Next of Kin

by David Hosp

  In front of the warehouses, a run-down two-story brick building fronting the local highway housed Ups n’ Downs; a local dive with a neon sign half blocked by the interstate overpass. Two bars – one upstairs, one downstairs. Neither of them saw much action. It was the kind of a place where the regulars came and stayed, and few others dared to venture in. It gave off a defiant atmosphere of defeat and acceptance. Right now, this was where he needed to be.

  He walked in, and all six eyes in the place looked up at him. Two of the eyes belonged to the bartender. The others were red and heavily hooded, and looked out from angry faces at the far end of the bar. The bartender glanced at his two patrons and gave them a reassuring nod. He walked toward Long. He was tall, and built like he spent his mornings at the gym with free weights. He had a thick head of dark hair and dressed better than the neighborhood required.

  ‘Detective,’ he said.

  ‘Nicky,’ Long responded.

  ‘Haven’t seen you in here for a little while.’

  ‘You miss me?’

  ‘No. Just sayin’.’

  Long sat down on a stool. ‘Business looks good.’

  The bartender nodded. ‘Pickin’ up lately. It’s the economy.’ He stood there, scratching a three-day stubble that looked like it was waging a campaign for permanence. ‘What do you want?’

  Long bowed his head for a moment, breathed in, breathed out. He raised his head and looked at Nicky. ‘Dewars. Straight.’

  Nicky nodded, walked to the middle of the bar and pulled a bottle off the shelf. Long watched as Nicky tipped the bottle up and a long, thin stream found its way into the highball. Nicky pulled the bottle up into the air, filling the glass much higher than he would for a regular customer. Long was used to it; it was one of the privileges of the badge. Bartenders and strippers treated you right.

  Nicky finished the pour and put the bottle back. As he carried the Scotch toward him, Long could feel the tension ease from his shoulders. Just the sight of the drink was enough to make him feel alive.

  The bartender pulled a napkin off a plastic tray and put it down on the bar, placing the highball on top of it. ‘You wanna start a tab, I assume?’

  ‘You trust me?’

  ‘I gotta choice?’

  ‘Get yourself one, too,’ Long said. ‘I need someone to toast with.’

  Nicky looked at him with uncertainty, but went back and pulled out the bottle again.

  Long sat there, looking at the glass while Nicky was pouring another tumblerful. Reaching out, he let his fingers brush the glass, then wrap themselves around it. Lifting it up, he breathed the aroma in deeply enough that his mouth watered. It was enough to give him a buzz, and he reveled in it.

  Nicky returned. ‘What are we toasting?’

  ‘Not what, Nicky – who.’

  ‘Fine. Who are we toasting?’

  Long raised his glass. ‘My father,’ he said. ‘My father and all that he stood for. May he and the rest of it stay buried.’

  Nicky looked at Long warily, as though regarding a cobra offering kindness. ‘Okay,’ he said. He raised his glass.

  Long clinked his glass with Nicky’s and hoisted it to his mouth. The bartender did the same and poured it down his throat. Long let the booze trickle over his lips, like the ominous drip of a flood just topping a dam. Half the glass made it down. He swallowed. Then the dam held. He lowered the glass, set it on the bar. Nicky looked at him. ‘Problem?’

  Long shook his head. He took a twenty out of his pocket, put it on the bar next to the half-full glass. ‘I never said goodbye,’ he said. ‘I figured it was time.’

  Nicky looked at the half-full glass. ‘You gonna leave it?’

  Long stood up. ‘I had something to prove,’ he said. He took one last look at the glass, turned, and walked back out to his car.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Finn was at the office later than usual. He’d gone over to the police station to give his blood for the DNA test, and the process had taken longer than expected. By the time he made it back, it was pushing into evening and his mind was reeling. He figured it would be best for him to clear his head of everything going on in his private life. Work would help him with that. Besides, he’d lost so much time in the past few days that his law practice was suffering.

  Sally stayed at the office, too. She told him she had homework to do, and she didn’t feel like going back to the apartment by herself. Finn had the sense, though, that she also wanted to make sure he was all right. It was an odd feeling, having someone look after him.

  By nine-thirty Finn had lost his momentum. ‘You wanna get some dinner?’ he asked her.

  ‘Sure,’ she responded.

  He checked the doors to make sure they were locked, and they grabbed their coats and headed out.

  They ate at the Family Kitchen on the north side of Charlestown. It was a comfortable spot – low key, good food. Nearly empty at this time of the evening on a Thursday. By the time they finished they were the only diners left, and the staff was shutting the place down. Their waiter’s manners remained impeccable, but Finn thought he detected an edge in his voice. He clearly wanted them to leave so he could go home himself. Finn paid, leaving a generous tip to compensate for any inconvenience. It was always good policy to remain on friendly terms at the local establishments.

  He and Sally walked out into the cool evening, side by side, down along the edge of the Hill. It was a safe neighborhood, but not too far from the projects to the north. The wind whistled through the empty tree branches, and dry leaves skittered along the sidewalk, chasing their legs, swirling around them menacingly.

  ‘What will you do if he’s your father?’

  Finn looked at the sidewalk as he considered his answer, following the jagged cracks as they traced the pits and rolls that had heaved through the concrete over the years. No matter how hard people tried to impose order on the world, the world always seemed to have the last word. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘It doesn’t mean that he killed her. Even if he is your dad.’

  ‘I suppose. He’s involved, though. I don’t know how for sure, but I know that much.’

  She said nothing for a half a block. ‘Will you be rich? If he’s your father?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? He’s rich.’

  ‘Because even if he’s my father, I’m not his son.’ He looked down at her. ‘I never will be.’

  She nodded.

  They walked down Bunker Hill Street toward the Mystic River Highway. There was an alley halfway up the block, next to the Spanish and American Grocery Market, just wide enough for eighty-gallon garbage bins piled high with two days’ waste. Finn was looking down at the sidewalk again as they neared the opening. He saw the flicker of a shadow passing in the dim glow from a distant streetlight. At first he thought nothing of it; the wind was swirling and the autumn leaves mixed with larger bits of trash, dancing freely along the empty street. The shadow, though, didn’t dance. It stayed put, dark and solid and well defined. A moment later another shadow appeared next to the first.

  Finn looked up. There were two men standing on the sidewalk just a few yards ahead of them. One young and short, thick at the neck. The other taller, older. They were facing them. Finn put his hand out in front of Sally. She’d already stopped; she had seen them before Finn had.

  They stood there for a moment, and then the younger man took his hand out of his pocket. He lifted his arm and pointed at Finn. Even in the dark, Finn could make out the silhouette of the gun. ‘Evening, lawyer-man.’

  Finn recognized the voice. ‘Kevin?’ he said.

  ‘That’s right, asshole,’ McDougal said. ‘You still think I’m a moron?’

  Coale remained still. Eamonn McDougal’s instructions had been clear: Coale was there only to make sure Kevin didn’t make any mistakes. It was time, McDougal said, for his son to learn real responsibility. It was time for him to become a man.

  Coale didn’t care. One way or another, th
ings were going to come to a head. If this was the way it was to unfold, so be it.

  He was standing to Kevin’s left, just behind him. Kevin had stepped out of the alley too early, leaving too much space between them and their targets, approaching from the front. It probably didn’t matter, particularly with the young girl involved. In other situations, though, a mistake like that could be fatal. It gave the targets a chance to react – to run or to fight. Coale had told McDougal to wait until just after the lawyer and the girl had passed by. Much better to take them from behind, give them no warning. McDougal wasn’t listening. He was high on something. His movements were manic, his breathing labored.

  Coale heard the hammer pulled back on Kevin’s gun. Mistake number two. ‘Not here,’ Coale said. ‘In the alley.’

  He sensed the tension in Kevin’s arm release. He waved the gun at Finn and the girl. ‘Into the alley.’ The lawyer hesitated. ‘Move now,’ Kevin said. His gun was still pointed at Finn. He adjusted his arm so that it was aimed at the girl’s head. ‘Or I shoot the girl.’

  ‘Let the girl go,’ the lawyer said.

  ‘Not until you’re in the alley.’

  The girl’s expression changed. Coale had expected fear. Fear and regret – that was the reaction most people had when a gun was pointed at their head. Not the girl, though. Her expression merely hardened. There was no fear; only anger. Coale admired that. She looked at the lawyer, and he shook his head. ‘I’ll go,’ he said.

  ‘No!’ the girl yelled.

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ the lawyer said.

  ‘Follow him,’ McDougal said to the girl.

  ‘You’re going to let her go,’ Finn said.

  ‘Yeah, we’re gonna let her go. But not until I’m done with you. That way I know you’ll behave.’ McDougal reached and grabbed at the girl, pushing her toward the alley. ‘Go,’ he said.

  All four of them walked into the alleyway. With the garbage bins lined against the wall, they had to enter in single file. Finn was first, then the girl, then McDougal. Coale was last. His breathing was steady, his heart rate normal. Just by looking at the others, he could tell that he was the only one who wasn’t hyperventilating.

  Past the garbage bins, the alley opened up, and there was room for them to face each other. Finn and the girl turned around, standing close. The lawyer had his hands at his sides. ‘We can talk about this,’ he said. It was a waste of his breath. McDougal wasn’t coherent enough to talk.

  ‘About what?’ McDougal screeched. ‘About the fact you sold my father out?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Kevin McDougal cackled. ‘There was a camera!’ he screamed. ‘You think I’m dumb?’ He stepped forward and pressed the barrel of his gun into the lawyer’s chin. He slid it up his face until it was resting against his left nostril, and kept pushing until Finn had to tip his head back to keep the skin from tearing. ‘You still think I’m fucking stupid?’

  Coale could see the lawyer swallow hard. He didn’t beg, though. He kept his eyes on McDougal. ‘Let the girl go,’ he said simply.

  McDougal stepped back, keeping the gun pointed at Finn’s face. ‘You didn’t know, did you? The camera? You thought you’d gotten away with it. Stolen from my father and given over information to the police. You thought he wouldn’t find out?’ He was babbling, and Coale could see the tendons sticking out of his neck, veins bulging. No matter how things turned out this evening, Coale could see that Kevin McDougal was not long for this world. He wouldn’t survive long out on the streets, even with his father’s protection.

  ‘Let the girl go,’ Finn said again. ‘I don’t want her to watch me die.’

  McDougal cackled again. ‘She’s not gonna watch you die!’ he yelled. He took another step back and aimed the gun at the girl. ‘You’re gonna watch her die!’

  Finn stepped in front of Sally, put his hands up. ‘No!’ he screamed. ‘You said you would let her go!’ He was looking at Kevin McDougal for some sign of compassion. He could find none, though. McDougal was a drug-addled psychopath.

  ‘I lied!’ McDougal continued laughing. ‘You get it? I fuckin’ lied!’ He had worked himself into hysterics. Had McDougal been alone, Finn thought there might have been a chance. Whatever drugs he had taken had eaten so far through his mind that Finn might have been able to jump him. The gun would probably go off, but he might have wrestled it away from McDougal and been able to save Sally.

  The second man presented a problem, however. He was older, but tall and solid through the shoulders. More than that, he was calm. He had his hand in his pocket, presumably wrapped around his own gun. It looked like he had done this sort of thing before, and he was not going to be rattled. The second man scared Finn.

  ‘Don’t do this,’ Finn said. Maybe if he kept talking there was a chance. He knew it wasn’t likely, but he was out of options. ‘Listen, Kevin, I didn’t give over any information about your father. Your father is safe. I only gave information on others. I did it to get you out of jail. It was all part of my plan.’ Finn was talking quickly now, spinning out the story.

  ‘Shut up!’ McDougal was shaking his head back and forth.

  ‘Kevin, it’s true. Why do you think the police haven’t come after Eamonn? They’ve got nothing. You don’t have to do this. Call your father. Tell him. This is what I had to do to get you out.’

  ‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’ McDougal’s hand was shaking, the gun wagging in Finn’s face. Finn could see his finger turn white from the pressure applied to the trigger.

  There was a loud explosion as the gun fired, and Finn’s eyes closed, his hands going reflexively to his face, feeling for the hole, desperate to stop the bleeding and to keep whatever was left of him intact.

  His face was dry, though. There was no blood, no wound, no pain.

  He opened his eyes and looked at McDougal. He was standing there, the gun still raised, his eyes spinning wildly. The gun was so close to Finn’s face that it was impossible to believe that he had missed. Even with the drugs, he was just too close.

  And then Finn saw it. A fine trickle of blood coming from the corner of McDougal’s mouth. It ran down the side of his face, dribbled off his chin. Slowly at first, but gathering speed and volume, until there was a steady river flowing from his mouth, dripping down off his shoes. He gave Finn a curious look, as though he didn’t understand what was happening.

  Another gunshot rang out, this one hitting McDougal in the back of the head, knocking him forward off his feet, splattering Finn with blood and brain tissue. Blowing whatever life was left from his body. He lay still on the ground, his arm underneath him at an impossible angle, his neck twisted awkwardly, the gun still in his hand.

  Finn looked up. The second man still had his gun out, a wisp of smoke trailing from the barrel. It was pointed at Finn. ‘Don’t,’ Finn said.

  The gun hovered there, and for a moment it was all that Finn could see. The longer he looked at it, the bigger it became – a huge, heavy instrument of fate, all of the energy in the world concentrated in the dark hole at the end of the barrel, pointing straight at his heart.

  He forced himself to look away from the gun, up at the man’s face. He was older than Finn would have guessed from the way he carried himself. With hair the gray of an ocean storm and pale eyes just as cold. He was staring at Finn. Or maybe not as much at him as through him. ‘Don’t,’ Finn said again.

  Finn saw the man’s hand twitch on the gun. The gun didn’t go off, though. The man waved it at him. ‘Go,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Go. Now. Take the girl and go.’

  Finn reached back behind him without looking, and he could feel Sally put her hand in his. He kept his eyes on the man in front of him, moving slowly, keeping his body between Sally and the gun.

  The gun itself remained where it was, still pointed at Finn’s torso. He and Sally sidled around the man, up against the brick wall that defined the alley. Finn rotated his body as he passed,
always keeping his face toward the man, until he was backing out of the alley with Sally leading the way.

  ‘Who killed my mother?’ Finn asked.

  The man gave him an uncomprehending look. ‘What?’

  ‘Who killed my mother? Elizabeth Connor. Did you kill her?’

  It took a moment for the look of confusion to clear on the man’s face. With the revelation, he nodded solemnly. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I guess in a way I did. Now go.’

  ‘Why?’ Finn demanded. Then he yelled, ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the man said. At last the gun came down. ‘I started this.’ He put the gun in his pocket. ‘It’s time for me to end it.’

  ‘What do you mean? How do you end it?’ Finn was almost tempted to stay. To demand answers. But Sally was pulling on his hand, silently urging him out of danger. ‘Was it Buchanan? Did he pay you?’ Finn was screaming. ‘Did he pay you to kill my mother?’

  ‘Go,’ the man said. ‘Don’t ever look back.’

  Finn stared at the man. Then he turned, Sally’s hand still in his, and the two of them ran back out onto the street.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  It was an hour later – a busy hour for Coale. Nearing midnight now, and the work had only just begun. He flipped open his cell phone and dialed the number from memory.

  Eamonn McDougal picked up on the first ring. ‘Is it done?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s done. We need to meet.’

  ‘Put my son on the phone.’

  ‘He’s not here.’

  There was silence from the other end for a moment. ‘Where is he?’

  Coale said, ‘I didn’t know you wanted me to babysit him for the rest of the evening.’

  ‘How did he handle it?’

  ‘He didn’t say much.’

  ‘What about Finn?’ McDougal spat out the lawyer’s name with contempt. ‘Did he beg?’