Set the Night on Fire

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  Cece nodded. Lila didn’t say anything.

  Dar slipped his hands in his pockets. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’m going to go up to the front door and announce myself. I think I’ll get in. It doesn’t look like an armed fortress.”

  “Then what?” Lila asked.

  “I’ll feel Markham out. See how far he’s willing to go.”

  “He’s not going to pick up the phone and call Teddy just because you want him to.”

  “Probably not. But as soon as I leave, you can bet he will.”

  “What’s that going to do for us?” Lila asked.

  “I’m prepared to tell them about the VIN. If Teddy knows we have it and we’re willing to release it to … say … the New York Times … it might … open up negotiations.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “Then we’re no worse off than we were. At least Teddy will know we mean business. That we’re not going to keep quiet any more.”

  “But we will be worse off,” Lila argued. “They’ll know where we are. And come after us.” She shook her head. “It might be the right thing to do, but it’s too risky. If you go in, I go too.”

  “No.”

  Lila drew herself up. “This is not the time to be stubborn. You need backup.”

  “I’m only going in to talk to the man. Which I can do on my own.” He made his voice stern. “Lila, this is my business. Not yours. You stay here.”

  She blinked.

  “If I don’t come out in twenty minutes,” he went on, “you and Cece drive like hell back to Benny’s with the VIN plate. And if you don’t hear from me within twenty-four hours, tell the world.”

  As Dar trudged to the front door, he remembered how Markham had patronized him forty years ago, in an effort to prove how little he knew about the history of class struggles. Dar had to remind himself that Stephen Markham was only a means to an end, the end being Teddy. He squared his shoulders and rang the bell. A perversely cheerful series of notes echoed inside.

  The man who opened the door was squat and burly with a shaved head and a trimmed goatee. If he’d been taller and had an earring, he’d look like Mr. Clean. He kept one hand on the door, and the other on the doorjamb, while he looked Dar up and down. Something came into his eyes, something that said he could take Dar, if it came to that.

  Dar nodded. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Markham.”

  “What about?”

  “I’m an old friend of Teddy’s.”

  The bodyguard squinted. “Name?”

  Dar told him. Mr. Clean closed the door. It stayed closed so long that Dar thought he’d been refused admittance. Then it opened.

  “He’ll see you for five minutes,” the bodyguard said coolly, but there was something new in his eyes. Caution. “But first I search you.”

  Dar hesitated, then nodded and stepped inside. While Mr. Clean frisked him, Dar’s memories of the place resurfaced—the marble floor tiles, the windows overlooking the lake. He recalled the chatty black housekeeper who’d cooked fried chicken for them so long ago. She was probably dead now. For some reason that made him sad.

  Mr. Clean led him down the hall to Markham’s study. Inside, the light was dim, but it looked the same as before: heavy drapes, dark wood, oil paintings of ships at sea. There were two additions. On one side of the desk was a flat screen monitor, and on the other was a panel of about twelve buttons. Command Central.

  The sour smell of old man permeated the room, and Dar could see that Stephen Markham had aged badly. His hair was colorless and wiry. Folds of skin flapped below his jaws as if the air had been let out of his face. Instead of a swivel chair, Markham now sat in a wheelchair. Only his eyes were the same, reflecting the intelligence Dar remembered. And the arrogance.

  The eyes narrowed. “I’ve been expecting you. You’ll have been out … what … about six weeks?”

  Dar shouldn’t have been surprised—he’d tried to anticipate what the man would say. Still, his stomach fluttered. With one sentence Markham had put him on the defensive. How did he know when Dar was released? What else did he know? Thank God Lila was safe outside. He motioned toward Mr. Clean who’d stationed himself near the door, hands behind, feet spread. The ready position. Like a prison guard. “This is a private conversation.”

  Markham glanced at his bodyguard, who shook his head. Surprisingly Markham overruled him. “You can leave, David. But stay close.”

  The bodyguard raised his eyebrows but did as Markham ordered, closing the door behind him.

  Markham turned to Dar. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I want you to call Teddy.”

  A tiny smile crossed Markham’s lips. “Why would I do that?”

  “We need to talk.”

  Markham steepled his fingers. “About what?”

  Dar hesitated. His differences were with Teddy, not his father. Still, at this point, what did it matter if the father knew? “I have proof of Teddy’s complicity in the bombing at Kerr’s department store.”

  Markham went still for a moment. Then he cackled. Dar felt his cheeks get hot.

  “You were always the smart one,” Markham said. “Smart, but not shrewd.” He waved a dismissive hand.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I knew at some point that one of you would claim to have evidence of Teddy’s participation. And I’m confident I know what it is. Let me show you something.” Markham picked up a remote from the desk and aimed it at the flat screen TV mounted on the wall.

  Dar frowned.

  Suddenly light flooded in through the window. “David!” Markham yelled.

  The door opened and Mr. Clean hurried back in. Seeing the light, he ran to the window, opened the drapes, and peered out.

  “What is it?” Markham asked.

  The bodyguard shook his head. “Can’t see anything.” He closed the drapes and turned around. “Probably a rabbit.”

  “Damn system’s too sensitive. Can’t you fiddle with it? I don’t need the goddamned lights and alarms going off every five minutes.”

  “I’ll look into it, sir.”

  “Have Max do it.”

  “I will, when he gets back.”

  “Where is he? Teddy’s people wanted two of you here at all times.”

  “He’s with his brother. A personal matter.”

  “Well, get him back.” Markham sighed. “All this new-fangled security and things still don’t work.” He gestured, the remote in his hand. “You can go.”

  After he was gone, Markham pushed more buttons. “Watch,” he said to Dar.

  The television lit up and a few bars scrolled diagonally. The picture settled on a video of Teddy at a campaign rally. He looked good: his temples had just enough gray, he was fit and tan. His smile was at full wattage as a man with a ten-gallon hat introduced him on camera.

  Teddy stood beside the speaker, arranging the cuffs of his shirt so they extended just beyond his jacket. His hands fell to his sides, but then he raised his left hand and jiggled it, just the way he’d done forty years ago when he wore his ID bracelet.

  Dar stared at the screen. Teddy’s wrist was bare, but he still had the habit. Dar turned to Markham, who’d been watching him watch Teddy.

  “I believe the evidence you’re talking about concerns the ID bracelet Teddy owned. You lived with Teddy. You knew he wore it all the time, and you knew he didn’t have it after the bomb. He probably told you he lost it.”

  He had, Dar recalled. In fact, Teddy had been obsessed with finding it. He and Payton had to restrain Teddy from sneaking back to the rubble to look for it.

  Markham clicked the remote and the screen went dark.

  “It’s curious you bring up the bracelet, Judge. It almost sounds like you know what happened to it.”

  Markham’s eyes went cold, as if Dar had scored an unexpected point. “There’s not much about Teddy’s career I don’t know.”

  All at once Dar knew why he felt so uneasy in Markham’s presence. Stephen Markham was the powe
r behind his son. He was the one orchestrating events. “You … ,” Dar said, “you set me up. Not Teddy.”

  “Teddy needs guidance. Always has.”

  Dar put it together. “The summer we lived together … Rain thought Teddy was an informer. She was right. You made it happen.”

  “One needs to protect one’s children. You can understand that,” Markham said. “Well, I believe your five minutes are up. If there’s nothing else … ”

  Dar realized he couldn’t tell Markham about the VIN now; he’d be giving up his only leverage. Better to let Markham think the evidence he’d referred to was the bracelet and get out. “It’s clear that you’ve been controlling events for years. I salute you.”

  Markham tilted his head. “Maybe you are shrewder than I thought.”

  “Tell me something, Judge. Why didn’t you have me killed in prison? You could have ‘arranged’ it. Like the others,” he added.

  Markham surprised him. “Now, why would I do something like that? There was no need for that. I fear you’ve picked up a healthy dose of paranoia, my friend. They say that can happen in prison.”

  “How fortunate for me.” Dar wondered why he’d been spared. Was it Teddy’s doing? Or did Markham assume that, because he was serving a life sentence, he couldn’t possibly be a threat? That if he did implicate Teddy, his accusations would be dismissed as the rantings of a bitter convict?

  Whatever the case, it didn’t matter. Now that Dar knew the truth, Markham would never let him leave alive. Dar realized he had made another blunder. Lila was right. He should never have come. He looked around. Only one door. And the windows behind the drapes. Escape was impossible. His only choice was to brazen it out. And buy enough time for Lila and Cece to escape.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” Dar said. “I guess I’ll be leaving now.”

  Markham pressed a button on his desk panel. As if on cue, the bodyguard came back in. This time he didn’t stop at the entrance but planted himself a few feet from Dar.

  “You didn’t really think I’d allow you to go, did you?” Markham asked.

  Mr. Clean took a step closer.

  “No, I didn’t.” But the judge was right about one thing. Like him, Dar had a child to protect. He cleared his throat. “Judge, you and I will never agree about most things. But, for my daughter’s sake, I am willing to negotiate.”

  “About what?”

  “Call off the men who are targeting her. She’s got nothing to do with us, or Teddy, or our history. Let her live in peace.”

  Markham’s expression grew puzzled. “Targeting your daughter? I’m not doing that. I have no interest in taking this to the next generation.”

  “But your … the man on the motorcycle. And the rental truck. They’re your men.”

  Markham looked at him. “What man on a motorcycle?”

  “The man who … ,” Dar’s voice trailed off. The look on Markham’s face said he was telling the truth. Markham wasn’t going after Lila. But if he wasn’t, who was?

  The bodyguard cut in before he could process it further. “Matches?” He sounded almost eager.

  Markham looked at Dar. “David has a trick which is quite effective. It involves lit matches and the tips of your fingers. I’m going to allow him to proceed. Unless you tell me what I need to know.”

  Dar thought about Markham, Teddy, and Lila. If Markham wasn’t going after Lila, negotiation was moot. He shook his head.

  “Changed your mind again?”

  Dar kept his mouth shut. Markham shrugged and nodded at David. The bodyguard rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a box of kitchen matches. He advanced on Dar.

  FIFTY–THREE

  After Dar went inside, Lila went down to the water, circling around the fence surrounding the Markhams’ property. Lake Monona was smaller than Lake Michigan, but tonight a frigid wind lashed its surface, producing explosions of tiny whitecaps out beyond the ice. She tucked her hands in her pockets.

  “It’s hard to wait, isn’t it?” Cece joined her at the shore.

  Lila didn’t answer. She listened to the plop of the waves. Then she walked back to the fence and peered through it. Three balconies on different levels jutted out from the redwood walls, making a rough triangular design. The triangle was supposed to be the most stable shape in the universe, she recalled. That’s why Buckminster Fuller championed the geodesic dome, a series of interlocking triangles.

  The balconies were fenced off with slabs of redwood supported on iron bases. Behind each balcony Lila could see sliding glass doors. The rooms beyond the doors were dark. The only illumination came from the first floor. A large window was covered with drapes, but a narrow sliver of light seeped out where they were joined together. Was that where Dar was meeting with Markham?

  The lowest balcony was about ten feet off the ground. Ten or ten thousand, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t reach it. Still, she wondered if the glass door was unlocked. That would never happen in her home—she always made sure all the doors and windows were locked. But this was an old man living next to a strip of woods on a tiny outcropping of land. The topography was a buffer. And Markham probably didn’t get around much. He might not go into some of his rooms for weeks on end. There might be a chance the door was unlocked.

  She found the gate to the back. Would there be some kind of alarm? Some buildings in New York and Chicago, post 9/11, had added them, but this was secluded property.

  She tentatively pushed against the gate. It was unlocked. Had it just been installed? She opened it and stepped through, motioning for Cece to follow. They were creeping across the back yard when a set of floodlights kicked on. Lila froze. Motion sensors. Damn! Adrenaline surged through her, and she threw herself on the ground.

  “Drop!” she whispered to Cece.

  Cece did.

  The drapes covering the first floor window flew apart. The shadow of a burly man appeared in the light, arms crossed. Lila held her breath. Maybe he wouldn’t notice them. Maybe he’d think a squirrel or possum or some other animal triggered the sensors.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Please, God. Just this once.

  A moment later the drapes closed. Lila took in a ragged breath, and tried to slow her heartbeat. But she didn’t move. Someone could be coming. She counted to twenty. No one came, but the floodlights stayed on. Finally she stood up and took a cautious step forward.

  Cece whispered, “What the fuck are you doing, Lila? Let’s get out of here.”

  Lila shook her head. “Dar shouldn’t be in there by himself.”

  “Agreed. But what can we do?”

  Lila turned and went back to the Econoline. Opening the side door, she rummaged around on the floor, retrieved something, and quietly closed the door. She carried it back gingerly.

  When Cece saw what it was, she inhaled sharply. “Where did you get that?”

  “Where do you think?”

  “Reba.”

  Lila nodded. “It’s a .38 Special. She taught me how to use it.”

  “But you know what Dar said.”

  Lila didn’t reply. She’d been swinging between confidence and panic since they’d started out for Madison. She was in pretty good shape. Or had been before the grenade. And Dar Gantner, father or not, had risked his life for her. She slid the .38 Special into her jacket pocket, and returned to the house. Closing in on the lowest balcony, she beckoned to Cece. “If you give me a boost,” she whispered, “I might be able to swing myself up.”

  Cece looked at the balcony, then at Lila. “You’re not serious.”

  “Well, I can’t very well knock on the front door and stroll inside.”

  “We promised Dar.”

  “I don’t like the look of the guy who opened the drapes.”

  Cece shook her head. “Dar was clear.”

  “Cece, I can’t do this without you.”

  “Jesus, Lila. What if something happens to you? Your father will … ”

  “What if something happens to him?”

  Ce
ce looked at the lit window, the balcony, then back at Lila. “Shit. What do you need?”

  Lila explained. Cece bent over and locked her hands together. Lila stepped one foot into them. As she shifted her weight onto that foot, Cece grunted and collapsed. Lila fell to the ground with a thud.

  Her heart hammered like the wheels of a runaway train. An eternity passed. Nothing happened. Lila slowly raised herself. “Let’s try again.”

  “I’m not strong enough.”

  “You have to be.”

  Cece just looked at her.

  “Use the side of the house to support your back.”

  Cece wedged herself up against the wall of the house and dropped to a squat. Locking her hands together, she nodded to Lila. Once again, Lila stepped into Cece’s locked hands. This time they held. Lila tried to grasp the siding of the house to gain purchase, but there was nothing to grab onto. Splinters dug into her nails. Somehow, though, Cece managed to lift her a few inches. Lila stretched her arms over her head, reaching for the balcony’s iron support base. She was close. Just a few more inches. Then Cece’s upward motion slowed. Lila could feel the woman shudder. The strain on her back must be excruciating. There wasn’t much time. She stretched again. Please, God.

  Her fingers made contact with the post. She clamped one hand around it, then the other. Frigid metal stung her skin, but she held on. Remembering all the gymnastics classes Casey and Gramum made her take as a child, she swung back and forth to build momentum. Meanwhile Cece collapsed, gasping for air.

  Lila swung a few more times. Each time her grip became sturdier, the arc wider. Then, with a Herculean effort, she swung herself up and through the gap between the slabs of wood fronting the balcony. She locked her legs on the lower slab, hoping it was strong enough to hold her weight. It was, and she hung, upside down, her feet curled around the slab of wood. She grabbed the top slab with her hands. Her muscles screamed. She wondered if she’d made too much noise. She carefully shimmied across it. Then she pushed and shoved and rolled her torso through the space between the slabs. She’d always been slim, and since her injuries she’d lost weight. She managed to squeeze through.