All Through the Night

by Davis Bunn

  “I’m probably chasing smoke here.” Wayne rose from his chair. “But my friend is missing and it’s hard to see much else.”

  “Sometimes any movement at all can be seen as progress. Any action is better than standing still.”

  The words connected at some visceral level, down below conscious thought. Two men struggling against the night and forces they could neither identify nor attack. “Teledyne lists three official lines of profit. Hotels, clinics, condos.” He grabbed his mug and opened the office door. He didn’t want more coffee. But the office felt claustrophobic and going for a refill gave him an excuse to move. “Everything is pretty clear, not totally, but nothing that’d throw up a serious red flag. At least, nothing I found.”

  “Nothing anyone has found. And my staffer looked carefully. Let’s go back to that earlier word of yours. Official.”

  “A lot of their profit comes from partnerships. They’re listed, but I don’t have access to the books.”

  “How long have you been studying these accounts?”

  “All night.”

  “I am impressed. Well, the answer is, they concern me too. We are interested in acquiring Teledyne because one of their divisions meshes well with us, while the others cover markets we currently do not. But Teledyne holds minority shares in nine partnerships. All but one are with the same group. A privately held company.”

  “And because it’s a minority share, you can’t demand an inspection of the private company’s books.” Wayne passed through the living room. Jerry was conked out on the sofa, snoring softly. He waited until he entered the kitchen to ask, “Who’s the majority partner?”

  “A group called Triton.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “That is no surprise. Triton is very closely held.”

  “I’d like to have a look at whatever you have.”

  “It’s very little, but I will instruct the team to make that available. Anything else?”

  Wayne pulled the coffee pot from the burner, held it poised over his mug, then put it back in place and turned the machine off. “Probably. But I can’t think of it right now.”

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Foster Oates. I feel as though this is all my fault.”

  “Get in line.”

  “All because of a warning from an extremely black gentleman who might have been …”

  “You might as well say it, since we’re both thinking the very same thing.”

  Easton Grey might have huffed a laugh. “I’ve spent my life trying hard to follow God’s edicts. And it has led me to a place where I’m trapped inside my own home, my wife is upstairs lying awake alone in our bed, my daughter has cried herself to sleep, and a helpless old man has vanished.”

  “I can go one better.” Wayne leaned on the polished granite countertop. The stone was rose colored and cold to the touch. He faced a central island with a stove framed by more granite. Above it hung a variety of copper utensils and pots. Everything perfectly in order. Mocking the haphazard disarray of his life. “By the time I hit sixteen, I figured if God was in the market for people like my dad, I didn’t want to have anything to do with either of them. I used a fake ID to lie my way into the army. I discovered a vocation. If you can call small arms, high explosives, and hand-to-hand a trade.”

  “But you liked it.”

  “I thought I did. Until I let my mind wander on patrol one day and got two of my best buddies killed.”

  There it was. The deed never mentioned, hanging there like greasy smoke in the polished kitchen. Wayne breathed a couple of times, feeling his way through the shock of having let it out. He was tempted to blame it on the hour and the strain. But he refused to mock the moment with a lie.

  Easton Grey’s voice was as lean and dry as the man himself. “Is that what the visitor referred to when he said the deaths were not your fault?”

  Wayne liked that term. The visitor. “He didn’t say. But that was what I thought.”

  “He could have obtained that information from any number of sources, I suppose.”

  “Sure. The patrol is in the division records. We went out. We took incoming fire. They carried me and my buddies out. Several of us got awarded bronze stars.” Wayne rubbed his hand along the counter, streaking the granite with sweat. He started over at the beginning. “I was on point. We were following a goat trail along a ridgeline. Maybe we were inside Afghanistan, maybe Pakistan—up there it’s impossible to tell. We were so high, man, the clouds were a couple of miles below us. Then I heard an eagle. Just amazing, the sound. I dream about it. If the mountains had a voice, it would sound like that bird.”

  The refrigerator clicked on. Wayne listened to the hum. He heard the man’s breathing on the other end of the phone line. He knew he should stop talking. There was no reason to go on and four years of reasons to stop.

  “The bird hovered about twenty yards off to my right, out where the world just dropped away to nothing. I watched the bird instead of the trail. Then I caught something, maybe out of the corner of my eye, maybe a sound, just enough to shout, ‘Incoming!’ I yelled it before I really saw them clearly. The RPGs flew at us like oversized bullets. Two of them. Coming slow and fast at the same time.”

  “Your shout saved the lives of the other men.”

  “No. That was the official line. But it’s not right. Watching that bird got my two buddies smoked.”

  “The visitor says you’re wrong to think so.”

  “Yeah, well, the visitor wasn’t …”

  Easton Grey let the unfinished thought hang for a moment, then said, “I find great comfort in speaking with you, Wayne.”

  The usage of his first name came and went naturally. “Lessons from a life gone all wrong.”

  “No. Not that at all. I’m glad you’re on our side.” He could hear Easton shifting the phone. “Wait one second.”

  Wayne felt the silence settle in around him. Like a blanket scented with some kitchen cleanser and the vague presence of something beyond his vision. Not the people sleeping in other rooms. Something unnamed, yet comforting.

  Easton Grey returned. “I thought I heard my daughter. She’s been in such a state, I can’t tell you how hard it is to live with a teenager sometimes, even one you love more than your own life. She’s started going on about moving to Africa. She’s downloaded maps of every country on the continent and pinned them to her walls, along with drawings of native dress. I tell my wife at least it’s not some punk band with body piercings and misspelled tattoos.”

  “I have a friend who lived there for, I don’t know how long. Years. She’s …” Wayne tried to decide how to describe Victoria. “There’s something special about this woman. If anybody can help your daughter, it’s her. And with Foster missing, this might help my friend a lot.”

  “Will you speak with her?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks.” A pause, then, “If you will go lay down and try to rest, so will I.”

  “Deal.”

  “Could we have a moment of prayer before we close shop?”

  Three times in one day. Definitely a record. “Say the words.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Wayne heard the knock on the office door from a very great distance. A gentle rumble of a voice said, “This dude is out for the count.”

  “Is he decent?”

  “Can’t answer that one. But he slept with his clothes on.”

  “Wayne?”

  The tendrils of his last dream reluctantly let go. But the instant he opened his eyes, he could not remember what he had been dreaming.

  Tatyana wore dark leggings and a loose-fitting top knit from clouds that hung almost to her knees. She wore no makeup. Her hair was caught in a silver clasp. Her face was oval with cheek-bones slanted like her eyes. He had never noticed that before.

  “It’s just gone eight.”

  He pushed himself upright and rubbed his face. He could not think of anything to say. His entire world had room for just one thing.


  Tatyana seated herself beside him and handed him a mug. “Jerry said you took your coffee black.”

  He mouthed thanks but could not give it enough air. His breath caught a hint of her fragrance, clean skin and soap and flowers. He felt his heart catch at her seated there beside him, while he sipped from the mug and struggled to knit his barriers back into place.

  He slipped his feet back into his shoes and took another sip. “I was dreaming.”

  “What about?”

  “I can’t remember.” He sipped again. “Given the state of some of my dreams, that’s probably a good thing.”

  “I always told people I never dreamed. But it was a lie. I dream all the time. Mostly about things I wish I could leave behind forever.”

  “I just have one bad dream. But I have it a lot.”

  She used one finger to trace her hairline along her forehead and down behind her left ear. With the blinds closed and one lamp burning, her eyes were one shade off slate. The flecks were soft bronze buried deep inside. “I don’t know which would be worse.”

  “Aren’t you going to work?”

  “Not until this is over. I spoke with Easton and he agrees. Foster’s disappearance changes everything.”

  He had so much he wanted to say to her, the words became clogged in his throat. He sipped from the mug, but the obstacle would not dislodge.

  Jerry stepped through the office’s open door. “There’s a razor on the bathroom sink, you don’t mind using it after me.”

  Tatyana rose with him. “Easton called. The data you requested is online.”

  “You stay and work,” Jerry said. “I can go pick up Julio on my own.”

  Wayne handed him the keys. “Any word?”

  “Not a peep.” Jerry looked from one of them to the other. Then he smiled. Jerry was not a smiler and the gesture surprised Wayne. His entire face reshaped itself, creases vanished, his forehead cleared, his eyes grew brighter.

  Jerry said, “It does my old heart good.”

  Wayne stood there in the doorway as Jerry turned and left. He heard the former cop’s footfalls across the front hall. Wayne walked into the bathroom and shut the door. He turned on the water, then just stood there, listening to the water drown out whatever noise Tatyana might be making. His eyes stared back out of a face that might have been handsome. He had heard that from people, but he couldn’t tell. His eyes said it all—what a shame it was that his one remaining friend could read the moment so wrong.

  When he came out of the bathroom, Tatyana stood in the living room with the phone to her ear. “He’s here now. Yes. I’ll put him on. All right. We’ll be waiting.”

  She walked over and handed him the phone. “It’s Easton for you.”

  “Good morning.”

  The company president asked, “Did you sleep?”

  “Some.”

  “Me too. Miracles do happen. Have you looked at the files yet?”

  Tatyana motioned with his empty mug. Wayne nodded yes. He said, “I was just going to get started.”

  “I went over them again. Like I said, there’s not much. The one thing that jumps out at me is Trace.”

  “The guy on the disciplinary board.”

  “He’s also on the board of the Triton partnerships. All of them.”

  Wayne walked over to the computer and sat down. “Trace Neally, your friend for twenty years.”

  “I called him this morning. He’s working from home today. I said you wanted to speak with him. He wanted to wait and meet you tomorrow in Orlando. I said this was urgent. I hope that’s all right.”

  “No. This is good.”

  “He lives just south of Naples, someplace called Lantern Island.” He rattled off the address. “Hello?”

  Wayne watched Tatyana walk over and deposit the cup on her desk. “Lantern Island. I know it.”

  “Call me as soon as you leave his place, will you? The walls are closing in over here.” Easton paused, then added, “It meant a lot talking to you last night. I pray for patience, but my mind keeps racing like a hamster on its little wheel. I’ve never been good at being still. I worry about Foster, about my daughter … I wonder if I left the house if it would all just go away.”

  “You sit tight. I’ll call you soon as we know something.”

  When he clicked off, Tatyana asked, “What’s the matter?”

  Wayne handed her the phone. “More and more.”

  Jerry Barnes pulled into the parking lot of Eilene’s church and had to search for a free spot. Eight-thirty on a weekday morning and the place was packed. He saw a flood of school-aged kids headed to a building beside the basketball court. A larger tide of women headed into the main building. He followed them, slightly uncomfortable being the only man in sight.

  He found Julio standing in the doorway talking with Eilene. The pastor hugged the overgrown kid who was as tall as she, and was rewarded with a bashful grin. Julio became more embarrassed when he spotted Jerry approaching, but Eilene refused to let him go. Instead, she said, “The kid here hit a home run with the bases loaded.”

  “I didn’t know you played baseball.”

  “We’re talking about the only game that matters.” She hugged him harder. “Right, brother?”

  Jerry asked, “You got saved last night?”

  Julio muttered to the floor at his feet, “Miss Victoria, she’s been talking to me.”

  “Yeah, that lady’s got a place on God’s front line, I’m sure of that,” Eilene agreed. “But this is about you, right? You’re the one who found the courage to step forward and commit. How cool is that?”

  “Loosen up there,” Jerry said. “Let the kid breathe on his own, why don’t you.”

  Eilene let him go. “Way to rock, Julio.”

  “I left my stuff in the hall.”

  “I’ll wait for you right here.” When the kid trotted off, Jerry said, “I’ve never seen you this happy.”

  “Hey. My brother, the guy who made a profession of skipping town, is not just back and helping me out, he’s committed. He prayed with me. I handed him the worst kid we got, a case so tough I was this close to barring Julio from ever coming back on church property. And what happens, but the kid turns around.”

  “Like Julio said, Victoria was the one who twisted the screws.”

  “You think a barrio kid would’ve listened to some old white-bread lady on his own?” She pointed at the world beyond the sun-splashed exit. “Wayne is everything this kid dreams of becoming, if he can manage to live that long. A true-blue warrior. A strong stand-up guy who cares. Julio listened to Victoria because Wayne listened first.”

  She dropped her arm. “What about you, Jerry? You ready to make the long walk home?”

  He held both hands protectively in front of him. “Quit while you’re ahead, sister.”

  “No way. I’m aiming for a clean sweep here.” She turned serious, which meant going softer. “I was watching you when we started praying. Dropping those barriers you think nobody sees. What’s with you?”

  He scouted the empty hall for his excuse. “I got to go.”

  “One question, one answer. Is that so hard?”

  Matter of fact. “My wife was into the church thing fulltime.”

  “The church thing.” Eilene was no longer smiling.

  “She got sick. We went through all the regular stuff. Nothing helped. We started trying other things, treatments that weren’t covered by our insurance. Went through our savings in nothing flat. Mortgaged the house. Spent that too.”

  “Then she died,” Eilene said softly. “Leaving you broke and alone and stuck in a place with nothing to do but serve your time.”

  Jerry shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Seems kinda strange, us standing here talking about things that don’t matter while Foster’s still gone.”

  “It matters,” Eilene replied. “It matters a lot.”

  Julio came pounding around the corner. He stopped and looked at one face, then the other. “What’s happened?”


  “You big, sweet, gentle bear.” Eilene closed the impossible distance and hugged Jerry. “I’ll be praying for you. Hard as I know how.”

  The sunlight and the humidity turned the asphalt silver-white. Wayne rode with Tatyana in her rented car. Jerry drove Julio in Wayne’s truck. When Tatyana had suggested they take two cars to Lantern Island, Jerry had smiled and said simply, “Sure.” Julio had remained caught up in something beneath the surface of his opaque stare and did not speak.

  Tatyana said, “I need to ask you something.”

  She had printed out all the pages on Triton. Wayne had finished going over them before Jerry had returned with Julio in tow. He had them spread out in his lap now, sifting through the data a second time. He had forgotten to get his sunglasses out of the truck before they left Orlando. But that was not why he refused to lift his gaze. “Fire away.”

  “All yesterday and now today I feel like you are angry with me.”

  “It’s not you.” He hated how the strain caused her accent to thicken. “It’s nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me that. I know it’s something. You won’t even look at me. How can it be nothing?”

  “Tatyana, please.”

  “Please what? Tell me what I’ve done.”

  The childlike tone of this woman beside him melted the stone he had carried in his chest since forever. “It’s me, Tatyana. It’s us.”

  “Us?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t like me?”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Why shouldn’t you like me, Wayne? Am I such a horrible person you can’t like me?”

  He raised his eyes because he had to. Beyond the window was flat Florida wilderness. The Florida of cattle ranches and horse farms and black-water rivers. “You know that’s not it.”

  “You said we were always friends, yes? Do friends not talk in your world?”

  “They talk.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.”

  “You will heal. You will go back into your world of rich people with classy jobs and flashy cars. You’ll talk about smart things with other successful types.” His breath fogged the side window. “I don’t belong there. I’m me. Sergeant Wayne Grusza. One of life’s born losers.”