Envy the Night

by Michael Koryta

  “He’s out of the hospital,” Ezra said when Frank was done, “with three bullets in him?”

  “That’s what I’ve been told.” Frank was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and Ezra could see the muscles of his chest and shoulders under the shirt, taut and hard in the easy, natural way they could be only when you were young. Ezra could remember when he had looked like that. Could remember when Frank’s father had looked like that. The boy’s features didn’t resemble his father, he’d taken after his mother in that way, but the way he stood now, the energy in his words, the eagerness for battle . . . those traits ran warm through his blood.

  “Sounds like Devin’s hurt bad, then,” Ezra said. “Hell, he might not make it up here, son.”

  “But you know he’s coming,” Frank said. “You know he is. That’s his wife out there on that island, and either she shot him or Vaughn did. They betrayed him, tried to kill him. You think he could be headed anywhere else?”

  Ezra didn’t answer, and after a few beats of silence Frank said, “He gave my father up. Brought him into it, and then turned right around and gave him up to save his own ass.”

  “I know the story, son.”

  Frank extended his arm, pointed out across the dark water. “He’s coming for them, Ezra. The people out there on that island. Why? Because they tried to take him down, and that’s something I sure as hell respect. They did our work for us.”

  “Unsuccessfully.”

  “Fine. Unsuccessfully. But I’m not going to let that son of a bitch come out here, to the place my father and his father and you and me all shared, and kill those two, Ezra. I’m not.”

  “At least one of those two is headed for jail, Frank. You don’t want to interfere with that.”

  “You want to see them go? You want to see them go to jail for shooting Devin? Don’t you remember—”

  “I remember it all,” Ezra said, and there was a depth of anger he hadn’t heard to his own voice in a long time. “Don’t stand there and ask me if I remember. It goes back a hell of a lot farther than you, back to places you’ll never see and can’t imagine. Understand that, son?”

  There was fury in his words, and he was leaning into Frank, his face close, but the boy didn’t back away. Just stood there and held Ezra’s eyes for a long time.

  “Yeah,” Frank said at last. “I understand that. Now you listen to yourself, hear what you just said, and explain to me how in the hell you’re going let Devin go out to that island.”

  “Didn’t say I would. I’m telling you there’s another option here.”

  “The police? Shit, Ezra. You want somebody to go jail for trying to kill Devin?”

  Ezra looked away, out into the lake, and said, “What do you want to do, then?”

  “To get them out of here,” Frank said. “Is that so much to ask? We get them out of here. If he catches them somewhere else, fine, but he’s not going to settle up here. Not on this lake.”

  “Get them out of here,” Ezra echoed. “That’s your goal?”

  “It’s what I said.”

  “And when you get in the middle of it? What then? Devin comes at you, or comes at the girl inside your cabin, the same way his boys already have?”

  “If that happens,” Frank said, “we deal with it.”

  Ezra gave a low, ugly laugh. “That’s what you’re hoping for. You want to hang that son of a bitch from one of these pines, but you also want it to be justified.”

  “It’s already justified.”

  “Bullshit, son. Not in a way you can accept it’s not, and you know that.”

  Frank didn’t answer. The wind picked up and the water splashed into the logs below them and something rustled through the woods a few yards away.

  “It’s going into action tomorrow,” Frank said eventually. “Whether it’s cops or Devin or those two assholes he sent up here, somebody is going out to that island. Are we going to let them do it? Are we going to step aside and wait for that, pretend we don’t know anything?”

  Ezra took a few steps away, knelt and dipped his hand into the lake, cupped his palm and held the water. It was cool against his skin, cool enough that the hairs on his arm rose in a ripple. He kept his fingers tight, held the water until it slipped through the fractional gaps and fell back into the lake, and then he turned to his old comrade’s son.

  “No,” he said. “No, we’re not going to step aside and wait for that.”

  24

  __________

  Grady woke sometime before dawn with the knowledge that he had to play it straight with Atkins.

  There was no way around it. Not at this point. He kept hearing Frank’s insistence that Grady stay in Chicago, hearing the way he’d said, I don’t have a car, when Grady urged him to leave. The kid was waiting for Devin, no doubt about it, and the smart money said he was going to get him, too.

  Someone needed to intercede, and Atkins would be more than happy to do so. If Grady’s suspicion turned out to be accurate, and Frank did know where Vaughn Duncan was holed up, it was going to turn into an ugly day. But that was the sort of ugly day that paled in comparison to the one they’d see if Frank met Devin Matteson up in those woods.

  It wasn’t yet six, too early to call Atkins, and Grady lay awake in the bed for almost an hour, watching sunlight fill the empty room and wondering how much of this was his fault.

  It had been an anonymous tip, damn it. That’s what he told people from the beginning, what he’d assured them, and there were only a few people within the Bureau who knew the truth. On one level, he’d almost been showing kindness to Frank by telling him the tip had come from Matteson. It had seemed, back then, a lesser punishment to the boy, who was already reeling. Matteson was a worthless piece of shit, so what did Grady care if he’d added another layer of tarnish to the man’s name? Even in the worst-case scenario, one in which the kid plotted some act of vengeance, all that stood to be lost was Matteson, right? And that would be a damn favor to the community.

  Except Matteson wasn’t all that stood to be lost. Grady had forgotten about the avenger. He could be lost, too.

  At ten to seven he called Atkins and got no answer, left a message. At seven twenty, pacing the apartment with a cup of coffee going cold in his hand, he called again and left another message. Five minutes later Atkins finally called back.

  “Didn’t hear the phone,” he said. “I was in the shower, sorry. What do you have for me?”

  Grady lifted the cup, took a swallow of room-temperature coffee, and said, “I think Frank Temple knows where all the excitement is headed.”

  “Pardon?”

  “He didn’t kill anyone,” Grady said, “and I’m almost certain he’s more a bystander than anything else, but I think he might know where Vaughn Duncan is.”

  “Why do you think this?”

  “I spoke with him last night, and when I asked where Duncan was, he was very guarded. Evasive. That’s not Frank’s style. He doesn’t like to lie, and I think he was trying to avoid that last night by refusing to answer the question. If he didn’t know, or didn’t have some idea, at least, he would have told me that.”

  A long pause.

  “You there?” Grady said.

  “I’m here.” The other agent’s voice was drawn tight with anger. “I’m just wondering who I’ll have to call in Chicago to make a formal complaint.”

  “Because I talked to Frank? Listen, Atkins, you don’t—”

  “No, I’m not going to listen. What you just did is such a flagrant breach of conduct . . . what the hell were you thinking? I tell you this kid is a suspect, I ask you for input, not to get on the damn phone and—”

  “I knew I could get you some answers.”

  “Bullshit. And even if you did think that, you don’t make a call like that without informing me first.”

  “Atkins, you’re missing the point.”

  “This is one of the most egregious—”

  “Vaughn Duncan may be up there with another man’s wife,” Grady sai
d. “You want to know who the man is, or not?”

  Silence.

  “A guy named Devin Matteson was shot in Florida a few days ago. Matteson is a key player for Manuel DeCaster. That name mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it does down in Florida. He’s one of the worst they’ve got, and one of the most powerful. He’s in prison now, in Coleman, and about seven years ago Frank Temple’s father was making hits for him.”

  Atkins didn’t make a sound, but Grady could almost hear the battle going on within him, curiosity fighting anger.

  “Matteson won’t tell the police who shot him. But his wife is missing. So it’s not much of a puzzle, is it? And now this guard from Coleman, Vaughn Duncan, he’s up at that lake, and there’s a woman with him,” Grady said. “You want to take odds on who the woman is, I’ve got a retirement account I’ll put on Matteson’s wife.”

  Atkins started to speak, but Grady rushed ahead. “And Matteson’s missing, he’s out of the hospital, he’s gone. You understand what that means? He’s coming north, Atkins. I would bet every dime I have that he is coming up to that lake.”

  “And I’m still supposed to believe the coincidence,” Atkins said. His voice was clipped, tight.

  “What coincidence? That Frank’s up there?”

  “That’s the one. Bystander? Bystander? You out of your mind, Morgan? You really believe, and expect me to believe, that this kid just happened to smack his Jeep into his own father’s filthy history? That’s an accident?”

  No. It wasn’t an accident. Couldn’t be. Grady wanted to believe that it was, but he knew better. Frank’s presence on that lake wasn’t a fluke. That was why it was so important for Atkins to intercede now.

  “Look,” Grady said, “I’m not going to waste my time or yours discussing what I think about that kid. I’m telling you that—”

  “I cannot believe you called him. You son of a bitch, you called a suspect and warned him—”

  “He knows where Vaughn is and he knows Devin is coming for him!” Grady shouted. “Would you shut up long enough to understand that, Atkins? You want to bitch and moan about me, do it Monday. Shit, call Quantico, call Washington, call anybody you want. Right now that doesn’t mean a damn thing. What matters is that you’ve got a dangerous son of a bitch headed your way to settle up with his wife and this other guy, and Frank Temple knows that.”

  “How does he know that?”

  “Because I told him. And I’d tell him again today, and if you want to get me fired over that, knock yourself out. But you’ve got something up there waiting to explode, and you need to deal with it.”

  “Temple is at his cabin?” Atkins said, his voice still angry, but lower.

  “Yeah. It’s out on some lake—”

  “I know where it is.”

  “Okay.” Grady hesitated, then said, “If he’s not there, he might be with a man named Ezra Ballard. You need to get him away from Ballard.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He was in special forces with Frank’s father. They were tight.”

  “Special forces with Frank’s father,” Atkins echoed. “You’re kidding me, right? Morgan, this is unbelievable. I needed to know all of this yesterday!”

  “You know it now,” Grady said.

  “I will you tell you this, Morgan: If you call that kid again today I’ll see that charges are brought, do you understand?”

  “I won’t call him, if you get your ass moving and get out there. And I’m headed that way, Atkins. I’ll leave now, but I don’t know how long the drive is.”

  “Keep your car in the garage, asshole. I don’t want you within a hundred miles of this.”

  “I’m coming up.”

  “Yeah? Well, if I see you, I’m putting you in handcuffs.”

  Atkins hung up. Grady stood with the phone in his hand for a minute, then set it on the counter, poured his coffee into the sink, and picked up his car keys.

  Frank had coffee going by the time Nora woke up. Her hair was fuzzed out an extra six inches from static, and when she looked at him it was with one open eye, the other squinted almost shut.

  “What time is it?”

  “Ten past seven.”

  “Have you heard from Ezra?”

  “I expect he’s on his way.” Ezra’s boat had been missing when the sun rose. Frank had even used binoculars to search for it, but found no trace.

  “Then we’ll go to the island,” she said.

  “Yes.” Frank took the coffeepot and poured a cup, then brought it to Nora. Seeing her this way, bleary-eyed and sleepy, made him want to lean down and kiss her forehead, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure how she’d react to him this morning, with the alcohol and that brief moment of romance in a tense, fear-filled night now pushed aside by sleep and daylight.

  He returned to the kitchen and poured his own coffee, waited for her to express a new concern, wonder aloud whether they should call the cops. She didn’t say anything, though. Just drank the coffee and smoothed her hair with her palm, then rose and went into the bathroom, reemerging five minutes later looking more awake, fresher.

  “Did you sleep?” she said.

  “No.”

  “Aren’t you tired?”

  “No,” he said, and this was the truth. Anticipation of Devin’s arrival provided more fuel than sleep would have. He was ready for him, but Nora was a problem. He and Ezra had discussed that before Ezra slipped back into his boat and out into the lake.

  Frank would not deceive her. Couldn’t do that. But he knew, and had tried to explain to Ezra, that she was not going to be kept off that island. He remembered the steel in her voice when she’d said, If anyone here deserves answers, it’s not you guys. It’s me. She was right. He wished she weren’t a part of it, but she was, and he needed to decide what to tell her, how to explain what he was going to do. That would have to come after they heard what the pair on the island had to say.

  He left in her in the cabin and walked out into the day, found the air to be uncommonly still, the gray water like dirty glass. He stood with his coffee in hand and turned in a full circle, took in the lake and the trees and the sky.

  Which direction would Devin come from? Would he drive right up to the dam, launch a boat and head out to the island, or would there be more to it than that? He knew they were on the island. Surely his advance team of gunslingers had reported that back to Miami, and while Tomahawk might have been a mysterious destination for them, it would not be to Devin. By now the island was anything but a hiding spot to the two who waited on it. Frank saw the game plan clearer this morning, understood that Jerry Dolson’s murder had been merely routine maintenance, the removal of one of those loose ends he’d been worried about from the start. Either by then or soon after, the pursuit had effectively ended. The men from Miami knew about the island, had to know by now, and yet they had not moved on it. That meant one thing: They were waiting on Devin.

  “He’ll be here today,” Frank said. He’d spoken in a soft voice, but it still rang out loud. There was no trace of wind to whip the words away.

  Ezra arrived by boat, and when he saw that Nora still intended to go to the island with them, he didn’t object. She watched his eyes go back and forth between Frank and her and wondered what he was thinking. Had he seen them outside the night before, as Frank predicted? Probably. There was something about Ezra that gave you the feeling he’d been watching you for a long time.

  “All right,” he said as she and Frank walked down to the boat. “We’re going out there to hear the story. Their side of it, at least. That’s all we’re doing right now. Whatever happens next will depend on what we hear.”

  He was staring at Frank while he said it, but Frank wasn’t paying attention. He was looking up in the direction of the road; his gaze seemed unfocused.

  “Okay,” Nora told Ezra, because it seemed as if he deserved some sort of response, and then he offered a hand and guided her as she stepped onto the boat. There was a mammo
th outboard on the back, a motor of disproportionate size to the actual craft, and Ezra positioned her on the rear seat with her back to it. Frank took the seat in front of her, and Ezra settled in without a word and turned the key and the larger motor came to life with the throaty, muscular sound that reminded Nora of the better cars they’d had in the shop, those with expensive, fine-turned engines.

  “Okay,” Ezra said, spinning the wheel and pointing them out into the lake. “Let’s go see what the hell we’re looking at.”

  He shoved the throttle forward and the motor behind her roared with delight and then the front end of the boat rose several feet out of the water and if Ezra said anything else Nora could not hear it.

  Frank sat staring straight ahead, his clothes rippling as they tore across the lake. Behind the wheel, Ezra was impassive, his face shaded by a baseball cap with a Ranger Boats logo and his eyes hidden by Oakley sunglasses. They both wore light jackets that Nora knew concealed guns. As she sat there clutching the boat seat under her butt and squinting against the force of the wind, she felt a surge of doubt. They were essentially strangers, Frank and Ezra, and she’d put an awful lot of trust in them with this trip to the island. No one, no one had any idea where she was.

  The sun was creeping out, sparkling off the water, and though her hair was streaming out behind her like a flag in gale-force winds, the trees on shore were still, untouched by any breeze. It was too calm, and that probably meant rain by the afternoon. The humidity felt wrong for so early in the day.

  They went past one enormous rock that jutted angrily out of the water, then through a cluster of islands, and came out in a large bay that seemed even more desolate, only two other boats in sight. Ezra slowed and worked his way around what appeared to be a sandbar, then brought the motor back to a roar and the front of the boat lifted again and they were off, tearing past a bay filled with stumps and half-trees that seemed like menacing guards to the empty shoreline.