Mercy River

by Glen Erik Hamilton

  “Not yet. We have to find Leo. You’re right, he’d go to my place. That’s where Dez is.”

  “Should have known.” He sighed. “No Jaeger, no millions. And you nearly dead.”

  “Like I said, not yet.”

  Luce shut the door. She didn’t walk back to us immediately. I went to the bar and grabbed the soda gun and filled a pint glass with water, downed it, filled another. Swallowing hurt, but everything hurt.

  “Thanks for calling Carter,” I said.

  “Doesn’t make a difference if you won’t follow his advice,” she said. She hadn’t overheard me and Hollis talking. She didn’t need to have. Luce knew me well enough.

  “Still.” I finished the second glass. “Good of you.”

  “He knows who you are. Who we were. He came anyway.”

  “Good of him, then.”

  I moved around the bar and walked past her to open the door. Hollis moved so quickly to leave it was as if he’d dropped a lit match in his back pocket.

  “Cowboy boots?” I said to Luce.

  “He’s from Oklahoma. Cut him some slack. You’d like him.”

  I didn’t think so. Neither did Luce, probably. But we could pretend.

  “See you,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  I closed the green door behind me. As I walked up the alley, I heard a click as Luce slid the dead bolt home.

  Forty-One

  Out on the street, Hollis had his ancient beast of an Eldorado warming up, and the canvas top down.

  “In October,” I said, looking at the open-air seats.

  “I live dangerously. To your place?”

  I tried Leo’s phone. No answer.

  “Cross your fingers that he’s there,” I said. I didn’t like thinking about the alternatives.

  I lived in a third-floor walk-up studio off Broadway and across from the light rail, which was a fresh enough addition to Capitol Hill that longtime residents still called it the new station. The apartment wasn’t much, and I paid through the nose for it. I also dropped heavy coin each month for a reserved parking place in a lot nearby. Location, location. Hollis pulled into my space, and we walked back to my building.

  “You all right?” Hollis said.

  “I just had a physical an hour ago.”

  “Not quite what I meant.”

  I let it lie. We walked up the flights to my floor—the minor exertion making my chest ping like alarmed radar—and down the hall to 3C. I gently pushed Hollis to one side of the door before knocking. Safety first.

  “Who is it?” Dez.

  “It’s Van.”

  She yanked the door open. “Thank God.”

  “Leo?” I said.

  “He’s here,” she said, even as Leo came out from the bathroom, holding the same thick Taurus revolver he’d taken from the HaverCorp guard.

  “Shit, Leo,” I said.

  “I know. Sorry, man.” He reached into his pocket and held up his burner phone. The screen was spiderwebbed with cracks. “Happened when I dove to the ground during the fight. I’ve been checking voice mail every ten minutes, in case you got in touch.”

  And of course I wasn’t about to leave my voice on a recording. “Forget it. I’m just glad you made it.”

  “I didn’t think you got out. The cops came in like a fucking invasion right as I reached the motorcycle. I couldn’t get back to you.”

  “It was smart not to try. You wouldn’t have made it past the roadblock.”

  Dez wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “No more.”

  “No,” Leo said. “That’s it for me. Goddamn, what a day.”

  “Dez, this is Hollis. Our friend.”

  “Delighted,” said Hollis, “and glad you’re both home safe.”

  Dez beamed. Hollis had that gift. Instant likability. “Have you seen the news?” she said.

  They led us to the living room. Dez sat in front of her laptop, clicking between multiple windows.

  We had our choice of a dozen video clips, plus live streaming. It was the story of the year, a gun battle in the heart of Seattle. Every local station had arrived within minutes. Some quick-acting KOMO producers had already obtained blurry coverage from bystander phones taken from blocks away, or out of the windows of nearby businesses.

  I had Dez show me every clip, turning off the sound to concentrate on the images. I was looking for myself, and for Leo. None of the professional cameramen had caught us in action. One clip taken from a third-floor office showed a brief fuzzy image of me, lying supine near the armored car. Another from street level revealed what might have been Leo as he dashed off-camera. I backed up the clips and checked again, to be sure. We weren’t remotely identifiable. The clips mostly caught smoke and the barest glimpses of black figures who I knew to be Zeke and Rigo laying down fire, their muzzle flashes visible through the clouds. They were the focus, which took attention off us.

  There could be other video, of course. Something more revealing that the cops hadn’t released. Nothing we could do about that now.

  I refreshed the search and discovered one more uploaded video, over half a minute in length, recorded by a shopper in the Uwajimaya parking lot. It was the best of the bunch, and I imagined that the local CBS affiliate had paid handsomely for the rights. The shopper had had a ringside seat as the HaverCorp truck—with me at the wheel, invisible behind the glare and the shaky motion—crashed through the fence and onto the lot. There was a pause in the action and anxious talking from the civilians after the truck stopped. Then the image jumped as they repointed the phone in a rush, catching a glimpse of me on the Kawasaki speeding out of the lot and up the street.

  “Holy shit, Van,” Leo said.

  “You do keep it interesting,” said Hollis.

  I backed up the video to watch it again. With the surgical mask on, my dark hair was my only identifiable feature.

  Dez tapped one of the two intact burners lying on the table. “There’s no word yet from John Fain.”

  “There won’t be,” I said. “Fain ran a game on us. He must have spotted Jaeger before Leo and I even reached the Chinatown bank. But he laid back and waited for us to roll up with the money. Probably worried that Leo and I would abandon the truck as soon as they had Jaeger secured. But he waited too long. Jaeger brought too many men. Fain’s team couldn’t deal with them and unload the cash before the cops rolled in. Jaeger escaped. Then Fain compounded the mistake by waiting too long to exfil. His elite team’s precious cohesion unraveled. When Leo and I bugged out on him, Fain lost it completely.”

  Hollis’s mouth twisted. I had filled him in on the day’s fiasco during our short drive to the apartment. “More than that,” he said. “The damned traitor shot you.”

  “He shot you?” Dez said in alarm.

  “’S’okay. I’m bulletproof,” I said.

  “That motherfucker,” Dez said.

  Leo’s hands gripped the chair like he was ready to throw it out the window. “I’ll kill him.”

  “I figured Fain would go for the money,” I said. “That many millions was too much to pass up. But I also believed he would follow Macomber’s orders and make Jaeger his first priority.”

  “Even over you.” Hollis’s face was cold, an uncommon expression for the man.

  “We were still outnumbered. Leo and I took out four of Jaeger’s thugs. Plus Jaeger and his bleached-blond getaway driver and a musclehead in the sedan. That’s at least seven, and I heard gunfire from the north, so Rigo or someone else must have engaged with more of the enemy there.” I shook my head. “Jaeger wasn’t fucking around.”

  We turned our attention back to the news clips. Reports varied on how many robbers had been arrested. Some had the estimate as high as eight. None listed as killed in the firefight. Every station noted that no police or civilians had been wounded, but that some witnesses were being treated for shock and minor injuries.

  KING TV brought on a former SWAT commander to speculate on the nature of the firefight. He propos
ed that the video had captured a falling-out between members of the same gang in the midst of an attempted heist. He was also privy to an inside source in SPD who shared off the record that all of the suspects in custody bore the unmistakable tattoos of white nationalist groups. The SWAT guy noted the violence of such organizations and gave thanks that, thus far, no one appeared to have been killed in the onslaught.

  I joined in that sentiment. Fain hadn’t crossed the line all the way into killing cops.

  We watched the news feeds until the talking heads started to repeat themselves, and then gave each video one more view before I felt reassured that my easily identifiable face hadn’t been caught on camera.

  “Maybe all of Fain’s crew made it out,” Leo said.

  Hollis growled. “We know Jaeger did.”

  “So it was for nothing,” Dez said. “All that fear and worry and risk.”

  I smiled grimly. “Not quite. Not with our little gift for the police.”

  I closed the laptop. Tired and wired all at once. Sleep was probably the smart choice. Or at least sitting down. My breath made a wheezing sound that I usually associated with the flu.

  “It would have been a lot cleaner if Jaeger had been captured at the bank.” I settled onto my bed and leaned back against the wall. It felt as good as any plush easy chair. “But I’ll settle for his grunts in custody and every cop and FBI agent in the Northwest having Jaeger’s photo taped to their dashboards.”

  “That puts paid to that maniac,” Hollis said with satisfaction. “What about Fain?”

  Leo folded his arms on the table to rest his forehead. Maybe he was as tired as I was. Didn’t seem possible.

  “If I never see Mercy River again, I’ll die happy,” Leo said, his voice muffled by the table.

  “I have to go back once more,” Dez said. “For Wayne’s funeral.”

  In all of the planning and chaos of the past day, I had nearly forgotten that Dez had to bury her husband.

  “That town might be bad news for us,” Leo said to her. “Everybody knows you’re with me now.”

  “Give it a day,” I said. “Tonight we rest and keep one eye on the news.”

  “There was talk of a hospital,” Hollis said, eyeing me.

  “Only as a last resort. After this morning, the Feds will have every ER in the state watching for any unusual injuries. Including contusions that might have been caused by rubber bullets.”

  “Then I’m staying here,” said Hollis. “I heard what Carter said. Someone needs to watch your breathing.”

  Dez stretched. “We’ll take that on. One night on Van’s floor won’t kill us.”

  I didn’t argue. There was toughing it out, and then there was stupid, and going to sleep alone and possibly letting my lungs fill with fluid would be the latter.

  My burner phone on the table buzzed to life, rattling and moving like a windup toy. We all stared at it.

  “Who had that number?” Hollis said.

  Only one person not standing in front of me. I rose with some effort, and picked up the phone to open the line and listen.

  “You there? It’s me.” Fain’s voice. Sounding strained.

  I didn’t say anything.

  “We have to talk.”

  Which was something close to funny. He was the one who felt the need to reach out. I was doing fine as it was.

  “It’s not secure. The situation.” There was another pause, different than before. I heard Fain take a long breath and swallow.

  “We’re not safe,” he said, and hung up.

  Dez raised her pierced eyebrow. “What was that about?”

  “He said we’re in trouble.”

  “That’s an officer. Steps in shit and looks around for someone to blame it on,” said Leo.

  “It wasn’t a threat. He wants to talk.”

  “Let him rot,” said Dez.

  Hollis and Leo echoed that opinion.

  While I felt the same, I had to wonder where Fain was coming from. Did he somehow think we’d wound up with the cash? The bulk of the satchels had been left behind in the armored truck. If Daryll had made it out in the pickup, I didn’t think Fain’s team had managed to grab much more than two or three million.

  Not that any number followed by six zeros was chump change. But after licking his chops over many times that amount, Fain might feel cheated. He’d practically let Jaeger skip away to get a shot at it.

  I didn’t owe Fain anything, not even hatred. The only people I needed to worry about right now were in this room. And they deserved some peace. For however long it lasted.

  Forty-Two

  Rest was hard to come by. I was used to insomnia. Tired body, active mind. I had done some of my best thinking—and my craziest, which often amounted to the same thing—during hours when even bats were coming home to roost.

  Tonight was different. My brain felt sluggish. My body couldn’t find comfort enough to relax. Any way I lay, my ribs and chest complained about it. Sitting up helped. I finally convinced Leo and Dez that the bed was wasted on me, injury or no, and I dozed fitfully in the one tall chair that I owned. A leather wingback that was a little too large and way too outlandish for the rest of my tiny apartment. I’d spotted the chair in a shop window while walking on the east side of Capitol Hill a month before. It had instantly reminded me of my grandfather’s favorite chair, an ancient piece, even though Dono’s chair had been the color of merlot wine instead of café au lait. I didn’t even haggle over the price.

  At four past four in the morning, the burner hummed again. I didn’t have to get up to answer it. It had been in my chest pocket since Fain’s first call.

  “We have to talk,” he said again, “not over this line.”

  I agreed with at least half that statement.

  “I figure if this is the cops listening, it’s too late to matter. And if it’s you, then you got no reason to say word one to me, am I right?”

  That strain I had heard earlier was still in Fain’s voice. Along with something else. Resignation? Regret?

  “I will be—we will be, don’t fade away if you see the others—at the corner of First and Yesler at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. That’s a public square, right? A busy place. If that’s safe enough ground for you, be there. This is the only chance we’ll get.”

  The line went dead.

  “Fain called back?” Dez, whispering from the bed. She and Leo had fallen asleep right after a midnight snack of pot stickers and chow mein left over from dinner. Open take-out containers still rested beside the bed, grains of sticky rice scattered like a trail leading to the sheets. I could hear Leo’s long heavy breaths. When he slept, he slept all the way.

  “Yeah,” I whispered back. “Fain wants to meet.”

  “I don’t know Army stuff, but that sounds like a dumb trap to me.”

  “Me, too. Except that he wants it in Pioneer Square during morning rush hour.” I knew the place back to front. It wouldn’t be difficult to see them coming, not with a few extra eyes helping me.

  “Leo and I talked, while we were downstairs waiting for the Chinese food. I decided to ask the Seebrights to handle the funeral arrangements for Wayne. Jim will do a good job.”

  “If you’re worried about being safe there . . .”

  “No. Thank you. It’s not a question of feeling safe. It’s about being free.”

  She sat up and pulled one of the layered blankets to cover herself, even though she wore a white EL VY band T-shirt long enough to come down to her knees.

  “Wayne had a grip on me for a long time. I was his girlfriend when he had everything, and his wife when he had nothing. It didn’t change how he behaved. Always making sure I would do whatever he wanted. Give up whatever he asked. Even if Mom hadn’t left her money to Erle, Wayne would have thought of it as his inheritance, because he had me. And I would have believed it, too. Does that make sense?”

  “I think so.”

  “Him killing Erle, killing himself, and blaming it all on our relationship
. That’s his last turn of the screw. Trying to make me feel how he wants me to feel, even after I’d left him. Even after he’s dead.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “No more. I’m not going to stand over Wayne’s grave and pretend to be sad in front of everybody. I am sad, but for the lost time. Not for him.”

  “That I get.”

  “I’m going to Utah to meet Leo’s family. And then I’m going east, just to drive around for a while. Leo wants to join me.”

  “He’d be a fool not to.”

  I heard the smile in her voice. “Thanks.”

  She rolled over and began to curl up to Leo’s back, and then turned her head toward me again.

  “Are you upset about Luce getting married?”

  Leo had told her the joyous news. “You don’t beat around the bush.”

  “Are you?”

  I shifted in the antique chair. It creaked. My chest creaked some with it.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I am.”

  “Sorry.”

  “But I’m trying to be happy for her.”

  “Tryin’ beats Dyin’. That was on a tin sign in our garage when I was little.” Dez’s words were beginning to slur.

  “It’s true, mostly.”

  “That sign spooked me. The word Dyin’, right there in big bold red.”

  “Big bold idea for a kid,” I said, but Dez was asleep, matching Leo’s slow inhalations with her own.

  I sat and concentrated on my own breathing, which still sounded like a busted accordion, and let myself think about other topics than Mercy River, or Fain’s guys, or anything about this hellish day. Including Luce. Instead I considered why people felt the need to put vintage signs in their houses, and what it might have been like to be a child way back when those signs were shiny new on the wall of the penny arcade, and soon I slipped into something next door to sleep.

  An hour or two later, I woke as lightly.

  The only chance we’ll get, Fain had said. What had he meant? That if I didn’t show, he was giving up? Or that if I wouldn’t make whatever deal he wanted, he would come after us?

  I’d had more than enough of dealing with John Fain. And General Kiss-My-Ass Macomber. I wouldn’t put it past the general to have ordered Fain to sacrifice Leo and me if it gained the Rally millions of HaverCorp’s money. Macomber had that kind of single-mindedness.