The Silver Gun

by L. A. Chandlar

  CHAPTER 16

  Love always brings difficulties, that is true, but the good side of it is that it gives energy.

  —ML

  The next night I went out dancing with Ralph and his friends as planned, but after several partners, I escaped to the bar.

  So, my parents were intelligence agents. Huh. That was a lot to process on top of everything going on as of late. My thoughts went to Finn and how he had an amazing ability to be there right when I needed him: in the subway, at Randall’s Island.... Where was he now? Someone bumped my elbow at the bar, and I looked up with expectation. It was a new friend named Tucker. I’d danced with him a couple of times. I tried hard not to look disappointed; he was a great guy.

  “Hey, Lane, you up for another dance?” He smiled shyly; he was very cute. His strawberry blond hair and blue eyes framed a ready smile. He was probably in his early thirties. I think he said he worked for one of the businesses on Wall Street. Something in finance. He was good-looking, had a stable job that didn’t involve guns, nice guy, good dancer. But he wasn’t Finn. But then again, Finn was very regrettably not around.

  “Sounds great, Tucker.” He took my hand, and we walked out onto the dance floor. It was nice. We talked about his job, he asked me about mine. He made me laugh. I started to relax and found him interesting. I was finally enjoying myself.

  As I was singing along to the song, I said, “This is a great song, Tucker.” He smiled like he was hiding something. “What?” I asked, suspicious.

  “Well . . .” He was really trying to hide a smile now.

  I chuckled, knowing what he was going to say. “Spit it out.”

  “The song is ‘The Way You Look Tonight.’” He started to crack up in earnest now.

  “Aw, shoot. I always get it wrong.”

  “But, Lane, you weren’t even close. ‘To wave a book in sight’?”

  “I can’t help it. It’s a chronic problem, apparently,” I said, with a self-deprecating smile.

  After that dance, a slower song came on, and he looked at me intently. “Do you . . . want to keep dancing?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” I said, and took a tighter hold on his hand as he pulled me closer. He smelled nice. I was thinking of a date gone bad a while ago and laughed to myself.

  “What?” asked Tucker, smiling down at me.

  “I was just thinking of a date that didn’t go so well once,” I said, wrinkling my nose.

  “Really? What went wrong?”

  I laughed again. “It was an awkward night all the way around, but the pièce de résistance was when he went to kiss me good night.... Well, he missed.”

  Tucker laughed. “He missed? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, he leaned in slowly and kissed my right nostril.” We both laughed, and I laid my head on his shoulder. The soft music was very inviting and pleasant.

  “Lane?”

  I looked up. “Mmm hmm?”

  “Can I give it a try?” I looked into his blue eyes; his face had become serious and intent. I nodded.

  He held me a little tighter. And slowly, slowly, he brought his lips down to mine. They were soft, firm.... It was a good kiss.

  “Nice shootin’,” I whispered as I smiled up at him. We kept dancing.

  Tucker walked me home, holding my hand as we enjoyed the night, listening to the sounds of the city and chatting about the upcoming week. The lights sparkled, and the sizzle of a summer thunderstorm was in the air. We made plans to go to Central Park and have a picnic the following week.

  After Tucker gave me a gentlemanly peck on the cheek, I walked into a sleeping home, dark except for the light in the living room and the small one in the kitchen left on for me. Aunt Evelyn had gone out to the Hamptons for the weekend to visit a friend. Mr. Kirkland was home, but he always retired early. He had his own apartment in the basement of the townhouse.

  I patted Ripley, and he lay back down at the door to keep watch. I walked to the back of the house to the cozy sitting area by the kitchen with a large window overlooking the patio. I got a glass of water and plopped down in the cushy love seat, putting my feet up. A rumble of thunder softly rolled through the air. Goosebumps prickled my arms and neck as I reveled in that favorite sound. It was magical, dark, and . . . lonely. Damn it.

  I liked being alone, but that was quite different from being lonely. A flash of lightning lit up the sky and was slowly followed by another low rumble in the distance. I set a couple of candles on the coffee table in front of the couch and retrieved my book. The rumbling thunder was slowly getting closer, louder.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Ripley barked just once, softly, and then made some whimpering noises that let me know he recognized the visitor. I ran to the door, the book still in my hand. I tugged it open without looking out the window, and my book dropped to the floor.

  “Lane, can I come in?”

  I opened the door wider. “Sure, Finn.”

  I took him back to where I’d been sitting in the nook just off the kitchen, asking, “Do you want something to drink? I have a nice bottle of wine I’ve been waiting to open.”

  “Sure, that sounds good.” He took off his dark gray suit coat, laid it across the back of a kitchen chair, and loosened his dark red tie. I took down the bottle, got out the opener, and handed them to him. He started to uncork the wine while I got down two glasses. Another low rumble of thunder sent that special, unearthly static through the air.

  I had no idea where to begin with Finn. What did you say to someone who was such a mystery? You’ve shared secrets. But not a meal. You’ve shared deep emotions and fears. But not a coffee. You’ve kissed his neck and been held in his arms, but have not held his hand at the theater. You know so little. Then again . . . That loneliness and that feeling of constantly looking for something, someone. Hmm. Maybe I knew a lot.

  I set down the glasses on the counter. Finn put down the bottle of wine, and we stood there looking at each other. Another rumble, a flash of light from behind us in the window. His hair was slightly damp from the first drops of rain. His eyes were dark and intense. He had rolled up his sleeves, revealing his muscular forearms. My dress from the evening of dancing matched the sky, a sleeveless dark blue with a deep, square neckline and ribbons crisscrossing down the back.

  “Lane, I . . .”

  I walked over to him and stopped about three feet away. I looked into his eyes, searching, looking for the real him. He did his own searching, deep into my eyes.

  He walked over slowly, never taking his eyes from mine. He took the back of my head with his hand and slowly, slowly, then quickly the last inch, brought his lips down to mine. My heart leaped out of my chest, and my hands went up around his shoulders and then his neck as his arms brought me close.

  We pulled slowly apart, our foreheads touching for just a moment. He gently took my head into his hands, looking deep into my eyes, searching every inch of my face, and said in a whisper, “Damn.”

  We went over to the couch, taking the glasses and wine with us. The light of the candles created dancing shadows on the golden walls, and the rain started to come down in earnest, showering and slapping against the windows and the patio. Ripley lumbered in to visit and said a loud raaow as he yawned.

  “Hello, big fella, did I visit too late for you?” Ripley grinned up at Finn and then sank down beside us with a thump.

  I took a deep drink of my cabernet and leaned back into the love seat, crossing my ankles on the coffee table.

  I tipped my head and looked at him thoughtfully. “So, what have you been up to, Finn?”

  He looked at me, hesitated a moment, then said, “I’ve tried to stay away, Lane. It’s not a good idea to be with you. It . . . puts you in danger.” There it was again—sometimes his accent was more Irish than English.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said softly. He nodded, a wary look in his eye. “Are you English or Irish?” Which brought an abrupt laugh from Finn. It hit me again how his face
could look so serious, yet when he laughed, he was even more handsome, as it lit up his entire countenance.

  “I just said that my presence could put you in danger, and that’s the question you have for me.” He silently laughed as he took another drink. “Well,” he continued, “I’m both, really. My mother is Irish, and my father is English. I was born in Ireland and lived around London since I was ten.”

  “When did you come to the States?”

  “I wanted to be part of the up-and-coming police force in New York City that I’d heard about growing up. Scotland Yard wasn’t too keen on my Irish background, so it made the decision easy. I moved here, started from the bottom, and worked my way up in the force.” There was a lot more to his story, by the look on his face. I wondered about that errant brother of his, Sean, and if he had anything to do with Finn coming here. But tonight wasn’t the time for going into it. Not yet.

  I decided to cut to the chase. “Why now, Finn? Why tonight?”

  “Here I thought we’d get to know each other better,” he said, with a knowing smile.

  I raised my eyebrows at him. First things first.

  “Yes . . . tonight . . .” he said, contemplating his answer. “Let’s just say that the job I’m working on is coming to a head. And there are critical pieces to the picture that I’m just flat-out missing. I think that you have those pieces, love.”

  “And that’s why you came tonight. That’s the reason.”

  “Oh, I think you know that’s not the only reason, Lane,” he said, in a deep whisper with his brow knit in consternation.

  I decided to take Finn into my confidence and tentatively try out a couple of the new things I’d learned about my parents. “I talked with Aunt Evelyn about my parents, Finn. She said that they were working in intelligence during the war.”

  He’d been taking a drink of wine, but quickly put his glass down, giving this his full attention. “Intelligence? What exactly were they doing?”

  “I really don’t know. That was pretty much all she said, that when they had work to do, she would come and babysit me. So they weren’t on vacation or hunting for books for their shop when they were traveling like I’d thought, but working for the government. The book shop was probably a great cover.”

  Finn was surprised, yet I could tell I was supplying some substance to his puzzle, as he started to nod like he was just beginning to get glimpses of the big picture. But before I could talk through my own reservations and questions, yet another knock came at the door. Ripley ran ahead of us, but once again started whimpering.

  I turned to Finn. “Busy tonight, huh?”

  “Grand Central,” he muttered, in a slightly aggravated voice, as we went to the door. I had to admit I wasn’t thrilled about being interrupted, either.

  I reached the door, and it was Peter. I have to say, I answered with not a lot of hospitality. “What are you doing here, Pete? It’s almost midnight!”

  “Nice greeting, Lane, but this is—What is he doing here?” he exclaimed.

  “Would you two stop with the pissing match already?” My vulgar language had the desired effect: They both shut up and calmed down. Pete looked disconcerted; Finn hid a smile behind a fake cough.

  “That’s better. You’d better come in out of the rain, Pete. Come on.”

  I decided it wasn’t a good idea for Peter to see our romantic back room with the wine and candles, so I led him to the parlor and put on a couple of lights, and we all sat down.

  “Lane,” Peter began, “I wanted to notify you, Evelyn, and Kirkland before it hit the newspapers. A body has been found.”

  My eyes darted from Finn to Pete. “Who?”

  “Danny Fazzalari.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, thunderstruck. “He’s been the main suspect.”

  “I know,” said Pete. “And it was definitely a hit. Gunshot to the forehead and several in the chest. And, uh . . . he was found naked.”

  “Oh,” I said, with my brows lifting in surprise. “So, a woman probably killed him.”

  Pete blushed heavily. Finn nodded and said, “Seems like a decent possibility. Most hit men don’t bother to take a guy’s clothes off.”

  My brain was working at a fast clip, putting things together, shifting them around in new ways. “So. Danny’s been our main suspect. He’s definitely the one behind me being pushed onto the tracks”—Finn clenched his jaw—“the bombing, and maybe even the break-in here at the townhouse and the purse-snatching. But someone didn’t want him in the way or didn’t like what he was doing. Someone obviously more powerful than Danny, who happened to be Uncle Louie’s nephew.” I whistled, wondering who would be that bold. And stupid.

  I turned to Pete, looking him full in the face. “I’ve been talking with Aunt Evelyn about Tammany people, and we all know they have plenty of motive for all this. Have you looked into Daley Joseph and Donagan Connell?” Finn grew very still, I noticed.

  Pete looked at me, aghast. “Lane, how do you even know those names? They’re two of the most despicable lowlifes ever to come to New York City!”

  I put my hands up in mock defense. “Trust me, it wasn’t me. Aunt Evelyn talked with Ellie, and by Ellie I mean the first lady, Eleanor Roosevelt, and together they thought that the disappearance of those two was very conspicuous and that they fit the type of criminal who could be behind all this. Plus, after Fio described Daley Joseph, I realized I had seen him. So they’re definitely on the scene now.”

  Pete stayed quiet, reflecting on what I’d said. I heard Finn mutter incredulously, “Good Lord . . . Ellie.”

  Then Peter said, “I haven’t looked into them . . . completely,” and he gave Finn a very enigmatic look. “But they have come up in conversation. There have been rumors of them around town. And having them anywhere nearby is never a good thing.”

  We couldn’t come to any more conclusions, but I thanked Peter for coming by and told him we’d let Evelyn and Kirkland know. We ushered him to the door while he made it clear that he was not happy about the fact that he was leaving alone. Too bad; Finn and I had a few things to finish up.

  We went back to the kitchen but didn’t sit down. The romantic feel to the night had been usurped by the urgent and dangerous business at hand. We simultaneously took the last drink from our wineglasses, set the glasses down on the table, and turned to each other as if we’d rehearsed the motions.

  I knew what was coming. I just knew it. Finn said, “Lane, I have to leave for a while.” Yeah. That was it.

  “I know, damn it,” I said. I paused a few long seconds and looked at him squarely. I took stock of him and the situation. Then stalked slowly toward him.

  “I know about your job, Finn,” I purred. He looked at me, stunned and a little fearful, his eyes darting side to side. I decided to dive in; I felt reckless and rascally. “Mm hm. I figured you out. I know you have to go.... I know I’ll have to trust you . . . even when I don’t see you for a while . . . maybe a long while. . . .”

  “Ah . . . you’re making me nervous, Lane,” he stuttered as I came inching toward him like a tiger, my eyes trying to devour him, taking in every detail of him: his almost-black hair, his dark eyes, fair skin, lean body, muscular arms and shoulders.

  “Mmm hmm. I don’t like the situation. But I know you. I know you,” I said, a few inches from him, putting my hand on his chest, and suddenly, the realization of what I was saying dawned on me. I meant it; I did know this man, and I was becoming more certain of just how much I felt about him. As I searched those dark eyes, he looked more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him look. His handsome face was open, honest. I wondered if he’d been that honest, that bare, before with anyone else.

  This time he wasn’t slow. He took the last step toward me in a flash and kissed me not gently, but with passion and urgency.

  “I’m sorry, Lane. I had no idea it would be like this. No idea . . .”

  “I know.” I smiled, and he kissed me one last time. Gently. Sweetly.

  Then he left.<
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  * * *

  I was wide awake, and I knew there was no chance of sleeping for quite a while. I decided to go up to Aunt Evelyn’s studio. I put on a few of the lanterns and walked around the warm room, looking at the pieces she’d been working on. I ran my hand over one of my favorite frames, black with deep cutouts along the edges. It perfectly highlighted the subtle black lines within the piece and made it deeper, richer. I sat down and gazed at my Chopin painting. Perhaps it didn’t look quite as bad as the dog’s breakfast. It was growing on me. The colors spoke to me. I fell asleep on the floor beneath it, on a pile of tarps.

  I was walking along a dark parking lot outside the city. A few streetlights glowed eerily here and there. I heard footsteps echoing off the pavement. I knew that they were coming after me. I tried to run and hide, willing my own steps to be silent. I finally found an impression in the wall of a building and pressed far back into the corner. I waited. Around the corner came the glint of a silver gun with a red scroll on the handle. A shadowy figure in a trench coat pointed it right at me. As the face came into the light, first it was the same demented lady in the bright green hat of my old recurring dreams grinning down at me, then she turned into Roxy, then it was Finn, then it was Danny. He smiled, he raised the gun toward me, and fired.

  I woke up to Ripley licking my face. My heart was racing, and I hugged that dog like he was a furry life preserver. He just let me, sitting still, solid, secure, and reassuring shepherd that he was. I must have been making some amount of noise for him to come all the way up here, or maybe it was that sixth sense that dogs had that let them know when you were upset. He rested his head on my shoulder like he was reciprocating the hug, his ears tickling the side of my face. “Thanks, Rip.” I heard a deep rumbling noise in his chest.

  The dream left the lingering feeling that I was being hunted. But why? Maybe I was getting closer. Closer to something hiding in the dark.