by Marcus Sakey
“I thought you were just going to come clean,” Halden said. “Why would you need a lawyer for that?”
Her stomach felt greasy. Her thighs trembled. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “I’ll get it for you.”
“Don’t jerk me around, Anna. I know it’s here.”
“What?” Her mind raced. Why would he think the money was at her sister’s house? Unless… Oh God.
“It’s just, on TV, they always say you should have a lawyer present for something like this.”
“I saw you bring it here,” Jack said. “The other day. You walked in with this duffel bag, the one I’m looking at right now. Your sister, she says she doesn’t know anything about it, but I’m wondering if I just haven’t asked her the right way.” He paused. “What do you think, Anna? Should I ask her again?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Please.”
“Look, it’s up to you,” Halden said, his voice growing colder. “But you should know that the more you delay, the more trouble you’re going to be in.”
“Then tell me where it is.”
“It’s not there.”
Jack said, “I want you to listen to something.” A brief silence, and then she heard the scariest sound of her life.
Julian crying into the phone.
She wanted to beg, to plead, to shriek. Instead, she said, “It’s not there. I swear. You’re right, I was going to leave it. But then I thought of you. Of this.”
“You’ve got a chance to help bring in a cop killer. But time is a factor. If a lawyer dicks us around long enough for him to get away? All that leaves us with is you.”
“I don’t believe you,” Jack said.
“Yes, you do,” she said. “You’re” – she struggled for safe words – “with my nephew. Do you really think I would mess around? Now?”
There was a long pause. “Then where is it?”
“We’ll bring it.”
“Besides, you really want to risk letting him get away? The guy who beat you, broke your fingers, threatened your wife?”
“You’ll bring it, huh?” Jack clicked his tongue. “I don’t know. That sounds like stalling. Are you stalling?”
“No. I’m not.”
“You’d better not. Because this morning I shot a cop. Do you know what that means?” His voice terrible. “It means that it doesn’t matter what I do now. I could set this baby on fire, and it wouldn’t matter, because I’ve already done something they will never, ever let me go for. Do you get it? I’m beyond consequences.”
“All right,” Tom said. “It doesn’t matter anyway. We’d say the same thing either way.”
Her legs nearly gave. “I understand.”
“Good,” Jack said. “Smart choice.”
“Good,” Halden said. “Smart choice.”
The line went dead, but she stood still, holding the phone to her ear. Thinking of Sara and Julian, trapped and confused and very, very scared. The helplessness nearly brought tears to her eyes. To have to listen to him threaten her sister, her nephew, and be unable to do anything about it…
Forget the police, forget her and Tom walking away, forget that sweet half second of safety. There was no safety. Not for them. She knew that now.
They had to get away from Halden. But how? No way he was going to let them go now. They had to find a clever way to slip him. Some circumstance where he would leave them alone for a minute or two.
It came to her all of a sudden, and the irony was bitter enough to burn. To be really convincing, it would need them both. She closed her phone and put one hand on her stomach, praying Tom would understand.
HE WANTED ANOTHER CIGARETTE. Funny, fifteen months had been enough to reset his nicotine tolerance so that he had the tingling fingertips and pleasant light-headedness he hadn’t known since his first smokes a decade ago. But it hadn’t done a damn thing to quell his body’s desire.
Halden put his hands in his pockets. “Where’s the money?”
Tom hesitated. It was their last secret. “In a storage locker. Not far from the mall.”
“Okay. We’ll get it on the way into the station.”
Anna hung up the phone, turned to step back into the conversation. Her eyes raked his, and he thought he saw something there, but couldn’t make out what before she turned to Halden. She had a hand on her stomach, said, “Sorry about that. My sister. She’s got a little boy she’s starting to feed solid food. Apparently her kitchen is now coated in creamed zucchini.”
“Zucchini, huh?” Halden laughed. “Why do they make baby food out of the worst-tasting crap? I’d throw it too.”
Had he made a mistake telling the cop where the money was? Once it was in police custody, they had nothing to bargain with. Maybe they could-
Zucchini?
He looked at Anna again, saw her looking back. She was pale. Paler than the cold explained. Could it have been something from the phone call? She put the other hand on her stomach, winced.
“You okay, baby?”
“I’m feeling a little queasy.”
Halden turned to study her. “Nerves, probably. But you’re doing the right thing.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. It’s-” She looked at Tom again.
Could it have been coincidence, her using their old code word, the one that signaled she needed a rescue? He stared at her. Something in her demeanor seemed almost to be pleading. Her hands moved on her belly again, and all of a sudden he knew what she needed.
“It’s morning sickness,” he said. The words strange on his tongue. Words he’d once looked forward to saying. The kind of phrase that marked a whole new phase of life.
“You’re pregnant?” The detective seemed surprised.
“Yes,” she said, trembling. Something terrible was happening.
“I don’t know why they call it morning sickness,” Tom said, remembering one of the half-dozen books they’d read. “Happens all day long.” He stepped forward, put a hand on her shoulder. “The bathrooms might be open.” Turned to Halden. “Do you mind? It’ll just be a minute.”
Halden shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Thanks,” Anna said, her face contorting again. She started walking, and Tom moved with her, his hands supporting her weight. They passed the food counter, metal shutters drawn, and turned the corner to the back, toward the bathroom. His thoughts pounded and tumbled, trying to imagine what could possibly have made her tell this particular lie.
HALDEN WATCHED THEM GO, Tom supporting her as they hurried past the concession building. When they rounded the corner, he turned and stared out at the lake. Smelled the air, listened to the rush of water, watched waves roll in. Savored the slow smile.
Goddamn, but he was one hell of a detective.
This would make him. Closing the Shooting Star case single-handed? He’d get the works: the press, the commendation, the immunity from shit work, the patrons up the ladder, the pay-grade jump. Be able to retire with a fat pension. Buy that cabin and spend the rest of his life reading and walking through the woods, far from the city and the shitheads that lived here.
He reached into his pocket, took out the cigarettes. Normally he limited himself to two a day, but a victory cigarette didn’t count. He fired it, dragged hard. The sound of gulls merged with a car engine heading away.
Anna being pregnant explained some things. He’d wondered why they’d taken the money, been a little pissed about it, in fact. It was dumb, tempting or not. He’d tried to tell them that, the day they’d sat drinking coffee at the kitchen table. But people did crazy things for their children. Funny, though, that she hadn’t mentioned being pregnant before, not even when she was talking about Jack breaking into their house, slapping her around. You’d have thought that would have been the first thing she’d think of, the health of her baby. And wasn’t coffee one of the things you were supposed to avoid when you were pregnant?
On the other hand, shitty parenting wasn’t something he was exactly unfamiliar with, his
line of work. He’d seen many a mother suck the grocery money through a crack pipe.
Still. He turned away from the waterline. The bathroom entrances were on the other side of the concession building. And past that, a hundred yards or so, was the parking lot.
Halden threw the half-smoked cigarette in the sand, started forward, a walk that grew quicker with each step, dress shoes ringing off the concrete. He rounded the corner of the building, headed for the bathroom.
The door was closed. A heavy padlock dangled from the latch.
“No, no, no,” Halden said, turning fast, staring at the parking lot, remembering the sound of the engine driving away.
He felt a terrible heaviness settle on him. It was over. Forget bringing them in himself. Forget being the guy with all the answers, the hero cop that saved the day. They were on the run now, probably on their way out of town. It was time to call in the cavalry. And suffer all the consequences that came with that. He sighed, rubbed at his forehead.
What had happened to spook the two of them? Tom had been nervous about the lawyer question, but Halden couldn’t imagine them running for that. And Anna, she’d been on the phone with her-
Wait.
He sprinted for the car, thinking of the folder Lawrence Tully had given him at the steakhouse, all the personal information he’d collected on the Reeds. Bank statements, bills, credit history. Addresses and family members.
Fuck the cavalry. He could still pull this off.
“PLEASE,” the sister said. “Please, he’s scared.” Even by the murky light filtering through the closed blinds, he could see her eyes, wide as a girl in those Japanese comics.
Jack felt for her, he really did. No way he was going to hurt a baby, but she didn’t know that, and he couldn’t imagine what was going on in her head, the raw-veined panic of it. Still, this was the job, and sometimes the job was ugly. He set the phone down. “That was good,” he said. “You did good.”
There was a clatter from the other room, a crash like pans falling to the floor. He heard Marshall curse.
The woman winced. “Please,” she said, and took a step forward. Raised an arm, the fingers shaking. Her skin was pale, and he could smell her from here, the fear sweat. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“He’s only. He’s. Please. My son.”
Jack looked down at the baby cradled in his left arm. A cute kid, all cheeks and wide, curious eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This will all be over soon.” He looked back up at her. “I promise.”
20
TOM HAD BEEN DOWN THIS STREET more times than he could count, but everything looked different now. Brighter and in sharper focus. He could see the detail in every leaf as though each was on a distinct and brilliant plane. It was almost overwhelming, all that clarity.
“You have the key?” Anna clenched the steering wheel at ten and two. Tom patted his pocket, stopped his knee from rocking.
They’d fled south on Lake Shore, and every moment he’d expected blue lights behind. He had seen the effort it cost her not to put the gas to the floor, to stay at the same five-miles-over everyone else was maintaining.
“I’ll do it,” he’d said. “I’ll bring it to him.”
“No. Both of us.”
He knew that tone, hadn’t argued. Instead, he’d just quietly made a plan: After they picked up the money, he’d hop in the car, lock the doors, and leave her behind. No point both of them strolling up like sheep.
But then Anna came up with a better idea. It was simple, it was elegant, and it protected Sara and Julian. Downside, it left the two of them screwed. But there were things worth fighting for. Worth dying for, if need be. It was funny, though. With everything else stripped away, life came down to just the two of them. They would make it through together or they would go down together. Not long ago, all he’d wanted was for them to get back to the place where they stood two against the world.
Careful what you wish for. “There’s a spot,” he said.
She nodded, pulled the Pontiac to the side, threw it in reverse, and parallel parked. The location was good, halfway down the block from Sara’s house, far enough for their purposes.
Anna turned off the engine, and it was like that triggered some gland in his head, got the chemicals flowing. His fingers tingled and his armpits were suddenly swamped. He took steady breaths, wanting to be ready but not so deep in fight-or-flight that he was nothing but jangling nerves. Anna opened her cell, then closed it again. She set it in the cup holder, then looked at the clock. The shrubs outside. A Cubs flag fluttering from a porch. Everywhere but at him.
“We’re going to be okay,” he said, not believing it. “Once he has his money, there’s no reason to kill us.”
She turned, lips quivering. For a moment she hesitated; then she threw herself across the seat, wrapping her arms around his neck, his back, ratcheting against him like she would never let go. “I love you so goddamn much.”
He smiled into her neck, ran his fingers through her hair. “Shhh.”
For a moment they held each other, and then she leaned back. “If we make it through, I’m going to – I’ll never-”
“I know,” he said. “Me too.” He glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes since they’d left the beach. He wanted more than anything to stay right here. “It’s time.”
Anna wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Drew a trembling breath, then a stronger one. Opened the cell phone and pressed three keys. “I’m ready.”
He nodded, feeling a sick heat through his bowels. He opened the car door with a squeak, swiveled to get a foot out.
“Tom.” Her voice a levee holding back too much. He turned, and for her sake made himself smile. She managed a thin smile back, eyes shining. “Be careful.”
He winked. Then he shut the door and started down the sidewalk before his nerve collapsed. Wolfram was a quiet street, trees and brick apartment complexes and the odd town house. He remembered helping Sara move in, angling her futon through the front door, hauling an armoire that had to weigh ten thousand pounds. Afterward, they’d headed to a nearby bar she knew, place called Delilah’s. Great music. The three of them had pounded Old Style and Jim Beam, sweaty and laughing and singing along.
He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. Too much at stake to be any less than a hundred percent. The clouds had begun to break, patches of scattered sun spilling through the trees. His mouth was dry, and his legs felt light. Tom dug in his pocket, came out with the brass key clutched in his good hand. Sara’s blinds were all closed, but he thought he saw movement at one of them. His heart felt like it might smash through his ribs.
He stepped onto the porch.
ANNA WATCHED HIM WALK AWAY, and every step cranked barbed wire around her heart. All this time they had been so caught up in chasing the things they thought they wanted, they had forgotten the things they already had. Never again. She thought it repeatedly, a mantra that would keep him safe and bring him back to her. That was all she wanted now.
And all she wouldn’t get. No matter what lies they had told each other, Jack wouldn’t let them live. No chance. But at least they’d save Sara and Julian.
With the phone in hand, she slid low in her seat until she could just barely see Tom climb the steps to Sara’s porch. As he reached the door, it swung inward. She couldn’t see inside, but she saw her beautiful husband hold up the key. He stood calm, strong, like trading his life for his family’s was the simplest choice in the world, and in the moment she most risked losing him she loved him more than she ever had.
A STRANGE SORT OF CALM settled on him. Facing the monster, the fear was still there, as much a part of the moment as the air he breathed. But it felt like something apart. He held the key in front of him, willing his hand not to shake.
Jack stood in the door frame with his arms crossed. White gauze stained with blood wrapped his left forearm. All the blinds were closed, and the light inside the house was dim, but not so dark that Tom couldn’t make ou
t the shoulder holster, the way Jack’s fingers fell lightly, almost accidentally, on the handle of his gun. The moment stretched like a power line, so taut and charged it hummed.
Finally Jack said, “Where’s the missus?”
“Watching from somewhere safe, with 911 dialed into her cell phone and her thumb on the Send button.”
“Somewhere safe, huh?” Jack gave a bemused sort of smile. He leaned out the door, glancing left and right down the block. “You couldn’t just bring my money, could you? You people, always complicating things.”
“Nope. Simplifying them.” He took a breath, could taste the air. “You don’t want Sara or Julian. You’re willing to use them, but all you’re really after is the money, right?” He shrugged. “So swap us for them, and we’ll take you to the storage locker where we stowed it.”
“Let me get this straight. I walk out with you, hop in your car, and you take me to my money. And if I don’t, Anna calls 911. Is that it?”
Tom nodded.
“It can take ten, fifteen minutes for cops to respond to a 911 call,” Jack said. “You know how long that could feel?”
Tom’s mouth went dry, but he didn’t flinch. “That won’t get you what you want.” His hands were shaking, and he put them against his legs to hide it. This was the anchor everything hung on, the assumption that no matter how angry Jack might be, what he wanted more than anything was the cash. If that calculation turned out to be wrong, this would get uglier than he dared imagine. “Just let me make sure that Sara and Julian are okay, and then let’s go get your money.”
For a long moment, Jack just stared. Then he shrugged, stepped back inside the house. “Come on in.”
Stale light filtered through the closed blinds, making the familiarseem sinister. The air was thick with the smell of baby powder and something else, a faintly burned tang he couldn’t identify. Jack gestured toward the closed bedroom door. “In there.”
Tom walked ahead, back tingling with the knowledge that Jack was behind him. Easy. It’s working. There’s no reason for him to jump you. He knows Anna will call the police if he does, knows they’ll respond fast if she tells them who he is. So just do this and get out. Every step forward is one away from this house.