by K R Hill
“All we’re looking for are answers,” said Connor.
Artie took a silver flask from his pocket and stuck it to his mouth took a long hit. “Well, you two grew up the way you did because of the decisions that were made in this room. Me and Joe and Jackson there all showed up to help out your old man that night. By the time we got here Monte was hysterical. That woman that you call Tia Alma had been beaten nearly half to death. And you, Bartholomew, that Haitian motherfucker had been working on you too. You were standing in the corner like a robot, afraid to move, afraid to look up, afraid to speak.
“I’m telling you exactly what I saw, so you guys can make up your own mind. I’ve been kind of keeping track of what’s going on in your lives. I know that you’re going to need to get out of the country for a while, so yeah, that might have a little bit to do with why I’m telling you.”
Connor clasped his hands together and leaned forward, elbows on thighs. “That’s all we’re asking, Artie.”
“I know.” Artie waved a hand through the air as though he was asking the other guys to chime in, but they remained silent, so he continued. “By the time we got them quieted down, your old man told us that he had been trying to sleep in the room next door and kept getting woken up by shouting and the sounds of a domestic dispute. He said that when he determined a woman was in danger, he took out his service revolver and broke down the front door like he was a Marine storming the beach. That fucking Monte. That was your old man in a nut shell.”
Artie looked at the ceiling. After a moment he shook his head and sat on the bed. “Listen, I loved Monte like a brother. I still remember it like yesterday. That tough bastard started to cry when he told me how the woman was screaming and he could hear the son-of-a-bitch pounding on her.”
“Hey,” said Connor, and patted Artie’s shoulder.
“Let me finish. Your old man dropped his gun that night when he looked me in the eyes and said that when he saw the little boy bloody and silent, he killed that Haitian General.” Artie wiped his face. “Your father said his entire life changed the moment he saw that boy. You, Bartholomew. Monte saw you beaten and bloody, and he killed that motherfucker. He said the man was unarmed, but he couldn’t allow him to live. He said that any man who beat a child that way didn’t deserve to breathe his air.
“Your old man put two through the guy’s chest and knocked him back into the bathroom. That’s what me and the boys here found when we arrived. We knew how it was going look. Hell, your old man might have done time, so we worked some magic.”
“You cleaned up the mess,” said Connor. “You stepped in and got rid of the body, patched the bullet holes in the wall, and probably had a cleaning crew come through, right?”
“Yeah, but don’t be making us the bad guys here. If I had seen that General beat a woman and a child that way, I would’ve put two in his chest just like your old man did. But I wouldn’t have stopped there. I would have stood over him and emptied the whole fucking magazine in his head, that’s what I would’ve done. He had no right to live.”
“And the money, Artie? Is that what you’re using to run your burger joint, and whatever side business you run out of your place?”
One of the ex-cops that Artie brought along stepped forward and said: “You don’t know what is going on.”
Artie held up a hand and silenced the man. “Yeah, we took that money. Jackson here was the first to benefit from it. He didn’t find out that he didn’t qualify for Medicare until it was too late to enroll. A lot of cops and their families got left out to dry because of a gap in the County’s medical plan for officers. When his wife needed special care, he had nowhere to go. When we took that money, we created a secret fund for cops in trouble. We take care of our own. That General’s money is doing good. If that’s a crime, then fuck me. I’ll be happy to pay the price.” Artie tossed a manila envelope onto the bed.
“What’s that?” asked Connor.
“It’s a list of the 14 families and officers the fund has helped.”
Connor pulled a folder from the envelope and showed it to Bartholomew. “Hey Artie, thanks for coming all the way out here for us. You’re family.” He stood and shook Artie’s hand.
Artie playfully swung an elbow at him. “I made a promise. But geez, that traffic. I didn’t want to get here late and have to hide two more bodies.”
“What are you going to do with Redmond’s men?” Connor pointed.
“We have a special treat for them. They’re going to hike a bit in Death Valley.” Artie had his men take the Russians to the car, and when he was alone with Bartholomew and Connor, he said: “Look, your old man did the only noble thing in all this. He was scared every day that someone would come and take Bart and Alma, but he stuck it out and gave them a good, stable life. That’s walking the walk. He didn’t have to raise Bart here, or give a new identity to Alma. She was being hunted for the money, and wouldn’t have lived for a week if Monte had turned away.”
Connor and Bartholomew sat in the room for a long time after the others left.
“That’s a lot to digest,” said Connor, standing up. He walked to the door and pulled it open, and was half way out of the room when Bartholomew spoke.
“Hey, you know, no one mentioned the shining stars.”
“No. Holy crap. You don’t think they’re still down there, do you?”
“A black velvet bag in a dark hole, that would be hard to see. Should we look?”
“Well hell yeah. I can’t walk away without knowing.”
They walked back into the room and Connor pulled the grate from the floor furnace. He shone his phone light down into the opening. “All I see is dirt.”
“Here.” Bartholomew handed him a wooden clothes hanger.
Connor poked around. “They must have cleaned those out as well,” he was saying as he poked through the dirt and dust.
“It was worth a try.”
Connor stopped moving when the hanger touched something that crunched. “That’s strange,” he said, reaching into the crawl space. “I hope it’s not a dead rat.” He dug with his fingers, then shone the light and froze when something sparkled. Carefully brushing the dirt aside, he saw several shiny stars, and started to laugh.
It only took Connor a few minutes to find the decayed velvet bag, and to sift through the dirt. Each handful of soil he sat on a pillow case that Bartholomew had laid on the floor beside the grate. One handful at a time, Connor placed the soil on the pillow case, and Bartholomew brushed it about and picked out a gem here and there. After several handfuls turned up no more diamonds, they dumped the soil back into the hole and replaced the grate.
“This scares the heck out of me,” said Bartholomew, pushing a finger through the gems.
“Here,” said Connor. He scooped them up and held them under running water until they were all sparkle. “Don’t be scared. This is security. If we lock them away and only sell one here or there, and use the cash little by little, no one will be the wiser. Let’s get out of here.”
They wound their way through the streets, drove up the on-ramp, and merged into traffic on the freeway.
“Everything seems different,” said Bartholomew.
“It seems different because you know we have the diamonds. We just won the lottery.”
“What I can’t figure out,” said Bartholomew, “is why dad never returned to the motel for the stones. I mean, over the years Alma must’ve mentioned them.”
“Maybe they were waiting for things to cool off. Maybe it got really awkward for them when that ex-cop bought the place.”
Minutes passed. The only sound in the car was the humming of the engine, until Bartholomew said: “Do you think he loved her?”
“We have no evidence that proves he knew her before that night. But yet he didn’t abandon her. He kept the two of you, the three of us, safe all those years.”
Bartholomew looked at Connor. “That must have been tough for you. One night your father brings a woman home with another ch
ild, and your life is never the same.”
“It was tough. Don’t you remember how I used to let those bullies kick the shit out of you?”
“I remember, but I never told anyone about it. And then all of a sudden you changed and started fighting for me.”
“Yeah, because Alma met me one day on the way home from school and had a long talk with me. I decided that you and I should be friends instead of enemies, because watching you get beaten up was making me feel bad.”
They drove. The engine hummed. After about ten minutes, Bartholomew said: “I won’t be in Haiti long.”
Connor nodded. “You gotta do what you gotta do. I’ll put the diamonds in a safety deposit box. They’re half yours. They’ll always be there for you.”
A short time passed and Connor said, as if to himself: “Dad killed that guy.”
“He made a choice and put him down.”
“And he violated everything he taught us about how no man is judge and jury.”
Connor rocked slightly as he drove. “Maybe he started teaching us that because of his choice that night.”
“In case we ever had to make a decision like that.”
***
The gangplank creaked beneath Connor. Foghorns called from another world. Through the fog, laying like long, thin clouds above the Pacific, he watched the water lap against the ship’s hull for a moment, then stepped from the edge of the rusting ship, and looked at the people gathered on the bow around him.
“Time to break up the money, right?” asked Nick, trying the scratch through the bandage around his shoulder and chest.
Dalton smacked him on the stomach.
“Oh, my shoulder,” cried Nick.
“We’re heading back to Mexico,” said Dalton. “We got the cartel names. That’s what we came for. Now we can hunt a bit. We don’t get a share of the cash. That goes to Bartholomew, Connor, Ashley, and the Doc.”
Connor raised a hand. “Bart’s half way to the Caribbean.”
Nick rubbed his shoulder and looked at the others. “And why does the doctor get a cut?”
“Because he took care of the cop,” said Connor.
“Yes,” said the doctor. “I arranged for Lieutenant Harry Deutz to have a transformative experience.”
Nick’s mouth dropped open and he made a sound as if he couldn’t breathe. “His wife? You set up his wife?”
“I arranged certain things.” The doctor lit his pipe. “It was a simple little game.”
“Okay,” said Connor. “Let’s divide the money.”
"All in good time, Mr. Connor, business first.” Dr. Morganstern nodded. "Here are your passports. A Chinese fellow dropped them off.”
Connor took the passports. “I guess Bart doesn’t need his.”
“Now we have to wait for our guest?”
“Doc,” said Connor. “What are you doing?”
“Loose ends, I’m tying up loose ends.”
"It's over," shouted Deutz, stepping on board, holding a pistol with both hands. "The doctor and the helpers.” He jerked the gun about.
“Ah, Lieutenant Deutz, I am glad you could make it.” Dr. Morganstern stepped forward. “There’s no need for the gun. I assume you received my invitation?”
“Invitation?” Connor hit the doctor’s arm. “You invited him?”
“Yeah, I got it. I thought it was a trap.” He looked around.
“Doctor, what’s going on?” asked Dalton.
“Relax everyone, I invited the Lieutenant. We have nothing to fear. Mr. Deutz, you’re here because of your life-long dream. The doctor removed a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolded it. “This is a letter from a publisher, offering a handsome sum of money to complete your novel about the Ethiopian woman. It seems that novels about immigrant women are hot right now.”
Deutz snatched the paper. “How did they know about my book?”
The doctor lit his pipe with one of his long fireplace matches. “I took the liberty of visiting your home and copying some computer files. One has to study his adversary, Lieutenant.”
Deutz stared at the paper and remembered Captain Troken’s dream, the restaurant in the Caribbean, the sandy floor, the warm ocean washing over him. “My God,” he whispered.
“You can file for a deferred pension and still live your dream, my friend. What do you say?”
“What do you get?” Harry Deutz looked up.
“We get an end to police pursuit by turning over a load of cash that some nasty Russians robbed from an armored car. You turn in the stolen money and become a hero at the department.”
Deutz pointed a finger. “Really? That’s your story? Nasty Russians? What about the injuries and damaged property?”
“Ha,” laughed the doctor. “That is trivial. Here is the choice you have to make: Either arrest us for some minor charges, which my attorney will tear apart, and have the department face a lawsuit for false arrest, or take the money and make a new life—a dream come true.” The doctor clasped his hands behind his back and rocked up onto his toes.
Deutz lowered his head and whispered: “Crazy dreamer.”
“I’m sorry?”
Deutz put his weapon away. “You remain free. I get my dream. It’s a win/win. Any charges stemming from the attack on the Ghrazenko office, I can’t do anything about that.”
A surprised look came across the doctor’s face. “Attack? Ghrazenko office?” He looked at the others.
“Ghrazenko, isn’t that that new video game?” asked Connor.
Nick smothered a laugh.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Deutz. Charges will not be pressed.”
“You have a deal.”
“Good. By the way, your wife is in Prague, if you’re interested. That’s a great city for a writer. It is perfect for strolls beside the Danube, sidewalk cafés, and think of the history. Maybe an exotic city will rekindle an old romance?”
Deutz smiled and shook his head. “Unbelievable. How did you find her?”
The doctor cleaned his pipe with a silver tool. “I checked travel agencies near your home, and put some cash in the right hands, and got all the information I needed. It seems your wife had been planning the trip for some time.”
“You’re a sneaky bastard.” Deutz smiled. “Some time we should sit down and talk, Dr. Morganstern.”
“Here is the key you need.” The doctor pointed to the parking lot. “You’ll find a beaten-up yellow minivan over there. In it are two bags of money.”
“Thank you.” Deutz held up the key. “For the money, the book, and the lead on my wife, thanks.” Harry Deutz walked up beside Connor, leaned close, and whispered: “When I tried to arrest you that first time we met, you mentioned corruption in the department. That sent me down a hard trail. Just today I realized something: You knew the number to the FBI by heart.”
“Did I?”
Deutz shook his head. “Yeah, you did. And that told me you were working for them. The bureau hired you to keep tabs on Redmond.”
“Even if that were true, I would have signed—”
Harry Deutz chuckled. “Yeah, I know. You signed a non-disclosure agreement.” He walked down the gangplank and disappeared in the fog.
Nick rushed about the deck, looked over the side of the ship, and hurried back to the others. “He gave away the money. We have nothing. OMG!”
“Mr. Connor,” said the doctor. “Should I enlighten this young man, or maybe bring back Falsen’s wife?”
They laughed.
“Go ahead and laugh, Doctor. At least I don’t need a hedge trimmer to cut my eyebrows.”
They laughed more. “A hedge trimmer,” someone whispered.
“So,” the doctor said. “We seem to have acquired a large sum of cash and a couple of paintings. I sent the paintings to Teddy Ghrazenko, as Mr. Connor instructed. With the money I paid myself, gave Connor and Bartholomew their shares, and a Policeman’s Aid Foundation run out of a burger joint.”
“We did good.” Connor raised a fi
st and the others followed his example.
CHAPTER 33
Two months later, south of Cancun, Mexico:
Connor scraped up the last bit of mortar and shoveled it into a big black tub. He rested one arm on the shovel, looked at the half-built block house and the yard around it, and wiped sweat from his forehead. He stuck the old straw hat on his head and dropped the shovel. “That ought to be enough to finish this section, right?”
Dalton picked up a concrete block, scooped up mortar on his trowel, and spread it on the edge of the block. He looked at Connor, then stepped back and looked at the wall. “Yeah, that should do it. The gate goes right here.” He walked a couple of yards and pointed.
A bell rang in the distance. Jax and Ashley stepped out of the main building where the others were working. Ashley wiped her hands on the apron tied to her waist, and called: “Everyone, lunch is ready.”
“Let’s get these last few blocks up before we eat.” Dalton grabbed another block and smeared it with mortar, set it in place and slid a level over on top of it and tapped the block down level with the handle of his trowel. “I hear you and Ashley are going to make an announcement today.”
Connor lifted a block. “Yeah, Ashley’s plans for the wedding. You know, I was hoping I’d be able to help you hunt the names on Ghrazenko’s list.”
Dalton dropped the trowel into the plastic bucket and brushed his hands together. “There’s plenty of time for that. Those guys aren’t going anywhere. I was concentrating on getting Nick’s house finished. He’s driving Jax crazy living with us.”
Connor laughed. “And Jax is driving you crazy because Nick is driving her crazy.”
“Amen to that. That’s how it works.”
They walked past two Mexican workers swinging pickaxes.
“You guys are just in time,” said Nick, leaning out one of the window openings of the house. “Can you give us a hand with this beam?”