by Trace Conger
I set down my cup of coffee, picked up my phone and found Brooke’s number on my contact list. I moved my thumb to her name, but pulled it back. I got that feeling in my shoulders—that cold feeling you get when you’re about to have a conversation you don’t want to have. Probably the same feeling Daryl had in the coffee shop. I hadn’t felt it since Brooke and I were married. Toward the end, all our conversations were like that. I relaxed my shoulders, letting them fall back into the chair, took a deep breath and tapped her number. The phone dialed and I downed one last gulp of hot coffee before she answered.
“Finn, please tell me you aren’t canceling on me for the weekend. On Becca,” she said.
“I don’t even get a hello?”
“Not today. Not when I see your number and get the feeling something’s come up. Because something always comes up with you.”
“I’m not canceling,” I said. “We can still watch her. But something came up.”
She took a breath deep enough to suck me through the phone.
“First, who’s we? And second, what’s come up?”
“The we is Albert and me. He moved out of his retirement community the other day, and he’s staying with me until we can find something else.”
“Becca mentioned he joined you for dinner last Friday. Did he move out, or did they toss him out?”
“Not now, Brooke. I’ve got enough on my plate, dealing with him. Don’t heap it on.”
“All right,” she said. “That covers the we. Now what came up?”
Since dropping anchor in the cove, the only sounds I heard were fish jumping, a pissed-off bird somewhere in the trees near the shore, and Brooke’s voice. The buzzing of the jet-ski engine was new. It blew in from the south.
“I’ve got to leave town for the weekend,” I said. “For work. But my father can watch Becca, so you can still go on your trip. He’s more than capable.”
“Where are you going?” she said.
“It’s not important. It’s for a case I’m working on, and I have to hit the road for a few days, but Albert can watch Becca while I’m away.”
“Does this have anything to do with the gun in your bag?”
“Of course not.” I could lie to Brooke, but I couldn’t lie to myself. I’d stepped in it deep. Real deep. And most people don’t recover from this type of fuck-up. That notion played on a loop inside my head, like a department-store Christmas soundtrack, but I had to push it further back. I couldn’t get sidetracked by the shit factor of my situation. If I focused on how deep the forest was, I’d never find a way out.
“Let’s not get into it, Brooke. Are you okay with Albert watching her until I get back?”
Brooke didn’t answer. I waited and then pulled the phone away from my ear and checked the display to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. It hadn’t.
“Brooke?” I said.
The jet skier whirled around the corner and into the cove, stopping at the entrance. Less than a hundred yards out. He leaned back enough to pop the seat underneath him. Maybe to access a storage compartment.
“I’m here,” she said.
“I know this isn’t the best situation, but there isn’t anything I can do about it.”
“Is Albert competent to watch her? I mean, he was living in a nursing home a week ago.”
I kept my eye on the jet skier, who sat facing my boat, still digging under his seat for something. “It wasn’t a nursing home. It was a retirement community, and Albert only lived there because he didn’t want to mow his lawn and cook his own meals anymore. He’s not senile. He’s just lazy. He’s fine to watch her.”
I waited.
“Okay, he can watch her, but I’d feel more comfortable if he watched her at our house. I don’t like her being on that boat with you, and I’m even less comfortable with her being on it with Albert. Nothing against him, I’d just feel better about it.”
Something told me that Albert would be more comfortable shacking up in a four hundred thousand dollar home than the S.S. Shitstorm.
“I’m sure he’d be fine with that,” I said. I didn’t like the idea of leaving Becca and Albert behind. In fact, I hated the idea. A man protects his family, but Bishop didn’t know about them. If I rally around them, I pull them into the fray. Bishop still didn’t know anything about me, which meant he knew nothing about them. The sooner I got away from Albert and Becca, the better. The danger would follow me, and I had to lead them as far away from my family as I could.
I snaked my foot around my messenger bag’s shoulder strap and eased the bag toward me.
“Can you get him here?” she said.
“I’ll drop him off Friday morning. How’s nine?”
“That’ll work. I can show him around the house before we go.”
“I saw an alarm system when I was there the other day. If you need him to set that, be sure to write down the instructions for him. Otherwise, he’ll have a tough time explaining himself to Cinci PD.”
“It’s deactivated, so he’ll be fine,” she said, pausing. “The more I think about it, the more I think this is a good idea, Finn. It’ll be nice for Becca to spend some more time with her grandfather. Maybe perk her up a bit.”
And it got Albert off the boat and out of danger.
“I’m sure he’ll enjoy it as much as she will,” I said.
I slowly reached down, opened the messenger bag and slid out my .45.
“Is he going to stay with you?” she said. “On that boat?”
“For now, but we’re talking about looking for a place when I get back. He’s circled a few places in the classifieds, so he’s already on it.”
“I think that’ll be good for you. Maybe your father isn’t cut out for assisted living. Maybe he’s more independent than you or he think. Maybe he’s better off with you. And maybe it’ll add some stability to your life. And you’re working again, so that’s good. I’m really happy things are turning around for you.”
Brooke really meant she was no longer feeling as guilty that she shattered my life when she walked out on me and took our daughter with her.
The jet skier closed the seat storage compartment. He hit the throttle, came into the cove, circled the boat and went back out toward the river. I kept the .45 tight to my leg.
“Right, Brooke,” I said. “Things really are looking up.”
ALBERT STOOD ON THE DOCK with a stack of books under his arm as I maneuvered the boat back into the slip. I tossed him a bowline. It dropped at his feet and slid back into the water.
“You’re supposed to catch that,” I said.
“And do what with it?”
“Tie it to the cleat on the dock.” I pulled the rope out of the water and tossed it again. It landed in the same spot.
“It’s all wet,” said Albert.
“Had you picked it up the first time, it wouldn’t be wet.” I pointed to the line and then to the cleat. “Grab it.”
Albert bent over and set his books on the dock. He grabbed the line, looped it around the cleat and tied it off. He wiped his hands on his pants leg before picking up his books again. I tied off the other two lines, killed the engine and helped Albert into the boat.
“Who’s tailing you?” he said.
“What?”
“Who do you know that would want to tail you?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “What makes you think someone tailed you?”
“I wasn’t tailed,” he said. “Your car was tailed. I just happened to be driving it. They started following me when I left the library. I didn’t want to come straight here, assuming they were looking for you, so I took a tour of downtown. I lost them near Eden Park and then got here as quick as I could.”
“How did you burn them?”
“What’s the first rule when tailing someone?” he asked.
“Blend in,” I said. I was curious how my father knew the rules of urban surveillance.
“Right,” he said. “Tough to do in a red-and-white sixty-eight Shelby Mustang. Yo
u see maybe one of those in your lifetime. Not in your rearview at every stoplight downtown. So back to the original question. Who’s following you, and what kind of trouble are you in?”
“The kind of trouble that makes people uneasy. The kind you don’t talk about. Did you see how many people were in the car?”
“Just one. Some black guy.”
“Did he follow you to the marina?”
“No. I told you I lost him at the park. Lost him before I crossed the river. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried about them following you here,” I said. “I’m worried about how they found the car in the first place. Where’d you park?”
He pointed to the other side of the marina. “I parked in the visitor lot. All the way over there. Practically wore out my shoes walking back here. Figured if they did find the car, they couldn’t zero in on your slip.” He squinted his eyes. “So again, what kind of trouble you in?”
“The bad kind.” I looked up at the main parking lot and then over to the visitor lot. “I got pulled deeper into a job than I wanted to.”
“Guys with grudges or guys with badges?”
“Both.”
“And now the shit hit the fan, huh?” he said, pushing by me and stepping into the galley.
“You could say that,” I said. Albert was way too calm for a guy who just learned his son might be on borrowed time. Way too calm. He was acting like I just told him I got a parking ticket or had to get a cavity filled. Maybe a two on the empathy scale. His relaxed stare made me uneasier than the jet ski did.
Albert saw my .45 resting on the counter. He nodded toward the handgun. “Must be pretty deep if you got that.” He filled a cup with water and put it into the microwave.
“It’s just a precaution.”
“Bullshit. A precaution is when you leave a piece in your nightstand or under your seat. Not out in the open.”
I didn’t say anything.
“You going to tell me about it or not?” he said.
“It’s too long a story to get into, and it’d be better if you didn’t know anyway.”
“Okay, then. What’s our next move?” he said watching the cup rotate inside the microwave.
What my father should have said was “for God’s sake, son, go to the police.” But he didn’t. That told me two things. One, my father knew the situation was bigger than the boys in blue could handle, and two, I didn’t know my father as well as I’d thought.
“Our next move?” I said. “That mouse back in your pocket? We don’t have a next move. My next move is to get you the hell out of here.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“For now, stay inside the boat. There’s nothing tying me to this slip, so unless someone sees us, you’re safe here. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to drop you off at Brooke’s house. I need you to take care of Becca for a few days while Brooke is out of town. You’ll be safe there. I need to disappear for a few days until things cool down.”
“You’re going to leave your daughter behind? Seems like a pretty stupid thing to do.” The microwave beeped and Albert took the cup out. “Unless … unless they don’t know about her. Unless you’ve buried her. Kept her under wraps, which is what I hope you’ve done.”
“That’s exactly what I did.”
He opened a tea bag and dropped it into the steaming mug. “Still, skipping town is a short-term solution, Finn. You run away from these guys, and they’ll just keep coming after you. You need something more permanent.”
“I’m working on it. This boat isn’t the ideal place to make a final stand.”
“Then, pick some place that is. Make them come to you. And then make them regret that they did.”
Albert squinted. He was thinking it through. Looking for an out. My out. The way he dunked the tea bag in and out of the cup told me he was too comfortable with my situation. As though he’d been there before. Either Albert was hiding something from me or maybe he was senile after all.
“You got a place in mind?” I said.
Albert wrapped the tea bag string around the mug’s handle.
“The cabin in Maine,” he said. “It’s perfect. Switch from defense to offense.”
Every now and then, my father pulls a solid idea out of his ass, but there was no way whoever was in that Mustang would tail me across the country. But even if they didn’t, it would still get me out of Cincinnati for a while, get my family out of harm’s way and let me figure things out.
“You still hide the front-door keys under the mat?” I said.
“Yeah.”
“You just might be onto something, Dad. Thanks.”
“You can thank me by doing me a favor while you’re there.”
“What’s that?” I said.
He put the steaming cup of tea to his lips. “Get my goddamn money.”
WALLACE PARKED ON THE STREET and watched the two-story brick house at 5711 Tangerine Court, the first address on his list. Traffic was calm for a Thursday afternoon and he’d only seen a half-dozen cars pass since he killed the ignition. Two cars sat in the paver driveway, a black Mercedes and a green Range Rover. After staking out the house for more than an hour, the front door opened and a shorter-than-average man in a white physician’s coat walked out of the door, carrying a briefcase. Wallace studied the man and then glanced down at the photograph Bishop gave him in the RV.
“You’re not Mr. Finn,” he said. “Maybe this ain’t the place.” The man climbed into the Mercedes and drove off. Wallace flipped through Bishop’s black notepad. He started his car and was about to leave when a woman opened the front door. The slender redhead wore high heels, skinny jeans, a white T-shirt and oversized black sunglasses. She checked her watch and looked down the road. A moment later, a school bus rolled down Tangerine Court. It parked a few houses down the street and three children stepped off. A young girl that Wallace gauged at six or seven years old ran to the redhead and hugged her on the front lawn.
“Hold on now,” said Wallace, remembering Bishop mentioned a wife and daughter. “Maybe we’re in the right place after all.”
The redhead helped the young girl into the backseat of the Range Rover, climbed into the driver’s seat and backed out of the driveway. Wallace slipped his car in gear, gave them some distance and then pulled out behind them. He followed the Range Rover to the Sawyer Point playground in downtown Cincinnati. The redhead parked, climbed out of her SUV, tossed a backpack over her shoulder, helped the young girl from the backseat and stepped into a brick bathroom.
FIVE MINUTES LATER, THEY BOTH emerged from the bathroom. The young girl now wore a swimsuit and bright pink sunglasses, her blond hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She carried a water bottle in one hand and a beach towel on the other.
Wallace stepped out of his car and followed them at a distance. This section of the park had a splash area, about the size of a basketball court. Water sprayed from fixtures on the ground. Bursts of water flew up into the air, raining down on the giggling and screaming children below as parents took pictures and video with their phones.
The redhead hugged her daughter and sent her off into the playful streams. She sat on a nearby bench and waved to the young girl.
Wallace approached the observation area and took a seat next to the redhead. He placed his left elbow on his knee and covered the tarantula tattoo with his hand, trying to look as natural as possible.
“Kids sure love the water,” he said.
“They sure do. My daughter would stay here all day if she could.”
“My daughter’s the same way. I’m Wallace.”
“Brooke.”
“Nice to meet you, Brooke. Which one’s yours?”
Brooke pointed. “That’s my daughter there, Becca.”
“She’s adorable. What is she? About seven?”
“Six.”
“My daughter is six too,” said Wallace.
“Which one is she?”
“She’s not here yet. Spent the night a
t her grandparents’ house. They’re dropping her off here.” Wallace looked at his watch. “Should be here in about twenty minutes. Figure it’s better to be early than late.”
Brooke waved to Becca again. “Well, I’m sure she’s excited. Kids love this place.”
“Do you guys come here often?” said Wallace.
“We try to get out here once a week in the summer. Maybe every other week in the fall, if it’s still warm like today. Where else can a kid have this much fun for free, right?”
“Can’t beat it,” said Wallace.
Wallace watched Becca as she splashed in a stream of water. Brooke snapped a few photos from her phone, tucked it back into her backpack and waved. Wallace checked his watch again. “Well, I’m going to grab a drink before my daughter gets here. Maybe we’ll see you later.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll still be here,” said Brooke. “Nice meeting you.”
“You too.” Wallace got up from the bench and headed to a concession stand on the other side of the splash area. He walked by Becca as another girl knocked her down in the water-filled madness. Her pink sunglasses flew off her face and Wallace snatched them mid-air. Becca stopped and looked up at him. He knelt down and slipped them back on her face. Then, he patted her head and gave her a gentle nudge back into the crowd. He turned to look at Brooke, who stood watching him. He waved, but she didn’t return the gesture.
Wallace walked toward the concession stand, but veered off and took an alternate route to the parking lot. He got into his car and turned the engine. He opened the notepad, circled the top address on the list, 5711 Tangerine Court, and drove off.
THE BOAT MOTOR WAS ALREADY running when I sent Albert to untie the bowline. He clutched his orange life vest with one hand and struggled to untie the line with the other. The twin engines gurgled and spit frothy river water into the night air.