He pulled her close. Almost immediately he could feel her tears soak through his shirt and he felt helpless. "I can't fix it if I don't know what it is."
Overwhelmed, Robin couldn't hear the love in his voice, didn't feel the security of his arms. All she could think was that he would regret starting this relationship with the daughter of a murdering extortionist. "You're going to hate me."
She felt his deep intake of breath and the slow release. "I can assure you that I will not hate you." He kissed the top of her head and pushed her back so that he could frame her face with his hands. She looked up at him, at his face, and could see the sincerity in his eyes. "Listen to me. Whatever it is, between me and God, we can fix it. You just have to talk to us. Trust Him and trust me. But don't despair."
Despair. How could he have worded it more perfectly? She pulled away from him and launched to her feet. Needing to move, she went into the little kitchenette and poured them each a glass of water. Glad to have something to do with her hands, she returned to the living room and set the glasses on the coffee table, but did not sit down.
She briefly left the living room and went to her room. The bags she'd brought in the previous afternoon still sat on her bed, a carnage of hangers and boxes and tissue paper left over from her getting ready for the party. She searched through them until she found the one from the gift shop. She wished, now, that she'd taken the clerk up on her offer to wrap the gift, but she'd wanted to do it herself. Now its package would have to be the bag.
When she returned to the living room, she found Tony standing by the couch. She set the bag on the coffee table and sat down.
"This is your Christmas present," she said, pushing it toward him. "I'd like for you to open it now."
She could sense his irritation and impatience. "Christmas is a week away."
She blinked and continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I was almost desperate. I mean, what do you get someone who has everything? I knew it had to be something special. Then I saw it."
He stared at the bag. She waited ten seconds, then thirty, then sixty, wanting to rip it open for him. Finally, with a lukewarm smile and leisurely movements, he sat back down on the couch and reached for and then opened the bag.
Tony lifted the panther out and tossed the bag somewhere behind him before gently setting the sleek black cat on the bar in front of him. He ran his hand along its back, tracing the line of muscles that looked ready to spring. When he finally looked back up at Robin, his eyes nearly matched the color of the stone, and she almost gasped.
He didn't speak, just looked back down at the statue. Then he took a sip of his water. She cleared her throat. "It reminded me of you." His eyes flew back up to hers and she hurried on to get out what she had to say. "Its strength is there, shimmering just under the surface, but it's contained – controlled. You're like that, you know? I can't really explain it. And those eyes – so intense they're nearly scary."
His hand ran along the back of the statue again. "Thank you, Robin."
On the bar between the living room and kitchen, she spotted one of her tins of peppermints. She moved over to the bar and opened it. "My father was put in prison for cocaine trafficking when my mother was pregnant with me."
She pulled a peppermint out of the tin and toyed with it before putting it in her mouth and sucking on it. "She was a horrible woman. I can't even begin to describe it to you."
When Robin looked up she found him watching her intently, staring. "Well, maybe I don't need to describe it to you. Maybe you already know." Nothing on his face changed, so she continued. "She was abusive, loud, harsh, neglectful. She used men and drugs. Men provided places to live, and income for drugs. She provided whatever it was they wanted in their sick minds. My earliest memories were hiding from her or the boyfriend of the week – and holding Maxi, then holding Maxi and Sarah. I remember cowering in this dark closet cradling Maxi to me, praying she wouldn't wake up and give away our hiding spot. I couldn't have been much more than three or four, and the noises coming from the outside of the closet –"
She cleared her throat and looked back down at the little metal tin. "When I was fifteen, my mother and her boyfriend were murdered." Finding some reserves of courage, she looked at him again. "He was a really bad guy. He …" She cleared her throat again and rolled the mint on her tongue. "He would come to my bed at night after mom passed out and …" her breath hitched and she stopped speaking.
For the first time since she started talking, Tony's eyes came to life, as if someone had flipped on a switch. Heat burned behind them and his jaw set like iron. In that heartbeat, she was sure that if he weren't already dead, Tony would have hunted him down. She didn't know how she felt about that so she didn't finish the sentence.
"We were all back in that closet. It wasn't the same closet, but they were all the same, really. Dark, smelly, sometimes there were things in there scurrying through the walls or on shelves above our heads. I'd taught Maxine and Sarah how to hide, how to get way back in the back against the back wall. Out of sight, out of mind, you know? He was trying to get me. My mother had left hours before, and by then he was good and drunk and he decided he wanted me to scratch an itch."
Robin spoke as if the events she related had happened to someone else. Occasionally, she sucked on her peppermint, letting the cooling mint soothe her taste buds, as if she wanted to cleanse her mouth of a bad taste left behind by speaking about these memories. "I managed to kick him in the groin, and ran to the closet. I hadn't been in there long when we heard our mother come back. She had another man with her. There was an argument, and then gunshots. Then it was so quiet. I felt like I couldn't breathe, and Maxi and Sarah were so strong and so good." Her voice hitched and for a moment, just a moment, she was fifteen again and trying her best to protect those two precious children. "When the police found us and pulled us out of the closet, we learned that our mother and her boyfriend had both been shot dead.
"Sarah got adopted. Maxi and I made it in the system. It was bad there." Another dark memory surged to the surface but she beat it back. It was a memory for another time. "Maxi and I were separated and I was put into a girls' home. I ran away when I turned eighteen. Hank gave me a job and he helped me get Maxine out, helped me keep her safe. Eventually, I got visitation with Sarah and for one hour a month, my family was together and I never really gave my mother much of another thought. I knew I would do anything in my power not to be like her, not to be used like her. All these years, and I never even cared who killed her." She sat again folded her hands in her lap. "Really, it was kind of a relief."
Tony reached forward and covered both of her hands with one of his. "Why haven't you ever told me this before?"
Her shrug was weak. "It's one thing to pull yourself off the streets and become what you've become. It's another to be a victim your entire life. That's why I did what I did, Tony. I got Maxi and I supported her, then I put her through college. I worked my tail off so she wouldn't ever have to be like our mother. She can count on me and she will never need a man to survive."
Robin watched Tony's eyebrows rise as he took in this concept, this motivation. "Then I talked Sarah's parents into letting me help her. It was hard, and exhausting, and there were times I just wanted to cry and cry because I was so tired and tuition and books cost so much and they needed to be secure."
"But you didn't cry."
She shook her head. "I couldn't. That would have been the ultimate feminine weakness. Cry when the chips get you down." She turned her hand and linked his fingers with hers.
He raised their joined hands and placed a kiss on the back of hers. Her heart did a flip-flop at the gesture. "What else? There's more."
"This afternoon at the mall, an old bar regular from Hank's approached me. He's a little annoying, but I never gave him too much of a thought. He paid his tab every night, and other than trying to hold my attention too much, he was nothing to me. A nobody." She pulled her hand from his and stood again, then started pacing. "He told
me – " Her breath hitched and she spun around and looked at him. "He told me I had to go with him. He told me he had friends, that they were watching Sarah. He even described the room she was in."
Tony straightened. "Go on," he said in a tight voice.
"He took me out into the parking lot. He … he … "
In one move, Tony was up and in front of her, gripping her shoulders. "What? What did he do?"
Robin looked at the intensity on his face, horrified at what would come next. "He told me he was my father. He told me that he killed my mother. He told me he would kill one of my sisters if I didn't give him ten thousand dollars by Thursday." She spoke as quickly as she could, never realizing that tears streamed down her face.
He gripped her shoulders hard enough to bruise but she didn't realize that either. "What did you say to him?"
"I … I … I t-t-told him I d-d-didn't have any money," she managed to get out.
"And?" He gave her a small shake. "And what, Robin?"
"He … he … he … Oh dear God in heaven, you're going to hate me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Robin, what else?"
She thought she was going to throw up. "He said you had money." She covered her face with her hands, and sobbed. "I don't know what to do, Tony." He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. "I don't know what to do."
"Sshh. Shush, now, cara. Don't worry." For the first time since the day he gave his life over to Christ, Tony ceased the continual praying in his spirit. He shut it down as the all too human emotion of the need for retribution flooded through his heart. He felt his mouth thin as he refused to seek counsel from the Holy Spirit, knowing without asking that what he wanted to do would not be a recommended course of action. "I know exactly what to do."
CHAPTER 16
TONY sat in his apartment on his couch. He kept the shades drawn and all of the lights in the room extinguished, with the exception of the dimmed track lighting above the couch. Late morning had come and gone, but Tony did not feel fatigue yet. He sat back against the leather, staring at the panther on the table in front of him.
He had finally managed to soothe Robin out of the panic that caused her hysteria and calmed her down, assuring her that he did not hate her. After he persuaded her to go to bed, he let himself out of the apartment.
Tony made eye contact with the statue. Yes, he could see the similarities there, just as she'd seen. Only there was more that she hadn't touched on, perhaps because she didn't know. He also enjoyed the natural territorial instinct of the cat. He also commanded the ruthlessness that only true predators possessed, either when they hungered or when an intruder breached their territory.
She had thought that he would hate her because someone wanted to use her to get to him. He knew it had taken a lot for her to tell him. Robin wasn't the type of woman who would easily turn to someone, anyone, for help.
She had looked to him. That meant more to him coming from her than a declaration of love would ever mean. He would take care of it. He would take care of her. Just as the panther in front of him would handle any foe that foolishly encroached upon his territory. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling making plans, deciding on a course of action.
When he knew what he had to do and how to do it, he checked his watch and called Robin. She answered with a sleepy voice on the fourth ring, and he felt a pang of regret for waking her. "Hello, cara. I'm sorry I woke you."
"No. Don't be sorry." He could hear the shifting of the bedcovers and could picture her sitting up in the bed.
"I only wanted to ask if you could meet me at church. If not, I could send a car for you, but I have an errand to run and won't be able to get to your side of town."
"No, that's okay. I'll drive."
He smiled so that she would hear it in his voice. "Wonderful. I can't wait to see you."
They said their good-byes and he hung up the phone. With a last glance at the predatory cat on his coffee table, he stood and moved to his dressing room to prepare for the day.
TONY headed deep into his old neighborhood, driving slowly. As he passed the church, he noticed that the parking lot had a scattering of cars in it already. He knew he had another thirty minutes before he should be in his classroom, greeting students. At the moment, he couldn't even remember what he planned to teach that morning. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. He turned at the corner, drove another quarter of a mile, then turned down another street, relishing in the dark thoughts that surfaced as the memories assaulted him. He needed dark thoughts right now.
He pulled up to the curb in front of a dilapidated building. As soon as he stepped out of the car, a group of teenagers surrounded it. Cars like that, shiny black sports cars that cost more than ninety percent of the country could afford just didn't park in front of this building.
He picked the one with the meanest eyes and stabbed his gloved finger at him. "You." He pulled a bill out of his pocket. "You see this?" he asked. The kid sneered and nodded at the hundred dollar bill Tony held. "You get ten of these if this car is exactly the same when I come out."
"Why should I trust you?"
Tony shrugged. "The same reason I'm trusting you." He walked inside without a backward glance. He didn't even bother to lock the doors on the car.
It was eight forty-five on a Sunday morning, but it hardly mattered. Jake's Bar stayed open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and Tony had a strong feeling that the person he sought would be here.
He removed his dark shades just as he walked inside to start the process of letting his eyes adjust to the murky darkness within. It took real effort to keep his nose from curling at the stench of a bar where spilled beer was rarely mopped up and most of the patrons didn't care whether they'd showered that week or not. His eyes scanned the room, noting the possible conflicts and searching for the familiar face. He found him at the far end of the bar with an unlit cigarette dangling out of his mouth and greasy hair falling into his eyes.
The bartender paused and watched him walk the length of the room, measuring him up. Tony met his eyes and finally recognition dawned on Jake's face. Once recognition hit, he grinned, choosing, Tony guessed, to ignore the fact that the last time he'd seen Tony he'd told him he'd kill him if he ever saw him near his joint again. Money and influence coaxed a lot of people into bouts of amnesia.
"Well, well, well," Jake said, "Look who decided to grace my doorway, again. What can I get you, Tony?"
"Whatever he's drinking," he said, gesturing at his target. He reached the end of the bar and leaned his hand on the grimy surface, trapping the weasel in front of him in the corner. "Hi, Billy. Remember me?"
Nervous eyes darted up and back down again. "Yeah. Sure. Who doesn't? You're a neighborhood legend." Billy's eyes darted around, perhaps looking to see if Tony had brought along any muscle. "What cha doin' here?"
"Who says I can't just drop by and catch up with old friends?" He ignored the glass that Jake slid toward him and leaned closer. "I never forget anyone who ripped me off, Billy. And I distinctly remember you ripping me off."
Billy's eyes skirted around, never resting on Tony. "What does it matter to you, anyway? You got out. You're living high and mighty now, right?"
He pulled out a fifty dollar bill. "Seems like you ripped me off for ten times this amount, didn't you, Billy boy?"
"Oh man!" He grabbed Tony's drink and downed it in one swallow. Tony looked up and nodded for Jake to pour another one. "Whatcha want, man? Just get to it without the games."
Tony leaned closer. "I need info. And I need someone to spread some info around."
"I don't know nothing."
"You owe me. Don't forget that." He reached into the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a wad of fifties. "And I pay. Twice this much if you do it right."
Billy stared at the money, his eyes bugging like a strangled mouse. "Okay." He nodded, reminding Tony of a chicken. "Okay. Whatcha need to know?"
"I need to know who Craig Bartlett owes.
"
"What makes you think I know?"
"Billy, you know everything. Your slimy little ears are pressed to the ground more than anyone else's." He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you've lost your touch."
Billy stared at the bills and licked his lips. "Okay. Okay. Word is he owes Junior Mills."
"Who's Junior Mills?"
"God man, you've been gone too long." He took the fresh drink and swallowed it all. "Old man Jacob Mills bit the dust years ago. Apparently, some of the local bulls gave him a free stick therapy session and he saw the light long enough to recall the names of some southern gentlemen. After that, I hear his shoes got heavy and pulled him to the bottom of Boston harbor."
Tony felt a pang of the past. He had once worked for Jacob Mills, stole a few cars for him. Who could have foreseen that Jacob's untimely end would come at the hands of some South American drug lord?
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