In a heap, up against the bottom of the cabinet door, the two men grabbed Ryan by the arms and hauled him back to his feet. Hector walked over to Ryan and delivered one last punch to the gut, sending Ryan crumpling to the floor once more.
“Maggie still won’t return my calls,” he said. Then he picked up his glass of whiskey off the table and poured the remains over Ryan, tossing the glass on top of him. Hector’s face was emotionless. “Money will arrive by courier on Monday with specifics. Use the usual communication channels. And either you ask Hardy nicely to return the money, or I’ll go get it from him.”
Van listened to the door slam. Then there was only Ryan’s heavy breathing in an otherwise eerily silent tavern. Any other night, the silence would have been welcome. Tonight it was terrifying. She guessed she and Ryan were alone again. One look at the broken latch on the door told her she couldn’t escape from the cabinet on her own. “Ryan!” she shouted, pounding on the cabinet door. “Open the cabinet! I’m stuck in here.” She continued to pound and shout until she heard the sound of the latch on the door.
“Van? What the hell … can’t get the cabinet open. The latch is … afraid I’ll break it off. Oh, God …”
“Ryan, Ryan, are you still there? I’m so sorry. Please, don’t hurt yourself. You can leave me here. I’m okay. Don’t—”
With a shudder, the lock snapped. The cabinet door swung open, and there stood Ryan, with a cast-iron bookend of Abraham Lincoln, the great emancipator, in his hand. Van wasted no time pulling herself out of the tiny space and wrapping her arms around a battered and broken Ryan as he crumpled back down onto the floor.
Oh, please don’t touch me,” Ryan moaned, curling in on himself. “What the hell … ,” he began again, but never finished the sentence.
*
When Ryan awoke he was looking into Van’s sad, tear-filled eyes. She was sitting on the floor of the office, cradling his head in her lap. Every part of him screamed in pain.
“Ryan. Oh, hon, are you all right? What should I do? I’m sorry. I couldn’t lift you, and I wasn’t sure you would want to involve the police.”
“I’m okay, he said, trying to sit up. “Oh, almighty God, help me.” He collapsed back into Van’s lap, quickly abandoning any further attempts to get up by himself. “Thankfully, they were just sending a message, which I got loud and clear. Help me sit up, will you? Oh, slowly. No cops. I need to call Bennie.”
“Does Bennie work for HYA?”
“No, but he put two and two together a long time ago. Good bartenders listen but never repeat. Like I said, Bennie is the best.”
Ryan reached in his pocket to pull out his cell phone and managed to pull out the gun without thinking. Van’s shocked eyes met his, but she said nothing. Ryan found his cell phone and called Bennie. The call went right to voice mail.
“He doesn’t answer. I’ll give him a few more minutes.”
“Is your car outside?” she said. “Let me get you to your car. Then we can go to Bennie, or anywhere else you want me to take you.”
“Car’s right out front, but I’m not sure I can go that far.”
Van grabbed him under the arms and helped pull him to his feet. With his arm around her shoulders, they moved slowly across the room, Ryan wincing in pain and Van panting from the exertion. A few paces from the door, it was clear they could go no farther. Van lowered Ryan back to the floor and collapsed beside him.
As they caught their breath, she asked him the question he was expecting. “Ryan, why are you carrying a gun? You were expecting this. What haven’t you told me?”
He looked up into Van’s eyes and wished that he could think of something to tell her that wouldn’t hurt her. That was something he never wanted, though he continually managed to do it. She waited, hoping to hear the right response, but he could see in her eyes the wariness and the belief that it would not be what she wanted to hear.
“They wouldn’t just let me walk away. There was a price. I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you. I needed more time before you found out. I couldn’t just … couldn’t just let you go. You wouldn’t have stayed.”
A single tear rolled down Van’s face and splashed onto Ryan’s cheek. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head.
Van looked down into Ryan’s face. “I wouldn’t have stayed, but now I would never leave you.” She reached down and brushed her tear from his face with her fingertips. “Now, let me have your phone so we can try Bennie again.”
In spite of the pain he was in, the corners of his mouth turned up in the faintest of smiles. He reached up and handed her the phone, then grasped her other hand and closed his eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF
Bennie arrived about twenty minutes after Van called. Calm and quiet, without question or comment, he helped her get Ryan outside to his car. Even if Van had been able to do so alone, the four flat tires on Ryan’s car would have gotten them nowhere.
“What are you going to do about Hector’s demands?” Van asked, stroking the hair off of Ryan’s forehead as she sat in the back of Bennie’s car, Ryan’s head in her lap. “You can’t safely pretend he doesn’t exist anymore.”
“No. Next time it’ll be more than a beat-down and four slashed tires. I do have money stashed away. I’ll pay off Richard’s debt.”
“Ryan, we’re talking a million dollars here.”
“Does that mean I should just let them kill my father?”
“Of course not! I thought you hated him.”
“Anger and hate aren’t the same thing. I got him into this mess, and I’ll try to get him out. But that’s it. I want nothing else to do with the man.”
Van tried to hide her smile. “Okay, but you can afford this?”
Ryan rolled his eyes before closing them for the final few minutes of the trip. Minutes later, Bennie pulled up beside the residence and office of Van’s physician, Dr. Alan Champ, who had agreed to see Ryan after hours.
“You, my friend, were very lucky,” the doc said as he turned from the chest X-ray hanging against the fluorescent screen. “The seventh rib is cracked just in front—very common type of rib injury. Fortunately, the lungs look good. There isn’t much I can do. I would prefer not to wrap the ribs.
“The best advice I can give you is to take it easy—no sudden moves, no heavy exertion. The ribs will heal by themselves, and I can write you something for pain. Was this a grudge match?”
“Excuse me?”
“There isn’t much I haven’t seen in my years of practice, Mr. Thomas. Bruises and cuts on your forearms indicating you were in a defensive posture, nothing on the face, ribs cracked, just short of major lung and rib damage. I would say someone wanted to send a message in a brutal but controlled way.”
“Yeah, something like that,” Ryan said, slowly shaking his head, not wanting to give away any more than the doctor had already surmised.
“Don’t worry, everything here is confidential,” the doctor added, gently placing his hand on Ryan’s shoulder.
“Thanks for seeing me at this hour, Doc. Come by the Phoenix sometime. Drinks are on me.”
“I might just take you up on that,” Dr. Champ said as he led them back out to the office exit. “But only if you promise not to do any more brawling. Good night, my friends.”
*
Bennie dropped Van and Ryan off at Van’s house and promised to pick Ryan up in the morning. Cracked ribs were not going to keep the man down.
While Ryan could struggle through the pain and personal injury inflicted by Hector, he was having a harder time dealing with Hector’s demands. Bailing Richard out was not a problem. Laundering money, on the other hand, was a huge one. As much as he hated to admit it, HYA had him backed into a corner. But he wasn’t having any dirty dealings going down at the Phoenix. He arranged to meet the courier the following Monday, just outside town.
Wary of being followed, Ryan slowly drove a couple of loops around town and then cautiously swung out onto the
highway and sped off for the drop site. It wasn’t clear whether Hector’s laundering scheme was set up to punish Ryan for perceived personal injuries or to serve a higher HYA purpose. Either way, Ryan had to be there.
He arrived early and coasted to a stop under an old oak at a dead end. He didn’t have long to wait. A sleek black car quietly pulled up behind him. Ryan stayed in his car and waited. HYA be damned—he wasn’t just going to walk out and meet trouble.
A door swung open, and the driver got out. With his hat pulled down over his face, he wasn’t easy to identify, but he had a distinctive walk. As the figure drew closer, Ryan let out a yip and scrambled out of his car. Three strides, and he had the man by the hand and shook it fiercely.
“Marcus, why I never … not in a million years,” he said. “It’s been ages. You’re the courier? So you’re having a midlife crisis?”
Marcus returned the hug, slapping him on the back and then pushing a wincing Ryan back to get a good look. “You’re looking good, Ryan, but now isn’t the time. Change of plans. Forget about Hector. That asshole is never gonna change. He’s totally off the reservation.
“I’m in a hurry, so I’ll make it brief. Hector Senior had a stroke day before yesterday, and he isn’t long for this world. It’s hush-hush, but it won’t be long before a whole new world order is established. Hector Junior is out—too volatile for the senior partners. My guess would be Bishop—no friend of yours, obviously. I’m here to warn you. He’s gonna clean house. Bishop isn’t going to cut any deals with you like Hector did. He’s already forced Hector Senior into backtracking on what he promised you. HYA is going to use you until they get what they want. When they find out you won’t play anymore you’re history.”
“And you?”
“I’m on a one-way ticket out—Caymans.
“And the real courier?”
“You wouldn’t have wanted to meet the courier they would have sent. Hector Senior sent me instead, to warn you and to ask a personal favor. He still thinks a lot of you. Listen up.”
The two men walked in the shade of the trees as Marcus leaned in close, a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, reciting instructions from HYA’s most influential member. Ryan didn’t speak but nodded occasionally as he looked up to study Marcus’s face. It was deceptively quiet and peaceful except for the occasional crackle of a twig underfoot.
“I don’t know,” said Ryan, running his hand through his hair. “That’s a lot of documents. It’s going to put me in a very bad position.”
“Realizing it’s a delicate matter, he’s giving you free rein to take care of it your way. Handle it, Ryan. If you don’t do it for honor, at least consider whether it’s worth landing on the wrong side of the fence. Even after death, Mr. Young can be extremely grateful … or very vindictive.”
Ryan nodded. He had seen it all too often and had been smart enough—or, more accurately, greedy enough—to have experienced only HYA’s gratitude. “All right, I’m in,” he said, extending his hand to Marcus.
“Good. I guess there is some honor among thieves.” Marcus laughed and shook Ryan’s hand. “Wish I could stay and talk, Ryan. Watch your back. See ya again sometime.”
Ryan couldn’t say much about honor among thieves. There was something to be said, however, about finding one’s true self and gaining a conscience in the process.
Marcus walked quickly to his car and was gone. Marcus and Hector—it was hard to understand how two brothers could be so different.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
KARMA’S A BITCH
Bennie wiped along the bar top, eyes pausing momentarily on a slight imperfection along the bar’s inner bar edge. He sighed. It looked like greasy fingerprints. He rubbed a little harder, and slowly it disappeared from view.
“You gonna make out with that bar top all night, or go home to a nice warm bed?”
Bennie laughed. “No sir, Ryan. I’m heading out. How about you? Why are you still hanging about?”
“Van brought in these things for decorating. Pretty neat stuff—there’s even a crossbow in here.” Ryan pulled the bow out of the cardboard box, loaded a hunting bolt into it, and sighted down the shaft. “I think that would go right through someone. Interesting … in a macabre sort of way.” He gently set it back down on the desk, pointing away from the two of them. “Van’s busy, and I’d like to get these up on the wall, and this box out of here. Don’t tell her I said that. It’s just … this place is my castle,” he said, laughing. “I don’t want any outside-world distractions. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, you need a place to call home—can’t just drift forever. If you don’t mind some advice, put some deep roots down here. You could do worse. It’s obvious you and Van have a connection. Mine it for all it’s worth.” Bennie shrugged sheepishly. “Tomorrow’s deposit is counted and in the safe. See you tomorrow. I’ll lock the door behind me.”
Ryan smiled. “I’m putting down right here, until the day I die. Night, Bennie. And thanks, I really do appreciate everything you do around here. I probably don’t say it enough.”
“Once is plenty. Night,” Bennie said, and flipped the lights off behind the bar.
*
Just outside town, Hector put a bundle in the trunk of his car and headed toward the Phoenix. His mind empty, he drove along on autopilot until he reached Main Street, where he snapped out of his stupor and flipped off his headlights.
He could make out two cars in front of the Phoenix as he coasted down the silent, empty street. He pulled around the side of the building and parked, then walked back toward Main Street with his bundle, stepping lightly over the sandy ground.
“Jesus!” he muttered at the sound of a car door slamming. He flattened himself against the wall, hearing for the first time the rapid pounding of his own pulse in his ears. He peered around the corner of the building just in time to catch sight of Bennie’s car pulling away from the curb.
“Perfect.” Emboldened by his sense of luck, he headed straight for the front door of the tavern. The handle was locked. Stifling the urge to shake the doors, he instead pulled from his pocket a small plastic pouch of thin metal picks, selected two, and went to work on the lock. With a skill acquired in childhood, Hector worked the tools, feeling the tumblers align … until he could hear the click of the lock mechanism surrendering. Quickly and quietly he slipped inside, checking from left to right to left again and seeing no one. He paused and listened. Strains of classical music floated from the rear of the tavern.
Hector studied the image of the mythical bird over the bar. “Rise out of these ashes,” he muttered as he uncapped the can and began pouring gasoline along the outer wall of the front room and down the back. For a moment, he stopped short of the office door, where he could hear Ryan moving about. Sliding the handgun from his waistband, he breathed deeply and stepped into the doorway.
“Good evening Mr. Thomas.”
To Hector’s surprise, he was staring down the bolt in a crossbow held by Ryan, who sat calmly on the edge of his desk.
*
“Good evening, Mr. Young. I’ve been expecting you.”
Hector didn’t blink, but a wave of stunned rage washed over his face.
“Don’t look so confused,” Ryan said. “Your brother warned me. I am surprised you’re here so soon, though. Were you going to shoot me in cold blood, or should we talk for a while? Have a seat.”
“I’ll stand,” said Hector, quickly regaining his composure. You think that contraption is faster than a bullet?”
“Probably not, but it’s just as deadly and, unlike your pistol, already aimed at center mass. I’m a patient man—not something I can say about you. Unfortunately for you, you have very expressive eyes, and I can read them quite clearly from here. You, on the other hand, have never been good at reading people. Why aren’t you heading out of the country, like your brother?”
“I am—just had some unfinished business. Millions waiting for me in an offshore account.”
“Millions? I’m
going to have to ask for a raise.”
“Where did you see Marcus?”
“Outside of town, as he was leaving. I always had a lot of respect for him—he adopted?”
“Of course not,” Hector sneered. “He just could do no wrong.”
“Maggie going with you?”
Hector scowled. “No, thanks to you.”
“This isn’t going to turn out well. We’re both going down. You know that, right? Why not walk away—millions of dollars and a chance that Maggie could come around? I’m not worth it.”
Hector began to nod. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re worth it to me. You have to go … You just have to go.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Hector retorted, growing agitated.
“I’ve already tripped the silent alarm. McCall will be here shortly. I’m going to give you a five count to leave before this arrow mounts you on that wall behind you. Your choice. One …”
“Pull your head out of your ass,” Hector growled. “You can’t walk away. The shake-up at HYA is from top to bottom. They’re going to come after you, get it? It’s only a matter of time. You can’t hide in this little two-bit fantasy life of yours.”
“We both can walk away. I’m small potatoes. I’ll deal with whoever HYA sends, just as I intend to do with you. I’m not giving up what I have here. Two …”
“That Hardy woman—she loves you.”
“And Maggie loves you. Three.”
“You’re no small potatoes—you’re HYA’s best. They dream of cloning people like you. But you never deserved their trust. You were no different from me—just with more finesse. Always out for yourself. Why did you give it up? I’ll never understand. You had everything—everything I ever wanted.”
The Pickle Boat House Page 22
