Frames Per Second

by Bill Eidson

  “Please,” he said. His face was gray in that light.

  She continued, the words spilling out. “Subheads clarifying that it was the blackmail of a senator. And that you tried to frame my ex-husband. I’ll handle your motivation and our financial ruin in the body copy, what do you say? I think I’ll be able to handle it more sensitively there.” Her voice rose and she couldn’t stop herself. “But I’ll have to interview you. I’ll have to ask you again, What the hell were you thinking?’’

  When Kurt looked at her without saying anything, she said, “Damn it, Kurt. We had everything here. I loved you. The children were trying their best.”

  “Did you love me?” Kurt’s voice was a harsh whisper. “Or were you just reacting to him? Moving on from him to someone you thought would be safer?”

  “I thought I loved you. But it’s not a good time to ask.”

  Internally, she tried the rubrics she had handed down over the years: People Make Mistakes. Forgiveness is an Essential Component of Every Relationship. But then there was also Abusive Relationships Only Get Better When You Get Out.

  Andi didn’t pass any of those pearls on to Kurt.

  She didn’t have the heart to do that.

  Nor the biggie, of course: Did I Make a Terrible Mistake Divorcing My First Husband?

  She had never been able to forgive Ben for what he had done to Father Caldwell. More accurately, she could never forgive Ben for showing the world that she was partner to the invasive, grasping press. She hated that about herself, that for all her advice, published and otherwise, she had never found it in herself to forgive Ben for making her look bad.

  She was determined not to make the same mistake again.

  Kurt tried to put his arm around her. “You’ll see,” he said.

  She shrank away. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

  Part of her did. Most of her wanted to scream it. Use the words that flickered through her head: Blackmailer. Liar. Coward.

  Most of her wanted to send him away, never see him again.

  “Is this it?” he said. She saw the desperation in his face, the raw fear of being left behind.

  She saw the opening. The bright release. Nod, and tell him to go. End this mess now. Best for her and the kids. Do what she’d done with Ben, walk away when things got too tough.

  She took a deep breath, and said. “Time. That’s all I can give you. No promises other than that.”

  “How much?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, sharply. “Don’t ask me anything else.”

  In spite of everything, she believed his intentions were rooted in insecurity. That everything he’d done was to hold on to them. Hold on to her and the kids.

  “I’ll sleep here tonight.” His voice was hoarse.

  She nodded. Thinking, tomorrow … tomorrow they’d make up the guest room. Tomorrow they’d figure something out …

  She was so tired.

  She left him alone without another word.

  And it must have been sometime after that he had gone up to the office to consider the photos of the imprisoned women. Thinking God knows what. She certainly didn’t know.

  Looking up from the pictures, Lainnie tried a more direct approach. “Don’t you wish Daddy still lived with us?”

  “No, sweetie.” Andi looked her daughter in the eye and said, as steadily as she could, “I’m married to Kurt now.”

  CHAPTER 35

  BEN AND SARAH WAITED IN THE VAN DIAGONALLY ACROSS THE street from McGuire’s office throughout the morning. Either he was inside or he had not yet arrived.

  Sarah had been quiet for much of the morning. She was sitting beside Ben on the foam exercise pad he kept on the van floor to ease the pressure on his knees. Her fingers made staccato bursts on her computer keyboard, revealing her mood.

  Ben let her be.

  Outside, the temperature rose and it became stifling in the van. But running the engine to use the air conditioner was a bit too obvious for surveillance work. He turned on a small exhaust fan that at least moved the air around a bit.

  Sarah’s collar was open. A tendril of hair clung to her neck, damp with perspiration.

  “Another thing,” she said, even though more than an hour had passed since she last spoke to him. “Give me a call the night before we do a stakeout will you? So I can dress a little more appropriately.”

  Despite the heat, despite that she was justifiably angry at him, Ben wanted to kiss her in the worst way. All morning, he had been wiping the sweat that formed around the eyepiece, looking over at her, then turning back to the camera. Taking the stony silence as his due.

  With this, however, he reached over and undid the second button on her blouse. She looked down at his hand, then up at his eyes. He did another, watching her eyes the whole time.

  There was a dangerous gleam there, something that might lead to a slap, but she didn’t stop him.

  Another button.

  “You think we’re going to do this in the back of your smelly old van?”

  Another button.

  “In the middle of the day, on a busy street? When I’m angry at you?”

  “Curtains.” His voice was husky. “We’ve got curtains.”

  Her blouse fell open.

  He grazed her breasts with the back of his hand. The material of her brassiere was sheer and her nipples stiffened. He pushed the blouse from her shoulders.

  “And my being angry?”

  “Let’s use it.”

  “Mmmm,” she said. And then she reached behind her and the brassiere fell away.

  Afterwards, she said, “Style. You’ve really got a lot of style. Taking me in the back of your van.”

  “I’m not proud of it,” he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “Excited, maybe, but not proud.”

  “Least you can do is buy me lunch.”

  “We’ve got to keep a lookout for our boy here. Lunch would be subs and coffee in the back of the same old van.”

  “Uh-uh,” she said. “Despite the, ah … romance of this van, I’m truly ready for a change. And my thinking’s a little better after our interlude. So let’s try the obvious.” She took out her cell phone and punched in a number.

  “Who’re you calling?”

  “McGuire,” she said.

  Ben sat back. When her call was answered, she adopted a sweet, obtuse, and slightly insistent tone. “Hello, my name is Danielle Keating and I was calling for the owner… . Well, I’ll be happy to discuss that with him. Is he in? Uh-huh. Excuse me, but I think that’s my business. Who’d you say the owner was? Uh-huh. Well, I’m a customer… . OK, I should have said a potential customer. In any case, I’m calling because me and Bunny are in a position to make a purchase soon… . Well, when will Mr. McGuire be in? We’re free late this afternoon, about five? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Well, it says right here in the white pages Bayside Realty Corporation and Bunny and I are looking for a condo right overlooking the water so if that doesn’t represent what your business does, somebody ought to look twice at your name. Tonight we’re—”

  She stopped, lifting her eyebrows with amusement.

  Then she continued, her voice hushed with outrage. “There’s no reason to behave like this, Miss. And I can assure you if I ever run across Mr. McGuire I will let him know of your—”

  Sarah looked at Ben with shocked wonder. “The little bitch. Hung up on a potential customer.’’

  “Bunny?” Ben asked.

  “Sort of name I thought would push her buttons. And it did.”

  “I didn’t know you had that kind of voice in you.”

  “Well, sure.” She smiled brightly and batted her lashes before continuing in her own voice. “Suzanne not only told me Mr. McGuire wasn’t in and that he wouldn’t be interested in any pid- dlyshit condo deals …”

  “She said ‘piddlyshit?’”

  Sarah held up her right hand. “I quote, ‘He’s not interested, lady. Tonight, he’ll be on his boat, swinging deals a hundred times worth your p
iddlyshit condo deal.’ “

  Ben grinned. “Scares me how well you do that …”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “… but it’s a nice piece of information. If we knew where he kept his boat we’d have a next step.”

  Sarah smiled and reached into her file. “I found it through boat registration. Right on the island. Nahant Yacht Club. A forty-foot sportsfisherman. Speed Dreams.”

  “Hey …” Ben said, pulling at her file.

  She snatched it away.

  He said, “You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “This from the guy who just seduced me in the back of his van,” she said.

  “What else have you got?”

  “Stuff. Buy me lunch first.”

  He spread his arms wide. “You name it.”

  “That charming little place in South Boston where you met your friend. Sean Deegan, was it?”

  “It’s a dive.” He checked his watch as he started the engine.

  “We have time.” She looked at her watch. “It’ll be another hour before he’s sloshed.”

  They waited out front of the Waterford Men’s Tavern until they saw Deegan heading toward the door. Ben and Sarah got out. Deegan shook his head slightly at the two of them, but then continued past the door of the bar. Ben took Sarah by the elbow, and crossed the street.

  They walked along the opposite side, slightly behind Deegan until he took his second right. They crossed the street and followed alongside, again on the opposite side. They continued on three more streets like this until they had in effect circled behind the bar. Deegan stopped in front of a liquor store, and looked back at Ben before continuing on slowly.

  “Looks like we’ve got a stop to make,” Ben said.

  When they came out, Deegan was just turning the corner at the end of the block. Halfway down the next, he stopped and opened the right-hand door of a sagging two-family house.

  Minutes later, when Ben turned the handle on the same door, he found it was unlocked.

  Deegan was waiting at the top of the stairs. He pointed at Sarah. “Who’s she?”

  Ben introduced her as they climbed up to the landing.

  “Huh. I barely know who the hell you are and you’re bringing broads around already.”

  “‘Broad,’“ Sarah said, grinning. “I haven’t heard that in a while.”

  Ben said, “She’s Peter’s replacement.”

  “Send somebody that good-looking, somebody should’ve bombed Gallagher years ago.”

  Ben glanced at Sarah, but her expression remained friendly, open.

  “What’ve you got for me?” Deegan asked.

  Ben opened the bag to reveal a bottle of scotch and a six-pack of Budweiser longneck bottles.

  Deegan waved Ben and Sarah into his apartment. As he closed the door behind them, he said, “Next time, buy the imported shit, willya? I may be a broken-down old Southie cop, but I’ve still got some taste.”

  The room was surprisingly neat. It smelled of an unwashed old man, the very same sitting in front of them. But the bed in the corner was made, the dishes in the sink were clean. Deegan opened a porch door that looked out onto the aluminum siding of the building beside them. The smell of salt air mingled with those of the street below: car exhaust, a faint whiff of garbage. And crap. Lots of dog crap on the sidewalks, Ben remembered.

  The room was crowded with furniture that was too big for the room. An old dining room table, low hutch, big plaid sofa. Pictures along the top of the hutch of a family: two kids and wife, and a younger, healthier looking Deegan.

  Sarah’s eyes lingered on the pictures for a moment, and Deegan saw her looking. “This ain’t a museum,” he snapped.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He looked mollified, and perhaps a little embarrassed. “Excuse my manners,” he said, opening the bag. “I run sort of a double life here. Get up and puke in the morning. Spend a couple hours getting myself in shape. Clean the place up a little, maybe make myself a sandwich or something. Get out, shoot the shit with some buddies. Sometimes learn things that way. Mostly learn things by hanging out in places acting just a whore’s heart more drunk than I really am. So I don’t like people like you looking at my old life.” He took a flat church key from his front pocket and opened one of the beers. He put the rest in the refrigerator, and came back and opened the seal from the pint of scotch, and placed a small, clean shot glass beside it and filled it to the top.

  “OK,” he said, knocking the shot back, and then chasing it with a long swallow of beer. He shook his head, as if clearing it, and then said with rueful satisfaction, “Jesus, it’s a shame this stuff is killing me. It sure is sweet when you need it. Now what do you want to know and how much money have you got?”

  “Names,” she said, sliding out the video grab picture that Ben had taken inside McGuire’s office. “Do you know either of these guys?”

  Deegan stared at the photo. Ben watched his eyes widen slightly and then he sat back, relaxed, and took another long swallow of beer. “So what about the money?”

  She said, “I know who this is.” She pointed to the red-haired man.

  Ben looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

  “Like you’ve been sharing a hundred percent,” she said.

  She returned her attention to Deegan and pointed to the man next to McGuire. “But if you can identify this guy, I’ll even top what Mister Moneybags here spent on you last time. Fifty.’’

  “Oh, I like this girl,” Deegan said, chuckling. “That’s how to treat an informant.” He jerked his thumb over at Ben. “This camera geek didn’t know what was right. I was too under the weather to argue last time.”

  “He tries hard,” she said. She pulled out a fifty and put it on the table, her hand on top.

  “Simple fifty,” Deegan said. “Know of him, don’t know him personally. Bill Taves. Worked for Pratt Construction. You know who Pratt was?”

  Ben said. “A scandal, right?”

  “Uh-huh. Bobby Pratt I knew since we were kids. He was a local success story. Construction sites all over Boston first, then all over the country.”

  “He was legit?” Ben asked.

  “Who can tell? He always looked that way. Good kid, one of those altar boys that guys like me used to torture in high school. Him, he was a little too tough for that, though. He had a rep for being fair with his workers, a rep for trying to steer clear of Bulger, and after him, Pat Clooney. But in the past couple of years, Billy Taves went to work for him.” Deegan touched the back of Sarah’s hand as if they were old friends. She failed to let go of the money.

  Deegan grimaced. “OK, I’d say the one job Pratt was most famous for people think he was a crook. The one where that bridge in New York collapsed. The one that dropped a half dozen cars into the drink, what? Last February? Not one of the people made it out alive. Fifteen people killed in all, men, women, and three kids.”

  Ben remembered the name then. He had been in Bosnia when it broke, but he remembered the tail end of it. Big story. Big scandal. Repair work on the bridge had been done so shoddily as to weaken it further. Materials that were purchased were never actually delivered or installed. Inspectors paid off.

  And Pratt, facing criminal charges, disappeared. His car was found at the airport, his suitcases were gone. But his wife and kids were left crying that he would never have abandoned them. The newspapers speculated openly that he might be dead.

  “Wasn’t Taves hurt on this?” Ben asked.

  “You kidding? He was a ‘consultant’ who managed to come up with all sorts of memos and witnesses where he had stated his concerns about the project and was able to cast himself as the expert that Pratt brushed aside while stuffing his pockets.”

  “And here Taves is now, sitting down with McGuire.”

  Sarah nodded. “And with Teddy Stockard, one of the biggest wannabe contractors on the Greater Harbor project.”

  “Huh. Jimbo’s playing with high stakes. That traffic jam out on the expresswa
y you went through to get here is part of the Greater Harbor project. Ripping up the whole damn highway, replacing it with wider roads, new tunnel, the works. Burning up money by the truckload.”

  “And here is McGuire acting as host to Stockard,” Ben said.

  Deegan looked at the picture more closely and shook his head. “Nah. Not host. See the way he’s sitting there? See the way these guys are looking at him?” Deegan held up the pint bottle. “I’ll bet you a fifth of this that he’s the boss. He’s finally turning out just the way his uncle wanted him to turn out … and not a minute too soon.”

  “Meaning?” Ben asked.

  “Meaning I opened my ears about any rumors about Jimbo since the last time you came around. There’s whispers about one of their soldiers, guy by the name of Dawson. He was killed. Burned alive. You hear about that?”

  “Sounds familiar,” Ben said.

  “Well, rumor is Jimbo had something to do with it, and that it was the last straw with Uncle Pat. Everybody’s looking at Jimbo now, see if he’s going to grow up or disappoint the old man one more time. And looking at Uncle Pat to see if he’ll keep his word or just keep bailing out little Jimbo.”

  “What do you think?” Ben asked.

  “That’s something I wouldn’t even risk a beer on,” Deegan said. “Too close to tell.”

  Sarah and Ben looked at each other, and then she pushed over the fifty.

  “One other thing,” Ben said, taking a twenty out of his wallet.

  “Aw, haven’t you learned anything?” Deegan said.

  “Just a simple introduction to save us some time. Should be nothing for a guy like you who’s been here on the water all your life.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A boat,” Ben said. “We’re going to need a boat.”

  CHAPTER 36

  SARAH LOOKED AT HER WATCH AS SHE AND BEN LEFT DEEGAN’S apartment. “We’ve got time. What do you say we chase some paper?”

  “Exactly what paper would we be chasing?”

  She shaded her eyes and looked at him. “Sounds like Jimbo has moved into the big leagues. Greater Harbor contracts aren’t that easy to come by at the level he seems to be working, right?”