Blood and Bone

by William Lashner

  "He just might have."

  "Why'd you stop me?"

  "Because I didn't want that kid saying something he'd spend the rest of his life regretting."

  "That's our job, isn't it?"

  "Not if we spend the rest of our lives regretting it, too."

  "He already pretty much said he didn't mean to kill Toth, that it was an accident."

  "He came close."

  "What do you think?"

  "I think he found a box."

  They stood side by side and stared at Lamar as the kid tried again to drink from the soda. The stuff was flying from the can before it was halfway to his lips.

  "That would mean our killer was clever enough to stage the crime scene," said Ramirez, "and then place the gun and the watch and the computer screens in a box on some deserted lot so that some chump would find them, hock something, and take the fall."

  "Seems a bit far-fetched, doesn't it?"

  "It would also mean that this isn't just a simple killing but probably something tied to the fire, to that file cabinet in Byrne's basement, and maybe to the questionable circumstances of Liam Byrne's death."

  "It's enough to give me a damn headache," said Henderson. "What would your boy Occam say about all that?"

  "He'd say Lamar is it."

  Ramirez thought about it for a moment, took a deep breath. "I owe you, old man."

  "What for?"

  "For pulling me out of there."

  Just then there was a knock on the door, and a uniform poked her head inside. "Detective Ramirez, there's a lawyer here to see you."

  "You get a name?"

  "She said her name was Shin, Katie Shin. Just like that. And she said she had a message for you from some Kyle Byrne."

  CHAPTER 40

  AT PONZIO'S, an overblown New Jersey diner with a false stone front and overcooked peas, Kyle Byrne stared into the very face of God. Or the closest thing he had going, albeit one wiping a splotch of Hellmann's from his lower lip with his thumb.

  "Now, when you meet with this walking, talking piece of corruption," said Liam Byrne, "you need come at him from an angle, keep him off balance."

  Kyle listlessly swirled a french fry in a pool of ketchup and pretended to listen, more interested in the features of the face in front of him than in the plots and plans coming out of its mouth. Through the years Kyle had guarded the mental picture of his father so religiously that the image had lost its flesh and bone and become something almost holy. He was the creator, who had formed, through both his genes and his absence, almost the whole of Kyle's identity. And now, as the creator sat across from Kyle at this desultory diner, stuffing his face with a turkey club on white with extra mayonnaise, the disappointment was palpable.

  "We can't let him know what we're really after, see?" said his father. "If he cottons on to the fact that we're trying to destroy him utterly, he'll disappear. So we give him something he can lunge for, something that he thinks will give him an out. We give him a feint, like a football running back. That's the position you played, wasn't it?"

  "How would you know?"

  "I kept track, boyo. Every week in San Bernardino, I'd gather up the Philadelphia papers and see what I was missing. There you were on the high-school sports page in living color. I couldn't have been prouder."

  No matter how much Kyle mythologized it in his memory, no matter how much he exalted it in recollection, there was nothing spiritual about the face in front of him now. In the bright and unrelenting light of Ponzio's, his father looked realer than real, not to mention old as hell. And as common as the burger on Kyle's plate. Kyle wondered what question he would ask God if He were seated across from him at Ponzio's.

  "How'd you meet my mother?" he said finally.

  Liam Byrne looked at his son with a narrowed eye, as if he spotted the peril in the question, and then put down his sandwich.

  "She came to work at the firm," he said softly. "Laszlo hired her, actually. As a secretary. There was something about her that I spotted right off."

  "What exactly?"

  "It's hard to say. I suppose it was that calm implacability of hers. It is impossible to overstate how attractive that is to someone like me. Of course she was a beautiful woman, but she seemed to be challenging me to try to get through her walls. And I could never resist a good challenge."

  The old man's crooked smile of remembrance struck a chord of anger in Kyle. "So you charged the ramparts. How old was she then?"

  "She was old enough to know better. We both were. But once it began, we couldn't help ourselves. I suppose that meant she saw something in me, too."

  "Like what?"

  "The same charm I passed on to you, maybe."

  "So you charmed the pants off her."

  "Ah, boyo, we charmed each other. Your mother was a special woman. Stronger than ever I was, that's for sure. She knew her mind and acted upon it. And I won't be giving away any state secrets to say that I loved her mightily."

  "Not enough to marry her."

  "Well, of course, I was married already. To my wife, you see. An interesting woman in her own right. I saw her, actually, just a day before the fire. After you sent your friend inside."

  "You saw her?"

  "Yes, though she didn't see me. It was quite the emotional experience, I must admit. She's grown old. It happens, though a disappointment nevertheless. And she's married again, to an old sot too decrepit to be unfaithful. I suppose that is what she wanted all those fallow years with me."

  "Did you say hello?"

  "Of course not. I wouldn't disrupt her current happiness for anything. Whatever we were together in the past, and we were many things, we weren't happy."

  "If you weren't happy in your marriage," said Kyle, "and if you loved my mother like you said, why didn't you leave your wife?"

  "Well, we were married in the church, you see. And in those days it wasn't always so easy to—"

  "Yeah, I get it."

  Liam looked up sharply at the rebuke in his son's voice. "Your mother understood."

  "She was a good sport, you mean."

  "Here we are, in the eternal struggle, father and son battling over the affections of the mother. Oedipus redux. It would be unnatural any other way. But your mother, boyo, she doesn't need your defending. She never needed anyone. It's what attracted me to her in the first place. To be the center of her world seemed a rare thing, worth more than diamonds. But it's hard to sustain a relationship with someone so self-contained. I tried, yes. For a bit, after you were born, I even moved in, did you know that?"

  "She told me."

  "Yes. An interesting time. But it didn't work. She found someone else to love, someone else to stand at the center. She pushed me away for another."

  "Go to hell."

  "No, son, it's true."

  "Who, then? Who did my mother fall in love with?"

  "You don't know?"

  "No. I don't."

  "It was you. We don't need to battle, because you are already triumphant. She loved you so much there was no room left for me. She loved you, boyo."

  "You don't need to tell me that."

  "Of course I don't. That's another thing we have in common. We both loved your mother and were loved by her, in succession, I think. But you won out."

  "And you went back to your wife."

  "She took me back, yes. We had a difficult relationship, but we both gave each other things that we needed. So she put away her anger and took me back. But there were conditions, which made it hard for me to get away to see you."

  "I missed you all the time," said Kyle, the words slipping out unbidden, as if spoken by the twelve-year-old kid still inside him.

  "I know," said Liam Byrne. "It was a difficult thing for me to stay away, more difficult than you could imagine. I understand you still have issues with your old man. I deserted you, not once but twice. But I am your father, and you are in a time of dire need, and here I am. I saved you once this morning, and we'll work through the rest of i
t together. Some of that must matter, don't you think?"

  Kyle stared at his father and wondered why all their conversations turned into him whining and his father explaining. They were caught in an eternal cycle of Kyle's longing and disappointment. But maybe it was time to stop fighting and doubting and trying to get the apology he seemed so desperately to need. Maybe it was time just to accept that his father was here, now, and to see what the future held for the two of them. Forgiveness? Atonement? Redemption? Love? It was all possible, wasn't it, as long as Kyle's father was still sitting in front of him at Ponzio's?

  "I suppose," said Kyle.

  "Good. Now can we get back to the matter at hand before the forces arrayed on either side lop off our heads?"

  "Sure."

  "We'll talk more about dealing with the senator later. I have plans. Definite plans. But I didn't like what happened this morning, didn't like it at all. I'm not willing to leave you at the mercy of Sorrentino, that Italian degenerate. The senator can wait until tomorrow. It's time we take care of my old partner now."

  "Why don't we just give him the file? It's what he wants, and it will take him off my back and screw Truscott at the same time."

  "Because he is a scoundrel of the worst stripe," said Liam. "Because he will care nothing about caging a criminal but instead will trade it for cash and include you in the bargain. You'll never be safe if he has the file, and that I can't allow. No, we have to take him out of the picture once and for all."

  "How?"

  "Ahh, that's the question. How indeed? But I know for certain we need to go right at him. There is no use waiting around for him to act. Always keep the initiative, always stay one step ahead. I learned in law that if I waited for the other side's filings, I'd get buried."

  Just then Liam Byrne's features froze in startled recognition of someone in the restaurant. He quickly averted his face as an older man in a sweater, hunched and limping, shuffled by. And then the old man stopped, and then the old man turned around. His face was a haggard droop of flesh, but his eyes were curiously alert as they stared at the back of Liam Byrne's head.

  "Liam?" said the old man.

  "No, I'm sorry," said Liam Byrne, without turning around. "My name's Marvin."

  "Did you have a brother named Liam? Or a cousin?"

  "No."

  "I'm sorry to bother you, but you're the spitting image of someone I used to know."

  Liam Byrne twisted in the booth to stare straight at the man and give a warm, untroubled smile. "Handsome fellow, I suppose," said Liam in a broad midwestern accent.

  "He would have been," said the man, "if he hadn't died many years ago. It was the strangest thing, though, because I could have sworn you were he." The old man turned to look at Kyle, blinked twice as if in recognition, looked again at Liam. "It's uncanny."

  "One thing we know about the world," said Liam, turned back now and winking at Kyle, "is that coincidences happen."

  "Yes, I suppose," said the old man, his face screwed up in puzzlement. "I'm sorry to disturb your dinner."

  "Not a problem," said Liam, "not a problem at all. I'm often mistaken for the dead."

  When the old man had walked on and sat at his table at the far end of the row, Liam let out a breath.

  "That was close," he said. "We ate in New Jersey so I wouldn't be recognized, and then Johnstone has to walk into this very restaurant. I had a number of cases with him back in the day. He worked for the insurance companies. A moral failing, if you ask me. But even as he recognized me right off, I barely recognized him at all. He is ancient."

  "It happens," said Kyle flatly.

  "But his face did get pale, didn't it?" said Liam, starting to laugh. "I could see the blood rush away as he thought he recognized me. Like he had seen a ghost."

  "He had, hadn't he?" said Kyle.

  "Yes," said Liam, who reached up and scratched at his mop of gray hair, as if scratching out an idea. "Indeed he had."

  CHAPTER 41

  SKITCH SAT WITH KYLE in Liam's rental car as both stared at the empty sidewalk outside Tiny Tony's Ticket Brokerage. Kyle's father wasn't in the car with them because he insisted that no one know about his return. And Skitch was in the car because he was a crucial element of Kyle's father's plan to get Tiny Tony off Kyle's back for good. A plan that, Kyle would be the first to admit, was suicidally insane. But he was here as a matter of trust: He had decided to trust his father, and his father had said about the plan, "Trust me."

  "Where is everybody?" said Skitch.

  "Gone," said Kyle. "Sent home. I made that a condition of the meeting. I wasn't giving those goons another chance to rearrange my features."

  "Good idea."

  "Speaking of which," said Kyle, "what's with your face?"

  "What's with your suit?"

  "Let me give you a lesson, dude. You want respect, dress like you deserve it."

  Skitch turned in his seat and gave Kyle a disbelieving stare. "What the crap's gotten into you?"

  "You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

  "I bet you're right," said Skitch.

  "But that doesn't answer what happened to your face?"

  "I cut myself shaving."

  "You shave your forehead?"

  "With my testosterone level, bro, I even shave my eyeballs. Maybe they're waiting to ambush you inside."

  "I doubt it," said Kyle. "I have what he wants. If I give it to him, he doesn't need his goons. And if I don't, they'll have plenty of time to find me."

  "Maybe he thinks he needs protection."

  "Oh, Tiny Tony has enough protection for the likes of me," said Kyle, thinking of the oversize pistol that had once been pointed at his heart.

  "What are you up to anyway?"

  "Nothing much," said Kyle. "Just a little séance. It's time for Tiny Tony to get a warning from the dead."

  "Bro?"

  "Forget it. If we punk him right, I'm off the hook."

  "And if not, will I be scraping you off the street like I did last time we were here?"

  "Most likely. You sure you can do what we need you to do?"

  "A piece of cake. Two locks, both so old I could blow into them and align the pins. The only hard thing will be finding the right circuit breaker, so screw it, I'll just use the master and shut everything down."

  "Ninety seconds, that's it. Off and on."

  "I got a watch and a flashlight. I'm set."

  "Just be as quiet as a cat and keep the back door open so you can get the hell out of there."

  "No one's as worried about getting the hell out of there as I am."

  "And you'll get home on your own?"

  "As soon as I hit the back door, I won't stop running till I reach Bubba's."

  "Good. So what's really with the gash on your forehead?"

  "Nothing."

  "Are you in trouble?"

  "Forget about it."

  "What kind of trouble?"

  "I don't know, maybe I'm in the middle of something I just want to get out of, but it's not proving to be so easy."

  "Dude," said Kyle, shaking his head.

  "Skip it, all right?" said Skitch. "I know you told me so, and I know I'm a screwup."

  "I did tell you so, but you're not a screwup, Skitch. I've been thinking about you."

  "Me?"

  "Yeah, you. You're bold as hell, and I don't think I ever told you how much I admire that."

  "Kyle?"

  "I could use a little boldness in my life."

  "That tie must be cutting off your oxygen."

  "Maybe," said Kyle. He picked up the loose end of his tie and stared at it. "How is it possible to wear this every day? You want to know why the world is so messed up? Too many ties." Pause. "You think I should get something with a little more color?"

  "Cyan," said Skitch.

  "Cyan?"

  "It's a tropical blue. Quite festive."

  "You're watching way too much cable. Look, whatever you're into, as soon as this is over, we'll get you out of
it."

  "Oh, yeah? How?"

  "I'll talk to your guys."

  "Really?"

  "Sure, why not?"

  "Because you're a lazy fuck. And what would you say anyway?"

  "I'll make them see your point of view."

  "How?"

  "Easy. First I'll wear the suit. Then I'll find something to squeeze." Kyle checked his watch. "How long will you need to pick the locks?"

  "A minute or two, tops."

  "Okay, get in position. In five minutes exactly, I'll start making a racket. That's when you start."

  "Good luck, bro."

  "Thanks, I'll need it." As Skitch quietly opened the door and started slipping out of the car, Kyle put a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, I owe you."

  "You take care of my problem, we'll owe each other," said Skitch, and then he was gone, the door still open.

  Kyle flashed his headlights twice and waited one minute, two minutes, four minutes. Then he slid across the front of the car and out Skitch's open door, slamming it shut so only one closing would sound. With a hop in his step and a swivel in his neck, he loped toward the beat old storefront.

  At exactly five minutes after Skitch had slid out of the car, Kyle started banging at the edge of the door with the flat of his fist. A polite knock-knock would have been enough, but Kyle banged like a herald from some dark, hungry place.

  "Stop all that hullabaloo," shouted Tiny Tony Sorrentino as he unlocked the door from the inside and opened it a crack. "What are you trying to do, wake the dead?"

  "If I have to," said Kyle.

  "You got it?"

  "I can get it."

  "What the hell does that mean? I'm not here for my health. It was just supposed to be a handoff."

  "I have the file, but not on me," said Kyle. "You don't get it until we decide how it's going to work out between us in the future."

  "How it's going to work out between us? I'm already married."

  "Are we going to talk, or am I going to walk?"

  Tiny Tony opened the door a little wider and stuck his head out, looked left, looked right. "Get the hell in here," said Tiny as he pulled Kyle inside. Sorrentino took a final scan outside before slamming the door shut behind them.