by Amy Faye
"You know me so well," Josh says. He smiles, and hopes it translates into his voice. "Yeah, that one. He's an older guy. Did some work back in the early 2000s. Just got out of prison a few years ago, but he seemed sharp as a tack. Maybe you talk to him and he has a few ideas about how it could've been done, and who could have done it."
"You're not trying to get me to bully some guy for you, are you, Meadows?"
"I've got a hunch, but no. Not for me. Just trying to find an angle on this that you might not have thought of. A couple of red flags at the Queen house, thought you might want to bring the guy in to talk."
"Just to talk, not to man-handle and break the guy's front teeth."
"No, nothing crazy like that. Look, maybe you scare him a little. Get him talkative. Then back it off, and see what he has to say about the other guys in the business. Is that so bad? No, that's fine. All above board. No problems."
"This better not be a load of shit, Meadows. I will come down on you so fucking hard your grand-kids will still be feeling it, if you are sending me on a wild damn goose chase."
"Like I said. Guy knows his trade. He did three or four jobs that we know of, between '02 and '05, and those are just the ones we know he did. There are a few solid question marks that nobody can prove, and with a guy like this, there will be jobs that we can't even tie to the guy. Shit we don't even know about. So at the very least, he could give you a solid lead."
The conversation dies slow, but it does die, in the end. Meadows is glad when it does. Now he'll have to wait. If he can tie one crime down, it will at least prove his little theory has something to it.
There hasn't been much press the past day or two about Al Queen. That's a little weird. A little spooky. If they had him, they'd be blasting it all over everything.
If they were in negotiations, then he'd have heard something solid through something.
Almost a week with no word, though… tomorrow, he'd be giving his little apology speech. It still sounded like shit. He'd managed to polish it until it almost sounded like he might mean some of it, but that wasn't near good enough, and nobody was going to be fooled by such a feeble damn attempt.
That doesn't matter much, though. Not if Jeffries gets through to this Roy Weissman. He'd have to hurry, of course. But with a little luck, they can get Weissman turned around real quick, they can dig a little more into the deposit boxes, and they can turn around solid evidence on Mitch Queen.
Which in the end is about all that matters, really.
Josh takes a breath. He has to wait a few hours. The waiting is always the worst. But he'll do it, because he has to. When the dam finally breaks, it will break hard. Until then, it's just thinking up new theories and trying to throw them at the wall as fast as you can to see what will stick and what won't.
This angle with Weissman is the closest thing that Josh has gotten so far to finding anything connecting Al Queen or his son to any active and open cases. By the end of the afternoon tomorrow, with a little luck, he'll have his badge and his gun back.
Until then, he's got a lot of waiting to do, a little hoping, and not a whole hell of a lot else.
There's nothing else that he can do, though. Not for another day.
Then he'll be back on the job, and he'll be able to get at the old files and see why in the hell Al Queen decided he needed to have an old-time knee-breaker so prominently positioned as his head of security.
There were certain advantages to going with the old-school guys. Loyal, and they don't ask too many questions.
On the other hand, they have their problems. They're no spring chickens, for one thing, and for another, they're rarely as up-to-date as you'd like them to be. There's a reason most don't choose to go that way.
But Al Queen did, and now Maybe-Detective Meadows needs to figure out why. The wedding makes a hard deadline, because crook or not, married is married.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Anna's found it hard to breathe for a long time now. She can't sleep and she barely can eat. It can't be good for Ava, so she forces the food down anyways and hopes it stays.
There's nothing else to be done, after all. Even if she thinks she knows what that conversation meant, even if she thinks she knows what it was about…
The best-case is that she's imagining things. It will mean nothing in the end. She'll look a little foolish. She'd rather look paranoid in life than look stupid in death. Because those are, in the end, her only two options, really.
She shuts her eyes for a moment and hopes to hell that things can't somehow get worse than they already are. They can't possibly, she knows. They're already as bad as anything could possibly get.
In a sense, it's a blessing in disguise. Looking around every corner, wondering if there's going to be another wild explosion of men with guns… it's really put a fire in her butt. It's really helped to remind her of what she's risking for Ava's sake.
Colors are more colorful, the lights a little brighter. Not an equal trade, but it helps a little bit.
The problem is just not knowing. If only she could… somehow. Just see it coming a little bit. If only she had someone she could turn to, or something that she could do to keep herself safe from harm.
But she doesn't. She can't. That's just the reality of the situation, like it or not. She doesn't like it one bit. Josh would have helped. He wouldn't have stopped for anything.
Not if the way that he'd acted when Ava was missing was any indicator. Not with the way that he'd put himself and his career at risk so many times for her.
Anna swallows hard. He's not here this time, though. So she's going to have to figure out how to keep herself alive on her own. The wedding is the first hurdle.
If she makes it that far, then that will be something. After that, she'll be able to figure something else out, maybe. What, she can't say. Maybe a move out to the countryside.
She could pretend that none of this ever happened, living in a little log cabin on the prairie. Not God damn likely, but it was easy to dream.
She takes a deep breath. No use in fantasies. Not when things could turn ugly any time. She'll have to keep herself under control as long as she can.
Once she's figured everything else out, she can start to imagine what-if scenarios about her romantic life after she's escaped Mitchell's 'clutches.'
She closes her eyes and takes a breath. Somehow she's going to have to figure out a way to give herself some kind of breathing room. Even closing her eyes long enough to do her breathing exercises has been driving her mad.
What if someone were to come in, during those times? What if they were to find her, alone and defenseless, and…
Well, that would be the answer that Mitch would like best, no doubt about that. he'd like it very much if she just went away and wasn't seen again. If she went quietly into death.
That's not going to happen, not if she has anything to say about it. Her hands tighten up into fists. There's only one thing to do. It's a risk. It's a big risk, but there's no other way.
Anna summons up every ounce of her courage and forces herself to ignore the danger and ignore the fear.
She plasters a smile on her face and starts walking outside. It doesn't take long for her to find him. With Ava swaddled in her arms, it's hard for Terry to stay on his guard for long.
"How's she doing," he says, finally. His body relaxes from the military stiffness that he keeps most of the time.
"She's sleepy. You want to see?"
He leans out and Anna turns her daughter to give him a better look, keeping herself in a position to shade the little girl's eyes.
"What a sweetheart. She's not misbehaving too much, is she? I had a little girl, once. She was just as cute and just as sweet as your little one."
"Oh yeah? What happened to her?"
"I still write, twice a month. She's a, uh. Teacher, down in Mesa."
"In Arizona?"
"Yeah, that one."
"Sounds lovely."
"She really is."
/>
"I'm sorry to bother you, Terry."
"It's not a bother, Miss Anna." He straightens up again, that entire bulk of his body coming into line once more as if by magic.
"I'm worried, though."
He relaxes again. "About the wedding?"
Anna shrugs. The sun must be in Terry's eyes, but he doesn't put up a hand to shield them.
"I heard some talk."
"I wouldn't put any stock in rumors, Miss Anna."
"Not about that. I heard, um. Some very… concerning conversations that suggested that there might be some…"
His face goes a little slack, as if he's trying to decide what response he should give.
"What's that?"
"I think someone's trying to kill me."
Terry's jaw sets itself. It's not hard to see that a man his age… Anna might be the same age as his daughter. She might have a little baby of her own.
"What gives you an idea like that?"
"I heard someone talking about 'getting rid of her again.'"
"You have any idea who it was?"
"I know that he did some things you're not supposed to be doing on duty after the conversation I heard. But no, I don't. There was a man and a woman and they seemed to have some kind of arrangement. But… there's so many women around helping out with wedding planning, you know? I don't know most of them."
Terry's jaw juts off to the side.
"I hear you. I'll look into it."
"I'm sorry to have brought this to you, Terry. I know I'm just making things hard for you."
"Don't worry about it, Miss Anna. You're good people. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you anyways. So don't you worry for a second that I'd be unhappy with looking into something like this for you."
"I really can't thank you enough."
"Well, don't thank me until I've got something done."
"Okay." Anna reaches up on the tips of her toes and presses a kiss to Terry's cheek. He smiles down at her with his leathery, deep-lined face.
"I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I don't think Ava would ever forgive me if I did. Wouldn't want to do anything to piss off a little cutie like that. They can turn on you, you know."
"I know exactly what you mean," Anna says. She smiles at Terry again. "I'll let you get back to work."
"I'll look into that thing for you."
"Thank you again."
"Don't mention it."
He stiffens again. Anna steps back and starts making her way across the lawn, back inside. There's not much she can do. Not on an estate owned by the very man that she knows, deep down, is responsible for whatever is going on.
Not with the entire staff practically worshiping the ground that he walks on. But that doesn't mean that there's nothing she can do, and she's going to have to do what she can.
Because of all the things that could happen, of all the ways that things could go over the next few days before the rushed-job of a wedding goes forward, a death in the family is the one thing she's going to have to avoid.
She can't do it on her own, and the only other man she knows she can trust isn't around any more. Can't be around any more, because of the choices that she'd made for herself and her daughter.
So, for her sins, she's going to have to deal with things as they come, like it or not.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Josh Meadows had wanted little more than to find out that all the evidence was going to turn up at the last minute. He'd wanted to be standing there in his hundred-dollar suit next to Mitch Queen in his thousand-dollar suit.
Next to Anna, whose dress was so nice that what had once been a deeply attractive woman had somehow transformed into a rapturous beauty. Her face was drawn and she looked tired, but it did little to hurt her incredible image, standing there beside Mitch.
It stung deep in Josh's chest. But if that was how it was going to be, then that was how it was going to be.
The security staff was split half-way between the police force and the Queen family's personal security. The old knee-breaker stood off to the side. He looked alert; almost worried.
About what, it was hard to say. But the old dog did look worried, nonetheless.
In the end, though, Josh Meadows, former- and soon-to-be-again detective had to face the music. They'd brought in Roy Weissman. And like Meadows had hoped, he'd gotten spooked and he'd told them just about anything they wanted to know.
But what he hadn't told them was why those god damn fourteen safety deposit boxes. What he hadn't told them was why he'd decided to suddenly return to his life of crime.
Those would come with time, but time was the one thing that was at an extreme premium, for Josh Meadows. Because this was supposed to be his big moment. His moment to reveal to the world that Mitchell Queen, or his father at least, was some kind of criminal mastermind.
That he didn't deserve an apology because he'd gotten what he deserved. As sad as it was, nobody would blame a guy like that for being a little terse with his wife. Oh, well. That's the price for fame. No big deal.
Well, it is a big god damn deal. But not if you're rich, and not if your boyfriend is rich.
Josh takes a deep breath. That was all it was, though. A fantasy. And it's a fantasy that's not going to come to fruition. He's just going to have to face the music.
He's got the whole speech written down, sentence-by-sentence, on index cards. They're all in a bundle up his sleeve, and once he hits the podium he can slip them out. It's not that he's not allowed to have them, of course. It's that he needs to keep up the appearance.
Or at least, in the long run, make it look like he's making an effort to keep up the appearance. That's all that really counts, for the most part.
He takes a deep breath and when he lets it out, the detective steps up to the podium in front of him and lets out the note-cards. They slip easily into a stack on the podium. Just like he'd hoped they would.
He looks over his shoulder at Mitchell, who's keeping a straight face. If he had that oh-so-pleased expression that he usually wore, then there'd be a whole lot of hell to pay for someone, because he'd look like a god damn psychopath.
Though, to be fair, that image wouldn't have been inaccurate. It's not the image that he wants to project, though.
"Hello, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Detective Josh Meadows. I've been with the police force for almost ten years. Next November will be ten years. I've worked on nearly a hundred cases, in that time, and I've solved… most of them."
He looks over his shoulder at Mitch again. He's waiting for the good part.
"On the night of the 18th, I, and a few others on my team, were watching over the exchange of money for a baby. A woman had come to the police with a kidnapped child. That woman, right there."
Josh pointed to Anna.
"Miss Anna Witt, soon to be the wife of Mr. Mitch Queen."
The detective waits a moment, just in case there's a response. If there is, it's small enough that under the bright lights, he doesn't see it.
"During that exchange, Albert Queen, our former mayor and current congressional hopeful, was taken by thugs. Miss Witt was lucky to get away with her life, and I think we all appreciate the risks that she put herself at."
Josh likes the feeling of Mitchell's eyes boring into him from behind. This is taking far too long to sound like an apology, and that's part of the intention. It really is a beautiful speech, for that reason, even if he sounds like a damn fool reading it.
"During the events of that night, things became very… emotional, for everyone involved. Dangerous situations often are, for many of us. I let my emotions get the best of me, and I became violent with Mr. Queen, in spite of the fact that I should have had better professional behavior."
There's a strong temptation to point out the reasons that he'd become upset in the first place. It's a temptation that Josh has to resist. After all, there's no real proof of what he knows Mitch was doing. Of what he's been doing for years, and what he'll now be ab
le to continue to do.
That's not an option. So instead he's got to do what he can with what he has, which is to swallow down the bitter pill of apologizing to the son of a bitch in spite of the fact that he doesn't deserve it.
Retribution, if it ever comes, can come later.
"I cannot excuse my lack of professionalism, but I can apologize to Mr. Queen, to his family, and to the people of our city for my rash actions. I'm truly sorry."
Josh hangs his head a little, in an effort to look sad. The movement of his head leads to a movement of his eyes, as natural as can be. As his eyes track across the crowd, though, something less natural becomes much more evident.
Someone is moving through the crowd. Pressing in. Someone reaching into their jacket.
It's a heavy jacket, woolen. It terminates halfway down the thigh. He's not wearing a mask. That would be too obvious, at this juncture. But it's not hard to figure out that the man's got bad intentions. Josh can see it in the look on his face.
When the hand comes free, with a flash of black, Josh starts to move. His shoulder crashes into Anna's side as the loud, sharp 'pop' permeates the early-autumn air.
She stumbles and catches herself. Josh tumbles off the side of the podium. It's a short drop, but the hard hit on his shoulder feels like it nearly dislocated the thing, and it hurts so bad that he could scream.
He ignores the pain, forces himself up.
"Get down here," he growls. Anna gets down off the stage and ducks behind it. Josh is already on his feet, already climbing the short steps back onto the stage. Mitch is gone—Lord only knows where.
There's a commotion in the crowd. From the back of the stage, it's hard to see for certain, but as he gets closer in long, hurried steps it's easier to see.
A trail of blood leads up to a big pile of bodies, all moving in a strange, asynchronous rhythm, trying to pull each other apart or push each other together at odd intervals.
And right at the center of it, a two-hundred and eighty pound behemoth looks like he's about to kill a man with a gun with his bare hands, in spite of his pretty-bad bleeding.