‘Did you give him the answers he wanted?’
Narvaez started on his food to give himself a little time. Evan knew he’d get there in the end, he wasn’t worried the old man was being evasive.
‘Not all of them.’
‘You didn’t tell him who his father was.’
Narvaez put down his fork, gave Evan a look, his good eye as hard as the glass one. It hadn’t been meant as an accusation, but it had been taken as one. He jutted his chin at Evan.
‘What would you have done?’
Evan shrugged.
‘This isn’t about me.’
‘What good would it have done? To have Francisco confront the man who abandoned him. Who drove his mother to suicide. I couldn’t see one good thing that would come of it. I still can’t.’
How might the meeting have gone back then? Hanna wouldn’t have been dying of cancer. Would he have been so desperate to learn he had an illegitimate Mexican half-breed heir? There was no point arguing about it now with Narvaez.
‘What happened next?’
‘He lived with me. He was sixteen years old, he got a job, worked hard. He was lucky. After only a few months he got a green card in an immigration amnesty. The American dream was his to live and enjoy, despite everything evil Uncle Jesús had done to thwart him.’
It was said with a wry smile, but there was real bitterness behind the words. Evan shifted uncomfortably in his chair, Narvaez’ earlier words coming back to him.
Don’t look so pleased with yourself until you hear what I’ve got to say.
‘And then’—he banged his fist hard on the table, made his glasses bounce—‘history repeated itself all over again. He met a girl. Except it was the other way around.’
He stared straight through Evan, back twenty-five years in an instant. It seemed to Evan that he held something inside himself, holding onto his pain, punishing himself.
‘A girl from a rich Anglo family.’
Just like the Foxes. The family you stole him away from.
‘What was that phrase of yours again? Karma’s a bitch. I think I’ll have it tattooed on my ass.’
Evan did a spit take, liking Narvaez more by the minute.
‘Her name was Leighton. Her father was a retired General, something like that. In the army anyway. A long-standing family tradition. I’m sure her mother did a lot a good work on behalf of the church. You know the sort of people I’m talking about.’
Evan nodded. He knew very well indeed. It sounded a lot like Sarah’s folks, apart from the army connection. He waved his arm at the waitress, held up two fingers. Narvaez gave an appreciative grunt, put his dark glasses on as she approached the table.
‘Leighton went to the best schools, enjoyed all the advantages money and social standing bring. Eligible young men—rich, white men, of course, with names like Kingsley and Briggs—beating down her door for her favors.’
His words weren’t bitter, not like they’d been when he described the trick fate had played on him. There was an acceptance, that’s just the way things were.
Seems nobody told Francisco.
‘And she fell in love with Francisco.’
‘A poor half-breed Mexican bastard, his back still dripping from the Rio Grande. It must have turned her parents’ Martini cocktails sour. Heaven knows what might have happened if word got out at the Country Club. Their little darling with a boy they wouldn’t use as hired help.’
‘So they stopped her from seeing him.’
Narvaez shook his head and again Evan felt a premonition, way down in the pit of his stomach. That would have been too easy. An everyday tale of social and racial prejudice.
‘No. The father was an old dinosaur, but the mother, she was a good woman underneath it all, if you stripped away all the pretentious attitudes. Didn’t think they should dictate to their daughter what she should and shouldn’t do. Hoped she’d come to see the error of her ways in her own good time. So they tolerated Francisco. It’s the only word for it. He was allowed to come to the house, but, strangely enough, her father was never there when he did. And her mother was oh-so polite.’
‘Was he allowed to sit down?’
Narvaez grinned at him.
‘Not the first couple times, no.’
Evan saw his own grinning face reflected in Narvaez’ dark glasses.
‘Sounds like you know what it’s like,’ Narvaez said.
‘Not quite that bad.’
‘You know, I’d rather someone told me what they think of me to my face.’
‘Polite sucks,’ Evan agreed. ‘What happened?’
Narvaez stretched his arms wide, then yawned behind his fist.
‘Francisco was desperate to ingratiate himself—’
‘That’s a harsh word.’
‘It’s the only word,’ Narvaez snapped. He thought about it a moment. ‘He was desperate to get into their good books. Better?’
Evan nodded, he wasn’t that concerned either way. Narvaez studied him.
‘What would you have done in Francisco’s situation? Think about everything I’ve told you.’
Evan thought about it. Took another pull on his beer. That always helps. Lubricates the brain synapses, something like that. In the end he gave up.
‘No idea.’
‘He joined the Marine Corp. Poor stupid kid. Did he really think putting on a uniform would make all the rest of it go away? That daddy would suddenly welcome him with open arms? Fast-track his membership into the Country Club perhaps?’
He snorted in disgust, more at Francisco’s naïvety than the unfairness of the situation. He looked over at the waitress.
‘You know, if I had a needle, I’d bend over this table and ask the senorita to tattoo your phrase on my ass right now.’
Evan looked at her. She smiled back. It wasn’t such a bad idea. He waited for Narvaez to explain.
‘Francisco must have inherited all his mother’s genes. Not his father’s, that’s for damn sure. Frank Hanna did what he did to avoid going to war and lost his girl as a result. His son joined the Marine Corp to try to keep his girl. If his father had the balls his son had, none of this shit would ever have happened.’
Evan tried to ignore the tightness in his chest, the unpleasant buzz in his stomach refusing to settle. He tried pouring the last of his beer on top of it. It didn’t make a blind bit of difference.
For as long as Narvaez continued to talk about Francisco in the past tense, it wasn’t going anywhere.
‘What happened?’
‘What happened?’ His fist clenched tightly around the beer bottle in his hand, his jaw tighter still. ‘The Gulf War is what happened.’
The story wasn’t about to take a turn for the better. He’d been warned, after all.
Narvaez pushed himself to his feet, the chair tipping over behind him.
‘Come on. I don’t want to talk about this here. Besides, I’ve got some things at home to show you.’
Narvaez raised his hand towards the maître d’ as they left, got a nod in reply. A regular customer, maybe he settled his account at the end of the month. One of the waiters jumped across and held open the door and Evan followed Narvaez outside. The last piece in the puzzle was only two minutes’ walk away.
A lot can happen in two minutes.
Chapter 35
THEY TURNED LEFT AND walked in silence back towards Narvaez’ apartment complex. Narvaez was deep in thought, Evan’s mind buzzing with the prospect of what was waiting for him.
They never got there.
There was a loud squeal of tires as a black Mercedes SUV—last seen high-tailing it away from the diner the previous day—bumped up the curb and came to a halt in front of them. The sidewalk was completely blocked. Both front doors flew open and Vasiliev’s men jumped out.
For a couple of seconds, before the passenger had time to run around the back of the car and box them in, it was two against one—in their favor. Narvaez didn’t hesitate. He was old but he was solidly built
. There wasn’t much these people could do to him now anyway, nothing to compare to the past, for sure.
‘Go,’ he shouted at Evan.
Then he took a step towards the driver, surprising him. Nobody expects an old man to bring it on. The guy hesitated a split second. It was enough. Narvaez did a little jump and head-butted him on the bridge of his nose. The guy yelled in pain and surprise as his nose shattered, his hands instinctively flying to his face. The whole of the front of his body was an easy open target. Narvaez kicked him hard in the balls. He groaned and doubled over. As his face headed towards the sidewalk, Narvaez brought his knee up to meet it, his hands resting on top of the guy’s head.
There was a double scream as Narvaez’ seventy-year old knee smashed into the guy’s already broken nose, tearing something in his knee.
Evan had wasted too much time, stunned by Narvaez’ moves. By the time he’d taken two paces, the other guy was in front of him, blocking the sidewalk. The time Narvaez bought them was wasted.
Except it wasn’t.
Evan turned back towards Narvaez and the driver. Narvaez was leaning against the wall, his hands clasped around his knee, his face twisted with pain. The driver was on all fours, his head hanging down, blood dripping from his nose onto the sidewalk.
Evan took a quick step forward, one foot up onto his back, used him like a gym vault to hop onto the SUV’s hood. The other guy was fast, faster than Evan would have believed possible for such a big man. He leaped towards the SUV crossing the distance in one pace.
But somebody up there was smiling on Evan.
The guy wasn’t watching where he was going, didn’t pay attention to the driver on the ground. He stumbled into him, stepped on his fingers. The driver yelled, wrenched his hand away. The one standing wavered, almost lost his balance.
Too good an opportunity to miss.
Perched on the SUV’s hood, four feet off the ground, Evan looked down on him as he teetered drunkenly and kicked him full in the face. He felt the guy’s teeth crack and loosen under his heel, his head snapping backwards like he’d been leaning out a train window as it went into a tunnel.
In the back of the SUV, Vasiliev chose that exact moment to open the door. He put his hand on the door frame to pull himself out as the guy staggered backwards, colliding with the half-open door like someone drove a truck into it. The heavy door slammed shut on Vasiliev’s hand, the lock mechanism mashing his fingers. He howled and tried to pull his hand away, just made it worse.
Time to go.
Three waiters from the restaurant had come out to see what was causing all the commotion. Narvaez shouted something to them in Spanish—Evan caught the word pendejos—and they came running, their shouts merging into one as they charged forward. A moment later the chef emerged, a meat cleaver in his hand.
Satisfied they’d take good care of Narvaez, Evan jumped down on the far side of the SUV’s hood. Narvaez’ shout stopped him in his tracks.
Crow.
Evan nodded his acknowledgement and set off running.
And while the driver’s nose might have been broken, his ears worked just fine. Through his pain he managed to smile to himself. At least he had something for Vasiliev, something to try to make up for their monumental clusterfuck.
***
‘I KNEW YOU’D BE back,’ Elwood Crow said with a grin, ‘I just didn’t think it would be so soon.’
He stood aside and Evan entered his house for the third time. Crow led the way to the back room again. The pet crow was already loose, sitting on the back of Evan’s chair, waiting. Evan went to sit in the other one. Crow wouldn’t have it, indicated the one already occupied by the bird with his bony finger.
‘Jesús told me what the old women say,’ Crow said.
Despite what Evan knew lay upstairs in bed, he was smiling at the thought.
‘I’m sorry about your wife,’ Evan said. He cleared his throat. ‘And for—’
‘Snooping around?’
Evan gave a you got me shrug.
‘I told you before. You wouldn’t be any good at your job if you didn’t’
Evan suddenly laughed, couldn’t help it.
‘I know. But it’s embarrassing when you get caught. It’s Alzheimer’s isn’t it?’
Crow’s eyes lifted to the ceiling.
‘Yes. Some days she knows who I am, other days—’
‘But you choose to care for her at home.’
‘What else would I do? Put her in a home? Those places are God’s waiting rooms, doesn’t matter how much you pay.’
He looked down into his lap. He was quiet so long it was if he’d dozed off.
‘I might know where she is, but she’s as lost to me as your wife is to you.’
He looked up again, brighter now, perhaps at the thought of getting stuck into Evan’s problems rather than his own.
‘Anyway, you didn’t come here to commiserate about the vicissitudes of growing old. Have you come to take me up on my offer?’
Evan was tempted to say yes. Crow was watching him eagerly.
‘Not this time.’
He told him what happened outside the restaurant. And how they’d been interrupted before Narvaez finished his story. Crow leaned forward as he listened, the pose making him look even more like his pet bird. What started out as a polite smile on his face turned into a full-blown grin.
‘Sounds like I got off lucky fifty years ago.’
He was being modest. Especially considering the only reason Narvaez was there was to hear how Crow killed Thompson. And why. Narvaez’ words came back to him: Elwood wants to tell you himself—if you’re interested. That was a conversation that would have to wait for another day.
‘He shouted Crow to me as I ran off. So here I am.’
Crow nodded to himself.
‘Yes, he told me the whole story. As far as he knows it.’
Evan ignored the feeling in his gut, the hollowness, the will this ever be over ache. Crow was determined to prolong his agony. He pushed himself out of his chair and headed for the kitchen to get them something to drink.
‘Try a few passwords while I’m gone,’ he chuckled over his shoulder as he left the room.
Evan glanced at the laptop. He had no intention of moving out of his chair—until the bird pecked him on the ear. He jumped up and the bird flapped leisurely away before he could take a swipe at it. It landed next to the laptop. Evan lunged at it, just for fun, to get it back for pecking his ear. He touched his ear, his finger coming away with a smear of blood.
He knew the password.
Not caring if Crow caught him or not, he entered the bird’s rude greeting into the dialogue box.
He was in.
But so was Elwood Crow, back in the room.
‘How many tries did it take?’
‘Got it first time.’
Crow gave him a cup of coffee and sat down.
‘Should think so too. You had enough clues.’
Evan glanced at the screen before joining Crow. There was nothing of interest. Crow was playing with him.
‘Francisco Javier Grajales never came home,’ Crow said. ‘Well, he did. In a box.’
Evan had been expecting as much ever since the words Gulf War came out of Narvaez’ mouth. There’d been relatively few American deaths in the conflict—less than one hundred and fifty combat deaths, less than three hundred in total. He’d known Francisco would be one of them.
‘Are you interested in the details?’
‘Not now. Maybe later—’
‘Frank Hanna?’
‘He’ll want to know, yes.’
A deep sadness settled on him. He could still hear the upbeat note in Hanna’s voice when he last talked to him. It wouldn’t take long to extinguish that.
I found your son. He’s dead.
Crow was watching him, waiting, as if he knew what was going through Evan’s mind.
‘There is some good news.’
‘There needs to be.’
&nb
sp; ‘You know Francisco had a girlfriend?’
Evan nodded automatically.
What did she die of?
‘Leighton. We were interrupted before he told me her surname.’
‘Yates. She was pregnant when Francisco went to war.’
Evan came out of his chair faster than when the bird pecked his ear.
‘I know,’ Crow said, not fazed in the slightest by Evan’s reaction. ‘One door closes, another opens. Makes you believe in fate, doesn’t it.’
Makes you want to kick something, more like.
‘Francisco told Jesús. The girl didn’t tell her parents. Not before Francisco went away.’
Evan snorted.
‘I assume she’d have had to tell them at some point.’
‘One assumes so,’ Crow said with a chuckle. ‘Unless the girl had a termination.’
‘It’s déjà vu, all over again. I feel like I’m back at square one.’
‘Thirty years on, but yes, I can see how you’d feel that way.’
‘Did Jesús—’
‘He said as far as he knew the girl had the baby.’
Hanna was back in with a chance of an heir—a grandchild. They’d be a good age too, twenty-six or seven.
Crow laughed to himself.
‘What’s so funny?’
Crow flicked at something on his pants leg. Bird shit, most likely. If Evan hadn’t already spent time in his company, got a feel for the man, he’d have said he was embarrassed.
‘I asked Jesús if he’d—’
‘Thought about abducting that one too?’
Crow nodded. Evan saw how Narvaez thought they were similar. It was the sort of thing he’d say.
‘He took it very well. Said he was a bit long in the tooth for midnight runs down to Mexico. Said something about once bitten, twice shy too.’
‘Looks like you two really hit it off. You can’t bury the hatchet much deeper than that.’
Evan dropped back into the chair, hoping the bird might have landed on it and he’d squash it. He leaned his head on the back of the chair, stared at the ceiling. As ever with the ceiling, there were no answers there.
Sins Of The Father Page 22