The Pride Trilogy: Kyle Callahan 1-3

by Mark McNease

  Kyle smiled. He and Danny had worn rings since their first anniversary. Back then they couldn’t marry in their home state of New York, but it had been important to both men to wear rings as a way of telling themselves, and the world, they were a couple. Kyle did not consider them engagement rings at this point, they were well past that, but he briefly wondered if they would get new rings when the time for a ceremony came, or just slip the ones they already had onto each other’s fingers.

  “I have things to talk to you about, too,” Kyle said.

  The waiter came over, in the harried way waiters in busy diners do, and held pen to pad for their order. Kyle told him they needed a few more minutes, and off he went for a more decisive table.

  “Please don’t tell me it’s about murder.”

  “Yes, and no.”

  “I’m on vacation.”

  “Death doesn’t take a holiday.”

  “No, but Linda Sikorsky does. And it is Linda Sikorsky, by the way. ‘Detective Linda’ will be no more in a few months.”

  “That’s impossible,” he said. “You’ll always be Detective Linda, even if you’re working in a car wash. Now what’s this about?”

  “I’m tired of police work,” she said. “I want to do something different. Something I’m doing because I care about it, not because my father was gunned down by some thug when I was eight years old.”

  Kyle listened patiently. He wondered how much of this was Linda’s decision, and how much had been suggested, subtly or overtly, by the new woman in her life.

  “I became a cop because my dad was a cop. You know that, we’ve had that conversation before.”

  Indeed they had, that conversation and many more. Kyle was the first person Linda told about the real estate agent she’d met at a New Year’s Eve party, a party just four months ago. But what could he say about moving too quickly? Kyle had essentially moved in with Danny sooner than that.

  “You’re not listening to me,” Linda said, seeing the look on his face.

  “Yes, yes, I am. You want to do something else, fair enough.”

  “I’ve wanted to own my own business for years,” Linda went on. “A vintage store, like this one in Doylestown I love. They have everything there, just everything, and it’s a very successful place. Jenny, the woman who owns it, has already agreed to be my mentor. And I have a name: For Pete’s Sake.”

  Kyle knew that Pete was her father’s name. He started to comment that this wasn’t quite the clean break she thought it was, then stopped himself.

  “Wow,” he said. “Friendship ring. Retiring from the police force – you are retiring, right? You’re not walking away from a pension.”

  “Retiring. I’ve got my twenty years in come September.”

  “Good. Good.”

  “So okay,” Linda said. “I’ll give you this. Since I’ll always be Detective Linda to you, what’s your question.”

  “My question?”

  “Murder. I know that’s what you want to talk about.”

  “Right, well … it’s two murders for sure, and one death, the cause of which remains undetermined, except that it was a subway train. How she got in front of it is a mystery.”

  “Ah, Kyle Callahan loves his mysteries,” Linda said.

  “I don’t love them. I just feel compelled to solve them. I would be perfectly happy if no mystery ever presented itself.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. If dead bodies didn’t pop up, you’d go looking for them, and you know it.”

  The waiter came back, displaying some impatience this time, so they did him the favor of ordering lunch. He paid just enough attention to write the order down and scurried away.

  With the waiter gone, Kyle said, “I was hoping I could convince you to do some sight seeing in Brooklyn this afternoon. Imogene’s covering a town hall on the east side, then she’s heading to Gracie Mansion for the mayor’s press conference. She won’t miss me.”

  “I wonder,” Linda said. “Might Brooklyn be where one of these murders occurred?”

  “I just want to ask around while the memories are still fresh. The news said no witnesses, but that’s impossible in a city like this. People just don’t always know what they saw. There’s a coffee shop and an all-night laundry near where Devin – that’s one of the victims – was killed. I scoped it all out online, easy to find, won’t take long, and I could show you were I used to live in Carroll Gardens.”

  “I don’t know, Kyle. You have a show opening on Friday, isn’t that what you should be focused on?”

  “I think stopping a killer is more important. If all these people are connected, there may be more to come. I can’t take that chance.”

  She thought about it a moment. “Fine, it’s been thirty-five years since I was in this city and I’ve never seen Brooklyn.”

  “Excellent,” Kyle said. “Next stop Brooklyn.”

  With their afternoon plans set, the two of them caught up over lunch. Linda became more animated as she told Kyle about the woman in her life, her mother’s reaction, what was different for her now that she had come out to her colleagues on the New Hope police force. It was as if they were continuing their last phone call, but this time with the added pleasure of seeing each other across a small diner table. For the next twenty minutes there was no talk of killers or motives, whys or whens or hows, just two friends cementing a relationship they both knew would last a lifetime.

  Chapter 17

  Lunch at the Stopwatch Diner (Meanwhile)

  Linus Hern disdained diners, and the Stopwatch was no exception, with its ridiculous watch theme and the cheesy racecar flags on the wall. It may well be at the top of the list, if he’d had any reason to keep a list of pedestrian, crowded, loud, cheap restaurants that barely earned the name. The city’s “A” rating on the window was meaningless – falafel stands had them in New York City, bars for godsake, and who with any sense eats in bars? The same people who eat in diners, he thought, barely listening to the weasel lawyer sitting across from him. He didn’t like Claude Petrie, but he found him useful. It was Linus’s overriding criteria in his relations with other human beings: they were either useful to him, or they were not. Some had the potential to become useful; those who would never be had no claim to his attention, and got none.

  “She only knows that Jay and Victor are kind-hearted investors with her best interest in mind,” Petrie said, referring to the two men who had convinced Margaret Bowman to sell them the building and everything in it, including her restaurant.

  “Second only to theirs,” Linus said. “She’s no fool, so be very careful, we’ve almost closed this deal. Do not underestimate her ability to see you for who you are, Claude. Don’t go around too often, you might spoil the ruse.”

  Claude was once again fidgeting in the presence of the restaurateur. He knew condescension when it was being heaped upon him, not to mention contempt, but he had been in a tight spot for some time and was in no position to tell Linus Hern to drop dead. Please, right now, in this tacky diner.

  “You know,” Linus said, sipping his coffee, “I’m curious why you’ve been the Judas in this, why the betrayal.”

  Claude stared at his fork, keeping his gaze away from the man across the table. “I don’t … it’s not really … we’re not friends, Margaret Bowman and I.”

  “So she doesn’t know about your little gambling addiction. The one you’ll be able to pay off when this is over, providing you don’t just spend your generous fee at a poker table.”

  Claude’s face flushed with embarrassment. The truth of what Linus had just said was painful for him. He’d had a gambling addiction for years and it had cost him dearly: his wife, his co-op on the Upper East Side, the affection of his two teenage daughters who lived with his mother and had been trained to think as poorly of him as she did. The old lawyer Evans, Margaret’s attorney for decades, had not been the best judge of character. He had not seen through Claude. It was another source of shame for him, to be taking such egregious advantag
e of a favor done him by a dead man. But he owed nearly a hundred thousand dollars, much of it to people who would soon be asking for his life if he couldn’t give them his money. Money he didn’t have. Money Linus Hern was paying him to deceive and defraud the old woman who lived above the restaurant named after her.

  “I just …” Claude half-said, trying to regain his composure.

  “Yes?”

  “I just wondered, why you’re so determined to get her out of that building.”

  “Oh, its not her,” Linus said. “It’s her restaurant. Specifically, the man who runs it.”

  “Danny Durban?”

  “Yes, Danny Durban. The one and only.”

  Claude could see Linus’s face darken, the lids of his eyes lower slightly as hatred slid over his face like a veil.

  “What did he ever do to you? It must have been terrible.”

  “It was, Claude, terrible. But that’s not your concern, is it?”

  Claude had never seen Linus Hern taken by surprise; it was quite a sight, like watching a supremely confident man slip on the sidewalk and land in a puddle.

  “Are we about through here?” Hern said briskly. “I think I just felt a cockroach run across my foot. When will she be signing?”

  “I’d say another couple days, maybe a week.”

  “A week?” Linus said, displeased.

  “She’s asked me to have Tierney and Gossett meet with Durban.”

  Linus nearly choked, his face reddening in the time it took for Claude to say those names, names that should never have been spoke in the same sentence.

  “No, no, no,” he said. “That’s not going to happen. When did she ask for this?”

  “Just before I came here. It seems she told Danny Durban about the sale and she wants them to meet.”

  Linus was fuming now, in a most dangerous way, his anger tightly controlled. His left eye started to twitch, and he set his coffee cup down to hide the tremble in his hand.

  “You’ve failed me, Claude.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I am about to, yes. This could ruin everything. I’ll have to speak with Jay and Victor. They’ll need to be coached, quickly. I don’t think all is lost, but things are very much in jeopardy now. Not only is Danny Durban sharp, but he has motives of his own.”

  “But he loves the old woman.”

  “Precisely!” Linus hissed. “Love is the greatest, strongest, most driving motive of all. Why do you think I’m so determined to destroy him?”

  Claude knew then that Linus had been deeply hurt, somehow, at some time, by Danny Durban. But the two of them, together? Claude couldn’t see that in a million years. No, it was more complicated than that, more involved. And complicated could work to his advantage. Linus Hern wasn’t the only one with leverage. His hatred of Danny Durban and his mission to harm him could be used very effectively in Claude’s defense. All was not lost after all.

  It was then, as Linus tried to calm himself and Claude schemed to safeguard his payment, that Kyle Callahan and Detective Linda Sikorsky made their way past them to the exit. Kyle glanced over and did a double-take, wondering why Margaret Bowman’s lawyer would be having lunch with Linus Hern, and for that matter why Hern would be eating at a place like the Stopwatch. From everything Danny had told him, Hern would never be caught dead in a tourist trap diner. He made a quick mental note of the sighting and herded his visitor to the exit.

  Linus Hern never saw Kyle pass by. He was too busy thinking how to keep his plans on track. His partners would have to meet with Durban, if that’s what Margaret Bowman wanted, and they would have to keep the deception going. Just a few more days, it could be done.

  “Stay calm,” Linus said, wiping his mouth and setting his napkin down. He stood up from the table.

  “That’s it?” Claude squeaked. He was startled that Hern would simply get up, without any indication the meeting was over.

  “Yes, and no, my dear attorney, although you would never be mine. If we succeed, you’ll be able to pay your debts and have enough left over to start the entire sordid cycle anew. But if you fail,” and he leaned down, speaking inches from Claude’s face, “if this mission fails because you tipped our hand, or the sweat on your upper lip gave you away … well, Claude, I know some of the people who want their money back from you. It would be easy enough to tell them they won’t be getting it.”

  Claude felt his throat go dry. Linus Hern did not make idle threats.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Linus said, “and even if you won’t. I’ve stayed in this rat’s nest of a diner long enough. Don’t call me again, Claude. I’ll call you.”

  With that, the tall, dark, brooding man named Linus Hern strode out of the restaurant, his heart nearly as heavy as his determination for revenge. He left the check on the table for Claude Petrie to pay.

  Chapter 18

  Brooklyn Bound

  The N train was among the more sprawling subway lines in New York City, spanning three boroughs from Queens, through Manhattan, and into Brooklyn all the way to Coney Island. It had held a place in Kyle’s life since he first moved to New York. He had ridden this train from his longtime home in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn, transferring from the F, for most of his working life in the City. And then for the last six years with Danny, the two of them rode it the opposite direction, into Astoria most Sundays for dinner with Danny’s parents. It was also among the lines that were both underground and overhead, snaking up after a ride beneath the East River to travel along elevated tracks where it finally came to an end at Ditmars Boulevard. You could ride the N for well over an hour, and some people did: homeless men, women and the occasional child; curious tourists, the kind with backpacks and ragged, stained maps; cops, undercover cops, and the opportunistic thieves who could spot them through a crowd. It was one line among many in the spider’s web of the New York City subway system, a marvel acknowledged to be among the best in the world. A public transportation miracle that was as easy to love as it was to hate.

  Linda had never been in the subway. When she had visited Manhattan with her parents all those years ago they had taken taxis and walked. Her refusal to come to New York City meant she was as new to the subway experience as a child, or as the many people who visited this place with no desire to live here. She was trying to pay attention to Kyle, while marveling at the experience of riding the N train. They were on their way to Brooklyn, where the artist Devin had met his end last Friday night.

  “I don’t know what I expect to find,” Kyle said, and he noticed Linda staring curiously at a street vendor transporting his entire shop rolled up and roped on a hand truck. “Detective Linda? Are you listening?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, turning back in her seat to Kyle. “You don’t know what you’ll find but you’re hoping to turn up something.”

  “Or someone, which would be better. There won’t be anything to see but a sidewalk that’s been washed clean for days. But there are a lot of people around there. There are a lot of people everywhere in New York City. Out in Astoria, where Danny’s parents live, you can walk for six blocks and not pass anyone, but there are row houses along all those streets, apartment buildings, and for every one of them, eyes watching from the windows.”

  “Sixteen million.”

  “Pardon?”

  “If you’ve got eight million people here, that’s sixteen million eyes.”

  Kyle thought about it a moment. “God, that’s creepy,” he said, just as the train pulled into the Prospect Avenue station.

  The street vendor tilted back his portable warehouse and off they all went, leaving the bowels of the subway for the afternoon sun.

  Brooklyn has been around for over 350 years. Now one of New York City’s five boroughs, it began as a small Dutch-owned settlement in the 17th century called “Breukelen.” By the 19th Century it was a large, full fledged city of its own, and was consolidated into New York City in 1898. Were it still separate it would be the fourth largest city in the United
States. As it is, many people who live in Brooklyn consider it a world apart from Manhattan. They live and love in enclaves like Prospect Park, Park Slope, Williamsburg, Brooklyn Heights, and Kyle’s home for twenty-six years, Carroll Gardens. People who lived in the outer boroughs did not, by and large, regret living outside Manhattan; by the same token, most people in Manhattan considered it, and it alone, New York City, and places like Queens and the Bronx might as well be Iowa. Some of those attitudes had changed after 9/11, Kyle noticed. Something about having the World Trade Center destroyed, with all those lives falling out of the sky into a pile of rubble and dead souls, united the city in a way it had not been before. New York City now meant New York City, with all of its sprawl and mess, and many more people were clueing into the advantages of living “out there,” where rents were lower (not cheaper – nothing is cheap here anymore) and entire lives could be lived without ever setting foot on the Island.

  Kyle was thinking of how long it had been since he’d taken the train to Brooklyn. Could it really have been since he moved in with Danny five years ago? He wanted to think he would not have so completely abandoned his old home, but it was probably true. There wouldn’t be any reason for him to come here.

  “What are you thinking?” Linda asked as they walked toward the building Devin had lived in. Kyle wondered if someone was going through the dead man’s belongings yet, who had loved him, whose lives would be forever changed because of his murder.

  “Nothing, just how long it’s been since I’ve come here.”

  Kyle stopped them in front of an apartment building. “It must have been here,” he said. “Somewhere around here. I found his address, that was easy enough, and the news said he was killed just a few houses down from where he lived, toward the subway. So here, somewhere in here.”

  Kyle stopped and looked around him: apartment buildings as far as the eye could see. And in those apartments, thousands of eyes. But would any of them have seen the killing, or the killer, and would any of them say so?