by John Locke
“Look at that,” he whispered.
I tried to force myself to relax. I turned my head and followed his gaze and saw nothing, but his eyes were fixed on something. “What, the bird?” It was the only living creature I could detect in front of him.
“Not just any bird,” he whispered. “A Western Tanager.”
When I’m keyed up like that, I’m ready to kill or be killed. I want to kill or be killed. It was hard to focus on the bird. I looked behind us again. The goons’ expressions had never changed, but at least their guns were holstered. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for them, having to guard their nut case of a boss. I got my breathing under control and said, “Western Tanagers: are they rare or something?”
“Not rare,” he said, “but very shy. You almost never see them in such an urban setting. See the bright red face and black wings? That’s the male of the species.”
I couldn’t care less and hoped my expression showed it. DeMeo watched the bird fly off . Then he studied me a moment. “You’ve come a long way for this meeting,” he said. “I should let you conclude your business so you can enjoy our warm climate and friendly atmosphere.” He winked at me.
“Actually, I wanted to talk about your business,” I said.
“To which business are you referring? I have lots of businesses.”
I reminded him that a couple of years ago, he wanted to hire me to kill people who had signed contracts for structured settlements. I asked if he personally okayed each hit.
“This is a very disrespectful question,” he said, “considering I haven’t even patted you down.”
I told him whoever he hired to kill the Dawes family in Montclair had been sloppy. I told him a little girl survived and I wanted him to personally underwrite her medical expenses for a complete facial reconstruction. Further, I wanted him to write a certified cashier’s check to the estate of Greg and Melanie Dawes in the amount of nine million dollars so Addie could try to cope through life with the disability his actions had caused.
DeMeo laughed out loud. “You got some stones,” he said. “I always said that about you.”
“Me and my stones will give you five days to come up with the money.”
DeMeo’s eyes grew hard. “An ultimatum?”
I tried to think about it from his perspective. “Mr. DeMeo, I don’t want to come across as disrespectful. Nine million plus the surgeries, that sounds like a lot of money. But let’s be honest: it’s no more than a bucket of sand off the beach to someone like you. I would consider it a personal favor if you do this thing for this one small girl. In return, I’ll owe you a favor.”
“I can make you stay out my business for all time with a simple hand gesture,” he said.
“And you’ll be dead before I hit the ground.”
“Your giant? We’ve got three people on him.”
“My girl.”
“The blond?”
I nodded.
DeMeo turned to me, made a show of opening his jacket. “I’m just reaching for my phone,” he said. He pressed a key on the touch pad and said, “You have the girl?” Then he said, “Why not?” He turned his attention to me and said, “Nice bluff , but that’s all it is. She’s not here.”
“You believe that, go ahead and give your signal.”
He smiled that Cheshire cat smile again and said, “I don’t think it would have worked out, you working for me.”
Then we parted company.
I took a deep breath. I had faced down Joseph DeMeo and lived. Of course, it didn’t mean much, since Joe had no intention of paying the money.
I made my way to the front of the cemetery and stood a block away from the black sedan and waited for Coop’s signal. Cooper Stewart had been driving limos in the LA area for more than ten years. Before that, he’d been a capable light-heavyweight with a stiff jab. Coop was tall, maybe six five. His rugged face showed extensive scar tissue around the eyes, confirming his status as a journeyman, not a contender. Augustus Quinn knew Coop better than I did, but I’d ridden with him several times and trusted him. Coop gave the signal, and I walked over to the limo and climbed in.
“Your phone rang while you were out there,” Coop said. “About twenty minutes ago.”
I checked the display and found that Janet had called. A large shadow crossed the window, and I looked up and saw Quinn standing a few yards away. Coop flashed him a signal, and Quinn opened the side door and joined me.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“Pretty much the way I thought it would. No sale.”
“What’s our next move?”
I motioned for Quinn to raise the privacy glass so we could talk. Though we trusted Coop, we were in DeMeo’s town. No sense forcing him to choose between us.
“DeMeo made you out there,” I said.
“Yeah, I know,” Quinn said. “He had nine guys surrounding the place.”
“Still,” I said.
“According to Tony,” Quinn said, “they been there since midnight.”
Midnight! No wonder they saw him. “Who’s Tony?”
“One of DeMeo’s guys. At the end, we talked some. He recommended a restaurant, Miceli’s.”
“He’ll probably be waiting there for you with an Uzi,” I said.
Quinn shrugged. “So DeMeo won’t pay. No surprise there. Got a backup plan?”
“We’re going to rob him,” I said.
“Joe DeMeo.”
“Unless you’re scared.”
“How much you taking?”
“Twenty-five million,” I said, “maybe more. Ten for Addie, two for each of us.”
Quinn cocked his head. “That leaves more than ten million on the table.”
“We’ll need some help.”
Quinn nodded. “I’m in.”
We lowered the partition, and I told Coop where to take us. Quinn said, “Hey, Coop, you know a restaurant called Miceli’s?”
“I do,” Coop said. “Pizza’s good; all the waiters sing to you. They got a pie they call the Meat House: pepperoni, sausage, meatballs, salami. If you decide to go there, get that one.”
We turned the corner and passed a couple of protesters holding global warming signs. “Not much of a turnout,” I said.
Coop chuckled. “There’s usually a bunch of them. They got a chart from the fifties, tells them what the average weather used to be. Every day it’s warmer than that, they gather at that corner to bitch about it. But when the weather’s this nice, most of them sneak off to the beach.”
I hit the voice mail button on my cell phone, and my ex-wife Janet shrieked, “You bastard!” She went off on me with such gusto I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Quinn laughed, and Coop just shook his head. I grinned. I mean, I wasn’t happy she was upset, even less happy she blamed me for it, but what was I going to do, right? She finished her screaming fit with a flourish, and Quinn said, “What the hell did you do to her, anyway?”
“She didn’t go into detail,” I said, “but the bottom line is she’s not getting married.”
Coop said, “So … is that bad news? Or good?”
“Bad for me, good for her,” I said. In my mind, I allowed one of my spinning plates to crash.
CHAPTER 19
After her divorce from Donovan Creed three years ago, Janet and Kimberly moved to the sleepy town of Darnell, West Virginia, where Janet’s best friend, Amy, had made a comfortable, happy home after marrying one of Darnell’s native sons.
Amy made it her mission in life to find Janet a husband. Janet gave it a shot, but after two years of dreadful setups, she was about to swear off men completely. Then, suddenly, Amy introduced her to a nice guy from Charleston.
Janet was caught completely off guard by the casually sophisticated Ken Chapman—so much so that a mere eight months of heavy dating led to a wedding announcement.
Kimberly thought her mom was rushing things, but she had to admit, Janet was happy for the first time in years. To her father, Kimberly played down the courts
hip, saying, “I think what’s happening is Mom is talking herself into being in love, but it doesn’t feel right.”
One sunny morning while Janet was straightening up the living room, she opened the front door to find a thin, pretty girl in a sunhat wearing large, round sunglasses. The lady introduced herself as Kathleen Gray and said, “I don’t want to cause you any problems; I just want to talk to you about Ken Chapman.”
Janet stiffened. “Look Miss … whatever your name is …”
“Gray.”
“Miss Gray. I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about, but I’m rather busy right now, so if you don’t mind …”
“But I do mind. I need to ease my conscience. If you’ll allow me the courtesy of three minutes, I promise to never bother you again.”
Janet looked at the manila folder Kathleen was holding. “Whatever you’ve brought,” she said, “I’m not interested.”
Kathleen held out her hand. “Janet,” she said, “Gray is my maiden name. My married name was Chapman. Mrs. Kenneth Chapman.”
Janet’s face flushed crimson. “Miss Gray, I have no interest in anything you have to say about my fiancé. I have an ex-husband of my own, but I don’t go around saying disparaging things about him to everyone he dates.”
Kathleen shook her head. “Really, Janet, you don’t need to be upset. I’m not in Ken’s life, and there are no children involved, so you and I don’t have to be friends. I’m just trying to ease my mind, the same way you might do for the next one who comes along. My story’s short and simple. May I come in?”
“Oh, do come in, by all means,” said Janet, making no effort to hide her sarcasm.
Kathleen took a moment to study the photos of Ken and Janet on the fireplace mantle. Then she turned to face Janet Creed. “I hope it’ll be different for you,” she said. “I really do.”
“Well I’m sure it will be. For one thing, I’m not a pushy person.”
Kathleen smiled. “If you’re ever in my situation someday, I hope you do a better job of it than me.”
“I’m sure I will,” said Janet. “Anything else?”
“Just this.” Kathleen removed her hat and sunglasses. The sight of Kathleen’s blood-red eyes surrounded by massive bruises stunned Janet into silence. There was an egg-sized lump on the side of Kathleen’s head and strangulation marks on her neck. Kathleen unbuttoned her blouse and turned her back to Janet, revealing dozens of black and blue welts that covered her back and shoulders, each the approximate size of a man’s fist.
Janet’s pulse began to race. She felt her throat constricting. Her knees buckled, and she had to put her hand on the back of the sofa to steady herself. By the time Kathleen buttoned her blouse and put her hat back on, Janet regained some of her composure.
“I’m sorry for your condition, Miss Gray, but surely you don’t expect me to believe Ken did this to you. I’ve known him, intimately, for eight months.”
Kathleen’s lip trembled slightly. She nodded.
“Have you been sleeping with him?” asked Janet. “Is that what this is about?”
“No. He did this to me yesterday, as a warning.”
Janet’s world started to whirl. “Warning about what?”
“He didn’t want me to tell you he beat me throughout our marriage.”
Janet felt a sudden rush of nausea. “I don’t believe it,” she said.
Kathleen sighed. “I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t have believed it either. Look, I’m not trying to influence you or tell you how to live. I’m not saying Ken hasn’t changed. I hope he’ll be different with you.”
While Janet found Kathleen’s words impossible to believe, there was something in her voice that rang true. Janet said, “I don’t understand. Did you threaten him somehow? Did you tell him you were planning to see me?”
“That’s the crazy part. I had no intention of talking to you. When he told me he was getting married, I was so relieved! I figured he’d finally leave me alone and move on with his life. I would have been glad to keep my mouth shut. But he showed up on my doorstep yesterday, telling me about how your wedding announcement would be in the paper soon. He knew I’d see it and was afraid I’d make trouble. I told him to get the hell out of my life, but he told me he’d always be there, always around the corner or down the street. I laughed at him and turned away, but that’s something you don’t do to Ken Chapman. You don’t laugh at him. He kicked the screen door open, grabbed me by the neck, and, well, this is the result. He said it was a hint of what would happen if I ever told you or anyone else about what happened in our marriage.”
“And yet here you are.”
“Yes.”
Janet surveyed Ken’s ex. “Miss Gray, I appreciate what you’ve said, but I sincerely doubt you’re telling me the truth.”
“I can live with that.”
Janet shook her head. “Either way, I’m only getting one side of things.”
Kathleen said, “Quite so.” She extended her hand. “Janet, I’ve said what I came to say, and I appreciate your seeing me. My conscience is clear, and I wish you all happiness. I did want to leave these for you.” She placed the manila folder on the table next to the front door. Then she carefully placed her sunglasses over her eyes and let herself out.
Janet didn’t want to look at the folder, didn’t want to touch it, didn’t want to open it, didn’t want it in her house. Even as she saw her hand reaching for it, she told herself not to do it, and that worked—she left it lying there a few extra minutes. Yet she knew she’d eventually reach out and take it and open it, and she knew that when she did, her life would change forever.
The folder contained numerous front and side views of Kathleen’s battered face and torso, and several similar shots of her back and buttocks. Something cold and hard began forming in Janet’s heart as she flipped through page after page of police photos chronicling years of brutal physical abuse. Medical records documented dozens of black eyes, split lips, knocked out teeth, a broken jaw, several broken noses, and numerous broken or cracked ribs. She reviewed the restraining orders, the violations of same, the police reports, and the arrest records.
In the end, Janet broke down and cried for two straight hours.
Then she made three phone calls.
Her first call was to her ex-husband, Donovan Creed. He didn’t answer, so she left a message on his voice mail. She was short and to the point. “You bastard!” she said. “I know you told that woman to give me her files. Maybe I screwed up again, and maybe you saved me from a lot more hurt in the future, and maybe someday I’ll even appreciate what you did. But right now my heart is broken and it’s all your fault and I hate your guts! Don’t call me, Donovan. Don’t even think about it. I hate you! I hate you! So don’t say a fucking word to me!”
Her second call was to her fiancé, the casually sophisticated Kenneth Chapman. “Ken,” she said, “you know my ex-husband is Donovan Creed, and I’ve told you he is one of the top people with the National Security Agency. What you don’t know is that he’s a former assassin for the CIA. You can try checking it out if you don’t believe me.”
Ken paused before answering. “I believe you, honey, and that’s pretty scary, but why are you telling me this now?”
“Because he’s probably going to kill you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s possible that as a personal favor to me, he might agree not to kill you. But he’s a nut job, and I can’t guarantee your safety.”
“Janet, what’s going on? What are you talking about?”
“Donovan sent me a package today. A package filled with photographs and police documents describing in great detail all the violent things you did to your ex-wife, Kathleen.”
“Look, Janet, that’s bullshit. I can explain.”
“Can you?” Janet said. “That’s great, because I can’t wait to hear your explanation. After all, I’m looking at more than thirty pages of documented police evidence. It’s sitting in my lap right n
ow, evidence spanning more than eight years of abuse.”
The line was silent for awhile. Then, in a very small voice, Chapman said, “I’m not denying it. But that was a long time ago. You’ve got to understand, I was bipolar. I had a chemical imbalance. I had to take medicine for years, but I’m over that now. I swear to God. Look, you can call my ex-wife. She’ll tell you.”
Janet thought, Can you believe this guy?
“Yeah, Kenny, old pal, I’m sure Kathleen will say whatever you tell her to say. Listen, I’ve got to run. The wedding’s off. I’ll put the ring in the mail. Do not call me. Do not come near me, or Kimberly, ever again. If you try to contact me in any way, for any reason, I’ll turn Donovan Creed loose on you. Believe me, you don’t want that. Again, if you don’t believe me, ask around.”
The third call Janet made was to her best friend, Amy. She got into it quickly. “Did you know about Ken?”
“Know what, sweetie?”
“Did you know?”
“Uh, you’re kind of weirding me out here, babe. Did I know what?”
“Did … you … know?”
Amy was silent a moment. “Oh, honey,” she sighed, “that was such a long time ago. And anyway, there are always two sides, you know?”
“I have a daughter! How could you not tell me?”
“Janet, I’m begging you, think it over before you rush to judgment. Please. Don’t screw this up.”
“Too late.”
“Let’s get together and talk about it.”
“Drop dead.”
CHAPTER 20
It had been two days since Cincinnati, when I’d made the offer about beating her up and Lauren had asked, “Just for the sake of argument, how much would you have paid?” When I told her, she decided to at least hear me out. So I handed her Kathleen Chapman’s police fi le and watched as she reviewed it. She took her time, studied all the photos carefully, read a portion of each page of the police reports. When at last she finished, she’d looked into my eyes and said, “If you know all this about her, and understand her pain, why would you want to physically assault me?”
