by Eric Bernt
“No, Eddie, I haven’t. And I hope I never have to.”
“Why would you have to?”
“Because things get complicated.”
“Why?”
“They just do.”
Crossing the street toward Butler’s Chevy Tahoe, Eddie remained extremely cautious. He looked both ways, then took a step. Then looked both ways again. He was doing everything he could to avoid another near miss.
Butler turned to Eddie in disbelief. “You mind speeding it up a little?”
Eddie continued moving along with incredible caution. “I don’t like it here at all.”
The detective was quickly reaching his threshold, Skylar recognized. “Eddie, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner you can hear your mother’s voice.”
Eddie jumped into the back seat of Butler’s SUV. Skylar buckled him in and got in the front passenger’s seat. Butler punched the gas, SCREECHING out of the parking space. Eddie covered his ears. “This car hurts my ears.”
Skylar turned to Butler. “Where are we going?”
“My precinct. I want my lieutenant to hear what—”
Eddie interrupted. “Skylar, I’m hungry. Is it time for afternoon snack yet?”
She checked her watch: 1:07 p.m. Afternoon snack at Harmony House had been served seven minutes ago. “Yes, it is, Eddie. We’ll get you something at the police station.”
“Saturday-afternoon snack is graham crackers and milk.”
Skylar knew the answer to the question she was about to ask the detective, but went ahead anyway. “They wouldn’t happen to have graham crackers and milk at your station, would they?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Eddie imitated him. “You’re kidding, right?”
Butler managed to contain himself. “No, there aren’t any graham crackers and milk.”
Skylar tried to be helpful. “There must be some kind of snack.”
“Only what’s in the vending machines. Candy bars, and whatnot.”
“Candy bars are high in sugar, high in calories, and low in nutritional value. They are not an appropriate snack, Detective McHenry.”
Skylar intervened. “Is there somewhere we can stop on the way?”
He eyeballed her incredulously. “You’re not serious.”
“Any deviation from his regular routine is a genuine hardship for him.”
“Whoever those guys are coming after you, they’re out here looking for you. Right now. You get that, right?”
“I do.” Realizing she was never going to reach him with compassion, she took a more practical approach. “It’ll only take a minute, and you’ll find him a lot less annoying.”
Butler couldn’t help but shake his head, eyeing the road ahead for the nearest convenience store. The New York Police Department had finally caught a break in their investigation of the subway gas attack, the headline story of every national paper for the last three days, and the lead detective on the case was about to stop and buy graham crackers and milk.
CHAPTER 39
Harmony House, Woodbury, New Jersey, May 27, 1:11 p.m.
Barnes watched the pursuit from his office. Hirsch and Lutz’s car was quickly closing in on Skylar and Eddie.
Inside the pursuit car, Lutz finally got close enough to catch a glimpse of the driver. It was not Skylar. “Son of a bitch.” He slowed down quickly and cranked a U-turn, heading back to the bar.
Barnes called within eight seconds. Hirsch answered, “It was a decoy. We’re heading back to the bar.”
“Don’t waste your time. They’re already gone.” Barnes’s tone was ice. He glanced at his computer screen, where an array of personal information about Detective Butler McHenry appeared. Former US Army Ranger, 1998–2004. Member of the NYPD since 2005. Decorated twice. Suspended once. The more Barnes read, the more he didn’t like it. McHenry had both training and experience. Barnes needed to find Skylar and Eddie now, before this situation escalated any further. “If cops are driving her car, McHenry is now driving them. Keep your eyes out for a blue Chevy Tahoe, New York plate George-David-Romeo-six-seven-zero-three. I’m sending you directions to his residence.”
“You really think he’s that dumb?”
“He’s a cop, isn’t he?”
CHAPTER 40
Jorge’s Quick Stop, Queens, New York City, May 27, 1:17 p.m.
Eddie followed behind Skylar and Detective McHenry as they walked quickly up and down the narrow aisles inside Jorge’s Quick Stop, looking for graham crackers. They were still in Queens. The bare fluorescent tubes above them flickered intermittently. Eddie was the only one of the three who didn’t seem to be in a hurry. “Where are the graham crackers, Skylar?”
Skylar tried to break the news gently. “I think they’re out of them.”
“This is bad. Very bad.” His breathing grew more rapid as he started to panic. McHenry watched with increasing concern.
Skylar knew Eddie was about to lose it. She moved so that she could look him directly in the eyes. He tried to look away, but she managed to keep his gaze. “If they don’t have them here, we will find them somewhere else. I promise.”
Eddie veered abruptly away from a grape-juice display, keeping his distance from the stacks of purple beverages.
Butler picked up a box of Nilla Wafers. “How about these?”
“Those are not graham crackers.”
“I know they’re not graham crackers. I was offering you an alternative.”
“I don’t want an alternative. I want graham crackers. And milk.”
The detective had lost his patience. “Well, that’s just too bad.”
Eddie paused uncomfortably. “I don’t like it here.”
“Then we’ll go to another store,” Skylar reassured him.
“I won’t like it in there, either, Skylar. I don’t like it anywhere outside Harmony House.” His hands twitched. Ready to claw himself.
Skylar moved abruptly toward him. “Eddie, look at me. Right now. Look at me and nothing else.” She was right in his face. Studying him. But not touching him. She kept his gaze until the tension finally left his body. “Better?”
Eddie nodded, only to realize, “I’m still hungry.”
Butler went up to the Puerto Rican clerk behind the counter; his name tag read Jorge. Butler confirmed what he already knew. The store had plenty of booze and cigarettes, but not the one item they needed. Butler turned to Skylar. “Does it have to be graham crackers?”
Eddie corrected him. “Graham crackers and milk.”
At least they carried milk, so Skylar quickly paid for a carton. It was larger than the ones served inside Harmony House, but Skylar assured Eddie she would pour him the proper serving.
Butler shook his head. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 41
American Heritage Foundation, Alexandria, Virginia, May 27, 1:22 p.m.
Caitlin McCloskey’s office inside the American Heritage Foundation displayed the kinds of images typical of a young working mother: photos of her two small children and her lawyer husband, and their family Christmas card from last year. She looked like an accountant or a private-school teacher or a corporate communications director. In fact, early in life, before she came to understand what her father actually did for a living, Caitlin was quite certain she was going to be one of those things. But from the moment her father, one of the seven original founders of the Foundation, pulled back the curtain and revealed what he did—and the opportunity she had within the firm—there was never a thought about another career. The power and control were addictive. Especially on days like today.
She was on the phone with a man whose real name she did not know. She did not want to know it almost as much as she didn’t want him to know hers. Because this man killed people for a living. He and his partner had done the job for them at least a dozen times that she knew of. The two men had no idea who their employers were, because it was inconsequential, as long as they were paid. Half upfront, the other half upon completion.
; The pair’s former general had made the anonymous introduction shortly after both were honorably discharged from the United States Army, using only code names the assassins had chosen: Phillies fan was “Giles,” and Mets fan was “Murphy.” One party had an urgent need; the other party had a unique skill set that could fill that need, which was all either side wanted to know. The general had suggested a standard fee of $50,000, which both parties accepted. The pair’s first assignment for their unknown employer was a relatively easy breather: a troublesome investigative reporter needed to disappear on a camping trip in Canada. They were told who the subject was and when and where the job was to be done. The mission went off without a hitch, and thus began an exclusive relationship that was going on eight years now.
The general had made it clear to both parties that, going forward, special circumstances could warrant a loftier price tag. New York congressman Henry Townsend was a good example. Due to the high-profile nature of the subject, and the urgency with which the job had to be handled, the price was $250,000.
Every job would start like this: A call was made to a particular encrypted mobile phone in the killers’ possession, which was never used for any other purpose. No one else had this number. The caller would describe the job and all pertinent details. The service providers would evaluate the task and respond with a price. There was never any negotiation.
Both sides of the transaction had a simple understanding: if the employer was not comfortable with the price, the call would be terminated, as would the relationship. The same would be true for any failure on the contractors’ part. There was no room for error in this line of work. Failure was simply not an option.
For this evening’s efforts, they had quoted their standard rate of $50,000, even though there was a strong likelihood of multiple subjects being involved. The pair kept the price to their minimum because they felt they’d recently pushed their employers a bit too far by pricing the New York congressman at a quarter of a million dollars. Yes, they had their client over a barrel. Yes, there really wasn’t anyone else their patron could have turned to in that moment. But even killers knew not to get greedy. There were at least half a dozen other teams operating in this part of the world, and they didn’t want to ruin a good thing. They only had one employer. It was all they needed. The pair wanted to keep this client, whoever it was, happy. So they priced tonight’s work at base level, which was correctly viewed as a giveback and immediately accepted.
Caitlin watched real-time satellite views on her numerous computer screens. One showed the Harmony House grounds and surrounding vicinity. A vehicle had stopped on the side of the road one hundred yards from the facility entrance. The driver had popped the hood of his sky-blue Jeep Wagoneer and appeared to be checking the engine. As Caitlin zoomed in her view, the Philadelphia Phillies cap of the driver became visible. The resolution was astonishing. She could even make out some sort of player’s signature on the brim. It looked like the last name was Nola, but she couldn’t be sure. Baseball had never interested her much. She told the man, “You should receive confirmation from your bank any second.”
On-screen, Giles checked his regular cell phone, an iPhone 8. He had just received a message from his Swiss bank, Banque Pasche, confirming that his account had received a wire originating from the United States for $25,000. “Good to go.” He hung up, then called his partner, who was parked outside Gloria Pruitt’s modest but well-kept home. Caitlin did not have nearly as clear a view of him, because of the dense trees around Gloria’s house, but she knew he was there. His Mets cap had been momentarily visible when he got out of his car.
Jason Greers poked his head inside Caitlin’s office. “Show about to start?”
“Not until tonight. Giles is outside Harmony House, just in case. Murphy is scoping out Gloria Pruitt’s house, doing recon.” She pointed to the screens with the various views.
“Where do you think Barnes will make his move?”
“Inside her home. No question.”
“Why do you think?”
“He’ll want to send a message that the gloves are off. Inside, they’ll have more privacy.” She said it without emotion. Because she told herself it was just business. How long she could keep telling herself that was a matter of conjecture.
Jason nodded. “Absolutely. No question.” She was smart, and he wanted to make sure she knew he appreciated it. “You going to tell them that?” He smiled ever so slightly.
She smiled right back. “I thought I’d leave that suggestion to you.” Tell two of the world’s best assassins how to do their job. Yeah, right.
CHAPTER 42
Ninetieth Avenue, Queens, New York City, May 27, 1:45 p.m.
Detective Butler McHenry gripped the wheel tightly, repeatedly glancing in his rearview mirror to make sure they were not being followed. Eddie stared out his window at the row of dilapidated, old houses that were once fine middle-class homes.
The area was ripe for gentrification. Developers were just waiting for the elderly owners to kick the bucket so they could swoop the properties up from the heirs. Detective McHenry would eventually be one of those former owners, but he hoped it wouldn’t be anytime soon.
Eddie noticed a dead bug on the rear passenger’s window of McHenry’s Tahoe. He tried to clean it off, only to smear its entrails, making it worse. He rolled down the window, and decided the button was far more interesting than the urban squalor around them. Up, down. Up, down. He’d stick his head out the window, then pull it back in. Out, then in. The difference in sound would be striking to anyone. To Eddie, it was like two different worlds.
The detective glanced at Eddie, struggling to get a handle on the adult who was acting like a preschooler in his back seat. “You mind if I ask how old you are?”
“Twenty-seven years, three months, twenty-five days, and what time is it?”
Butler glanced at his watch. “About one fifty.”
“And five hours and fifty minutes, approximately. How old are you, Detective?”
“Thirty-eight and change.”
“What kind of change?”
“I meant a little older than thirty-eight.”
“Why didn’t you say that?”
McHenry shook his head, reminded why he didn’t like kids—and liked adults who acted like them even less. He vowed to talk to Eddie as little as possible.
Skylar turned back to her patient as he continued sticking his head out the window. “Eddie, please don’t do that.”
“I like the way it feels on my face.”
“It isn’t safe.”
“Why isn’t it safe?”
She decided not to mention that there were highly trained members of Harmony House’s security staff out there looking for them. “You could accidentally press the button the wrong way, and your head could get stuck.”
“What would happen if my head got stuck?”
“It would hurt a lot. And I don’t want that to happen.”
“I don’t, either.” He rolled up the window.
Skylar stared out her window at the well-worn neighborhood. “Detective McHenry, where are we going?”
“To get his graham crackers, so we can get to the station.”
“And then we’re going to Philadelphia, right?” Eddie leaned over the front seat between them.
Skylar answered, “Not just yet, Eddie. But soon.”
“How soon?”
“I’ll be able to give you a specific answer as soon as I have a private conversation with Detective McHenry.”
“Because it involves the mystery man, and he is none of my concern?”
“Yes, Eddie. For the time being.”
The detective was curious. “What’s in Philly?”
“He wants to hear his mother sing.”
McHenry nodded, adding it to the list of things he would be asking her as he pulled into the narrow driveway of his own mother’s house.
“Is this your place?” Skylar asked.
“Do I look like I wou
ld have graham crackers in my cupboard?”
“Right next to the Budweiser.”
In the back seat, Eddie began humming the brand’s old jingle.
“It’s my mother’s house.”
“This is where you grew up?” said Skylar.
Butler nodded. “We’re only staying here long enough to get him his crackers.” He got out and walked briskly toward the house, only to realize Eddie was not following. He was standing still in the driveway, doing his usual head rotation with his eyes closed. Wind WHISTLED through the branches of a dying elm tree. An old swing set that had been rusting for thirty years SQUEAKED lightly in the yard. Traffic could be heard all around them, including a lot of big rigs. The Cross Island Parkway was only a few blocks away.
McHenry was becoming annoyed. “He does realize we’re in a hurry, doesn’t he?”
Skylar explained, “He has to familiarize himself with every new environment.”
Eddie had heard enough. “I don’t like it here.”
Skylar watched him closely. “Why not?”
He kept his eyes closed as he answered. “I don’t hear any birds. Not a bluebird, not a sparrow, not even a starling.”
“What do you hear?”
“A squeaky swing set. Old dogs. Four of them. There is a highway approximately five blocks away. There are a lot of trucks on the highway. Most of the trucks are at least ten years old. Some of them are much older.”
McHenry looked at him with interest. “How can you tell how old the trucks are?”
“New trucks sound different from old trucks, just like young people sound different from old people.” Eddie stopped rotating his head and opened his eyes.
“Are you comfortable yet?” Skylar knew not to push.
“I’m hungry.”
Skylar nodded slightly. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Eddie carried his precious devices and followed McHenry into the house.
The detective picked up several days’ worth of mail, which was strewn around the faded hardwood floor of the entryway below the mail slot. The home’s decorations and furnishings were from another era. Wallpaper that was once white was now a mild yellow. The Formica countertops were well worn. The dining-room table was noticeably warped, and the rug in the kitchen had dozens of stains of all variety and vintage. The house was a time capsule. “I just had to put my mother in a home. She couldn’t take care of herself after she broke her hip.”