“Did you find the entertainer?”
“A prostitute. Quite upmarket. She had been advised to keep quiet, even though she knew little enough. Men came. They took Ballantine. They left her.”
“Did you know that he had disappeared before I asked you to look into this?”
Gabriel met Louis’s gaze, but it was a calculated effort.
“I don’t keep up with the activities of all my former clients.”
“That’s a lie.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Not entirely. Some remain on the radar for good reasons, but others I let slide. Ballantine I did not concern myself with. He was an intermediary, nothing more. He used me. On occasion I used him, too, but so did many others. You, of all people, should know how these things work.”
“That’s right. It’s why I’m trying to figure out how much you’ve been hiding from me.”
For the first time since he had arrived, Gabriel smiled. “We all need secrets. Even you.”
“Was Kandic one of yours?”
“No. After you left me, my interest in such matters ceased. There is a new breed of independent contractor out there now, some of them veterans of the conflicts in Chechnya and Bosnia. They’re war criminals. Half of them are on the run from the UN, the other half from their own people. Kandic was running from both. He was a former member of the Scorpions, a Serbian police unit linked to atrocities in the Balkans, but it seems that he had a history to hide long before he began killing old men in Kosovo. When the tide began to turn, he sold out his own comrades to the Muslims and made his way over here. I haven’t yet managed to trace the means by which he was hired by Hoyle.”
“Was he any good?”
“I’m sure that he came highly recommended.”
“Yeah, I’d like to see the reference. It probably didn’t mention that he was prone to decapitation. Is that all you have for me?”
“Nearly.” Hoyle had confirmed what Milton had told Gabriel: there was a link to Leehagen. Now Gabriel explained what he knew of the man named Kyle Benton, and his connection to both Leehagen and one of the men who had died outside Louis’s building, although he did not tell Louis how long he had known about Benton.
“I’m looking into the rest,” he concluded. “These things take time.”
“How long?”
“A few days. No more than that. Did you believe all that Hoyle told you?”
“I saw a head in a jar, and a girl being eaten by hogs. They both looked real enough. Did you know that Luther Berger was really Jon Leehagen?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“Would it have made any difference?”
“Not then,” Louis conceded. “Did you know who his father was?”
“I was aware of him. He was a creature of contradictions. A hoodlum from the sticks, and an astute businessman. An ignorant man, but with low cunning. A cattle breeder and a pimp, but with mines to his name. An abuser and trafficker of women, who loved his sons. Not a threat, not in the circles in which you and I moved. Now he has cancer of the lungs, liver, and pancreas. He cannot breathe unaided. He is virtually housebound, apart from occasional excursions around his property in his wheelchair to feel fresh air upon his face. Therein lies the problem. I suspect that Hoyle may be right: if Leehagen is behind this, then he will keep coming at you, because he has nothing to lose. He will want you to die before he does.”
“And the enmity with Hoyle?”
“True, from what I can find out. They have long been rivals in business affairs, and were once rivals in love. She chose Leehagen, and gave him his two sons. She died of cancer, perhaps the same form of the disease that is now killing Leehagen himself. Their mutual antagonism is well known, although its precise roots appear to be lost in the past.”
“Did his son deserve to die?”
“You know,” said Gabriel, “I think I preferred you when you weren’t so scrupulous.”
“That’s not answering the question.”
Gabriel raised his hands in a gesture of resignation. “What does ‘deserving’ mean? The son was not so different from the father. His sins were fewer, but that was a consequence of age, not effort. A believer in God would say that one sin was enough to damn him. If that is true, then he was damned a hundred times over.”
For a moment, Louis’s features, usually so impassive, altered. He looked weary. Gabriel saw the change, but did not comment upon it. Nevertheless, in that instant Gabriel’s opinion of his protégé altered. He had, he supposed, entertained hopes that Louis might yet prove useful once again. He had been good at what he did, good at killing, but to maintain that edge required sacrifice. Call it what you would-conscience, compassion, humanity-but it had to be left bloody and lifeless upon the altar of one’s craft. Somehow, a little of the decency had been left in Louis’s soul, and over the last decade it had prospered and grown. Yet perhaps Gabriel, too, had failed to smother all of his natural feelings toward the younger man beneath a blanket of pragmatism. He would assist him in this one last matter, and then their relationship would have to come to an unconditional end. There was too much weakness in Louis now for Gabriel to be able to risk keeping the lines of communication open. Weakness was like a virus: it transferred itself from host to host, from system to system. Gabriel had survived in his various incarnations through a combination of luck, ruthlessness, and an ability to spot the flaws in human beings. He planned to live for a great many more years. His work had kept him young inside. Without such amusements, he would have withered and died, or so it sometimes seemed to him. Gabriel, despite all of his many talents and his instinct for survival, lacked the self-knowledge to understand that he had withered inside a long time before.
“And Bliss?” asked Louis.
“I have heard nothing.”
“Billy Boy was driving the car on the day that we took out Leehagen’s son.”
“I am aware of that.”
“Now he’s dead, and Ballantine’s gone-dead, according to Hoyle. If those killings are linked to Leehagen, then only you and I are left.”
“Well, then, the sooner we clear this whole affair up, the happier we will both be.” Gabriel stood. “I’ll be in touch when I have more to offer,” he said. “You can make your final decision then.”
He left the same way that he had entered. Louis remained seated, considering all that he had been told. It was more than he had before he arrived, yet it was still not enough.
From his perch on a garage roof, Angel followed Gabriel’s progress, watching as the sinister old man walked slowly up the alley, watching as he reached the street and looked left and right, as though undecided about which path beckoned him, watching as an old Bronco with out-of-state plates passed slowly, watching as flames leapt in the darkness of its interior, watching as the old man bucked and clouds of blood shot from his back as the bullets exited, watching as he folded to the ground, the redness pooling around him, the life seeping from him with every failing beat of his heart…
Watching, feeling shock, but no regret.
“He’ll live. For now.”
Louis and Angel were back in their apartment. It was late afternoon. The call had come through to Louis. Angel did not know from whom, and he did not ask. He only listened as his lover repeated what he had been told.
“He’s a tough old bastard,” said Angel.
There was no warmth to his tone. Louis recognized its absence.
“He would have let you die, if it suited him. It wouldn’t have cost him a moment’s thought.”
“No, that’s not true,” said Louis. “He would have spared a moment for me.” He stood at the window, his face reflected in the glass. Angel, damaged himself, wondered how much more damaged in turn this man whom he loved could be to retain such affection for a creature like Gabriel. Perhaps it was true that all men love their fathers, no matter how terrible the things they do to their sons: there is a part of us that remains forever in debt to those responsible for our existen
ce. After all, Angel had wept when the news of his own father’s death had reached him, and Angel’s father had sold him to pedophiles and sexual predators for drinking money. Angel sometimes thought that he had wept all the harder because of it, wept for all that his father had not been as much as for what he was.
“If Hoyle is right, then Leehagen found Ballantine,” said Louis. “Maybe Ballantine gave him Gabriel.”
“I thought he always insulated himself,” said Angel.
“He did, but they knew each other, and there was probably only one layer, one buffer, between Ballantine and Gabriel, if that. It looks like Leehagen found it, and from there made the final connection.”
“What now?” asked Angel.
“We go back to Hoyle, then I kill Leehagen. This won’t stop otherwise.”
“Are you doing it for your sake, or for Gabriel’s?”
“Does it matter?” Louis replied.
And in that moment, had he been there to witness it, Gabriel might have seen something of the old Louis, the one he had nurtured and coaxed into being, shining darkly.
Benton called from a phone box on Roosevelt Avenue.
“It’s done,” he said. Benton’s wrist and shoulder ached, and he was sure that the latter had begun to bleed again. He could feel dampness and warmth there. He should not have taken it upon himself to fire the shots at the old man, not with the wounds that he had received at the auto shop, but he was angry, and anxious to make up for his failure on that occasion.
“Good,” said Michael Leehagen. “You can come home now.” He hung up the phone and walked down the hall to the bedroom in which his father lay sleeping. Michael watched over him for a couple of minutes, but did not wake him. He would tell him of what had transpired when he awoke.
Michael had no idea who the old man really was. Ballantine had spoken of him only in the most general of terms. It was enough that he had been involved in his brother’s slaying, and was meeting Louis, the man directly responsible for his brother’s death. The attack would be one more incentive for Louis to strike back, one more reason for him to travel north. At last Michael had begun to understand his father’s reasoning: blood called for blood, and it should be spilled where his brother lay at uneasy rest. He still believed that his father was overestimating the potential threat posed by Louis and his partner once they were lured north, and there had been no need to involve the third party, the hunter, the one named Bliss, but his father was not to be dissuaded, and Michael had given up the argument almost as soon as it had begun. It didn’t matter. It was his father’s money and, ultimately, his father’s revenge. Michael would acquiesce to the old man’s wishes, for he loved his father very much, and when he was dead, all that was once his would become his son’s.
Michael Leehagen might have been a king in waiting, but he was loyal to the old ruler.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEY DIDN’T GIVE HOYLE notice of their arrival. They simply turned up in the lobby after hours and told one of the security staff to inform Simeon that Mr. Hoyle had visitors. The guard didn’t seem unusually troubled by the request. Angel guessed that, given the fact of Hoyle’s residency in the building, and his reluctance to face the world on its own terms, the guards had grown used to human traffic at odd hours.
“What name should I give?” asked the guard.
Louis did not answer. He merely stood beneath the lens of the nearest camera, his face clearly visible.
“I think he’ll know who it is,” said Angel.
The call was made. Three minutes went by, during which an attractive woman in a tight-fitting black skirt and white blouse passed through the lobby and eyed Louis appreciatively. Almost imperceptibly, except to Angel, Louis’s posture changed.
“You just preened,” said Angel.
“I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, you did. You stood straighter. You became straight. You de-gayed.”
The doors of the private elevator opened in the lobby, and the guard gestured at them to enter. They walked toward it.
Louis shrugged. “A man likes to be appreciated.”
“I think you’re confused about your sexuality.”
“I got an eye for beauty,” said Louis. He paused. “So does she.”
“Yeah,” said Angel, “but she’ll never love you as much as you do.”
“It is a burden,” said Louis, as the doors closed.
“You’re telling me.”
Only Simeon was waiting for them in the lobby when they arrived at Hoyle’s penthouse. He was dressed in black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. This time, the gun that he wore was clearly visible: a Smith & Wesson 5906, housed in a Horseshoe holster.
“Customized?” asked Louis.
“Maryland,” said Simeon. “Had it dehorned.” He drew the gun smoothly and rapidly and held it so that they could see where the sharp edges had been removed from the front and rear sights, the magazine release, the trigger guard extension, and the hammer. The display functioned both as a surprising act of vanity on Simeon’s part that Angel would not have associated with a man like him, and also as a warning: they had arrived unscheduled, and at a late hour. Simeon was wary of them.
He put the gun back in its holster and wanded them almost casually, then showed them once again into the room overlooking the pool. This time, the pattern created by the ripples on the wall was distorted and irregular, and Angel could hear the sound of someone swimming. He wandered over to the glass and watched Hoyle performing butterfly strokes through the water.
“He swim a lot?” he asked Simeon.
“Morning and evening,” said Simeon.
“He ever let anyone else use that pool?”
“No.”
“I guess he’s not the sharing kind.”
“He shares information,” said Simeon. “He’s sharing it with you.”
“Yeah, he’s a regular fountain of knowledge.”
Angel turned away and joined Louis at the same table at which they had sat with Hoyle earlier in the week. Simeon stood nearby, allowing them to see him, and him to see them.
“How come you work for this guy?” asked Louis at last. The sounds of swimming had ceased. “Can’t be too much call for your talents, stuck all the way up here with someone who don’t get out much.”
“He pays well.”
“That all?”
“You serve?”
“No.”
“Then you wouldn’t know. Paying well covers a lot of sins.”
“He got a lot of sins to cover?”
“Maybe. It comes to that, we’re all sinners.”
“Guess so. Still, those Marine skills of yours, they’ll get rusty, sins or no sins.”
“I practice.”
“Not the same.”
Angel saw Simeon twitch slightly.
“You implying that I might need to use them soon?”
“No. Just saying that it’s easy to take these things for granted. You don’t stay sharp and they may not be there for you when you need them.”
“We won’t know until that day comes.”
“No, we won’t.”
Angel closed his eyes and sighed. There was enough testosterone in the room to make a wig bald. They were one step away from arm wrestling. At that moment, Hoyle entered. He was wearing a white robe and slippers, and was drying his hair with a towel, although he did so while wearing the ubiquitous white gloves.
“I’m glad that you came back,” he said. “I just wish it could have been under better circumstances. How is your-” He searched for the right word to describe Gabriel, then fixed on “‘friend’?”
“Shot,” said Louis simply.
“So I gathered,” said Hoyle. “I appreciate the confirmation, though.”
He took a seat across from them and handed the damp towel to Simeon, who did his best not to bristle at being reduced to the status of pool boy in front of Louis. “I presume that the attack on Gabriel is the reason you’ve returned. Leehagen is taunting you,
as well as attempting to punish another of those whom he blames for his son’s death.”
“You seem sure that it was Leehagen who targeted him,” said Louis.
“Who else could it be? No one else would be foolish enough to attack a man of Gabriel’s standing. I’m aware of his connections. To move against him would be unwise, unless one had nothing to lose by doing so.”
Louis was forced to agree. In the circles in which Gabriel moved, there was a tacit understanding that the provider of the manpower was not responsible for what occurred once that manpower was put to use. Louis was reminded of Gabriel’s description of Leehagen: a dying man, desperate for revenge before the life left him entirely.
“So,” said Hoyle. “Let us be clear. Perhaps you’re wondering if this apartment is wired, or if anything that you say here might find its way to some branch of the law enforcement community. I can assure you that the apartment is clean, and that I have no interest in involving the law in this matter. I want you to kill Arthur Leehagen. I will provide you with whatever information I can to facilitate his demise, and I will pay you handsomely for the job.”
Hoyle nodded to Simeon. A file was produced from a drawer and passed to Hoyle. He placed it on the table before them.
“This is everything that I have on Leehagen,” said Hoyle, “or everything that I believe might prove useful to you.”
Louis opened the file. As he flipped through its contents, he saw that some of the material replicated what he had uncovered himself, but much was new. There were sheafs of closely typed pages detailing the Leehagen family history, business interests, and other enterprises, some of them, judging by photocopies of police reports and letters from the attorney general’s office, criminal in nature. They were followed by photographs of an impressive house, satellite images of forests and roads, local maps, and, last of all, a picture of a balding, corpulent man with a series of flabby chins folding into a barrel chest. He was wearing a black suit and a collarless shirt. What was left of his hair was long and unkempt. Dark pig eyes were lost in the flesh of his face.
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