Sometimes it was all about distraction, other times fancy accounting. I was good at both, and if by some chance, I took on more than I could handle, enough people owed me favors to cover my loose ends.
“So you haven’t skipped town?”
“Skipped town? They still use that lingo in the FBI?” I clicked my tongue. “How disappointing.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Why did you run?”
“Run?” I smiled and tilted my head. “Running insinuates I’ve done something illegal. Which I haven’t.”
“You seriously believe your own bullshit, don’t you?”
“It’s not bullshit. Everything I ever did is on paper. Even the IRS doesn’t have a beef with me. Hell, Jeff, I fucked you every night in my bed for over three years and you couldn’t find dirt under my fingernails.”
His smile turned brittle.
“Now, hurry up and tell me what you want. You’re messing up the neighborhood.”
“Nothing particular. I was just in the area and thought I would say hello.”
I laughed. “Jesus Christ, you people seriously need to update your FBI handbook of excuses. That’s almost as bad as, ‘I have some incredible art to show you back at my place.’”
“Worked for you.”
“Yeah, it did. Now I know why you were so quick to take the bait.”
He took a toothpick out of his inside pocket and stuck it between his teeth.
“Gonna have to do more than chew on a splinter, Agent Shaldon, if you have any hopes of blending with the natives. Might want to start with that suit. Nothing screams city boy like a three piece and Italian leather footwear.”
“Maybe I’m looking to introduce some variety.”
I picked up a box of nails and put them in the toolbox. “Go home, Mr. FBI agent, you don’t belong here.”
“You used to like having me around.”
I slammed the toolbox lid shut. “Yeah, well that was before I realized you were a shit-eating liar.”
He took off his sunglasses. “I never lied to you.”
“No. Of course not, Jeff. You just forgot to tell me you were undercover with the FBI. And the fact you copied shipping documents and reported my every move to your superiors was a figment of my imagination.”
“They thought you were involved in human trafficking.”
“Anybody with two functioning brain cells could take one look at my operation and know I wasn’t set up for that kind of thing. And you, of all people, knew I’d eat a bullet before I got involved with anything like that.” I lifted my shirt high enough to show the scar under my right pectoral. “In case you forgot.” Even after a year, the flesh was still tender and turned pink in the shower.
He looked away. “I lied about who I was, but I didn’t lie about the rest.”
“Truth built on a lie is still a lie.”
He opened and closed the earpieces on his sunglasses. I learned a long time ago it meant he had something important to say but wasn’t sure where to start.
And it could only be important if he came all the way from Chicago.
“You want something to drink?” I picked up the toolbox and carried it up the steps.
His gaze flicked from the door to me.
“Yeah, that means you’ll have to come inside. Unless you want to stand out here and work on your tan. Although it’s not exactly the best time of year to lay out in the sun, but at least the mosquitos won’t eat you alive.”
“You sure you don’t mind?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t have asked.” I went inside. The porch steps squeaked, and the screen door whispered.
“Do you want me to shut the door?”
“Nah, trying to air out the place.”
Jeff stopped at the end of the runner where it met the dark cherry hardwood.
“It’s okay to walk on. The finish is dry; it won’t mess up your shoes.”
“It’s not my shoes I’m worried about.” He took a tentative step. “You did this yourself? Never mind. Of course you did.”
“You don’t know that, I might have hired me a couple lowlife FBI agents down on their luck and looking to make a few extra bucks.”
He shook his head. “If you’d hired lowlife FBI agents, they would have used the wrong color finish and tried to fix it by tearing the whole thing back up.”
“More like burn it down and get trapped inside in the process.”
He laughed, and I hated how hearing it made me miss him.
Him. The Jeff I knew. The guy from upstate New York who got kicked out when he told his dad that his new wife tried to make a move on him. The man with a gummy bear addiction that would land most people in a mental ward, couldn’t hold his liquor, was allergic to cats, and sang like a canary when I fucked him from behind.
And maybe he was still was that Jeff, but when he couldn’t give his people the dirt they wanted, he used me to try to get to the people who would make them happy.
That was my eye-opener. The moment that forced me to realize my style of business had gone out decades ago and I didn’t have the stomach to do what it took to not wind up a victim statistic on the list of FBI gun violence report.
“This will be a really nice place when you get finished with it.” He ran a hand over the wall. “Real wood.”
“Yup.”
“Must have cost a fortune.”
“It wasn’t cheap, no. But I wanted the place as close to original as possible.”
“So you must be doing pretty well then.”
I rolled my eyes. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“It’s just a question.”
“Nothing with you is just a question.” Too bad it took me three years to figure that out. Never claimed I was the brightest crayon in the box. “C’mon. I’ll fix you a glass of tea.”
I took out the pitcher and two glasses. The sunlight hit the edge and made elongated triangles on the counter. I ran a finger through the spot of light.
“Something wrong?”
“Nah. You want lemon?”
“No thanks.”
I poured two glasses and brought them to the table. Jeff stood with his hand on the back of a chair.
“You can sit down if you want.”
“Sorry.” He took a seat. “I was just admiring the place.” He nodded at the stove. “Does that use wood?”
“Yeah.”
“And you plan on cooking on it?”
“Hell no. Not only would it take an hour to heat up a bowl of soup, I’d die of heat exhaustion in the summer. I’m using a countertop hot plate until I find a used stove I can afford.”
He cut me a look. “You can’t afford a stove?”
“I’m sure you’ve seen my savings accounts by now, so you know the answer to your question.”
Jeff took a swig of tea and almost choked. I grabbed a napkin and handed it to him.
“You act like you’ve never had iced tea before.”
“Yeah, tea, not syrup.”
I raised the glass. “Sun brewed, thank you very much.”
He wiped his mouth.
“C’mon, it’s not that bad.”
“I didn’t say it’s bad, it’s just really sweet. Caught me off guard.” He looked in his glass.
“Just water, sugar, some dead greenery, and a day’s worth of sun, promise.”
He managed to keep the next mouthful down but still scrunched his nose up. “And you drink this?”
“Every day, by the buckets.”
“I guess it’s an acquired taste.” He set the glass down on the napkin.
“I sure hope they don’t try to put you undercover anywhere past Virginia, you wouldn’t last a day before you wound up as feed for someone’s hogs.”
“They don’t really do that.”
I arched an eyebrow.
“Okay, so there’ve been a few rare instances.”
“Rare instances? Or just rarely caught.”
He tried to laugh, but it fell short. “Qu
it fucking with me.”
“If I was fucking with you, I’d have you bent over the counter.” His cheeks reddened, and I didn’t even attempt to hold back my smile. “As for the rest? Pigs do eat anything and everything. Kind of hard to prove there’s been a crime when there’s nothing left.”
“There’s always something left.” He said it like a challenge. “DNA, hair, blood, skin.”
“Good luck trying to dig all that out of three feet of pig shit.”
The flush in Jeff’s cheeks faded as quickly as it had appeared.
I rattled the ice in my glass. “What the hell attracted you to the FBI? You’ve never had the kind of stomach a person needs to deal with the kind of shit they see.”
“It wasn’t my first choice.”
“Really?”
“You’d know that if you’d stuck around long enough to ask.”
“I don’t make a habit of rubbing elbows with pit vipers.”
“They knew you were innocent. They had the proof in years’ worth of intel. You didn’t have anything to worry about.” He fumbled with his napkin.
“You never were a very good liar.”
“I fooled you.” He clenched his eyes shut for a moment.
“Yeah, you did. But only because I broke the rules and let myself get led around by my dick.”
Jeff started to take a sip but put the glass back down. “How did this happen?”
I shrugged. “Which part? You backstabbing me, me getting shot, or trying to fix the mess you and your buddies made that almost got a lot of people killed? Take your pick. And if you don’t like 'em, there’s more, those are just the first three off the top of my head.”
“I meant what I said about how I felt.”
I leaned back in my seat. Jeff Shaldon, or Jeff Myers as I knew him. Dark hair, blue eyes, pretty, but built on testosterone and sculpted by a high-dollar gym membership. There wasn’t a damn thing out of place. Even the scars he’d earned made him all the more desirable. He was the first guy I’d ever considered bottoming for, but for some reason, I could never go through with it. My subconscious must have known something I didn’t.
It was rare to see him with his shields down. Rarer to see him vulnerable. Sitting across from me at the kitchen table, he was a gaping wound.
That wasn’t like him either. He was either truly sorry or… A much better liar than I ever gave him credit for.
“So where do they have the mic? On your chest or your crotch.”
Crow’s feet appeared at the corner of each of his eyes.
“Maybe I should get on my knees, you know, to make sure they get everything loud and clear.” I looked under the table. “Can you hear me now?”
“I took it off.”
I propped my elbow on the table.
Jeff ran his hand over the top of his head. “I told them you’d make me in five minutes and putting a wire on me wouldn’t help.”
I checked my watch. “I must be slipping, that took at least fifteen.”
“You were distracted.” He shrugged.
“And you give yourself too much credit.” I emptied my glass. When I stood, I took Jeff’s untouched drink with me to the sink. “What were they hoping for? That I’d confess my love in between rattling off my imaginary black book and bank account numbers?”
“Probably. But they learned a long time ago you were too smart for that.”
“See, now you’re giving me too much credit.”
“Like you said, there isn’t a grain of proof you’ve ever done anything illegal.”
“Maybe because I haven’t.” I held his gaze when I said it. The confidence in his eyes dimmed a little. I gestured toward the front door. “You know the way out.”
“I haven’t even told you why I’m here.”
“Maybe I don’t give a shit.”
“I think you will.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been wrong. The door is that way.” I pointed just in case he’d forgotten.
Jeff stood and pushed in his chair. “Two minutes.”
“Two minutes too long.”
“I’m only asking for two minutes of your time. Just hear me out.”
“Why?”
“Because you owe me.”
How quick a man could forget someone taking a bullet for him. I dug my fingers into the counter to keep my fist from flying out and connecting with his face. Last thing I needed was to assault an FBI agent. No matter how bad he deserved it.
“Start talking.”
“Carson Lorado has been in touch with a lot of your clients.”
“It’s a free country.”
“He’s up to something.”
“Probably looking for business.”
“We don’t think so.”
“Then what else could it be?”
“No clue. But what we do know, is that he made trips to Egypt, Russia, and Cuba.”
“That’s an odd combination.”
“Exactly. His movements don’t make a bit of sense. We were hoping you might have a way to find out what he’s up to.”
I crossed my arms. “You’re the guys with the millions in surveillance equipment.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
No, he wanted my contacts. The nonexistent little black book, at least outside my head. “Discretion, Jeff. It’s the number one rule. Right up there next to trust. Which I realize is a difficult concept for you to grasp.”
“Damn it, Grant.” He knocked his chair into the table. “This is serious. Carson is up to something and whatever it is it’s huge. So big that Ruford and Zada closed up shop and got out of town.”
Old-timers, but they’d evolved with the current market, moving from money laundering to drugs and guns.
They were men who shot first but made sure to aim for the knees. Then they’d pick your bullet holes while they asked questions. You lie, you died slow and painful. You told the truth and they’d make it a clean shot to the head.
They were not men who scared easily, and they were not men who gave up their business without bloodshed and a body count.
“Now do you understand?” Jeff said.
“Your two minutes are up. Should I walk you out?”
Jeff smoothed out his tie. I never imagined he’d look so good in a suit. And he did look good. “It’s okay, I know the way.”
“Jeff.”
He stopped in the doorway.
“Do me a favor. Next time you want to talk to me, call me on the phone. No need to waste the taxpayer’s dollars so we can yell at each other in person.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t happy. “Tax payers didn’t pay for my plane ticket. I did.”
With that, he left.
********
I blame my trip to Toolies on Jeff showing up at my door. Or maybe I just really needed a beer. Either way, I went, and Jessie had a glass from the tap on the counter before I made it across the room.
I’d waited until late in the evening, hoping since it was a Thursday, the place would be dead. It wasn’t crawling, but there were more liquored-up people than I’d expected.
A group of young guys took up a line of tables. Their shouts and laughter drowned out whatever broken heart song leaked from the jukebox.
I sat at the bar.
“Bachelor Party.” Jessie propped an elbow on the counter. “Preacher’s daughter is getting hitched.”
“Congrats.”
“For the third time.”
I choked on a mouthful of beer.
“Go easy on that. You drown on your beer and you’ll make me look bad.”
I wiped up the droplets with a napkin. “Can’t have that.”
“Nope. Sure can’t. So, where you been? I thought you and me hit it off and you’d be a regular.”
“Been working on my house.”
“Fall in on you yet?”
The grin on my face made my cheeks hurt. “It hasn’t fallen in, but I have gone through the floor a few times.”
“Ruined two pairs of jeans.”
“Wear them anyways.”
“They look like Swiss cheese.”
“Don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but ragged out is back in style.”
I couldn’t help but think of Morgan. People moved around the bar, and others watched TV.
“He’ll be out in a bit,” Jessie said.
“Who?”
He raised an eyebrow at me, and I picked at a spot on the counter.
“I think it’s a good thing, myself,” he said.
This was not a conversation I wanted to have right then. “Business good?”
“Steady. Especially this time a year with all the truck drivers coming through. When it gets close to Christmas, it’ll get rough, then go dead until after New Year’s. I’d take a vacation in February, but the regulars would probably break in and raid the tap while I was gone.”
“Gotta love dedicated customers.”
“Want me to get you a burger?”
“No thanks. Wait. I thought the kitchen closed at nine.”
“Usually does. But with a bunch of drunk guys, I figured to keep them fed and they can buy more beer. A win-win situation.”
Someone at the other end yelled for a drink. Jessie knocked on the counter. “If you change your mind, holler and I’ll get you a plate.”
“You got it.”
He grabbed liquor bottles from the shelf and went to refill shot glasses.
Another tune came on the jukebox, sounding like the one before. Someone laughed high and loud, and the bachelor crowd let out a cheer. There wasn’t a game on so there was no telling what they were happy about.
Considering it was twelve twenty-something year olds doing all the yelling, it could have been anything.
They passed vulgar hand gestures back and forth. I bet none of them had ever built a house by the time they were twenty-two. It wouldn’t have surprised me if a few of them had never even held a job. I was also willing to bet every single one of those guys would fall for a certain toothpick prank.
“Hey, you.”
I turned on reflex. So did several other people sitting at the counter. But the trucker and his girlfriend weren’t talking to any of us.
Morgan cleared at the neighboring booth.
The trucker snapped his beefy fingers like he was calling a dog to heel. “Boy, I’m talking to you.”
In The Absence Of Light Page 5
