Thursday's Child

by Teri White

  She just shrugged and walked him to the door. “Danny told me he’d have some money for me soon,” she said suddenly. “That can only mean he’s up to something. And when Danny does anything around here, McNeer is always in on it. They’re real close.”

  Gar nodded and left her standing in the doorway.

  This case was starting to remind him of those dolls—they were Russian, right?—where inside each doll was one even smaller, until you were left with a teeny final carved figure. To find Beau, he had to find Turchek. To find Turchek, he had to find Boyd. And now, to find Boyd, he apparently had to find Billy McNeer.

  It made him tired just to think about it. He took a pain pill before driving away from LaVerne Boyd Ratigliano’s house. So now he would go sit in front of McNeer’s house. And hope that bastard Boyd would show up before too many hours passed.

  2

  The team of Boyd and McNeer was really pathetic.

  Robert tossed a cigarette butt out the car window and watched the two men who were standing half a block away. To have Boyd this close and not do anything about it was making him feel very itchy.

  “What are they doing anyway?” Beau asked finally.

  Robert glanced at him. “Why, that’s a couple of really dangerous outlaws, Tonto, and they’re planning a major heist. Tonight they’re going to hit that pharmacy. Uncle Pat gave them permission to do that. And then good old Unc told me. Or, he didn’t tell me, exactly, but anyway that’s what’s going on. They’re casing the joint and I’d be willing to bet that’s exactly what they call it. ‘Say, Billy, let’s go case the joint.’ I can hear Boyd saying that over breakfast.” Robert shook his head. “Christ, I love it.”

  Robert lit another cigarette. He was so damned keyed up that he was afraid of making a dumb mistake. Calm down, he told himself. Chill out.

  Beau finished slurping the last of his Coke out of the paper cup. “So what’s our plan?” he asked then.

  Robert started the car. There was no use wasting more time watching these assholes. He knew damned well where they would be at midnight. “Our plan is to kill Danny Boyd,” he said. “And maybe Billy McNeer, just for being so fucking stupid.”

  “Lemme have a cigarette to smoke while you’re gone,” Beau said.

  Robert glanced at him. “You’re hooked on the damned things already, aren’t you?”

  Beau only shrugged and took the two cigarettes Robert held out to him.

  They were parked around the corner from Dawson’s Pharmacy in a quiet cul-de-sac. It was almost time for the two stooges, Boyd and McNeer, to show up, which meant that it was time for Robert to get into position. He was feeling good, except for the headache. Maybe things had been a little fucked up lately, but now he was back on track. Robert Turchek was cooking.

  Beau had been pretty quiet all evening. Now he looked directly at Robert. “You sure this is the thing to do?” he asked.

  “Will you fucking quit asking me that? Why don’t you worry about your part in this? Can you handle it?”

  “I told you a million times I used to drive the jeep we had back home. I think I can get this fucking thing around the corner to meet you.”

  They both seemed to realize at the same moment that it was just nerves making them so short-tempered. Beau smiled and patted Robert on the arm. “Go do it,” he said. “And be careful.”

  “Right.”

  Robert got out of the car, carrying both the guns he’d bought from Corley. Hopefully, he would be able to get close enough to use the pistol. Boyd sure wouldn’t be expecting him to turn up here. Of course, there was also McNeer to deal with.

  Well, that turned out to be even easier than he had expected. McNeer’s task, apparently, was to watch Boyd’s ass. He did a piss-poor job of it, sitting behind the wheel of a great big old Lincoln and staring at the back door of the pharmacy.

  Robert walked up to the driver’s side of the car, stuck the pistol into the window and pulled the trigger.

  So much for Boyd’s backup.

  The lock on the door of the pharmacy had been taped open, so all Robert had to do was slip inside and stand in the dark hallway.

  Boyd, if he had heard the shot that killed his partner—and how could he have not?—must have decided that it was a car backfiring. So he was still inside, ripping off pills as fast as his dirty little hands could move.

  Robert took a deep breath. In only moments, the man who had killed Andy would be dead. The pressure to avenge his brother’s death would be off him and he could start thinking about other things. Like how to straighten up his life.

  But now he had to kill Danny Boyd.

  When Gar heard the shot from behind the pharmacy, he swore under his breath and stepped into the phone booth. Automatically, his finger hit 911. “Shots fired,” he said, then gave the address and hung up.

  Now he would find out about the response time of New York’s boys in blue.

  But he didn’t have time to wait.

  So far, at least, his plan was working perfectly. After spending almost four hours staking out McNeer’s place, Billy finally showed up. And Danny Boyd was with him. Then it took more hours before they left the apartment again. Gar could tell they were up to something, just by the overly careful way McNeer drove through the dark streets.

  They were ripping off drugs from Dawson’s Pharmacy. Gar figured that the chances of Turchek’s showing up were pretty good and the sound of the shot seemed to prove him right. For the rest of his plan to work, however, he had to find Beau. And the cops had to show up.

  While he was waiting for them, Gar walked a wide circle around the pharmacy, looking for a parked car. There were several, but the ones he checked were all empty. He could just hear the faraway sound of a siren by the time he hit the small dead-end street that ran along one side of the pharmacy.

  He saw the VW Rabbit and the dark shape of someone sitting behind the wheel. There wasn’t any time to think about it or wait any longer. He walked as quickly as he could to the car and yanked the driver’s door open.

  Beau Epstein looked at him, startled. Then he swore and started crawling toward the passenger door. Gar grabbed one kicking leg and held on. “Stop it, Beau,” he said.

  “Lemme go, you motherfucker,” Beau yelled. “Lemme go.” His free foot connected with Gar’s stomach, and he was loose. The passenger door opened and Beau hit the ground running. He got about three steps from the car before Gar came around the front of the car, stuck his cane out, and tripped him flat. Beau fell heavily and Gar was on him in a minute.

  They both heard a shot, then another, and then one more from inside the pharmacy. Beau froze for one instant, but then began to struggle again. He kicked and hit Gar, yelling obscenities in both English and Spanish. Gar couldn’t really do anything except use his superior size and weight to try and subdue him.

  At last, two squad cars roared up, lights and sirens in full operation. Cops jumped out, guns in hand.

  “Don’t shoot,” Gar said, breathing hard from the continuing struggle. “I’m a licensed investigator. This is a runaway juvenile. The shots came from inside the pharmacy there.”

  One cop stayed where he was, while the others went to check it out.

  “Beau,” Gar said. “I’m here to help you. Don’t be afraid. It’s all over now.”

  Helpless now and finally quiet, Beau stared up at Gar. There were tears on his face. “Lemme go,” he whispered. “Please. Just be a good guy. I have to go.”

  Gar shook his head. “Like I said, kid, it’s all over. Any second now the cops will have Turchek in custody. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

  Beau didn’t say anything as tears continued to roll down his cheeks and into the dirt.

  3

  Four hours later, Turchek still hadn’t been seen and Beau still hadn’t said anything. Somehow Turchek had managed to slip out of the pharmacy and evade the cops. All that was left were two more bodies: Billy McNeer in his car and Danny Boyd, shot three times, just inside the pharm
acy door. None of the cops seemed particularly broken up about the sudden deaths of the two.

  As for Beau, he just sat in the corner of the squad room, alternately gnawing on a hangnail and twisting the fringe on his leather vest, and ignoring everyone.

  Gar spent most of those four hours talking hard and fast to the captain in charge, explaining what was going on and also explaining why he should be allowed to take that poor kid home. It didn’t hurt that a picture of Beau, labeled MISSING, was hanging on the squad-room wall. Or that Saul Epstein was his grandfather. It was very much a plus that three members of Congress and one cabinet member had been called during those hours as well.

  Strings were pulled. The powerful triumphed, as they always did. This time, Gar didn’t care. He was pulling for money and power to do their stuff and finally they did. Finally he and Beau Epstein walked out of the police station. Gar kept a friendly but firm hand on Beau’s shoulder as they left. Not that it seemed to matter. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him and he was now just a scared, sad kid, who kept wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve.

  There were no seats available on a flight to Los Angeles until that night, so they checked into a hotel near La Guardia. Once they were safely inside the room, Gar relaxed a little. “Maybe I’ll dial up some room service,” he said cheerfully. “Whattaya say, Beau?”

  Beau sat on one of the beds and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I say, fuck you,” he said in a dull voice. “Fuck you.”

  “Okay. I’ll get us some breakfast. Eggs, maybe. And pancakes. Everybody likes that.”

  Beau just shook his head.

  Gar picked up the phone.

  Robert bent over the toilet and threw up again.

  When there didn’t seem to be anything left in his stomach at all, he wiped his mouth and left the bathroom. This hotel was even crummier than the one they’d been in last night. He couldn’t go back there, of course, because maybe Beau would tell the cops about it. Not on purpose, of course, but they could probably get it out of him. After all, he was only a kid, and not used to being grilled by the fucking pigs.

  Tonto had sure put up a hell of a fight, though, hadn’t he? Robert felt a sort of crazy pride at the way Beau had handled himself.

  He’d watched most of it from the darkness at the far end of the cul-de-sac. What else could he have done, against all those cops? Probably in the long run, it was the best thing for Beau anyway. What kind of a future would he have hanging around with a man on the run?

  At least, Boyd was dead. That much had gone right. Robert didn’t understand why he felt so hollow about it, though. Hell, he should be celebrating.

  He leaned against the window and stared down at the street below. A drunk was crossing against the light and a cab nearly creamed him in the middle of the intersection. Robert shook his head. Idiot. The world was populated by idiots.

  Of course, who the hell was he to talk? Here he was in a shitty hotel room all by himself. Every son of a bitch in the world was trying to kill him. He didn’t have a job anymore, probably. His brother was dead. And now Beau wasn’t even around anymore. This whole thing really sucked.

  His life really sucked.

  22

  1

  There were more cops to deal with in Los Angeles, of course. Like Wally Dixon, for one, who was even nice enough to meet them at LAX and drive them downtown personally. He had a few questions, naturally. Saul Epstein himself wasn’t part of the welcoming team, although one of his lawyers and a Dr. Lieberman were. Gar’s presence was politely tolerated by everyone, mostly, he figured, because Beau wouldn’t talk to anybody but him. Still, he was trying to be very careful not to do or say anything that would make him persona non grata.

  When they actually got into the interrogation room, it was a little crowded. The original group had been joined by a police stenographer and a clerk from Saul Epstein’s law firm. Somehow, through a strange metamorphosis that Gar didn’t really understand, it had become Us—meaning Beau Epstein and him—against Them. Meaning everybody else. The two of them sat side by side at one end of the table, confronting a wall of faces that seemed uniformly unfriendly. Even the lawyer and the shrink, ostensibly there to help, seemed to be a part of the Them contingent.

  He was not quite sure when, in Beau’s mind, he himself had turned from enemy into, if not exactly ally, at least no longer quite a foe. The breakthrough had come during the long flight across the country, when Beau had turned to Gar and politely asked, “Can I have a cigarette, please?” Gar gave him one, lit it for him, and they started talking. Gar was in the middle of an article about Disneyland in the airline magazine and Beau went into a long and detailed description of the day he’d spent there. With Robert Turchek.

  “Nobody who was really bad would do that, would he?” Beau said at last. “I mean, it was just my fucking birthday. He didn’t have to care.”

  “Right,” Gar said. He didn’t want to say anything to get Beau upset again.

  That one word of mild agreement seemed to satisfy him. So now Beau was talking. But only to him. He still hadn’t said a word to anybody else.

  They had already been gathered around this table for nearly two hours and everybody’s patience was wearing a little thin. Wally took a gulp of stone-cold coffee, grimaced, and looked at Beau. His eyes were as chilly as the decaf. “Turchek ever give you an idea where he might run for cover when things went bad?”

  Beau, who was examining a hangnail on his thumb with complete interest, only shrugged.

  Wally turned his glare onto Gar.

  After a moment, Gar leaned over and spoke softly into Beau’s ear. “Come on, kid, wouldn’t you like to get the hell out of this room?”

  Beau finally glanced at him. Then he quit playing with his thumb and stared at Dixon. “I don’t know where Robert Turchek is,” he said quietly. “That’s the truth, whether you want to believe it or not. I just don’t know.” His face turned fierce for just a moment. “I wish to hell I did.” Then he seemed to wilt again and looked very young. “Can’t I go to my grandfather’s house now, please? I’m really tired.”

  Wally gave up. “Go home, Beau,” he said. “We’ll talk again in a few days.”

  The lawyer and the shrink had been designated to take charge of Beau at this point and deliver him to the old man. Beau shot Gar a look that seemed filled with despair. Gar pulled him aside in the hallway. “You going to be okay?” he asked.

  Beau nodded. He was wearing sunglasses and a Batman baseball cap. “I’m fine,” he said.

  Gar didn’t think he was, but this didn’t seem to be the time or the place to argue the matter. Instead, he took out one of his business cards. “You stay in touch, okay? Give me a call if you have any problems. Or even if you just want to talk.”

  Beau took the card, looked at it with only mild interest, then tucked it into his pocket. “He’s not bad, you know,” he said again. “Robbie’s a friend of mine, and I know him.”

  “I guess it probably seems that way to you right now,” Gar said.

  “See, the thing is …” Beau stopped, thought for a moment, then continued. “The thing is, I know he did some bad things. Killing people. But most of them sort of deserved it. Like the ones who killed my parents. Boyd killed Andy, Robert’s brother, you know. But no matter what else he did, Robbie is my friend. He took care of me when I needed help.” Beau raised the sunglasses. His eyes were urgent. “You understand that, don’t you?”

  Gar just nodded. “You better go. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Will you?” Beau dropped the glasses back into place and glanced down the hall to where Lieberman and the lawyer were waiting impatiently. “I sort of feel like I’m going to disappear into some black hole and will never be seen again.”

  “I’ll see you soon,” Gar repeated, giving Beau a firm pat on the back.

  Beau flashed him a sort of hopeless thumbs-up gesture and then walked away. Just before he reached the end of the hallway, Gar saw him pause to take a deep bre
ath and straighten his shoulders. A moment later, he was gone.

  Wally came over to where Gar was standing. “What do you think?”

  “Well, I think he’s telling the truth about not knowing where Turchek is,” Gar replied. “They never talked about what he’d do if it all went bad, because he never thought it would.” He paused. “I also think that even if Beau did know exactly where Turchek was, he’d never tell us.” He leaned more heavily on the cane. “I’m so damned tired. You’re not going to charge him, are you?”

  Wally looked disgusted. “With what? Being a fucking hostage? Suffering duress or whatever? I may not believe that and I don’t even think you do completely, but that’s the cover story. And Saul Epstein has a whole lot of pull.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately for me, Beau never walked into a bank carrying a gun like what’s-her-name did. He’s away clean.”

  “Good,” Gar said.

  “Well, maybe.” Dixon sounded grumpy. Cops got that way when there wasn’t anybody to charge with anything.

  Gar gave him a weary smile and limped away.

  Beau was politely refusing to come out of his room.

  He’d been in there for three days now. Harold or Ruth brought him his meals, and Saul came by once or twice a day to talk. They never seemed to have much to say to each other, so those visits didn’t last long. Saul was suddenly into reminiscence, talking about Jonathan a lot. Beau didn’t see the point. Was he supposed to be more like his father? Or less? Since he couldn’t decide how everybody wanted him to act, he thought it was easier just to stay in the room.

  He was standing in front of the mirror, combing his hair and wishing it would grow back faster so he could look like himself again, when there was a knock on the door. He put the comb down and turned around. “Come in.”

  His grandfather opened the door, but despite the invitation, Saul didn’t come all the way into the room, choosing instead to remain on the threshold. “I’ve tried to be patient with you,” he said. “But now I think we’ve had about enough of this foolishness. You will come downstairs for dinner this evening. Dr. Lieberman will be joining us. Seven o’clock.”