When we'd had a couple of awkward silences, I decided it was time to end the call. I promised them I would take care of all the arrangements once they named the funeral home and be in touch as soon as Billy's body was on the way to Binghamton. As the call ended, I took a deep breath and released it slowly, then tried to relax my tense muscles. I hadn't realized until then just how much I'd dreaded making the call.
My next call was to a local funeral home so I could make arrangements to have the body transported upstate. The mortuary would alert the morgue that they would be claiming the body on behalf of the family when it was ready to be released and should be the one to be notified when that happened.
Now that I had finished all of my unpleasant chores and my headache was mostly gone, I realized I probably hadn't eaten in three days. There was a gnawing sensation in my midsection that I knew could only be satisfied one way. I couldn't go out until my clothes were returned by the valet service, so I called room service and ordered enough eggs, home fries, sausages, and pancakes for three people, plus a pitcher of OJ and a pot of coffee.
A number of large hotels in the U.S. had discontinued their room service operations in recent years, so I had chosen this particular hotel for its amenities as much as anything else. I had the money now to live a better life than at any time in the past, and my time at the wonderful hotels and B&Bs in Europe, and especially Amsterdam, had spoiled me a bit. The switchboard operator, or whoever had taken my order, told me it would be about thirty to forty minutes, so I reclined on the bed to await the food.
~
The order arrived on two carts pushed by two waiters. I think they were surprised to see just one person in the suite, but I gave each a generous tip and they seemed to forget about the food being for just a single occupant.
I wasted no time digging in as the door closed behind the waiters. It was the most delicious food I'd had since my return from Europe. Okay, it was the only food I'd had since my return. But it really was tasty and properly cooked. The 'over easy' eggs were perfect, the toast wasn't burnt, the sausages were well cooked but not dried out, and the pancakes were just the way I liked them— thick, but light and fluffy.
~
By the time I'd eaten my fill, the gnawing pain in my stomach had changed to one experienced after a slight overindulgence in food, but it was a considerably better feeling than the former. I had no place to be, nothing to do, and no energy to do anything anyway, so I decided to take a nap. I didn't have to put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign out for housekeeping because I'd realized it was already out when the valet came. It had probably been out since I arrived. The bathroom could really use a going over, not to mention clean towels, but it would have to wait until my clothes were returned so I could go out and let housekeeping have the suite for a while.
~ ~
It was dark again outside when I awoke. I knew I would probably be unable to sleep through the night if I didn't get out of bed and do something, but I still had no energy to do anything except feel sorry for myself. I had to find a way to emerge from my depression, so I began to think about life after Billy's funeral. I had killed the two men who 'offed' Morris and shot Billy, but not the man who had given the orders.
Since finding the gizmo intermixed with private papers from my auto after the building across the street from my third floor walkup exploded in the middle of the night, my life had changed in ways I never would have imagined. The gizmo, resembling an ordinary sheet of copier paper, had allowed me to see anywhere in the present or the past. When I placed it against any vertical surface, it became like a window in time. I had learned to manipulate the image and had been using the gizmo to solve cold cases for the FBI while also occasionally solving recovery cases privately.
My private work had lifted me out of poverty by quite some measure. I supposed that if life were a comic book I would have been Gizmo Man, fighting crime in all its forms. But I would have an advantage over most comic book heroes in that the gizmo also provided a very handsome living while enabling me to fight crime. The problem was that this was real life, and I had no super powers. Anyone could manipulate the gizmo, a radically-designed computer with billions of nano-circuits that made it, without a doubt, the most advanced computer on the planet, and one that allowed someone to see through time. Without the gizmo I was reduced to just an ordinary private citizen again.
Besides myself, only Morris and Billy had actually seen the gizmo. Billy had been my best friend in the world, and I knew he'd never tell anyone about the gizmo, so the leak had to have come from Morris. Morris was a scientist whom I knew from my days as an IT person when we both worked at the same startup company. I had believed I needed to know where the gizmo had come from and enlisted his aid in solving the mystery. I'd told him that if he ever mentioned its existence to anyone, it could mean his life, and sworn him to silence. But Morris, in his arrogance, had obviously told someone about it, in detail, before he died. And that someone was Delcona.
Delcona had believed Morris enough to send two thugs to retrieve it. And Delcona wanted it enough to kill to get it. He had to know by now his people were dead, but he couldn't know that Billy had grabbed the paper from Diz and flushed it down the toilet, so I fully expected him to send others. Even if he decided not to pursue the matter, I had no intention of forgetting he was ultimately responsible for the deaths of my friends. I vowed that once I got my life back on track, I wouldn't rest until Delcona paid for his actions— one way or another.
~ ~ ~
Over the next six days I did little else except sit in the hotel room and plan retribution. I suspected Delcona was well protected and wasn't going to be an easy target. There was also the probability that he was under twenty-four seven surveillance by the Bureau and/or NYPD. I would have liked to use my computer to access the FBI system and view the file on him, but I had been ordered not to get involved in the case. If I accessed the FBI system, there'd be a trail to everything I'd accessed, so I had to find another way. I wished I could just slap the gizmo up against the wall and begin a surveillance that no one could ever detect.
I was having lunch when the call came from the mortuary. Billy's body had been released from the morgue, and they were preparing to transport it to Binghamton. The funeral home there had been alerted and was ready to receive it. I decided to wait until I was actually in Binghamton before notifying his folks.
~ ~ ~
The roughly three-hour drive to the New York Southern Tier city would have been pleasant but for the purpose of the trip. The New York and Pennsylvania woodlands along the route were spectacular. It was especially beautiful in the autumn when the leaves were changing colors in response to the colder overnight temperatures.
The funeral home director was waiting for us, and the transport coffin was quickly unloaded onto a casket dolly and moved inside. I followed behind and then walked to the office with the director to complete the paperwork. When the formalities were wrapped up, I phoned Billy's parents to let them know Billy was home. Mr. Boyles wanted me to come over to their house right away, but I begged off, promising I'd come over the next day. I was a little tired from the drive and just wanted to get something to eat and go to bed. I had made reservations at a local motel, and I picked up a take-out meal on the drive there.
After checking in, I sat down at the small table in the kitchenette to eat but tossed the food in the trash after just two spoonfuls. I was expecting a Mexican Carne Asada burrito, because that's what I'd ordered, but the aluminum foil pan contained something that sort of resembled an Italian manicotti in a tortilla wrap drowning in Hungarian goulash. I should have realized that even the locals didn't like the food there because it was still the dinner hour and I was the only customer in the place when I'd placed the order. I'd have to ask Billy's folks to recommend a few restaurants in the city since I expected to be here at least a week.
~ ~ ~
I met the Boyles at the funeral parlor the next day to finalize the arrangements. After selecting t
he coffin and liner, and taking care of all the small details such as the date and time of the wake and the printing of the remembrance cards, I accepted an invitation to come to the Boyles' home. They had already spoken to their parish priest and made arrangements for a funeral mass and graveside burial ritual. The cemetery had begun preparing for the burial and the plot would be excavated over the next few days. Relatives and family friends had been notified, and a few who lived in other states were making arrangements to fly in. Things would get progressively busier in the days ahead, but for now we had done everything we could.
As we sat down to have coffee, Mrs. Boyles said, "Colton, please tell us again what happened."
I had known this would be asked again and had prepared what I hoped would be an appropriate response.
"I gave Billy a key to my apartment some time ago because I was traveling so much. He would occasionally drop by to check on things in my absence. I was recently in Europe for an extended time while I worked an art theft investigation, and Billy had dropped by the day I returned, although I hadn't informed him I was returning and didn't know he was there when I arrived home. As I entered my darkened apartment, I was jumped by two thugs who were waiting for me. Billy was there, being held at gunpoint. One of the thugs spun me around and held a gun to my neck while he patted me down, looking for weapons. The other thug should have been watching Billy but apparently let his attention wander to me because I probably represented a far greater threat. When one of the thugs admitted to a recent murder in New Jersey, I knew they couldn't let us live. Billy must have realized the same thing. He suddenly jumped up and threw himself against the thug who was supposed to be watching him. Then he threw himself against the one patting me down. The second thug had already taken my service weapon, but he hadn't found my backup yet. Billy's action directed their attention away from me. I was able to get my backup and shoot both thugs, but not before they shot Billy. He died in my arms a few minutes later."
"Then Billy saved your life?"
"I would have to say yes. As I mentioned, by admitting to the murder in New Jersey, one of the thugs had incriminated himself in front of a law enforcement officer and a witness. At that point, the fate intended for us was obvious. By acting when he did, Billy saved my life. I only wish I could have saved his."
"Billy often talked about you when we spoke," Mr. Boyles said. "He had a lot of friends, but we know you were his best friend. He loved you like a brother. We're sure you did everything possible. God just decided to call Billy home. We're sure he's in heaven now."
Upon first entering the Boyles' home, I had immediately noticed that religious statuary and images were everywhere. I had never been very religious myself, and my faith all but disappeared when my folks were killed, but I nodded in silent agreement.
While staying with the Boyles over the next four hours, I recounted the story about how Billy and I had met when I'd gotten into his cab and we struck up a conversation about professional sports in New York. I also told them about the bar league and the YMCA teams where we had played, including anecdotal stories about various games.
At dinnertime, the Boyles invited me to stay and eat with them. I accepted, all the while hoping the food would be better than the takeout I'd had the previous evening.
I shouldn't have worried. It was, by a very wide measure.
~ ~ ~
The Boyles' relatives began arriving the next day, so I stayed out of the way and remained secluded in my motel room for the next several days. I would have an opportunity to be introduced to everyone at the wake on Thursday evening.
~ ~ ~
The family had arranged for a full funeral mass on Friday morning. Not everyone who had been at the wake came, but there were many I hadn't met yet. There were also a lot of folks from the City. Most were cab drivers, but there were a few guys from the bar league. Billy had been a great guy and had been very popular with everyone who knew him.
The biggest surprise for me came when I saw Kathy Marin arrive and step into a pew on the other side of the aisle. She was as lovely as always, and I felt a pang in my chest as I looked at her. I had an urge to join her in the pew, but propriety dictated that I wait until the service was over before saying hello because I didn't knew how she would react. The last time we'd talked, she had hung up on me.
~ ~
As Kathy exited the church following the service, I approached her. She spoke first.
"Hello, Colton. I'm so glad you weren't hurt."
"Thanks, but I'd really rather it be me in that coffin than Billy."
"I'd rather it wasn't either of you."
Following an awkward pause, I said, "How have you been?"
"I'm doing fine."
"I've missed you."
"And I've missed you. But you've changed. You're not the man I fell in love with."
"I'm still the same man you met at our friends' wedding. It's just that circumstances pulled me along an unexpected career path."
"You went willingly."
"Kathy, I was trying to build a life for us. One that had a bright future. It's not like I've done anything illegal. It's quite the opposite. I've been working against crime, not for it."
"I can't live with the danger you seem to have embraced. I can't help thinking it could be me in that coffin if I'd moved in with you or simply been waiting for you in your apartment."
"I haven't embraced danger, Kathy."
"Colton, I read the story about the Amsterdam case in Art World Today Magazine. You killed two men in Europe. And now you've killed two more here. I can't be a part of your life while you and everyone around you are in such danger. Perhaps if you gave up your job with the FBI and went back to writing, we could start over. You once told me you were only trying to make enough money so you could write without having to worry about finances."
I looked down at the ground because I didn't want to see the look in her eyes as I said, "I can't stop yet. Not until the people responsible for Billy's death have been caught and punished."
"Then I guess there's nothing more to be said. I'll remember all the good times we had, and there will always be a special place in my heart for you. Goodbye, Colton."
I stood there and watched her as she walked away. She never looked back. I knew I also had a special place in my heart for her, but she was right that her life could be in danger if we were a couple again.
The cars were emptying from the church parking lot, and I had to get a move on in order to get to the graveside for the final service.
~ ~
As everyone gathered around the grave, I purposely moved to the opposite side from where Kathy was standing. I felt it was better to maintain my distance for now. And I was glad I did when I noticed two men who seemed out of place. They reminded me of Diz and his pudgy friend, the two men I had killed in my apartment, although their appearances were very different. I think it was their demeanor that made me associate them with the two dead thugs.
One was of average height with darting eyes and a narrow face. He seemed to be extremely nervous about being at the funeral. I nicknamed him Weasel.
The other was about six-two, like myself, but he was carrying at least fifty pounds more than I was, and it sure wasn't muscle. He looked like a kid I'd known in grade school who had a reputation for pulling the wings off flies before dropping them onto anthills. He had liked to kick every dog or cat that came within range of his leg. I nicknamed this one Ox.
I felt my heart rate and respiration increase as I watched them with my peripheral vision. It wasn't just their appearance that put me on edge. Every once in a while, I saw one or the other glance in my direction and stare at me for several seconds. I never looked directly at them after my first look, but I continued to watch them. The Glock 23 under my left arm and the Glock 27 in my ankle holster had never before given me such a comforting feeling. Perhaps Kathy was right. Maybe I was embracing danger.
* * *
Chapter Three
Following the gra
veside ceremony, the Boyles invited everyone to come to their house for cake and coffee. Most declined because they had to get back to work, but some agreed to follow them back to the house. My attention was on Weasel and Ox, the two men I had spotted at the grave. They followed the procession but disappeared just before we reached the house. I hadn't gotten their license plate number, but I knew it was a New York plate. I would be watching for them, or anyone else, in case they were Delcona's people. Since I wasn't living at home and hadn't been moving around Manhattan, it made sense that they would try to follow me back to the city to learn where I was staying.
I couldn't refuse to return to the Boyles' home for a short stay, but I felt very awkward. Everyone must have learned by now who I was, and some might have even blamed me for Billy's death. Kathy was there, but she avoided me, and no one else seemed disposed to converse with me. When I saw several women staring at me and whispering among themselves, I decided it was time to leave. I made my way to where the Boyles were talking with two couples and informed them that I was leaving. They thanked me for helping with all the funeral arrangements and for having been such a good friend to Billy. I hadn't forgiven myself, but they weren't blaming me for his death.
An hour later I had checked out of my motel in Binghamton and was on my way back to Manhattan. I kept watching my rearview mirror but never caught sight of the car used by the two men who had stood out so prominently at the gravesite. At least they stood out to me— but I had become more and more attuned to spotting such types. It was unlikely that anyone other than a law enforcement officer would have given them a second glance. During the entire trip back to Manhattan, I never spotted any vehicle that appeared to be following me.
Vengeance Is Personal (A Colton James Novel, Book 2) Page 3
