The 8th Circle

by Sarah Cain

  50

  Danny wasn’t certain what to expect when he ventured into Andy’s bedroom: a trapeze hanging from a mirrored ceiling, multiple handcuffs attached to the back of the bed, boxes of foil. Nothing would have surprised him. The room, however, was disappointingly normal if ornate, filled with heavy mahogany furniture covered with purple-and-gold velvet upholstery. A selection of paintings in the style of Rembrandt decorated the walls; they clashed with the Picasso hanging over the bed. Danny didn’t know about the other paintings, but he knew the Picasso was genuine, a blue nude with pendulous breasts.

  He wasn’t sure whether Linda had genuinely liked the painting or had been making a statement when she bought it at auction. He did know she’d paid a small fortune for it and never displayed it publicly.

  “He’s sleeping with multimillion dollar breasts,” she’d said once. “Even they don’t satisfy him.”

  Andy had always called it the blue-tit horror. At the hospital, he’d been somewhat more restrained.

  There was nothing in the safe. At least nothing that counted as an insurance policy. Twenty thousand in cash, some monogrammed cuff links, and what appeared to be a full baggie of coke. Danny removed the coke and flushed it. Let Andy bitch and moan. The last thing he needed was cocaine sitting in his safe.

  Danny went down to Andy’s office and fired up the computer. Like most people, Andy kept his passwords in his desk drawer hidden in a small address book. Danny scrolled through quickly, looking for anything that looked suspicious. There wasn’t much. Andy had fought the onslaught of the computer age with great vigor. Even computer porn lacked a certain entertainment value Andy craved.

  He liked his sex live.

  “When I’m ninety-two and can’t get it up, maybe I’ll like all that shit,” he’d said more than once. “Some of those sites are fucking sick.”

  Danny checked Andy’s bank accounts. Every month on the fifteenth, Andy withdrew one hundred thousand dollars from his main checking account and noted the withdrawal as “business expenses.” There were smaller withdrawals from some of his other accounts always around the fifteenth, which were similarly notated. It added up to two million a year. In Andy’s world, it wasn’t a great deal of cash, but Danny wondered where the hell the money went. Booze? Nose candy? Women?

  Something was definitely amiss in Andyland.

  *

  “What do you mean, empty?” Andy’s face turned a deep red, and he glared at Danny as if he were lying.

  “There was nothing there.”

  Andy slumped down on the bench and held out his hand. Danny handed him a fifth of Glenfiddich. Andy opened the bottle. He downed a quarter of it without pausing for breath.

  “What was in the safe?” Danny crouched in front of Andy and peered up at him.

  Andy stared straight ahead. “Insurance.” He lifted the fifth and sucked down another gulp. “Life insurance. One hell of a policy.” Andy let the fifth fall from his hands, and Danny caught it before it crashed onto the floor. “Well, we’re all fucked now. No getting around it. Sins of the father, Daniel.”

  It had to be the package. “Why the hell didn’t you check for it after Michael died?”

  “Why would I? Michael didn’t know about the safe. Or the combination, as far as I knew.”

  “Michael probably cracked the goddamn safe in a minute. He was bringing me whatever was in it. So what was in it?”

  “Let’s just say your worst nightmare.”

  Danny wanted to hit him with the bottle. “Could you be more specific?”

  Andy took a breath, and Danny watched a tear roll down his cheek. “You know, you were fifteen when I met you. Do you remember that? You wrote that essay about your night in prison. I still have it.”

  “It was a long time ago, Andy.” What the hell was wrong with him?

  “You were a tough little bastard and so fucking talented. Where does that come from? Why you instead of Michael? We gave him everything, but we couldn’t give him that.”

  “Jesus, it always comes back to Michael, doesn’t it?”

  Andy reached down, clutched Danny’s free hand, and dragged him closer. “No, you idiot. It always comes back to you. I loved you, and he knew it. He was bringing you that package because he knew you’d take care of it.”

  “I was sitting on my ass trying to put two sentences together.”

  Andy shook his head. “You were stewing in your own self-pity, but that doesn’t work for you. Michael knew that. It’s anger that drives you. Your best stuff was ninety-nine percent fury, and every bit of it was aimed at your old man. But you can’t say that, can you?”

  Danny stared at the liver spots on Andy’s hand. The antiseptic hospital smell overwhelmed him.

  “No, you can’t say it. Just like you could never admit that every time you looked at that boy of yours, you wondered how much of your old man really was inside of you. Whether one day you’d lose it just like he did.” Andy’s fingers closed like pincers against his bones. “And everyone always said, ‘Look how wonderful Danny is with his son. Look how patient.’ But I could see that deep down, you were scared. You were fucking terrified.”

  Danny gritted his teeth against the pain. He wanted to scream at Andy to let go, but he didn’t. If he opened that door just a little and let the anger out, he might not get it back inside. Or maybe if he began to scream, he never would be able to stop.

  “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about Beth?” Andy said.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Danny thought Andy’s fingers might go through his hand.

  Tears ran down Andy’s cheeks. “I thought you beat her! Goddammit!”

  “Andy, she’s dead! Why does it matter?” Danny began to shiver. It was like they teetered on the edge of the abyss again.

  “Because I—Why couldn’t you just have had vices like the rest of us? But you couldn’t, could you? And I should’ve known. I did know. Oh fuck. It doesn’t matter anymore. Just tell me that I saved you after all. Kept you from the seventh circle of hell. Give me that much, Daniel.”

  Maybe Andy did save him. If it hadn’t been for Andy, he might still be in South Philly hustling drugs. Or worse. “You gave me my life.”

  Andy relaxed his grip on Danny’s hand, and he smiled. “Now I will most certainly be in the eighth circle with the other hypocrites and frauds, but don’t worry. I won’t be alone.”

  Danny looked at the little mole to the left of Andy’s nose and tried to ignore the stench of scotch that made his stomach pitch and roll. Then he understood. The circles of hell. The Inferno. And Andy was right up at the top of the order.

  “Oh Christ, Andy, you’re one of them.”

  “That essay you wrote will be worth money someday. You’ll want it back, Daniel, but I won’t give it to you. You’ll have to wait ’til I’ve shuffled off this mortal coil.”

  Danny didn’t care about the goddamn essay. Andy was a member of the Inferno. He was sure of it. “Christ Jesus, Michael was your son.”

  Andy kissed Danny’s forehead, and Danny knew that Andy was somehow pulling him close and pushing him away at the same time. Maybe for the last time, and Danny wondered why he always seemed to be standing on the other side of the window. Looking out or looking in, it didn’t seem to matter. He was always on the wrong side.

  Tears welled in his eyes, and he blinked them back. Goddamn Andy.

  “It’s not so tragic, Daniel. You Irish enjoy your sorrows too much.”

  “It gives us an excuse to drink.” The words scratched his throat.

  “But you don’t drink. That’s always been your problem.” He looked for a moment like the old Andy, full of life. Full of the devil. “You’re my mitzvah. When you write the story, don’t let me down.” Andy fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a black card from a silver case. Both shiny and matte, it was divided on the diagonal by a red line, and in its middle, a gold teardrop outlined in red glittered in the fluorescent light. He pressed the card into Danny’s hand. “T
his is one of four. Don’t show it to anyone.”

  Before he could answer, Danny heard the soft squeak of padded shoes moving across the floor. The ICU nurse beckoned to Andy. “Mr. Cohen, you may go in now.” She smiled at Danny. “Is this your son?”

  Andy’s shoulders slumped, and the years piled back on him. “My son’s dead.” Andy pulled himself to his feet and lurched toward the door. He paused and said, “My mitzvah.” Then he was gone.

  Danny couldn’t move. The ground seemed to yawn beneath him, and he clung to the slenderest of threads. The Inferno. Michael had grabbed the biggest story of his godforsaken career all right. He’d stolen it from his father.

  51

  Albert held the car door open for Kate. “What time should I pick you up tomorrow, Miss?”

  “You don’t need to pick me up, Albert.”

  “Senator Harlan asked me to make sure you got to and from work safely, Miss. Shall I be here at eight?”

  “Make it eight thirty. I’m exhausted.”

  He nodded. “You want me to see you to your apartment?”

  “That won’t be necessary. Thanks.”

  It seemed like it took hours for her to climb the steps to the third floor. If she could throw herself into a hot bath, maybe she’d no longer hear Patricia Harlan’s voice barking out commands or feel watched by photographs of Beth Harlan. Danny’s wife.

  Most important, maybe Robert Harlan would no longer coat her skin. Kate unlocked the door and pushed it open, but before she could hit the light switch, someone grabbed her and pulled her close. A hand closed over her mouth.

  “Don’t scream,” Danny said.

  *

  Kate pulled the heavy living room curtains closed. Bits of dust swirled in the air. She always meant to get rid of the curtains because they were old, worn things made of heavy brown material and stained and tattered with age. Now she was glad for them.

  “What are you doing here?” she said. “How did you get in?”

  He stepped from the shadows of the tiny foyer and gave her a half smile. “Your friend Novell. How long have you two known each other?”

  Kate wasn’t sure whether to feel glad or furious to see him. She decided on anger. “Novell had no right.”

  “I’m sorry, Kate. I was afraid someone might be watching. I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me.” Exhaustion replaced the cool amusement in his voice.

  “I’m already in trouble because of you. Senator Harlan thinks you’re a dangerous man.”

  He didn’t answer, but a muscle in his jaw flexed. She saw the anger, controlled but smoldering in his eyes, tightening his mouth. She felt unsure of him. Or maybe intimacy made her feel vulnerable. Naked.

  She wished he hadn’t seen her naked.

  She’d slept with men. She’d never left herself open to any of them. Until now. What wonderful timing on her part. “The senator said you were . . . abusive.” The word sounded so harsh, so ugly hanging between them.

  Danny winced, but the half smile remained in place. “That’s rich. Sorry to disappoint, but it wasn’t quite that way.”

  She could still feel his hands on her. The way he pulled her against him. He was capable of violence, she was sure of it, but he hadn’t hurt her. Scared her, but nothing more. “Then how was it?”

  “Beth and I were going through a rough patch. Her family never thought I was good enough for her.”

  “Why would she say you were abusing her?”

  “She thought we were heading for a divorce, and she knew I’d fight her. Beth was a very smart woman. A lawyer. She was laying the groundwork.”

  Kate stared at him in disbelief. How could he talk so calmly about his wife? As if they’d had a minor spat?

  “Why would you want to stay married?”

  “Conor.” The word came out so soft, she barely heard it. “We had a hard marriage. Neither of us was easy, and Beth could seem tough if you didn’t know her. I was the one who took Conor to playdates, handled school, you know, Mr. Mom, all that, but she loved him. She read to him, played with him. Her schedule was just difficult.”

  “She thought that would hurt her chance of custody.”

  “Yeah. Weird, considering the money angle, but I had a shot. One of the top divorce lawyers in the city agreed to represent me—if it came to it—pro bono. I met her at a party about five months before the accident.” Danny’s voice started soft and grew so quiet that she had to strain to hear him. It was almost like he was talking to himself. “Beth wanted to raise him the way she’d been raised—you know, Princeton prep? He had his own squash pro, golf and piano lessons, and a tutor. She wanted him to be just like her, and he just wasn’t. Too much like me, I guess. It drove her crazy. We both did. He was five years old. He liked running in the park and playing Star Wars. He could write stories, you know. Little stories. He used to tell her he wanted to be a writer like me. She felt like a bad mother, and her parents didn’t help. We had some battles, but I never hit her. We always found a way to work things out.”

  Danny looked away, but not before Kate saw the flicker in his eyes. Something deep and raw, like a festering wound. She watched him take a breath. When he turned back to her, his face was unreadable, almost as if he had drawn a shutter closed, and Kate knew it didn’t matter what Beth Ryan was or wasn’t, Danny wouldn’t discuss her any further. However their marriage ended, he’d once loved his wife very much. And wasn’t it funny to be jealous of a dead woman?

  “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I shouldn’t have just shown up like this,” he said. “I’ll go and check out Michael’s club tonight.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cold curled around her insides. He’d gotten in trouble already checking out Michael’s clubs.

  “Someplace called Midnight. Maybe he mentioned it to you.”

  Kate wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Does Novell know you’re planning to go there?”

  “I didn’t mention it to him.” And from the tight, cold note in his voice, she was sure he didn’t plan to mention it.

  “Don’t you need to be a member to get in to a place like that?”

  He hesitated, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a gold-and-silver card with a black flame in the center. “Would this get me in?”

  Kate leaned back against the wall. Danny hadn’t gotten that card from Michael. “Where did you get that?”

  “Are you all right?” He put the card back and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. “What’s wrong?”

  What could she say? She promised not to speak.

  She wanted to tell him about so many things. The truth about Michael. That card he held. Thomas. But she was afraid, so she rested her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes, and let him soothe her. As if he cared.

  He didn’t push her for an explanation, but Thomas always said Danny was the smart one.

  “I have two sons left,” Thomas said. “Kevin’s slow, but he has a good heart. Danny’s got a brain. No heart, though, and he’d sell out his mother, God rest her soul, for a story. Don’t forget that, Kate.”

  But Thomas was wrong. Danny had a heart. He just kept it locked away. She had to believe that.

  “Don’t go.” Not when everything was coming apart.

  He framed her face with his hands. “Kate.”

  “Don’t talk. I don’t want to talk.”

  Danny lowered his mouth to hers, and it was like the night they danced at the Four Seasons, when they swayed together like branches in a summer breeze, and she felt overcome by that giddy, light-headed rush. She wanted him then. She needed him now, and though she knew better, she’d hope for a happy ending.

  She slid the gold card out of his rear pocket just like a pro.

  52

  “There’s a monster in my closet.”

  Conor stood at the foot of the bed with Beowulf at his side. He wore his Batman pajamas and gripped his blue lightsaber in his right hand. His hair stood up around his head
in a sleep-tousled mess. “There’s a monster in my closet. I can hear him, Daddy. Make him go away. He says he’ll eat me.”

  Danny reached out but felt nothing. He shook with cold, and he moved so slowly, he didn’t know what was wrong with him. Then he realized it was the mothballs. Thousands of mothballs. They lay in shining heaps on the floor. He tried to push through them, but they grasped his ankles with tiny hands and held him back.

  “Daddy! Make the monster go away!”

  Danny could hear Conor crying in the dark, and he tried to call to him, but his voice was paralyzed.

  Panic settled over him, thick and suffocating, and he could hear his own heart thunder in his chest. Dear God, he needed to move. What the hell was matter with him?

  The monster screamed, “Where are you, you little shit?”

  Danny saw the closet door ahead, but when he jerked it open, Andy Cohen stood inside with a .357. He held it out to Danny and grinned. “This is for you, pal.”

  *

  Danny knocked against Kate’s orange crate bookcase. It caught his elbow and sent a shot of agony to his fingertips. At six o’clock in the morning, enough ambient streetlight washed through the window to enable him to see. He could hear the cars move down Spruce Street. Somewhere, a door slammed. A siren wailed.

  He took a deep breath. There was comfort in the early morning traffic, the warmth of Kate’s body, the shivers of pain that ran from his left elbow into his hand. They were real. He could focus on them.

  Don’t think about Conor. Don’t think about Beowulf. Don’t think about the monster. Don’t think about Andy and his one of four cards.

  Kate shifted and moaned, and Danny eased himself up. He pulled on his jeans and went into the bathroom. He needed to act normal, but his life no longer bore any resemblance to normal.

  He rested his head against the mirror. Waiting for the tightness in his chest to pass, he gripped the sides of the sink.

  It was never going to end.