”
Mac flinched, nearly dropping his beer.
“I bet,” he said. “I just fucking bet.” Lena frowned as Mac tilted his beer up and drank the whole thing in steady pulls.
“Easy there, Big Mac,” she said. “You might want to pace yourself.” She was gearing up for a grade A lecture; Nick jumped in to head her off.
“So, who is coming to eat hummingbird wings with me then?”
*
“I know what I saw,” Graves snapped. “I know a flashback when I see one. My God, I’ve had enough of them myself.”
Jeanne sighed. She took another long sip of tea, legs curled under her. Graves was pacing back and forth across the deck. It was midmorning, and they had rolled out the awnings to block the sun. But Graves was upset, agitated for Nicholas in a way she hadn’t seen before.
He wasn’t telling her much about what happened, respecting Nick’s privacy. Jeanne appreciated that. It was a good quality. She was sensible enough to understand her friend would fail even the most basic test of decency. He was not a good man. Not by any stretch. But Nelson Graves was a gentleman, and he had manners. Along with his generosity and his loyalty, his manners saved him from being irredeemable.
“Graves,” she sighed. “If he wants to tell you, he will. Otherwise, it is useless to speculate. Leave the poor boy alone.”
“I won’t pry,” Graves said. “I had him investigated, of course. But I didn’t read the report.”
Jeanne sat up at this. It was something she should have assumed. Of course. The horsemen would never have let Nicholas Erickson anywhere near Le Comte de Diarmuid et Cuylon without checking on him.
“I asked Harrison, in London,” Graves continued. “I asked him if Nick was any risk to me or mine. He said no. And so I deleted the report. Was that wrong? Should I have read it? Damn, this boy is driving me mad.”
He threw himself down, drumming his fingers on his prosthetic knee. He pulled out the ubiquitous case and lit a joint. The smell of marijuana, all citrus and damp leaves, wafted across the deck. He took a long drag and then passed it to Jeanne.
“I can’t stay,” Graves said. “I must go to Luzon. See my doctors again.”
“How bad is it?” Jeanne asked. She had been meaning to ask him. He hated to talk about his health. But it was obvious by how much opium he was smoking and his temper that something was wrong.
“Nothing new, darling,” he said bitterly. “Just more surgery.”
“Take Nicholas with you?”
“I cannot,” he said. “You know I cannot.”
“He would be good for you!”
“Too good. It isn’t possible.”
“Don’t be so—”
“Look at me, Jeanne!” Graves surged to his feet, storming to the rail and gripping it in both fists. She waited until he had some sort of control.
“Look at me,” he said. His voice was harsh, angry. “I’m forty-six! I’m torn to bits! Half the time I struggle to even speak properly. My life is one crisis after another.”
He turned back to her, and she sat up, alarmed at what she saw on his face.
“And I have a very great deal of killing to do before I can go home,” he said quietly. “And then—”
“And then?” Jeanne snapped. She stood up, balling her fists. “And then? And then what? That is where I worry.”
“What is there to worry about?” Graves asked.
“You!” Jeanne cried. “Nali and the children, for four months a year. Then you are alone, Graves.”
“I’m never alone, Jeanne,”
“Dramatic nonsense!” Jeanne snapped. “You are alone. And it isn’t good, and it isn’t right and—”
“Jeanne, stop,” he said, his voice dropping. “I am not dragging some innocent little American boy into the jungles of Burma to rub my back and listen to me play piano. Who would do that to someone?”
“You won’t even give him a chance to decide that for himself? You won’t even ask?”
“I already know the answer!”
“No, you don’t!”
“I do! He’s already said it! It’s no, Jeanne,” Graves shouted. “Just like it was no from Mona! No from Tom, no from Nali who is the mother of my children.” He turned away, breathing hard through his nose. “A head injury doesn’t make me stupid,” he muttered.
“Are you sure about that?” Jeanne snapped, spinning on her heel and heading for the stairs.
Chapter Fifteen
Another week went by and preparations at the Palladium hit full swing. Nick was busy. He swam every morning and worked all day. He was hoping to be too tired to think about Graves, but that simply wasn’t the case. Being surrounded by the trappings of Singapore’s superrich kept bringing the man into Nick’s thoughts. Focusing on the job made things worse.
“So this won’t be the New Year’s Party?” Nick asked, looking at all the New Year’s decorations being unloaded along the walk to the Palladium. Nick had thought it would be a hotel, but it turned out to be a private club on the water, owned by the Li’s and used for exclusive events. Jeanne was planning the party, and it was shaping up to be the biggest event of the season.
“This is New Year’s in the Western calendar,” she said. “But the real party will be in Hong Kong for Lunar New Year’s. The budget for that one is ridiculous. I’m so glad I am only in charge of the art!”
“So, for sure, we are going to Hong Kong?”
“Oui, cheri,” Jeanne said. They walked through the door and were greeted by a delivery man with a folder of manifests needing Jeanne’s signature. Jeanne handed Nick various copies of papers, but he wasn’t listening. He was too distracted by the idea of Hong Kong.
“Why the long face, darling?”
“I thought Graves couldn’t go to Hong Kong?”
Jeanne laughed.
“He certainly cannot!” she said.
“Well that’s too bad, I guess,” Nick said.
“You miss him, don’t you?”
“Of course. It’s been a couple of weeks. No one else speaks two words to me,” Nick said. But he felt uneasy. He remembered the kiss, the happiness on Graves’s face that had evaporated when Nick rejected him. Or when he rejected Nick? It was no longer clear to him exactly what had happened.
“Jeanne, why don’t you marry Graves?” Nicholas asked. Nick remembered the big man pacing back and forth, snarling into his phone, jabbing his finger and clearly chewing out the person on the other end.
“Aside from the obvious, I mean,” Nicholas said ruefully. Jeanne smiled, likely remembering the same.
“I was married once,” she said.
“Really?” Nicholas turned to face her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“I don’t talk about it much,” Jeanne said softly. “I was young. Not an arranged marriage per se—let’s say a very strongly encouraged marriage. The son of my father’s business partner.”
“Like a princess,” Nicholas said. Jeanne gave him a dazzling smile.
“You see. Yes. Exactly. To form an alliance,” she said. “He was a terrible person. He didn’t beat me. But he was controlling and possessive. I was never allowed to be out of his sight, his control. I was a prisoner.” She frowned, old pain drawing the lines of her face. Nicholas put a hand on hers.
“Jeanne, if it hurts to talk about it—you don’t have to tell me anything, you know.”
“You’re a good man, Nicholas,” she said. “I don’t mind telling you. The peace negotiations were a chance to escape. My father’s way of making up for the marriage. He felt terrible, poor man.”
“You met Graves,” Nicholas said.
“Clever,” Jeanne said. “Yes. We had an affair. My husband found out and came at me with a gun.”
“I bet Graves made him into hash,” Nicholas muttered, thinking of his friend again.
“He did,” Jeanne said. “He and my father both. But since then, I abhor any signs or symbols of possession. And I won’t marry again.”
“I don’t blame you at all,” Nicholas said. “I wish he was here though. I wish I at least knew where he is and if he is okay. We didn’t part under the best terms, but still…”
“He is seducing you,” Jeanne said, wagging a finger.
“Stop,” Nick said. He hesitated, unsure what to say. “It isn’t like that.”
“It could be. He would give you anything you want,” Jeanne said.
“Maybe? But look, I don’t even know if being with a man… I’ve never even thought about it. And then Graves is… He’s Nelson fucking Graves. He runs this empire—he can’t be with some schmuck like me anyway.”
“Why not?”