Devil's Deception

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “You love me,” he said triumphantly. “That can’t change. Ever.”

  “I want you to leave,” she whispered.

  “I’ll go, but I’ll be back.”

  “I won’t see you.”

  He went to his room for the last time, picking up the gym bag he’d brought with him when he arrived. It was all he carried. He still traveled light.

  Angela looked at him with the bag in his hand and remembered how he’d looked when he’d arrived, so tall and strong and capable, as if he could solve any problem with his careful attention. But this was a problem he couldn’t solve. This was a problem he’d created.

  “I’m not giving up,” he said, holding her gaze.

  “I don’t care what you do.”

  Devlin put his hand on the doorknob and turned to look at her. Angela faced him down, willing herself not to cry again or reveal the turmoil she was feeling.

  His eyes moved over her face, the lashes lowering as his gaze fell to her mouth. Was he remembering the taste of her lips, as she recalled the taste of his? Then he looked into her eyes once more and she sensed her resolve faltering. She steeled herself to resist him.

  He seemed to be waiting for some word, a sign that she might change her mind in the future, give him a second chance when she calmed down. Angela would say nothing.

  Devlin tried to absorb her features one by one, imprint them on his memory for the time when his memory of her would be all he had. Her face was streaked with tears, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, strands of it caught in her collar. Her lower lip trembled with the effort of maintaining control, but her eyes, still wet with recent tears, were steady. She looked a miserable and disillusioned sixteen and she was not going to ask him to stay.

  “Goodbye,” he said.

  “Goodbye,” she replied coolly, standing ready to shut the door as soon as he went through it.

  “For now,” he added.

  “Forever,” she said, and turned away, folding her arms.

  Devlin left.

  As soon as the door closed behind him Angela collapsed in stormy tears, leaning with her back against the wall, her hands hanging limply at her sides.

  “Damn you,” she whispered, as if he were still there to hear. “Oh, damn you, Brett Devlin.” She allowed herself the luxury of a draining, cathartic bout of weeping. Then, hiccuping and gasping for breath, she made her way to the Queen Anne chair next to the fireplace and dropped into it.

  What was she going to do now? The thought of the empty days and weeks ahead without him loomed like an eternity of loneliness. She began to shake uncontrollably, and in an effort to warm herself she took the box of matches from the marble mantelpiece and lit the fire that Josie had laid on the hearth before she left. In minutes the radiant heat took the chill from the room, and Angela stared moodily into the flames.

  Her mind was a twisting mass of tortured images: Devlin when she first met him, withdrawn and watchful; then as he was the night they spent at the library, a pencil caught between his teeth, his brow furrowed as he skimmed through her books. She saw his sudden, blinding smile, the way he threw his head back in abandonment when he laughed. And finally, unbidden, rose the most painful picture, Devlin the first time they made love: fierce, ardent, his eyes closing in an excess of pleasure.

  Hot tears slipped soundlessly from under her lids, coursing into her mouth. She tasted the salt of her own sorrow and knew that she could not endure this night alone. The walls were closing in on her and the time until dawn stretched ahead, seconds and minutes and hours filled with lacerating, unbearable memories. She bolted from the chair and grabbed for the phone, punching the buttons of Josie’s number automatically.

  Josie’s daughter, Maria, answered.

  “Maria, this is Angela Patria. Is your mother there?” Angela managed somehow to keep the emotion out of her voice.

  “No, Miss Patria, she took the afternoon off to get a dress, remember? She’s gone to my cousin’s bridal shower.”

  Angela’s spirits plummeted even further.

  “Oh, of course, she told me. I just forgot.”

  “Is anything wrong?” the girl said.

  So she wasn’t as successful at disguising her misery as she’d hoped.

  “Don’t bother your mother, Maria, I’ll see her tomorrow. She’ll be getting home late from the party so just tell her I called.”

  “No message?”

  “No, no message. Thanks, Maria. Good-bye.” She hung up the phone, thinking about the bridal shower. Well, at least somebody was happy.

  Then she picked up the receiver again. Holly should be home.

  “Yeah?” Holly said distractedly in greeting. This did not bode well; Holly was either deep in a constitutional case or a tuna casserole.

  “It’s Angela, are you busy?”

  “Just trying to figure out why this second circuit judge decided that the first amendment was a thing of the past.”

  “I was wondering if you could come over for a little while.”

  “Gee, I don’t know, this case is a jungle and Chris is due back any minute. He hasn’t had dinner yet.”

  “Could you leave him a note? I really would appreciate it if you could come over.” Angela made it as far as the last word and then her voice broke. She held the phone away as she began to sob.

  Holly heard it anyway. “Angela?” Her voice came hollowly from the receiver. “Angela, answer me!”

  “I’m here,” Angela said, moving the phone back to her mouth.

  “You’re crying, aren’t you? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s, oh, God, I can’t go into it over the phone. Can you just please get here?”

  “I’ll be there as fast as I can. Sit tight and wait.” The line went dead.

  Angela replaced the receiver, thanking heaven for true friends. Holly would make it from Brooklyn in record time; she was as faithful as a Spartan on patrol.

  Angela went to the first floor powder room and splashed her face with cold water, avoiding glancing in the mirror at her red and swollen eyes. She dried her face on one of the guest towels and moved slowly to the kitchen, where she downed a tall glass of cold water.

  Very good, Angela, she commended herself. Washing, drinking, you’re still functioning. You’re not going to disintegrate into a heap of rubble after all. She made her way back to the chair next to the fire and waited for the doorbell to ring.

  She jumped when it did, startled out of her reverie. Holly burst past Angela when she opened the door, glancing around the room.

  “What is it, what happened?” she panted, turning to search Angela’s face.

  “Thanks for coming,” Angela said, shutting the door.

  “Where’s Brett?” Holly demanded.

  “Gone.”

  “Gone where? Isn’t he supposed to be staying with you all the time?”

  Angela smiled bitterly. “His services are no longer required. But then they were never really required in the first place.”

  Holly sighed, her shoulders dropping. “Okay, I think you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

  “Come in and sit down. This is going to take a while.”

  Holly unbuttoned her coat, threw it over a chair, and sank onto one of the love seats. She kicked off her loafers and tucked her feet under her. She regarded Angela expectantly.

  Angela recited the whole story while Holly listened in an increasingly stunned silence. It was indicative of

  her state of shock that she didn’t interrupt with a single comment or question. Holly was normally a chatterer, but when surprised she responded with absolute quiet.

  When Angela finally stopped talking Holly got up and went to the bar. She consumed two fingers of straight vodka, gasping.

  “No wonder you sounded the way you did when you called me. I can’t believe this,” Holly whispered.

  Angela gestured helplessly. “How do you think I felt when he told me? I don’t think all of it has penetrated yet.”

  “You’r
e saying that Brett was . . . is . . . an agent for the federal government?” Holly asked, sitting down again.

  “Right.”

  “And he maintains that your uncle is a drug smuggler.”

  Angela turned her hands out, palms up, and laughed without humor. “Correct. Sounds like the plot of a grade B flick, doesn’t it? I’m living in a Republic Studios movie.” She threw up her hands.

  “Could it possibly be true, about your uncle I mean?” Holly went on.

  “Come on, Holly, you’ve met him. Does he look like a gangster to you?”

  Holly shrugged. “Who knows? You never see him; he’s rarely here. He could be doing anything and you wouldn’t know about it.”

  “I don’t believe it. I have no proof that it isn’t true, but it seems far more likely that the government is trying to collect on an old tax score. They were never able to get him for evasion, you know, and they tried very, very hard. He was in the courts for years.”

  “Do you think they would go to such trouble to set him up just for that reason?”

  “Now you sound like Devlin,” Angela said disgustedly.

  “But did you ever read anything you carried for him? Did you ever examine his books or check his mail?”

  “No, of course not. Why should I? I didn’t suspect him of anything. And in my head I’m already preparing a malicious prosecution case against the feds.”

  “Good Lord, drugs, it gives me the shivers just to think about it,” Holly said. “It can’t be true.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  “But then why would Brett lie about it?”

  “How should I know? He’s done nothing but lie since I met him. It would be running true to form,” Angela replied bitterly.

  “Angela, I’m awfully sorry about the way things turned out with him,” Holly said quietly.

  “I know you are.”

  “He really did seem to care about you.”

  “Yes, I know. He’s a very good actor. They trained him quite well.”

  “Are you still in love with him?”

  Angela didn’t answer for a moment, and then said, “I wish I weren’t. You would think that all this would have killed it, but even knowing what he was, what he’d done, I had to force myself to tell him to leave. Then I had to force myself not to beg him to stay.”

  “Love doesn’t stop that easily,” Holly said sympathetically.

  “He’s the only one for me, Holly. I’ll never feel that way again about anybody else. I’ll love him forever.” She bit her lip, forestalling tears. “And look who I picked!” She put her fist against her mouth.

  Holly got up and sat on the arm of Angela’s chair, putting her hands on Angela’s shoulders. “It’s all right, it’s all right,” she said comfortingly.

  Angela shook her head. “It’s not all right. My life is a rotten mess.” She turned to look up into Holly’s face. “I feel like such a fool.”

  “You’re not a fool. Any woman in your position would have fallen in love with him, being with him every day, sharing his life the way you did. After all, the man can melt any female within ten feet with a glance. You’re only human, Angela.”

  “That’s why they sent him,” Angela replied. “They knew he would be able to wrap me around his finger, that I would believe anything he said.”

  Holly stood up. “I wouldn’t go that far. They probably sent him because he’s good at his job. I doubt if the government thinks in terms of susceptible females.”

  “Devlin did. He saw me and said, ‘Here’s a ripe one. A few kisses and I’ll have her eating out of my hand. All the better for my nasty little plan.’”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Angela. It’s over.”

  “I hit him,” Angela said, almost to herself.

  “What?”

  “I threw my drink in his face and then I hit him. I hit him so hard, he had the marks of my fingers on his face.” She drew a quavering breath. “I never thought I could hit anyone.”

  “I might have done more,” Holly said tightly. She leaned against the fireplace mantel, warming her legs. “What will happen to your uncle now?”

  Angela shrugged. “The government authorities will arrest him if he tries to come home, and they’ll extradite him for trial if he doesn’t. Either way, they’ll get him. He’ll be bound over for trial and his assets will probably be frozen, too. He won’t even be able to make bail.” She smiled grimly. “If the rest of Devlin’s colleagues are as efficient as he is, they’ll have Uncle Frank tied up in knots before he knows what hit him.”

  “Do you think bail will be refused?”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  “Does this mean you’ll have no money either?” Holly asked worriedly.

  “I have enough of my own to last for a while, at least to let me finish school. Then I can get a job. I planned on getting one anyway.” She looked down. “At least that’s one of my plans that might not fall through with a resounding crash.”

  The telephone rang.

  “I’ll answer it,” Holly said. “It’s probably Chris. I left him a note with a ham sandwich, telling him where I was going. Now he probably wants to know where the mustard is.”

  Angela hardly listened to the conversation; her mind was on other things. But she did notice that Holly had a strange look on her face when she returned.

  “What is it? Wasn’t that Chris?”

  “It was Chris. He wanted to tell me that a man named Devlin called, asking for me.”

  Angela stiffened, sitting up straighter.

  “He left a message. He wanted me to come over here and look after you because he thought you would be upset. That was all he said.”

  Angela didn’t say anything.

  “Angela,” Holly said gently, “that is not the action of a heartless opportunist who used you and then walked away without a backward glance.”

  “So he’s feeling guilty. What does that prove? He should feel guilty.”

  Holly bit back the conciliating words she wanted to say. In this mood Angela wouldn’t listen. She needed a friend now, not a lecturing parent.

  “What are you going to do?” Holly asked, picking up the poker and stirring the fire to new life.

  “I don’t know. Go to school, I guess. Do what I did before Brett. I can’t help Uncle Frank. No one can, except a new lawyer. Simmons has his own problems.”

  “Did you have any dinner?”

  Angela’s stomach revolted at the thought. “No.”

  “Okay. Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll make something light.”

  “I couldn’t eat, Holly. Really.”

  “Well I can. Come and keep me company.”

  Angela rose reluctantly and followed her friend out of the room.

  * * * *

  Frank Patria was arrested three days later at the Port of New York. He knew what was coming; Angela had talked to him and he’d been informed that there was a warrant out for his arrest. He surrendered peacefully, maintaining his innocence.

  After that the papers were full of his story. Pictures of Frank and Angela looked out from all the tabloids, and even the Times gave front page space to an article describing Frank’s past dealings and the current charges against him. It was there Angela learned that the police had been tipped off about a large shipment of drugs that was supposedly arriving with the latest load of her uncle’s antiques. When no drugs were to be found in the shipment, it caused a great deal of consternation to the underworld and the police alike. The missing cache was linked to Patria’s recent arrest and the speculation was that Patria had secreted it away for future use.

  Angela had thrown the paper on the floor in disgust. Then she’d disconnected the phone to elude the nosy reporters and stopped watching television to avoid seeing Frank’s face. It became impossible for her to attend classes. She had gotten permission from the dean to delay her exams. This was not usually done, but in her case the postponement was granted without argument. Even the academics could relate to
her dreadful situation.

  Angela briefly considered leaving town for a while, going away somewhere, but then decided against it. This would all blow over sooner or later and in the meantime she would just stay in the house and ride out the storm.

  This decision began to look like a bad one the longer she remained cooped up on Sixty-Fourth Street. Josie came and went, and Holly visited regularly, but Angela felt like a hermit, an outcast. When the doorbell rang one night a week after Frank Patria was indicted she didn’t even look out to see if it was a member of the press. Josie had gone home so she yanked open the door herself, ready for anything.

  Except Philip Cronin, who was standing on the steps.

  “Are you here to say ‘I told you so’?” she asked wearily.

  “No.”

  “In that case, come in.” She stood aside to let him pass.

  Philip walked into the living room and waited for Angela, sharing a love seat with her when she sat. He looked wonderful as usual, which did not improve Angela’s day. She felt like bad news and was sure she looked the same.

  “How have you been?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Tolerable, under the circumstances.”

  “What do you think of all this?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what to think. At first I was sure it wasn’t true, but they denied my uncle bail, you know. They must think they have a very strong case.”

  Philip nodded.

  “Philip, you’ve worked for him for three years. Do you think it’s possible that he was smuggling drugs as a sideline, like the papers say?”

  “If he was I knew nothing about it.”

  “I’m sure if you did you’d be cooling your heels in the same lockup with him.”

  Philip smiled thinly.

  “It looks bad for him. I know it does. But looks can be deceiving.”

  Philip didn’t answer, but she could see the uncertainty in his eyes. Philip wasn’t sure what Frank had been up to before his arrest.

  “He couldn’t have been doing it, could he?” she prodded.

  “All I can tell you is that with the shipping and air setup that he had it would have been feasible, but that doesn’t mean he was smuggling anything. I know that I ran a legitimate operation, but your uncle was also into a lot of things that I knew nothing about.”