The man leaned his ear close to Muffin’s muzzle and raised an eyebrow, as if the cat were speaking to him. He looked at Lily and clucked his tongue. “Muffin says you’re lying, Mrs. Reynolds. And I’m afraid if you don’t start telling the truth, I’ll have no choice but to hurt this pretty kitty.”
“Please,” Lily said, standing up. “Leave her alone.”
The associate seized her by the shoulders and forced her back into the chair.
The man sniffed Muffin’s fur and looked at Lily. “I don’t think this muffin is fully cooked.”
The associate’s lips curled into a grin. “Maybe we should put her in the microwave for a few minutes.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” The man opened the microwave and shoved Muffin inside.
“No,” Lily moaned. “Don’t!”
“Tell us where Larry is,” the man said, “or I’ll cook your fucking cat.”
Lily jumped to her feet. “Wait! He… the FBI has him.”
The man fixed her with a menacing glare. “Where?”
“I don’t know. He said he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”
The man pressed a button and the microwave came to life with a minute on the clock.
Lily lunged for the microwave and screamed, but the associate wrapped her in a bear hug and threw her to the ground. As her head smacked the linoleum, she could see Muffin through the glass, the tabby’s yellow-green eyes opening wide as the console began to rotate.
“Where is he?” the man shouted.
Muffin, they were killing Muffin!
“Where is he?”
Lily’s mind raced. If she gave them what they wanted, she could save Muffin and warn Larry after they were gone. The FBI would move him somewhere else and everything would be okay.
“The Park Plaza Hotel,” she blurted.
“What room?”
“Nine twenty-three.”
The man opened the door with fifty-five seconds remaining on the clock. Muffin bolted out of the microwave and scrambled into the den, scared but otherwise okay.
The man grinned at her. “We were never here, Mrs. Reynolds. Do you understand?”
Lily tried to speak, but could only manage a sob.
“If you go to the police or mention our visit to anyone, we’ll come back to finish cooking Muffin. And when she explodes like a furry meatball, it’ll be your fault. Understand?”
She nodded.
“And if that’s not incentive enough, I know where your grandkids live. So if the feds move Larry to another hotel, it’ll be their blood on your hands.”
Lily felt her lower lip quiver. “I won’t say anything, I promise.”
The man glared at her. “That’s a wise decision, Mrs. Reynolds. We’ll be on our way in a moment, but there’s something we need to borrow first.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Despite the alluring power promised by its advertising, Ray was pretty sure that an ice-cold Heineken wouldn’t win Michelle back, although it was doing a hell of a job dulling the pain. Ray drained his pint and flagged down a tattooed barmaid with a pixie haircut. She took his empty with a flirty smile and weaved skillfully through the crowd toward the bar to bring him another.
He draped an arm around his duffle bag and watched through the open windows as pedestrians strolled past Quinn’s. A warm breeze swept through the bar and stirred up a pungent cocktail of beer, sweat, and cologne mixed with the salty scent of the sea.
Jacob approached Quinn’s from the east end of Main Street, looking all buttoned-up in a fancy suit and tie. He entered the bar and scanned the crowd, looking a bit like a kid lost in the mall. Then his eyes locked on Ray and he shook his head before plodding over.
“I had a feeling I’d find you here,” Jacob said, settling into the seat across from Ray.
Ray gestured to his duffle bag. “I had nowhere else to go. Megan tell you what happened?”
“Is it true?”
“Depends on what she said.”
“She said there were pictures.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty hard to argue those.”
The barmaid returned with Ray’s beer.
Ray cocked a thumb at Jacob. “Put it on his tab, will you? I’m saving up for a divorce attorney.”
Jacob ordered a Heineken and waited for the barmaid to leave before asking his next question. “Did Michelle actually mention a divorce?”
“You should’ve seen her face. It was like I was dead to her.” He took a long pull of beer.
“Who was it?”
“You remember Tina?”
“The woman you were dating when you first met Michelle?”
Ray nodded. “She still works at the ME’s office.”
“You want to tell me what happened?”
When Ray finished his story, Jacob regarded him with a skeptical gaze. “You had no idea what she was up to?”
“It crossed my mind that she might make a move, but I never meant to act on it.”
The barmaid handed Jacob a beer and he took a sip before setting it on the table. “Come on, Ray. You know better than to put yourself into a situation like that. You should’ve made an excuse to avoid going to her place.”
“I know what I should’ve done, Jacob. But I can’t change it now. I can’t ever take it back.”
“So why did you go?”
Ray heaved a sigh. “Tina’s always had a way of getting me to do exactly what she wants. That’s why I ended things the first time—I got tired of being manipulated.” He thumped his fist against the table. “I ruined everything.”
He was hoping Jacob would contradict him, but instead his little brother remained silent. Ray finished his beer and exhaled sharply. “She won’t return my calls. Or my texts.”
“She needs time to process this,” Jacob said. “The best thing you can do right now is give her some space. Just let her know you’re sorry and that you won’t bother her for a while.”
“What if she doesn’t want me back? What if she won’t let me see the kids?” He could hear panic creeping into his voice and hated himself for it.
“You guys have a strong foundation and that counts for something. But you hurt her, Ray, so she’s going to make you sweat it out. And when she’s ready to talk, she’ll goad you into a fight, but don’t fall into that trap. Just shut up and take it. And when she’s done yelling, you’ll need to grovel for forgiveness. That’s your only move,” he said, pointing a finger at Ray. “And even then, there are no guarantees.”
Ray folded his arms. “You’re doing a piss-poor job of cheering me up.”
“I’m not here to cheer you up. What you did was shitty. And if you want Michelle back, you’ll need to earn back her trust, and that’ll take a lot of time and a lot of humility, so you’d better check your ego at the door.”
“I can do that,” Ray said.
“I assume you’ll want to crash at my place?”
“If Megan doesn’t mind.”
“Well, right now, she’s with Michelle, but when she gets home, I’m pretty sure she’ll want to tear you a new one.”
Ray grabbed his duffle bag. “Great, I’ll get to practice my humility.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
After two days in a hotel room with these arrogant pricks, Larry half-wished that Flaherty had put him out of his misery. Between Dearborn’s condescending attitude and Calhoun’s passive aggressiveness with everything from the thermostat to his shower routine, Larry was one frayed nerve away from flinging himself out of their ninth-floor window.
The only problem was the damn thing wouldn’t open.
In their short stay together, Larry already knew more than he cared to about the agents’ personal lives. Dearborn had a nagging wife who cursed like a sailor and was a manic depressive who’d recently went off her meds, and Calhoun was a metrosexual bachelor who was so anal retentive that the women in his life only lasted a few weeks before fleeing his litany of rules, which bordered on obsessive compulsive.
As L
arry sat on the sofa, he could hear Calhoun humming in the shower, and he watched with escalating malice as Dearborn monopolized the remote control from the chair beside him. Not only was Dearborn forcing him to watch commercials each time he clicked to a different news channel, but he was also talking to his wife on the phone, and because her only two volumes were loud and louder, Larry could hear every word.
Had it gone on another minute, Larry would’ve ripped the clicker out of Dearborn’s hands and beat him over the head with it. Fortunately, Dearborn’s wife launched into a string of obscenities and Dearborn got up, his cheeks reddening, and headed for the privacy of the bedroom.
Larry waited a few seconds before rising from the sofa and tiptoeing to the door. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, then he eased the door open and slipped into the hallway. He’d been waiting for a chance to escape ever since seeing his mom’s text at six that morning. She’d called twice in the middle of the night, but his phone was on silence and it went straight to voicemail. Her text said that she wanted to talk in person, so he’d responded that he could probably escape for a few minutes after seven when the agents were busy with their morning routines.
He boarded the elevator and sent her a text saying that he was headed downstairs, chuckling to himself in the empty cabin because he wasn’t even supposed to have his phone, let alone any contact with the outside world. When the agents had brought him to his apartment to pack a bag, he surrendered his old phone and smuggled the active one in his duffle bag and the morons still hadn’t caught on.
When the elevator came to a halt, the doors rolled open to reveal the Park Plaza’s opulent lobby with its coffered ceiling and crystal chandeliers. He hurried toward the exit, afraid that Dearborn might already be after him, and he almost barreled into the doorman as he charged outside. A moment later, his phone buzzed with a text alert.
Meet me at the corner of Arlington and Columbus.
Larry chuckled at his mom’s cloak and dagger routine and wondered what second-rate spy movie she’d gotten the idea from. He doubted that she had anything important to tell him, but he was grateful to escape the hotel room, which agent Calhoun refused to allow above a frigid sixty-four degrees.
Larry allowed himself a moment to relax, relishing the warmth of the morning sun and inhaling the fresh air wafting toward him from the Public Garden. After getting his bearings, he headed toward the rendezvous point, weaving through a stream of businesspeople racing toward work like lemmings to a cliff.
When he reached the corner of Arlington and Columbus, he turned in a slow circle but didn’t see his mom anywhere. He looked at his phone and noticed the voicemails she’d left in the middle of the night were from her landline. He hadn’t bothered listening to them earlier, but wondered now if he should.
I’m here, he texted. Where are you?
Triple dots appeared in a message bubble as his mom slow-pecked a reply.
Larry glanced at the signpost to confirm his location, and when he looked back at his phone, the dots had been replaced with, Coming in an Uber.
Larry wrinkled his brow. An Uber?
A black SUV with tinted windows turned the corner and screeched to a halt. The back door swung open and Larry stepped toward the curb. “Mom?”
A pair of muscular arms seized him by the shoulders and dragged him inside. As the door slammed shut and the SUV accelerated down Columbus Ave, Larry found himself wedged between a rough-looking trio of thugs.
A man with silvery-blond hair turned toward him from the front passenger seat. “What’s the matter,” Flaherty asked, holding up his mom’s cellphone. “Were you expecting someone else?”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Like many cafés in the North End, Molto Bene served up great food in a cramped space, with just a few small tables arranged in a single file against the wall and only a narrow walkway separating the front door from the seating area. Behind a glass counter loaded with pastries, a middle-aged barista with a thick accent and a perpetual scowl served up cappuccinos and espressos to a line of people snaking out the door.
Ray was lucky enough to snag a table in the corner, where he could keep an eye on the back door while sipping from the best cappuccino he’d had in years. With Billy and Garrison sitting on either side of him, they each had less than six inches of table space to call their own, and Garrison was at a clear disadvantage since he couldn’t quite squeeze his giant’s legs beneath the table. Billy had just devoured a chocolate croissant and was licking globs of chocolate off his fingers.
Garrison grimaced. “Didn’t your mama teach you any table manners?”
“It’s finger food,” Billy said. “It’s meant to be eaten with your hands.”
“That doesn’t make it okay to put your fingers in your mouth,” Garrison said. “It’s gross.”
“Stop being such a neat freak,” Billy said, “and maybe it won’t bother you.”
Ray shook his head. “You guys bicker more than my kids, and one of them is still in diapers.” But a traitorous voice in his mind whispered, How do you know that hasn’t changed since the last time you saw them?
He clenched his jaw and tried to focus on the task at hand. Molto Bene was Giabatti’s go-to place for breakfast, and like many of the restaurants in the North End, VIPs like Giabatti dined in secret rooms that were off-limits to the public. And while they hadn’t seen him enter the back room, they knew from recent surveillance patterns that he’d be passing their way any moment.
Ray set down his cappuccino and thought about the morning’s briefing. “I still can’t believe Larry would slip away from the feds like that.”
“Dearborn will go down for it,” Garrison said.
Ray nodded, but didn’t take any pleasure from it. Without Larry’s testimony, there’d be no chance for a double murder conviction. At most, they could get Flaherty for kidnapping at Finnegan’s Landing, but with Larry absent and a lack of eyewitnesses, a good lawyer might be able to get him off.
“What’d you guys hear?” Billy said, turning to Garrison. “All we know is that he went missing.”
“That’s the official line,” Garrison said, “but a buddy of mine at the bureau said the hotel security cameras showed Larry glued to his phone as he was leaving the hotel. And the feds must have a better relationship with the telecom companies than we do because they already obtained his phone records. Seems he was planning to meet up with his mom. Only problem is that his mother says she misplaced her cellphone a couple days ago and hasn’t seen it since.”
“Any witnesses come forward?” Ray asked.
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“Somebody had to see something,” Billy said. “And my money’s on Flaherty’s guys.”
“If so, what’s Flaherty’s next move?” Ray asked. “Does he kill Larry, or does he cancel the debt and persuade him not to testify?”
“Maybe he waits,” Billy said. “Sees what leads the feds have, what gets published in the press, and then decides.”
“I don’t know,” Garrison said. “If Larry stays gone and there’s no evidence that Flaherty took him, then Flaherty could walk.”
“How do you figure?” Billy said.
“Because Larry’s wanted for armed robbery,” Garrison said. “It wouldn’t be hard to convince a jury that Larry fled to avoid prosecution, as well as the risk of testifying against Flaherty.”
Ray caught a blur of movement from the corner of his eye and sat up straight. “Here comes Giabatti.”
The elder mafioso emerged from the back room in a perfectly tailored gray suit, flanked by a pair of bodyguards. “What a coincidence,” he said, gesturing to their table. “I didn’t know you came here for breakfast.”
“We just happened to be in the neighborhood,” Ray said.
Giabatti nudged Billy in the arm. “How’d you enjoy that croissant? I asked Pauline to take special care of your order.”
Ray glanced up at the camera behind the counter. He’d had a feeli
ng Giabatti would be watching. “We need a few minutes of your time.”
“For you, yes. For him, no.”
Billy folded his arms. “Still holding a grudge?”
Giabatti cocked his thumb at the front door and eyed his bodyguards. “Why don’t you escort Billy to the curb? And see that he doesn’t touch anything on the way out.”
Billy stood up, and for a moment it looked as if he might blurt out something they’d all regret. Ray glared at him, and thankfully, he clamped his mouth shut.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Giabatti said, taking a seat once Billy left. “I know you’ve got a job to do, but this is bordering on harassment. And I’m a very busy man.”
“We’ll make it quick,” Ray said. “You got any idea where Flaherty’s hiding?”
Giabatti chuckled. “I thought that might be what you were after.”
“Why’s that funny?” Garrison asked.
“Because he disappeared right under the noses of a hundred cops and made the entire law enforcement community look like a bunch of morons. It’s good to know that when my time comes, I can just take off my glasses and waltz through the dragnet without being recognized.”
Ray and Garrison exchanged a glance. If they said anything in their defense, the conversation would likely be over. “I can see how you’d find that amusing,” Ray said. “But you didn’t answer my question. Do you know where Flaherty is?”
“Flaherty doesn’t make a habit of involving me in his business.”
“But you must want to see him go down,” Garrison said. “After all he’s done to you.”
“And what happens when he’s behind bars?” Giabatti asked. “Who will the cops focus their energy on then?”
Ray tried a new direction. “You ever hear of a stripper named Angie T? She danced at the Puma under the name Amber, probably quit the business ten years ago.”
“Doesn’t ring any bells. How’s this relate to Flaherty?”
“She used to frequent The Rock and had a son who might’ve been fathered by the mayor. We think it’s her kid who killed Danny. Only we can’t find the mom or the kid.”
The Art of Dying: A Ray Hanley Crime Thriller Page 24
