He could use some.
The train barreled underground, shooting through the tunnel and back into Manhattan. He heard the announcement for Lexington and 59th Street. Three more stops and he was once more on familiar turf. It hadn’t snowed as much in the city, but the amount rarely matched the total in the outer boroughs. Something about the layout of the streets, the canyons. Maybe the snow only came to rest atop the skyscrapers, saving those below from its dusting. Jimmy trudged forward, passing by the Calloway Theatre, knowing his mother was inside its walls. Wednesday being a two-show day meant she stayed there all day, hanging with her co-workers, usually going out for dinner between shifts. He thought about what Ralphie had said: ask her for the final piece of Cassie Dean’s story. Jimmy and his mother had unfinished business.
He dashed upstairs to his office. He had a quick piece of business to attend to. He fired up his laptop, inserted the flash drive he’d taken from Ranuel. He waited out the download, finished up by finding a spare flash in the drawer of his desk. Then he found a white envelope and slipped it inside. Done. It was important.
Now, his sister.
He entered Paddy’s Pub. Happy Hour was officially over but that didn’t seem to deter the clientele. Laughter rang out, loud conversation bouncing off the narrow walls. Jimmy saw Mallory at the far end of the bar, engaged in conversation with their uncle.
“Ah, Jim, evening to ya.”
“Hiya, Paddy,” Jimmy said. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine, Jimmy,” Mallory said, answering for herself. “Not like last time.”
Jimmy gave his uncle a look. The man shrugged. “She’s told me nothing.”
Jimmy looked at the fluted glass stationed in front of her. Not beer, not even wine. No shot. Just dancing bubbles. An odd development. He would get to that in a second.
“Paddy, can I ask a favor?”
“Anything, anytime.”
Jimmy handed him an envelope. “Hold onto this. Put it somewhere safe.”
“Under my cash register?”
“Fine. Thanks.”
“Wanna tell me what it is?”
Jimmy shook his head. “Best you don’t. Just call it insurance. Thanks.”
“Part of a case?”
“I’m always working something,” Jimmy said.
“Well, now tend to your sister. She looks like she’s bursting at the seams.”
“Got it.” He went to Mallory, gave her a funny look. “We celebrating something?”
“Yes, we are” Mallory said, a wide smile gracing her pretty face. She looked radiant, like she’d just stepped out of a high-end salon on the East Side. Then, without preamble, she said, “Join me in a glass of champagne. Because I’m moving to London.”
§ § § §
“Thought you could use this instead of that bubbly,” Paddy said, setting before Jimmy both a pint of Smithwicks and a shot of Jameson.
“Better choice,” he said, knocking back the shot with one take. It burned, like it should. It kind of woke him up. “London? Thought good ol’ Taylor was taking that gig. What happened?”
“We’re both going,” she said.
“Does that mean what I think it means?’
Mallory took a sip of her champagne with one hand, waved off Jimmy’s comment with the other. “No, we’re not getting married. Not yet. Uprooting our lives is enough of a change—and a challenge. Jimmy, I want you to be happy for me.”
“I am. Of course I am. If it’s what you want. It’s just…this is sudden. Have you told Mom, or Meaghan?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. This just happened yesterday. Even I needed a day to process it.”
“You wanna tell me how this came about? Last I knew, Taylor made his big life decision without thinking of you. Pissing you off enough to get trashed last week. Now, the two of you are back together? Wanna tell me how that came about?”
“Look, it all started last year, after Saul Rothschild was killed. I’m sure you remember.”
“Uh, yeah. I found his body. And his killer.”
“The firm has been in turmoil ever since. Some of the other partners wanting to pull back, not add staff. There has been talk of the firm splitting into two. Finally, the senior partner, Lewis Bolt won out—expansion his priority. He thought the firm should have an international presence, and his first step was to open a London office. Taylor was the natural choice, since his degree is in international law. There was little question he was going to head up the London office. What he failed to tell me last week—or perhaps I just didn’t give him a chance—was that he wasn’t offered a choice. He was told he would be going, and by month’s end.”
Jimmy listened, absorbed. He took a drink. Gazed up at the television for a moment. NY1 News was on. The weather on the 1s was being featured; snow remained in the forecast, especially for north of the city. He attention was drawn to the crawl at the bottom of the screen, which stated Police Commissioner Delaware would soon be holding a press conference. NY1 would carry it live. Jimmy’s eyes fixated on the crawl, suddenly distracted.
“Jimmy, I’m still here,” Mallory said.
“Oh, uh, sorry,” he said, turning back to her, but sneaking another glance at the television. His curiosity was piqued. “You were saying?”
“I’m not going immediately. In a couple months, after Taylor gets things settled.”
“Did you ask for the transfer? Or did Taylor pull some strings?”
“Jimmy, I’m not getting any younger. Sure, I’m ambitious in my career. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want what others have. I love Taylor; he’s been amazing to me. If I have a chance to be with him, to live in a foreign city, to explore the world…well, this is my opportunity. I’m giving it a year. If Taylor hasn’t proposed by then, well, I’ll have to rethink everything. But for now, this is one chance I can’t pass up.”
“Of course not. It’s an amazing opportunity.” Even as Jimmy spoke them he wondered if he meant them.
“Your words are the right ones. Not sure about your tone.”
“Just thinking about Mom. And Meaghan. And the baby.”
She took a sip of her champagne. “Aunt Mallory will not be a stranger. I’ll be there for the birth. That was a condition of the transfer. I told Lewis I had to stay in town until after my sister gave birth. I couldn’t abandon her in her ninth month. He agreed. He appreciated my dedication to family. He’s a grandfather to seven. He knows family.”
“But will you?”
“Meaning what?”
“How can the baby get to know Aunt Mallory if she’s an ocean away.”
She paused, her eyes growing sad. “Jimmy, don’t make this hard on me. Don’t be Ma.”
He leaned in and hugged her. “I wish you the best. I’ll miss you.”
“You’ll still get work from the firm. They like you. For the more underhanded stuff.”
“Gee, that’s an endorsement.”
“Come on, Jimmy. You’re great at what you do. You’re like a dog with a bone.”
Her words diverted his eyes back to the television. A reporter was on scene at One Police Plaza, apparently giving an update prior to the press conference. No, he didn’t like to give up on a case, no matter how long it took to solve. He wondered if what he was about to see on screen was going to play a role in any of his current investigations. Last time he’d watched the Commish before a microphone was after the shooting death of Officer Denson Luke.
“See what I mean?”
Jimmy turned his attention back to Mallory. “Sorry.”
“Something important?”
“Not sure. Could be.”
“This about Dad?”
“Could be.”
“I know how determined you are to solve his murder, Jim. I am too. I just do it differently.”
“Mallory, you bring justice to people every day. That’s your way of honoring him.”
“You never said that to me before.” She paused. He saw sadness hit her. “I miss him too
, you know that?”
“Of course. Mallory, Dad only wanted a happy family. We have one. Even without him.”
“Because of him,” she said.
“Meaghan was too young,” Jimmy said. “She doesn’t remember as much.”
Mallory leaned in. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Mal, don’t betray any confidence…”
“No, I think you need to know. Maybe it will help you. It’s a boy.”
Jimmy said nothing. He held back tears, but felt his heart swell. Like those fifteen years of missing his father had consolidated in this moment. Time in reverse, even as it moved forward. A new McSwain male was going to be welcomed into the family. Knowing the baby’s gender was almost too much for Jimmy to absorb, especially now, especially after his earlier talk with Ralphie. The world took, and it gave, and you never knew which direction it was going to go. Sometimes both, sometimes down other, unexpected roads. The Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz had it right, pointing every which way. Each took you somewhere.
“You okay, Jimmy?” Mallory asked.
He smiled. “Yeah. I won’t say I know. I’m not sure I’m glad I know. But it’s okay. It’s great.”
His uncle wandered over from the edge of the bar. Not a McSwain, a Byrne. His mother’s brother. Still family. “Jim, another?”
Jimmy looked at Paddy, then at his near-empty pint. “Not now, thanks, Paddy. Got to keep my wits about me. Can you turn up the volume on the TV?”
Paddy turned down the music, flipped a switch on the remote, and suddenly the voice of Roma Torre from NY1 was live. She was tossing the feed to the field reporter.
“…we expect to hear from the Commissioner any second…oh wait, here he is, coming to the podium. Let’s listen.”
Yes, let’s, thought Jimmy, hoping the locals in the bar would keep their talk and laughter to a minimum for a bit. He focused on the screen, watching as the distinguished, gray-haired, and florid faced Commissioner Delaware approached the microphone. Jimmy could see he was flanked by his two trusted lieutenants, Lawrence Dean and Salvatore Frisano. A repeat of the presser from a couple weeks ago. That one early morning, this one early evening. A cop’s day knew no set hours. Criminals didn’t punch a time clock.
“Good evening,” he began, clearing his voice to ensure he maintained his strong baritone. “Just over two weeks ago, this department suffered the loss of a young police office, a dedicated family man named Officer Denson Luke, from the 10th Precinct out of Chelsea. I promised on that day the NYPD would not rest until we found a resolution to this case, and I’m pleased today to announce that not only has his senseless murder been explained, it has been solved.”
He paused to look out at the sea of microphone. All the local channels were in attendance, television and radio. He turned toward Dean, then Frisano. Refocused. “Through our special task force, it was learned that Officer Luke had fallen victim to a scam, and the people in charge of it exploited his weakness. He paid for that transgression with his life. But my dutiful, diligent task force, led by Lieutenants Salvatore Frisano and Lawrence Dean worked day and night to uncover the truth, and in the end, justice has prevailed. Now, keep in mind, justice is a fickle thing, sometimes makes its own rules. After a thorough investigation, it was proved that Officer Denson Luke was shot and killed by a man named Bobby Decca, a noted and known pawn broker, who himself was killed earlier this week. The NYPD has performed an extensive investigation into that crime too, and the suspect, a transient who often tried to fence stolen items to Mr. Decca, was responsible for that shooting. He is in police custody and will be prosecuted. It’s a tragic case, defined by greed, by taking advantage of the willful, the weak. But in truth, in taking down this criminal organization led by Mr. Decca, we have emerged stronger.”
Jimmy tried to absorb all that was said, wondering what was truth, what was spin. He did not for a moment believe that Decca had killed Luke. Or that this case was anywhere near closed. He was about to turn away and return to what was really important now, his sister, her life change, and how best for her to deliver the news to the rest of the family. Except Commissioner Delaware wasn’t done with his pronouncements.
“There is one more item on my agenda, and then I will welcome your questions.”
“Mr. Commissioner, who is the man who killed this Decca fellow…” a reporter interrupted, but he was ignored. Delaware asked Lieutenant Dean to stand beside him.
He continued. “On the heels of this successful task force investigation, one of many headed up by our esteemed veteran of the NYPD, I am honored, but regretful, to accept the resignation of Lieutenant Lawrence Dean. He has served our police force, and our city, with dedication for over three decades, and he has earned not only his stripes, but his day in the sun. He has been decorated for his bravery and his service to the community. A lifelong New Yorker who grew up in the tough world of Hell’s Kitchen, he patrolled those streets for years before making detective, and finally getting his chance in the even tougher world of the corridors of One Police Plaza. I’ve rarely had the pleasure to work with a man whose fierce dedication to the NYPD was unparalleled. On behalf of an entire city of eight million people, I thank Lieutenant Lawrence Dean for his service, and bestow upon him the honorary title of Assistant Commissioner, the title with which he will retire.”
Jimmy didn’t know what to say. To think. Here was this man who had years ago turned a blind eye to his daughter’s plight. He had been a thorn in the McSwain family’s side. His son had been a career criminal, wound up shot dead on a pier just a couple months ago. His other son, an NYPD detective, promoted far sooner than his experience belied. What Jimmy felt he was staring at, amidst all the handshaking and applause, was hypocrisy at it best—which meant its worst. Just a few nights ago, Jimmy had witnessed the man’s abusive behavior toward his cowering wife. This was no hero taking his final lap. This was a coward taking his exit when he found it convenient.
“I gotta go,” Jimmy suddenly said, getting up from his bar stool.
Mallory seemed surprised. “What’s going on, Jim?”
“Just something I’ve got to take care of. Now.”
He leaned in, kissed her cheek. She caught his wrist, stopped him.
“Take a deep breath, Jimmy.”
“I’ll breathe easier when all this is over.”
“Wanna tell me what all this is?”
“I’ve been haunted forever by the past. It’s time to lay the ghosts to rest.”
He dashed out of Paddy’s Pub, and out into that still black night of Manhattan. Jimmy knew what he had to do, where he had to go, but first things first. He had an obligation to someone else, and he knew he had to update that someone. Ranuel Inshan. He’d left him in Carmen’s apartment this morning, telling him to keep still. The man had to hold on just a bit longer. The Ramirez case was at a stalemate until Jimmy could contact Mr. Wu-Tin’s people, arrange an exchange. The boy for the flash drive.
With no time to waste, down 46th Street toward 10th Avenue Jimmy went, darting past unsuspecting people who were busy staring down at their cell phones. Like running an obstacle course. At last he hit the wide avenue, two blocks later getting to his own building. Keys at the ready, he let himself in and made his way to the end of the first floor. He knocked loudly, waited, knocked again. Damn it, had Ranuel skipped town again? Had he gone to take care of business without Jimmy? That was nothing short of a death sentence. Shit. Shit.
“Shit,” Jimmy said.
He took out his phone, dialed the number Ranuel had given him. It went to voicemail.
He didn’t leave a message. Ranuel would see that he’d called.
Just then Jimmy reached into his pocket, pulled out the flash drive he’d taken from the man so many hours ago. Without it, Ranuel had nothing with which to negotiate.
Jimmy was torn between his two cases. They pulled at him, figuratively tearing at his limbs.
He spun around, headed back outside. He still hadn’t made up his mind whe
re to go when he suddenly arrived, a few minutes later, back at Paddy’s Pub. But that’s not where he went. He instead went upstairs, headed to his office. It turned out, he wasn’t the only one to pay the space a visit today. The front door had recently been kicked in, all wooden splinters and dangling locks. Fear lodged in his throat. He approached the entrance with trepidation, caution. Could the intruder still be there? Waiting inside?
He stepped in, flicked on the harsh overhead light. He saw no person. He only saw a mess.
Cushions were ripped apart, stuffing all over. His computer a broken mess. His closet open, clothes strewn about, the drawers of the black file cabinet open. Jimmy felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. The office was littered with trash, with paperwork and upended files. All of his files, all of his past cases. Those treasured Jimmy McSwain Files, a chronicle of his career, were tossed about with reckless disregard, violence the motivating force. He bent down, picked up a random piece of paper. Underneath it he found the photograph of Joseph McSwain in his police uniform, staring back at him, even as it was torn in half.
The Forever Haunt was in disarray. Just like his life.
Chapter Twelve
There was one truth that came out of yesterday afternoon’s NY1 report. North of the city had seen significantly more snowfall than had the five boroughs, and the further up he traveled, the higher were the drifts. Several inches of snow clung to tree branches, and along the side of the road over a foot of snow stretched across the countryside, a pristine blanket. To Jimmy the accumulation was a reminder that his winter of discontent was far from over. He knew all about the universe piling on around him, and while occasionally came a thaw, a solution, a disturbance always come rearing back. March was around the corner, though. Perhaps warm sunshine wasn’t so far behind, nature’s rebirth ready to blossom.
Jimmy, too.
He might have grown up on the tough streets of New York City and gotten around mostly by subway or sidewalk, but Jimmy McSwain actually did own a car. Nothing fancy, one he used sparingly. It was old at this point, a 2001 Dodge Stratus that had seen better days, even though it had low mileage. He kept it parked for free in a lot near Eleventh Avenue, a courtesy extended by the manager after Jimmy proved that his wife was using cars in the lot for cheap pick-ups. A few photographs for free parking was well worth the effort. Like landing on that bonus spot in a game of Monopoly.
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