by Matt Coyle
Ten days had passed and my life had changed more than once, but I still had need for a gun. I picked up the Ruger .357 Magnum and bought a box of Magtech ammo.
At six o’clock the next morning, I drove over to Stone’s house and parked where I’d left the Caddy a week ago. My left arm in a sling, I hammered on the drawbridge front door and returned my right hand to the heavy pocket of my bomber jacket.
Stone opened the door in a blue terrycloth robe. His eyes were alert, but he hadn’t been awake long enough to tame his gray mane. I pulled my hand from my coat and held the Ruger loosely at my side. Stone’s eyes tracked the gun, then came back to mine.
This was going to end today. How it did, would be Stone’s choice.
“Well, Rick,” he opened the door wide, “I see we have some unfinished business. Come in.”
I stepped inside and off to the right so I could see him as he shut the door. “Your office.”
He led me down the hallway. All photographs were hanging back in place. I checked the wall inside his office that had been punctured by the first shot he fired at me. Not even a mark.
Stone saw me examining the wall. “Some mistakes are easily erased.”
“Sit, Stone, but keep your hands on the desk.”
He did as told and I took the same seat opposite him I’d chosen a week ago. The morning sun hadn’t yet climbed up the back of Mount Soledad and the panoramic windows behind Stone only hinted at the ocean below in gray relief. I set the gun down on the desk and pulled an envelope out of my back pocket and placed it next to the gun.
“You’re now legally part owner of Muldoon’s Steak House. There’s nothing I can do about that.” I rested my hand on the desk between the gun and the envelope. “But I can stop you from forcing Turk out and tearing the restaurant down to put up a hotel.”
“You think the threat of a gun is going to stop me?” He gave me sharp teeth and dead eyes.
“No, but what’s in the envelope will.”
“You have my attention.”
“Louise Abigail Delano’s birth certificate.” I took the certificate out of the envelope and held it up so he could see it. Then I pushed the envelope across the desk to him.
Stone opened it and pulled out the document Elk Fenton had written up for me the day before. “What’s this?”
“An agreement not to sell Muldoon’s or close it without Turk’s consent. Sign it.”
He looked at me and smiled, then signed the contract and slid it back to me. I checked his signature and put it back in the envelope and placed the birth certificate on the desk. I stood up, put the gun in my pocket, and reached across the table with an open hand.
Stone tilted his head and his smile grew larger. He hesitated, then finally shook my hand. I turned and headed for the door, leaving the birth certificate on the desk.
“You don’t think my lawyers can break this contract, Rick?” The confident, languid baritone from the first night we met.
“Maybe.” I stopped and looked at him. “That’s why I shook your hand. I know you won’t break that oath because you believe in honor. And if you do, I’ll come after you.”
I left without looking back.
Late that night, I sat with Midnight in the dark and watched the video of Colleen and me in Lake Tahoe the weekend I proposed to her. The video cut to the part where we camped at nearby Fallen Leaf Lake. Colleen was cooking over a Coleman stove and didn’t know I was filming. Her blonde hair in a ponytail, sparkling azure eyes pulled up at the corners in a smile, she sang softly to herself as she flipped bacon on the stove. She looked up, embarrassed when she saw me, then her face melted into the smile that told me she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but there with me. It was the look I held onto after all those years and summoned when I could get past the guilt.
I turned off the tape and cried.
A week later, I went back to work at Muldoon’s. Stone stayed away. I worked one hundred and forty-nine straight days until Turk finally rolled through the front door in a wheelchair. I quit the next day.
I’ve since found a new job. Private investigator.
Now strangers come to me with their problems and I try to solve them. I do it for money, not for love. It’s easier that way. Fewer people get hurt.
