Sins Of The Father

by James, Harper

  The don’t came out as a shout. A few other diners looked at them, suddenly found something very interesting to look at on their plates. All except one guy, sitting by himself. He carried on staring openly at them, didn’t avert his eyes.

  Evan felt her hand tense under his. The guy was behind him, looking at her over his shoulder. For a second he thought she was about to say something, tell the guy to mind his own business. The moment passed, her shoulders relaxed. She looked drained. He felt worn out himself, just listening to the outburst.

  ‘It takes me straight back, like it was yesterday.’

  He knew exactly what that was like. She knew he knew, it was why she’d said it. It felt strange this way around. It was usually her having to listen to him pour his heart out.

  ‘It’s not a nice thing to carry around, knowing somebody made a stupid decision like that, because of the way you are.’ She jabbed her thumb at her chest. ‘If I wasn’t the sort of person who lectured people, maybe he’d have told me.’

  He squeezed her hand, because that’s what you do, even if he knew it made no difference.

  ‘I’m sick of spending my life feeling guilty because I didn’t do something to prevent something happening that I didn’t even know about.’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Tell me about it. And you should know. Nothing you say ever makes sense.’

  ‘You must have been spending too much time with me.’

  She looked at him, a flicker of life creeping back into her eyes.

  ‘Put on another fifty pounds and I’d think I was having lunch with Ryder.’

  He sat up straight, stretched.

  ‘Well I feel a whole lot better for all that, I don’t know about you.’

  ‘Me too. You can’t help being you. I suppose I should’ve warned you.’

  ‘What? That there’s a big softie underneath the tough cop exterior. I’d never have believed you.’ He cocked his head. ‘Come to think of it—’

  ‘Don’t worry, you won’t see it again.’

  There was one more thing he was itching to ask her. The trouble was, he didn’t want to send her into a terminal tailspin. He needn’t have worried, she knew him too well. She smiled as he started to speak.

  ‘This guy—’

  ‘I wasn’t in a relationship with him, if that’s what you were going to ask.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. He was my little brother.’

  Chapter 30

  ‘GIVE ME YOUR PHONE,’ Guillory said.

  ‘What?’

  He was still reeling from her words, the depth and layers of the implications, wasn’t really paying attention.

  ‘Your phone. Quickly.’

  She shifted sideways in her seat, dropped her shoulders. He handed her his phone.

  ‘What—’

  ‘It’s him,’ she whispered. ‘Hendricks’ army buddy. I’m sure of it.’

  Without thinking he went to turn around. She clamped her hand on his shoulder, kept him facing towards her. He mouthed sorry to her.

  ‘The guy who was staring at us. I thought he was looking at us like all the others because I shouted. He’s been watching us the whole time. I knew there was something about him.’

  She scrolled through his photos, found the picture he’d taken of Floyd Gray’s mug shot. She leaned slightly to the side to see past him, her eyes flicking from the phone in her hand to the guy behind Evan and back again.

  ‘Don’t you ever wipe the lens on this thing? It looks like you’ve taken a photo of a fingerprint, not a mug shot.’

  ‘Is it him?’

  She scrunched her face up, stole another quick glance over his shoulder.

  ‘Hard to say. This’—she tapped the phone—‘must be at least ten years out of date. Add all the greasy fingerprints ... I don’t know. He’s got less hair, looks like a million other guys you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.’

  ‘Has he got the dog with him?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Not unless it’s hidden under the table.’

  He was itching to turn around, take a look for himself, even though he wouldn’t recognize him any more than Guillory. It had been far too dark in his sister’s garage to get a look at him.

  ‘I’m going to ask him straight out. I’m sick of all this.’

  Guillory put her hand on his shoulder again, pushed him back down as he tried to get up. Their eyes met and he dropped back into his seat.

  ‘Weren’t you listening when I was talking about doing stupid things?’

  He hoped she wasn’t going to bring this up every time he wanted to do something she disagreed with, play the guilt card.

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘I can’t arrest him just for sitting there, staring at us, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘What about if he stabs me in the back with a fork while we’re thinking about it? Will that do?’

  He was joking. It still made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle as he said it.

  She opened her mouth to say something then stopped as the door opened. It was driving him crazy that he had to sit still with his neck stiff staring at the wall behind her while she watched everything that was going on. Whoever just entered had her full attention. The self-doubting Kate Guillory of a few minutes ago was a thing of the past. The Guillory he knew and ... whatever it was he felt, was back in the driving seat.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Three guys just came in.’

  ‘So?’

  She didn’t answer him. He watched her eyes widen as the three men made their way into the room.

  ‘They’re sitting down with Hendricks’ buddy.’

  Her face suddenly split in a satisfied grin.

  ‘He’s not very happy about it. He tried to get out. They’ve boxed him in.’

  ‘What—’

  ‘Shush. I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.’

  He couldn’t hear a thing with all the noise, didn’t know how she expected to. She was transfixed, unable to take her eyes off of them. Then he noticed her lips moving soundlessly—she was trying to lip read. He watched the irritation climb up her face, then she gave up and sat back.

  ‘They’re not speaking English. At least, the three guys aren’t. I don’t know about the other one. He’s not saying much at all. Looks like he’s thinking of making a run for it.’

  ‘What language are they speaking?’

  ‘Definitely not Spanish. Not Italian. I’d say something Eastern European.’

  She held up a finger to quieten him as he tried to speak.

  ‘The little guy—’

  ‘I can’t see them Kate.’

  She waved it off.

  ‘The little guy’s smiling all over his face. Except it’s not really a smile. Our guy’s not doing any smiling—’

  She looked down at the table sharply, her lips a tight line.

  ‘Shit. He caught me staring.’

  ‘Tell me what you think or I’m going to turn around and look for myself.’

  She still had Evan’s phone in her hand. She studied the photo again, shrugged and handed the phone back. Evan took a good long look in case he ever got the chance to see for himself.

  ‘The little guy’s in charge, the other two are muscle,’ she said more to herself than him. She picked up her spoon and tapped it against her lips. ‘So how does that fit in with Hendricks’ buddy? Was he in Eastern Europe? I can’t remember. Plenty of his sort of work over there.’

  There was a sudden, loud exclamation from the table. It sounded like a fight was about to break out. It also sounded a lot like you’ve got to be fucking joking.

  The voice took Evan full circle, back in time. Guillory was wrong about everything.

  She sucked air sharply through her teeth, tensed.

  ‘This looks like it’s about to get out of control. The little guy just picked up a knife. I can’t see properly because of the big guys—’

  ‘
Shush.’

  She jerked backwards, gave him an irritated glare. The guy at the table who yelled was talking again, his voice fast and desperate, like it was a quiz show and he only had so long to get the answers out.

  ‘I know that voice,’ Evan said.

  The table behind him was suddenly very quiet, as if something very special had just been said, something that changed everything.

  ‘They’re all looking this way,’ Guillory said, her face a picture of confusion.

  ‘It’s not Floyd Gray. It’s Hugh McIntyre.’

  Guillory stopped tapping the spoon against her teeth.

  ‘The guy who ...’

  She nodded at Evan’s ear. He nodded back.

  ‘What the hell’s he doing here, staring at us? And who are they?’

  Evan knew damn well what he was doing—and who he was with.

  He sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity had stopped him from turning around and looking for himself. McIntyre knew it was him, he’d been following him for Christ’s sake. The other guys didn’t know what he looked like. Best it stayed that way for as long as possible. Certainly until he had a chance to track down Frank Hanna’s heir.

  ‘They’re still staring at us,’ Guillory hissed.

  The confusion had morphed into a mix of irritation and aggression, a cocktail he was well acquainted with. She broke eye contact with McIntyre and the others, speared Evan with her glare.

  ‘What’s going on, Evan?’

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. The only reason they were in this very diner was because he’d withheld information from her. There’d been a catharsis, they’d patched things up again, everything was back on track.

  ‘Evan.’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  Chapter 31

  GUILLORY’S EYES BULGED, THEN narrowed. Evan waited for her to say how’d you like a poke in the eye? or something along those lines. Then things fell into place.

  ‘This is to do with what you’re doing for Hanna?’

  He nodded. She leaned in and for a moment he thought she was going to grab the front of his jacket.

  ‘You need to have a word with him. Confidentiality doesn’t do either of you any favors if you end up dead. That is what’s going on here, isn’t it? The little guy and his big friends have a vested interest in seeing that something happens to you. Something permanent.’

  ‘Yup.’

  She couldn’t keep a small smile off her lips even though it was no laughing matter.

  ‘And the reason you look as if you’re about to hide under the table is because they don’t know what you look like.’

  ‘Unless McIntyre’s been taking covert photos as well as following me.’

  Her face compacted. He had a point.

  ‘Everybody’s got a camera on their phone.’

  ‘We need that phone.’

  She thought for a moment, came to a decision.

  ‘You are so lucky you said sorry earlier.’

  He nodded like he knew it.

  ‘What, even if I don’t know the meaning of the word?’

  ‘You know it. You just like to pretend you don’t.’

  He gave her his best boyish grin. She turned away from him before she felt the need to wipe it off and walked over to McIntyre’s table.

  They all looked up at her expectantly, supercilious grins just below the surface on all their faces. One of the big guys openly looked her up and down, slowly, his head cocked, hungry eyes lingering provocatively on her bust. An appreciative mmm hmm slipped between his lips. She flashed her gold shield at them, a pointless exercise. Apart from making the guy who’d run his eyes all over her stick his arms out, wrists held together. As is if to say, arrest me please.

  The temperature in the room dropped two degrees from the look she gave him. The diner was empty now apart from the six of them, the last of the other customers leaving when things got heated at McIntyre’s table.

  ‘Is there a problem, officer?’

  It was the little guy, although he wasn’t so little close up, just smaller than his gorillas.

  ‘Detective.’

  ‘Sorry. Detective.’

  The accent was faint, definitely Eastern European. He was still holding the knife she’d seen him pick up, blade pointing at the table top. He put it down carefully when he saw her looking.

  Then she saw McIntyre’s bandaged hand.

  ‘What happened to your hand, Mr ...’

  McIntyre hesitated, four pairs of eyes on him, one pair you wouldn’t want to catch in a bar—and those were Guillory’s. He put a finger inside his collar and worked it loose. The two big men shifted in their too-tight suits on the too-small chairs.

  Guillory waited.

  ‘McIntyre.’

  ‘That’s the easy one out the way, eh? What about your hand?’

  One of the big men made a remark in his own language, made a rude gesture with his hand. The three of them laughed.

  Guillory turned on him.

  ‘You want to repeat that in English?’

  He held up his hands, the smirk still on his lips. She turned to the one in charge.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  She made sure, even though English wasn’t his first language, he didn’t miss the rude, abrupt tone of voice. The last vestiges of the smile on his face from the rude joke slipped away.

  ‘Vasiliev.’

  On the other table, Evan still had his back to them. He could hear every word, knew what was coming, smiled to himself.

  ‘Really?’ Guillory said.

  Evan wanted to turn around, see her face. He heard the laughter in her voice, it was good enough.

  ‘In our country we use that to wipe on babies’ butts so they don’t get sore. What about in your country?’

  She patted her own butt. Nobody at the table dared to laugh. Or admire her butt.

  ‘So Mr Vaseline—’

  ‘Vasiliev.’

  ‘Sorry, Vaseline. Do you know anything about Mr McIntyre’s hand?’

  He gave a small shrug, some of his cockiness creeping back.

  ‘It’s just I saw you pick up a knife, that one there’—she pointed to the knife he’d put back on the table—‘and threaten Mr McIntyre with it. And now I see he’s got a bandaged hand.’

  Vasiliev stared at her, all the smugness knocked out of him again.

  ‘I think I heard you say do you want us to do the other one? That was it, wasn’t it, Mr McIntyre?’

  McIntyre stared at the table top, his face ashen. Next to him, Vasiliev’s was dangerously red.

  ‘Okay,’ Guillory said, ‘I think we’ll carry this on down at the station.’

  Three chairs scraped along the floor as Vasiliev and his men pushed them away and stood up.

  ‘You know what else we use Vaseline for in this country?’ Guillory said.

  They all knew but nobody was saying.

  ‘You got it. Full body search.’ She turned to the two enforcers. ‘You two look like you’d enjoy that. How do you say faggot in your language?’

  She turned on Vasiliev, put her hand on the back of his chair and thrust it hard into the back of his legs.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Vaseline.’

  His legs buckled. He grabbed the edge of the table and held on as she increased the pressure on the chair back, forcing the front of his expensive suit against the greasy table. She gave a sudden, hard shove. A half-empty cup of coffee tipped over, its contents slopping across the table, soaking into the front of Vasiliev’s suit pants.

  ‘Oops, sorry,’ she said, maintaining the pressure as more cold coffee soaked into his crotch. ‘Lucky it was cold or you’d have needed some Vaseline yourself. I’m sure one of your boys would’ve enjoyed rubbing it into your little pecker for you.’

  With her other hand she pulled out her phone.

  ‘All of you, sit down again—’

  Vasiliev barked something to his men, his voice high and tight. One of them kicked the cha
ir away as Guillory pretended to dial. The three of them headed for the door, Vasiliev trying to maintain some dignity—and failing badly—covering the wet stain with his jacket. Guillory strolled casually behind them, her phone at her ear. She leaned in the doorway and watched them climb into a black Mercedes SUV.

  Back at his table Evan heard her read out the SUV’s license plate number. He had no idea if there was anybody on the other end of the line. The SUV leapt away from the curb and disappeared down the street in a squeal of burning rubber.

  ‘I don’t think they’re coming back,’ Guillory said as she came back into the room.

  She closed the door firmly behind her and leaned against it, gave McIntyre a smile, your turn next. Evan stood up and turned around to look at McIntyre. There was a quick flash as McIntyre took a photo of him then stuffed the phone back in his pocket. He looked around at Guillory leaning against the door with her arms folded and then back at Evan.

  ‘Give me the phone,’ Evan said.

  ‘You want to try and get it?’

  ‘You’re a lot braver now we chased Vasiliev off for you.’

  McIntyre scowled at him, held up his bandaged hand.

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough what he’s capable of.’

  ‘That’s why I want the phone.’

  ‘He’ll find you anyway.’

  Evan took a step towards him. McIntyre looked past him at the kitchen door. Somewhere in there all the staff were cowering. And there was always a back door, so they didn’t have to carry the trash through the restaurant. Evan stepped to the side putting himself directly in line with the kitchen door. He held out his hand

  ‘Phone.’

  ‘Up yours, Buckley.’

  McIntyre feinted to the left. Evan pretended to go with him, let McIntyre pass him on the right. He whirled round, swung his leg in a scything backwards arc and caught McIntyre in the knees. McIntyre tipped forwards, hands outstretched and landed hard on the heels of his hands. He grunted in pain as his left hand smacked into the hard tile floor, blood blossoming through the dressing.

  Evan pushed him over with his foot.

  ‘Remember last time we did this? You blindsided me with a baseball bat. Not so tough without it, eh? Give me the phone.’

  McIntyre scooted backwards on his butt as Evan advanced towards him. He got his feet under him and scrambled upright, backing himself into the serving area behind the counter. Evan was blocking the only way out. McIntyre looked frantically around, saw the cooler cabinet with bottles and cans of soda just a couple of feet away.