Generous Lies

by Robin Patchen

  "This is ridiculous." Frank pushed to his feet, but Prat's dark hand gripped his shoulder, shoved him down.

  Lionel reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a handgun. "Go ahead."

  This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. But five minutes later, Matty and his father had zip ties binding their hands behind their backs.

  Lionel pulled Frank's keys out of his pocket and tossed them over Matty's head. "Move the car."

  The front door opened, then closed.

  Lionel dragged a chair through the debris and sat across from them. "Here's the problem." He set the handgun on his lap and pulled out a cell phone.

  Matty recognized the case. Black with a white lightning bolt across the back. It was Aiden's.

  "If this guy's on the up-and-up," Lionel said, "then why did I find a phone duct-taped to the bottom of that table?"

  "Uh..." Matty cleared his throat of the fear that had lodged there. "That's my friend's phone. He's in trouble. His father probably hid it—"

  "Right. Because the average Joe thinks to duct-tape contraband under tables. Most people would hide the kid's phone in an underwear drawer."

  "You obviously don't have teenagers," Frank said. "They're smart enough to look in an underwear drawer."

  Lionel tapped the phone against his open palm. "No teenagers. No kids. No wife. I never had the urge to saddle myself to some whiny, demanding woman or a bunch of needy brats."

  "There you go," Frank said. "Parents share tricks like that. Seems perfectly reasonable."

  "I have a couple of theories," Lionel said. "One, your man found the diamonds. He's trying to find a buyer, make a little money, and figured we wouldn't find him up here in the boonies."

  "No." Frank shook his head furiously. "No. This guy didn't find them. And if he did, he wouldn't sell them."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  Frank gulped, glanced at Matty. "He's a buttoned-up kind of guy. Wouldn't do that."

  Lionel straightened his tie. "I'm a buttoned-up kind of guy, Frank. People aren't always what they seem."

  "But not this guy."

  "What's he do for a living?"

  "I don't know."

  "Maybe you do know, and you don't want to tell me. Maybe he's more like me than you want to admit. Maybe he's not on the up-and-up. Which brings me to my second theory. You and this guy are in on it together. You got him the diamonds, and when he fences them, he's going to share the money with you. How much did he offer you, Frank?"

  "No, no, no. I would never screw you, Lionel. You and I have been doing business for years. Why would I burn my best source of income? And if that were my plan, why would I tell you the truth about where I was? Why would I send the location to this cabin?"

  "And told me repeatedly you could handle it. Even when I offered to help."

  "I knew I could retrieve the diamonds myself, and I didn't want you screwing it up and then blaming me. Which is exactly what you're doing."

  Lionel's voice remained calm when he said, "I'm screwing it up? I think you screwed it up." He turned his attention to Matty. "Or maybe you're behind this debacle. Your dear old daddy told me you put the package in the man's car. Why would you do that?"

  "Uh, so like, my car broke down, and I was walking home, and I walked by a house where there was a party going on, and—"

  "I don't need to hear the story you've concocted. I don't have teenagers, but I've known a few in my time. If they're talking, they're lying." Lionel looked around the cabin, focused on Frank. "Why this guy? Why would you choose—?"

  "It was me," Matty blurted. "His son is my best friend. I thought I could get the package back before he ever knew anything."

  Lionel turned back to Matty. "What's this man's name?"

  Frank hadn't told him, which meant he didn't want him to know. But Matty glanced at the gun, at Mr. Clean's weapon. He didn't want to give anyone a reason to aim his way. "Garrison."

  Lionel lifted the gun, crossed the room, pressed it against Frank's heart, and leaned in close. "And what does Mr. Garrison do for a living?"

  Frank said nothing.

  "He's a forensic accountant." The words popped out of Matty's mouth. Lionel lowered the gun, turned to Matty, and lifted his eyebrows.

  "A very specific answer, young man. Leads me to believe there's truth in it."

  "There is. That's what he does. He's a total numbers guy."

  "That begs the question, why did you choose him?"

  "The cops were coming, and I didn't want the package to get confiscated. Aiden's car was unlocked. I mean, Mr., uh, Mr. Garrison's car, so I hid them in there. I swear, nobody's trying to screw you."

  Lionel sat back, looked back and forth between Frank and Matty.

  "Which one of you really knows what's going on?" The question sounded rhetorical, and neither of them answered.

  The silence in the room was broken when the door opened and closed. Lionel focused above their heads, presumably at Prat. "It's hidden?"

  Silence again. That Prat dude was terrifying.

  Lionel talked to Prat as if they weren't there. "If Frank knows more than Matty, then I need him alive. If Matty's story is true, then I suspect he's told Frank everything. Which means, of the two, Matty's irrelevant."

  He felt a jab on his temple, cold steel.

  Tears filled his eyes. He squeezed them closed, waited for the bullet.

  "No!" Frank's voice was frantic. "You can't kill him. Garrison and his kid, they don't know me from Adam. They won't do crap for me, but they consider Matty part of the family. Isn't that right, son?"

  Matty couldn't open his eyes, couldn't move.

  "If you kill him, they won't cooperate with you at all. If you have to take out one of us..." His voice trailed. A second passed, another one. Matty heard his father draw a deep breath. When he continued, his voice was strong. "If you have to kill one of us, then you should kill me. I'm the one who screwed this up."

  The pressure on Matty's temple decreased, and then the gun was removed all together.

  His father had saved him. Protected him.

  He opened his eyes, saw the gun pressed against Dad's temple. He looked at Lionel. "Please, don't. Please... We're telling you the truth. Everything. I swear it. Dad's only been trying to get the diamonds to you. We both have. Please."

  Lionel looked over their heads, nodded.

  Matty squeezed his eyes closed, begged for relief, begged for rescue while a thousand years passed.

  "It's okay, son."

  Matty opened his eyes and saw his father looking at him. "We're okay." He turned to Lionel. "Now what?"

  "Now, we wait."

  Chapter 41

  It was nearly dark by the time they returned the boat to her storage unit. After they'd gotten it backed in, Garrison's phone rang. He opened the passenger door for Samantha and answered it.

  The call was quick. A moment later, Garrison climbed into the driver's seat. "That was the rehab center. I had a few details to work out."

  Aiden had settled himself in the back. "What kind of details?"

  Garrison twisted to see his son. "You know, payment plan, stuff like that."

  "It's too expensive. We should—"

  "Uh-uh. We're not going back to that." Garrison turned and shifted into drive. "I have the money, and there's no better way to spend it than to get you healthy."

  When Aiden didn't respond, he continued. "Anyway, it looks like they'll have a spot for you on Thursday."

  That news was greeted with silence. Garrison steeled himself for the argument he feared was coming. He should have waited until Sam wasn't with them to have this conversation.

  He pulled out of the storage facility and waited.

  Finally, Aiden said, "That's like...the day after tomorrow."

  Garrison glanced at Sam, whose focus was straight ahead.

  "You don't have to go on Thursday if you don't want to," Garrison said. "But since you're struggling, maybe it would be a good idea."

>   "Yeah, like, I don't want to go at all. But I know I have to. I mean, I get that. Just...I don't know. What do you think, Sam?"

  She looked up, eyes wide. Garrison didn't blame her—the question surprised him, too. She smiled and turned to face him. "My mother always said, sooner begun, sooner done. Probably anticipating it will be worse than actually doing it."

  "Is that what it's like with you when you're scared to do something?"

  Garrison said, "Son, maybe—"

  "No, it's a good question." Sam smiled at Garrison, then back at Aiden. "Going with you guys on Monday was really hard, but when I was thinking about it, I imagined all these terrible scenarios, and none of them happened. I didn't have an anxiety attack and embarrass you two. We didn't go over a bridge into icy water and drown or die of hypothermia."

  "Yeah," Aiden said, "it's like summer, so probably we wouldn't freeze."

  Garrison reached across the front seat and squeezed her hand. He knew the story. He understood.

  "I know, of course," she said. "And my biggest fear didn't happen, either. The people in white coats didn't realize I was crazy and send me to a mental institution." She laughed. "It sounds pretty stupid when I say it out loud, doesn't it?"

  "Kinda, yeah," Aiden said.

  Sam continued. "Maybe part of the reason you don't want to go is because in your head, you're imagining scenarios—maybe not totally crazy ones like mine, but still... Maybe when you get there, it'll be fine."

  "It'll still be rehab," Aiden said.

  "There is that." Sam said.

  Garrison glanced at her, this amazing woman beside him. The way she interacted with Aiden, the way Aiden seemed to be taking her opinion seriously... If they were alone, he'd take her into his arms and kiss her soundly.

  Aiden's voice interrupted that thought. "But like, I'm sorta having fun today with you guys. I don't want it to end."

  "Well, we don't have to decide tonight," Garrison said. "By tomorrow, you'll probably be so sick of me, you'll be begging me to take you."

  "Yeah, probably," Aiden deadpanned.

  They drove in silence for a few minutes. Sam yawned beside him, and Aiden mimicked her in the backseat. Garrison stifled his own yawn and squeezed Sam's hand again.

  "Why don't I just drive you home? We'll get your car to you tomorrow."

  She sighed. "That would be lovely, but I have an early appointment. It'd be easier just to get my car tonight."

  A few minutes later, Garrison parked in the cabin's driveway beside Sam's Isuzu. He'd barely gotten the door open before Aiden hopped out and trudged up the front steps. Garrison walked around the car, opened Sam's door, and helped her out.

  She stood and gazed up at him, radiant in the glow from the moon. Her eyes sparkled, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss those beautiful lips.

  "Uh, Dad? You think you could let me in so I don't have to, like, witness this?"

  Sam giggled, and he pressed a kiss on her forehead. "Don't leave," he whispered. "I want to say good-night properly."

  He bounded up the porch steps, slid the key in the lock, and turned it. "I'll be just a sec."

  Aiden pushed the door open and froze.

  The place had been tossed.

  Garrison grabbed his son's arm to pull him back out, but it was too late.

  A pistol pressed against Aiden's temple. A dark hand, an arm. A man came from behind the door and lifted his finger to his lips.

  Garrison wanted to shout, to warn Sam. But he didn't dare.

  The man yanked Aiden, who stumbled into the room and nearly tripped over a lamp lying broken on the hardwood. The man gestured for Garrison to follow.

  He took in the space. A huge bald man stood beside the television set, a pistol aimed at Garrison.

  There were two figures on the couch, their backs to him so he only saw the tops of their heads. By the way they were sitting, still and facing forward, Garrison assumed they, too, were captives.

  Captives. Garrison and Aiden had, somehow, in the time it takes to unlock the door and step inside, become captives.

  A third man stood on the far side of the room, a third pistol, this one aimed at Aiden.

  One gun, he could take out. Maybe. But three? It wasn't worth the risk.

  He thought of Sam. He willed her to go. Just get in her car and leave. Garrison shouldn't have left her standing out there, alone, all because he wanted a good-night kiss. If only, if only, if only he'd taken her home.

  Maybe the men didn't know she was out there.

  Garrison glanced behind him at the door. The man who'd been there was gone.

  No. Please...

  Garrison couldn't move. He stared at the door, willed the dark-skinned man to return alone. A moment later, Sam stepped into the room. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in shock.

  "I'm sorry," Garrison said.

  She didn't respond as the man—he looked Indian or Pakistani, maybe—pushed her until she stood beside Garrison.

  The man in the suit said, "Come in, come in."

  What was this? These people didn't look familiar, but maybe they were friends of somebody he'd put away in his days at the Bureau. Through his work, had he put the two people he cared for most in danger? If they got hurt, he'd never forgive himself.

  Garrison picked up on the scent of cologne he'd registered when he'd come home to change. So these people had been here then. Had they been hiding in the house, or just outside the door? He stepped deeper into the room and forced his gaze to the figures on the couch. Matty? Garrison had seen a missed call from him after they'd stowed the boat in Sam's storage unit. He'd tried to call back, but Matty hadn't answered. Maybe the boy had been trying to warn him.

  Maybe this didn't have anything to do with Garrison's work.

  Now Matty was looking at Garrison, tears streaming down his face.

  The man sitting beside him wasn't familiar, but he looked enough like Matty that Garrison guessed this was the absent father. He had a round face, reddish-brown hair, and hazel eyes, one of which was puffy and red, as if he'd been punched. Was he behind all this? Garrison knew enough from Allison, Matty's mom, to know the boy's father was a lowlife. What had he dragged them all into?

  The smallest man said, "Tie them up."

  The Indian man started with Garrison, slipping a zip tie around his wrists and binding them behind his back. Now would have been a good time to subdue the guy if not for the other two pistols.

  When the Indian moved on to Aiden, Garrison focused on the man who'd given the order. He looked like a mid-management insurance guy, certainly not the type to wield a weapon. As Garrison's years at the Bureau had taught him, people were rarely what they seemed. In fact, the guys like this one, guys who behaved normally, relaxed, were often the most dangerous.

  The weapon looked like a Smith and Wesson—like the one the other man had pointed at Aiden's head. Hard to tell the caliber, not that it mattered. Baldie's weapon was different. He'd guess it was a Glock. They were reliable weapons, and in this small a space, could kill any one of them in an instant.

  When they were all three tied, the suit-and-tie said, "Let's have a seat, shall we?"

  "Where would you like us to sit?" Garrison looked around at the destroyed room. "Seems most of the furniture is unsuitable."

  The man pointed with the gun to the floor in front of the stone fireplace, directly across from Matty and his father. "How about there?"

  Garrison urged Sam forward first, then followed her, searching the debris-strewn space for something, anything, he could use as a weapon, or even to cut through the tie binding his wrists. All he saw were books, papers, and scattered stuffing. Garrison settled between Samantha and his son on the hardwood floor and stared at the man on the sofa across from him.

  "I assume no introductions are necessary." Suit-and-tie moved to where he could see both clusters of prisoners.

  "We know Matty, of course." Garrison looked at the teen, whose tears were still falling. "You okay, son?"

&nb
sp; "I'm sorry. I never meant—"

  "That's enough," suit-and-tie said.

  "I know," Garrison held the boy's gaze. Matty was a good kid. Seemed to have kept out of the trouble Aiden had fallen into lately. Matty would never have hurt Aiden or Garrison, not intentionally.

  Garrison looked at the man beside Matty, who met his eyes for a moment before he looked away. Garrison moved on to the Indian, then across to Baldie, then to suit-and-tie. "I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure of meeting the rest of you."

  "You expect me to believe you have no idea who that is?" Suit-and-tie pointed at the man beside Matty.

  Garrison shrugged. "It's true."

  "Your sons are best friends, but you've never met."

  "I wasn't around much," Matty's father said.

  The man dropped his arm. "Hmm." He looked toward the sofa. "Maybe you were telling the truth, Frank."

  Frank nodded. "Just like I told you, he has no idea."

  "We'll see." Suit-and-tie dragged a kitchen chair to the spot where, at one point, the club chair had been. From there, he could keep an eye on all the prisoners.

  The Indian guy stayed on the perimeter of the room, nearer the front door. Baldie hadn't moved.

  "Mr. Garrison," suit-and-tie started.

  Good. They didn't know his real name.

  "What do you do for a living?"

  "I'm a forensic accountant."

  The man glanced at Matty and Frank. "So far, so good." He looked back at Garrison. "Have you been a forensic accountant for long?"

  Surely if Matty hadn't given them his last name, he wouldn't have told him he was former FBI. "Most of my adult life."

  "Seems your young friend has been honest."

  "I think your guns would be good at discouraging lies," Garrison said.

  Suit-and-tie nodded. "True, but one must be sure."

  "One must," Garrison agreed.

  "You're not built like the typical accountant," suit said.

  "They're not allowed to discriminate based on height."

  The man nearly smiled.

  Garrison said, "You're not exactly the prototype of a gangster."

  This time, the man did smile. "I'm not a gangster. Just a businessman."

  "I see. The guns threw me off. My mistake."