He made a dive for it and came up with a glass coke bottle. He gripped it by the neck and smashed it on the edge of the counter, the sticky, sugary liquid splashing everywhere. It wasn’t a big weapon but it looked lethal enough when it was being waved in your face, when the scarred face of Jesús Narvaez was fresh in your mind.
‘Come on, Evan, stop fooling around.’
Guillory’s voice was bored, calling from the other end of the room. With McIntyre penned-in behind the counter she pushed off the door and walked over to stand behind Evan.
‘Give him the phone, McIntyre. Assault with a deadly weapon’s a felony. You want to spend the rest of your life in prison with guy’s like Vasiliev and his men using you as a human toilet?’
McIntyre looked at the bottle in his hand, then threw it over his shoulder. He held up his hands, the blood seeping through his bandage, dripping to the floor.
‘Happy now?’
He looked down at the little pool of blood on the floor and smeared it with the toe of his shoe. Then he charged. He dipped his shoulder and powered into Evan, catching him on the breastbone, driving him into Guillory. She stumbled backwards, caught her heel on a low step and went down on her ass. Evan stayed upright, off balance. McIntyre threw a haymaker at his head. Evan pulled it out of the way, but not fast enough to stop McIntyre catching him a glancing blow above the ear.
Behind them Guillory scrambled onto her hands and knees then launched herself at McIntyre’s legs. The top of her head slammed into his groin, doubling him over. She clamped her arms around his thighs and the pair of them collapsed into the counter, McIntyre landing on his butt, Guillory stretched her whole length along the floor.
‘Any time you want to help, Evan,’ she called, her face buried in McIntyre’s lap as he sat upright looking down on the top of her head.
Evan took a couple of fast strides, stepping over her. He cradled the back of McIntyre’s head in his left palm and did his best to punch his right fist all the way through his face. McIntyre’s whole body jerked and then he slumped forward, blood dripping onto Guillory’s back.
She disentangled herself from his legs and the pair of them flipped him over. She slipped some plastic riot cuffs on his wrists, pulled them good and tight. Evan dug McIntyre’s phone out of his pocket, dropped it into his own.
He offered Guillory his hand and hauled her up. They stood looking at each other, their breath coming fast and heavy. It was a competition. Who would grin stupidly at the other one first.
‘Who knows,’ she said, pushing McIntyre absently with her toe, ‘what’ll happen next time you take me out for something to eat. I can hardly wait.’
Chapter 32
‘TELL ME ABOUT FRANCISCO Javier Grajales.’
If Narvaez was shocked to hear the name coming out of Evan’s mouth, he certainly didn’t show it. He gave a slow dip of his head, an acknowledgement.
‘You’ve been talking to Elwood Crow.’
‘At least he’ll talk to me.’
‘You don’t give up do you?’
Narvaez stared at him, his dark glasses already removed as soon as he saw it was Evan at the door. It made Evan feel as if he was family. Narvaez stepped aside and invited him in.
‘What do you think of Crow?’
Evan shrugged.
‘He’s an interesting character.’
‘He’s evil, that’s what he is,’ Narvaez said, crossing himself as he said it.
‘You don’t strike me as a superstitious man, Jesús. It’s not just that bird he keeps is it?’
‘You know what they say? That bird was his wife.’
Evan did a good job of not bursting out laughing. He sniffed the air surreptitiously to see if he could detect any alcohol on Narvaez’ breath. There was nothing, apart from a hint of mouthwash. The guy was nuts. It was a wasted journey.
Narvaez smiled.
‘I didn’t say I think that. It’s what all the old women say. One day his wife was gone and the bird was there instead.’
‘Well, QED. I suppose he did it because she nagged him so much. It’d be a useful skill to acquire.’
Narvaez’ smile widened.
‘I can see you’ve been married. You know, I could get to like you if—’
‘If I wasn’t asking all the difficult questions.’
Narvaez shook his head.
‘No, I was going to say if you weren’t working for Frank Hanna.’
‘Is he evil too?’
‘You can mock all you like. Working for that man will leave a stain on your soul.’
Evan was tempted to say it was already getting a bit cramped on there. He thought better of it.
‘Since you know your latin,’ Narvaez went on, ‘I have a suggestion for you—a quid pro quo.’
‘Whatever you like. I can’t think I’ve got anything you’d be interested in.’
‘What did he tell you?’
The question took Evan by surprise.
‘Crow,’ Narvaez said, a hint of irritation in his voice. ‘What did he tell you happened in Mexico?’
Evan shook his head, me first.
‘Did you take the baby?’
Narvaez hesitated.
‘I’m not going to report you to the police.’
‘Yes, I took him.’
There was a great sadness in his voice. It wasn’t sadness or regret for the crime he committed. It was more like sadness because all the good things he hoped his actions would give birth to had not come to pass.
‘Why?’
Narvaez looked at him like he was a retard.
‘Didn’t you want him to have a better life?’
Narvaez laughed, a hollow sound, not a trace of humor in it.
‘Depends on what you mean by better. Depends if better means a bigger car on your eighteenth birthday. Or guaranteed membership at daddy’s country club. Not everyone measures better like that. I don’t.’
‘Good for you. What about Francisco? What does he think?’
Narvaez gave a small twitch of the head, a rueful smile on his lips.
‘You’ll have to wait until you hear my story. You might be able to answer that for yourself.’
Evan didn’t try to second guess what he meant. All the old men he was meeting liked cryptic remarks and shared an aversion to straight answers.
‘Now tell me what Crow said.’
Evan recounted the story Crow told him. Narvaez listened in silence, a small smile curling his lips when Evan got to the part about cutting Crow with the knife.
‘You’re a believer in Old Testament style justice,’ Evan said as he finished.
‘What other sort is there? Anything less is no kind of justice at all.’
‘I thought you people believed in forgiveness.’
Narvaez let the you people slide.
‘That’s for old women who are scared to die.’
‘Did Crow tell me the truth?’
Narvaez rocked his head side to side.
‘Pretty much. Except the neighbors had to pull him off me. He had the knife by then. He cut off a piece of a neighbor’s ear before they overpowered him. He must have been in a lot of street fights in his time.’
Evan tried to imagine the old man he’d met, with his pet bird and his laptop, ever being a fighter. It was a stretch.
‘Did he say anything about—’
‘Thompson?’
Narvaez smiled again.
‘That’s the quid pro quo isn’t it,’ Evan said.
‘Yes.’
‘You want to know what happened to him.’
‘What did Crow say about him?’
‘I asked him if he’d ever met him and he said yes. But when I asked what happened he said I’d rather not say. Those were his exact words.’
‘He killed him, you know.’
Evan didn’t know it, even if he’d been thinking along those lines. It seemed most people who met Thompson would happily have killed him given the opportunity.
‘Why woul
d he do that? Why would he kill the man who had disfigured you, the man who just tried to cut his own eye out?’
Narvaez’ expression said it all. And none of it was good.
You’ll learn, as you grow older. And trust me, nothing you learn will warm your heart.
‘Because he likes to kill people.’
‘You know this for a fact, do you?’
Narvaez surprised the hell out of him by nodding. He’d expected him to backtrack, say something about feeling it in his bones. Maybe the old women who said Crow turned his wife into his namesake whispered it in his ear.
‘I told you last time, I was going to kill him. Somebody beat me to it.’
Even after all these years, his fists still clenched tightly at his sides, his frustration still tormenting him.
‘Every time I looked at myself in the mirror I told myself I would kill him. I would close my eyes and picture it in my imagination. Pushing his fifty-dollar bills down his throat one by one until he choked on them.’ He snorted. ‘I would play a game with myself. How much before he choked to death? Three hundred dollars, five hundred dollars?’
He stared at Evan, looking for some hint of understanding.
‘And sometimes, if I was really low, I would think to myself, if it only takes, say, two hundred and fifty dollars before his bloodshot eyes stopped bulging, before he soiled himself, then I would have plenty left over for Frank Hanna.’
‘And somebody took that away from you.’
‘Not somebody. Elwood Crow.’
Evan knew then he’d be calling on Crow again very soon if he wanted to move forward.
‘You haven’t explained why it was Crow.’
‘I asked around. I was desperate to know what happened. There were rumors. People knew who—what—Crow was. It wasn’t hard to put it together. And ...’
He was back in the hallway outside the apartment in Ciudad Juárez.
‘And what?’
‘I saw something in Crow’s eyes, before they pulled him off.’
‘Evil?’
Narvaez’ face twisted, his own eyes full of something you didn’t want to look at.
‘Your mocking will be the undoing of you. You don’t have to believe me. I know what I saw. What I felt.’
It was time to put a lid on the superstitious mumbo-jumbo, however much Narvaez took it to heart. Evan was surprised he didn’t cross himself again.
‘What’s the quid pro quo?’
‘I want to meet Crow. I want him to tell me exactly what he did. If you can arrange that, I will tell you everything you want to know about Francisco Javier Grajales. But ...’
Why was there always a but? Evan thought as Narvaez lifted a bony finger and wagged it in front of his eyes.
‘I guarantee it’s not something you will want to hear?’
Chapter 33
‘NARVAEZ WANTS TO MEET with me?’
‘He’s got something he wants to talk to you about. A mutual interest.’
They were standing in Elwood Crow’s hallway. Evan wasn’t planning on it being a long visit. In the back room, the feathered crow cawed loudly. Elwood Crow was different too. Evan was sure it was just his imagination. It would’ve been impossible to listen to Narvaez talking and not feel something. It was as if he was trying to picture the old man killing somebody—for the fun of it. He’d also love to ask him about his wife, whether that was her flapping around in the other room and being rude to visitors.
He knew he’d have to be ready for Crow to turn the conversation back on him before he entered into a conversation about wives. Just being here again brought Crow’s parting words back.
There are none so lost as those who will not be found.
Crow had one arm held across his body, his other elbow resting on it, his chin held between finger and thumb.
‘Things didn’t turn out too well last time we met.’
He pointed to the scar on his cheek.
‘You said you saw him in the street.’
‘True. But we didn’t stop and chat. Why are you here, asking for him, anyway?’
The words were barely out before it clicked.
‘He made it a condition of helping you.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘It must be something very important to him if he’s prepared to help you.’
‘I get the feeling it is.’
The change in Crow’s face was almost unnoticeable unless you were looking for it. Evan thought that was the moment he put the remaining pieces into place. The next ten seconds were crucial.
Crow stared at him, or through him. Evan almost wished they’d gone through into the other room with the bird. Something to break the tension, take the focus off him.
‘He wants to talk about Thompson,’ Crow said.
‘Yes.’
‘He thinks I killed him.’
Evan nodded, tried to read something, anything in the old man’s eyes. He’d have been better off trying with the one in the back room.
‘I’m going to have to think about it.’
Evan’s heart sank, the breath he’d been holding exiting in a rush. But it wasn’t quite over. Crow’s curiosity was piqued. He was as bad as Evan, he couldn’t help himself.
‘Why does he want to know? The man’s long dead.’
‘The honest truth?’
Crow sucked in air through his teeth.
‘That sounds ominous.’
‘This is just my opinion’—he paused to let Crow acknowledge the fact—‘he feels cheated. By you. He’d like to relive it with you. And you haven’t denied it.’
Crow’s face went through a succession of emotions. In the end, the decision was taken out of his hands. There was a knock on the still half-open front door.
‘Mr Crow,’ Narvaez said from behind it.
Evan spun around.
I told you to stay in the car.
Crow stepped around him and opened the door fully.
‘Mr Narvaez.’
They stood there, staring at each other like a pair of old vultures eyeing each other across the carcass of a dead dog.
‘Please come in.’
Evan gave a mental fist pump as Narvaez stepped inside with a polite nod of the head. He took off his dark glasses and followed Crow down the hallway towards the back room. Evan was tempted to shout after him:
Not in there. His wife’s in there. Go in the kitchen.
‘I’ll wait in the car,’ he said instead as the two old men disappeared from view.
***
HE DIDN’T WAIT IN the car, of course. It was too good an opportunity to waste. Besides, Crow had as good as given him carte blanche last time when he said:
You wouldn’t be much good at your job if you weren’t nosy.
A printed RSVP invitation on some expensive card, with or without fancy scrollwork in the corners, would be more formal. It wouldn’t be any clearer.
Upstairs was as good a place to start as any. He hesitated. The house was old. Those stairs were bound to creak. What was he hoping to find anyway? But he couldn’t help himself, hoped the two old men would be so deeply immersed in their shared history of fifty years ago they wouldn’t notice.
He climbed the stairs slowly. They creaked, although not as badly as he’d feared. Halfway up he paused and listened, heard nothing apart from the low rumble of men’s voices coming from the back room. He stopped at the top, saw four doors off a large landing. The doors to two of the bedrooms were open. He crossed the landing carefully, keeping to the rug as much as possible, off the bare boards. There was nothing of interest in either room—an old-fashioned single bed, an antique dresser and the musty smell of rooms that hadn’t been used for twenty years or more.
The door to the third bedroom was ajar. Evan pushed it carefully, stuck his head around it. An old woman lay on her back on one side of a large double bed, her long white hair fanned out on the pillow, mouth open, snoring gently.
Looks like he hadn’t turned his wife into the pet crow a
fter all.
The nightstand was overflowing with pill bottles. Evan held his breath, tiptoed across the room. He picked up one of the bottles and read the label. Prescription strength painkillers made out to Sarah Crow.
He almost dropped the bottle. It was stupid. Crow’s wife was called Sarah, same as his own, so what. But it had unsettled him for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on. He put the bottle down carefully, picked up another. Aricept. He recognized the name, one of the most common drugs used in the treatment of Alzheimer’s disease.
Crow had lost his wife as well, mentally if not physically. Maybe that was behind his offer to help find Sarah—all the computer hacking skills he might have picked up couldn’t help bring back his own wife.
‘Elwood, is that you?’
The sudden voice made him recoil. Then a hand as cold as the grave shot out and grabbed his wrist. He gasped, dropped the pill bottle. The top came off as it hit the floor, pills spilling everywhere. It sounded to him as if he’d dropped a bowling ball. Instinctively he knew the room he was in was directly above the back room where Crow and Narvaez sat.
Sarah Crow’s eyes were open but she didn’t see him, as lost in the past as the two old men downstairs. She rolled her head from side to side on the pillow, her lips moving silently.
‘Go back to sleep, Sarah,’ he whispered, the words making his legs weak, his stomach turn over, as they ripped away the last five years of his life like so much tissue paper.
He talked about Sarah—to Guillory, to Charlotte—all the time, but the last time he talked to a woman called Sarah was over five years ago, the day his own Sarah went to work and never came home.
He had to get out of this house.
He tried to pull his arm away. She held on tight, as if the bony fingers had fused together. He carefully uncurled them one by one, a low moan on her lips as he unpeeled them.
‘No, don’t leave me alone.’
He laid her hand gently on the bed, held it in his until the only sound was a low puffing from between her lips. He scooped up the scattered pills and poured them back into the bottle, put the bottle back on the table, unable to remember where it had been, amongst all the others. He crept out of the room. A board creaked loudly as he stepped back onto the landing. Downstairs, a door opened, then Crow’s voice.
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