Late in the Day

by Mary Calmes

  “It’s in a hall?” Trevan chimed in.

  “No, it’s actually Faneuil Hall Marketplace, but no one says marketplace here,” I explained.

  “I get it,” Trevan said with a smile. “So, you guys know the area, I don’t. Is that a good place for a restaurant?”

  “It is,” Pravi assured him. “It’s near the Garden for basketball and hockey, and also close to the waterfront.”

  “So, good, then?”

  Ceaton nodded. “Very good, and you’ll only be like twenty minutes, give or take, from your home down on Newbury, which I understand is important as well.”

  “Yeah,” Trevan sighed.

  “So you want to see it?” Ceaton asked.

  He glanced at me. “I do, but I need to go check on Landry first.”

  “Of course,” I agreed, turning to Ceaton. “Could you take Trevan home and then take him and his husband over to see the space for the restaurant?”

  “I can have Luka and Marko take them. Pravi and I are here to take you home.”

  I shook my head. “I parked a car here. You guys go do that, I’m good.”

  Ceaton scowled at me.

  “It’s fine.”

  “May I speak to you a moment?”

  I didn’t realize how really dead tired I was until I followed him a few feet away. “You’re being ridiculous,” I chided Ceaton.

  He rounded on me. “I thought you said that Trevan’s old boss was gunning for you.”

  “There’s always someone looking to put holes in me,” I explained. “You know this.”

  “Yeah, but this guy Fanton sounds particularly pissed off.”

  “He’s madder at Trevan, but I’m not worried about that.”

  “Why?”

  “Trevan’s on my list with the vault.”

  “Oh,” he said, nodding.

  “And so are you by the way.”

  His head snapped up. “What?” he asked, breathless.

  “Oh, I surprised you,” I said, grinning at him. “I didn’t think I could.”

  “How did—you just put me on your list without knowing if I’d say yes or no to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because even if you said no, it was still the right thing to do, to protect you long-term, and save you from Grigor in the short.”

  He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome,” I assured him. “Hey, how did you get here so fast?”

  “I left Detroit when I saw you and Trevan get picked up by whoever that was.”

  “Homeland.”

  “For what?”

  “They weren’t sure who Trevan was moving guns for, if he had ties to terrorists.”

  “But Trevan doesn’t move guns.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Ceaton grunted.

  “So you left as soon as you saw us get picked up? Why?”

  “I got a call from Lee and he said they were legit law enforcement, so that took me out of the equation and put him in play.”

  I nodded. “Yes, it did.”

  “I figured you’d want me back here keeping things secure.”

  “Yes, smart. Thank you.”

  “You do realize that I’d never have left you if I thought you were in any—”

  “I know.”

  We stood there, staring at each other for several heartbeats.

  “So,” I sighed, “did you take care of that issue for me?”

  “Modella?” Ceaton asked, squinting.

  I nodded.

  “I dealt with him the day you mentioned your concern.”

  “And?”

  “And you don’t need to know where all the bodies are buried.”

  He was right, I didn’t. “Thank you,” I said as my phone buzzed. “He hurt a friend, as I told you. It took me longer than I thought it would to find him.”

  “Who’s calling you?” he asked, not interested in the least in talking about Esau Modella, the man who had nearly killed my friend Duncan a few years back.

  I checked the display. “Oh, it’s Daoud. I told him I’d be here later today. He probably wants to see me.” I said, texting back my reply and waiting a moment before I got his in return.

  “I’ll go with you. Pravi can take care of Trevan and Landry himself.”

  I shook my head, answering again, arranging a time and place to meet my old colleague. “I’ll be fine. Please, take care of them. They need to know they have a network here.”

  Ceaton shot me a pained look.

  “I promise you, Trevan will be an asset. He’s always been one to me.”

  “And his boyfriend?”

  “Husband,” I corrected.

  “Husband,” he parroted.

  What to say about Landry. “As long as Trevan’s good, he’s good,” I said.

  He looked wary, unsure.

  “When you meet him, you’ll get it.”

  He was still eyeing me.

  “I’m going home,” I told him.

  He opened his mouth to argue.

  “Take care of Trevan and Landry. Call me tomorrow.”

  I could tell he wanted to argue, but I was done, too tired to even debate with him. I just wanted to sit and not think at all.

  FORTY MINUTES later—the traffic was murder—I was on Nahant, on my way home when I stopped close to Tudor Wharf because I recognized my neighbor Sousanna Bath leaning on the railing, eyes closed, head raised, like she was taking a deep breath of the salty air. The fact that she lived next to me on Ocean Street and was not anywhere near there was not what concerned me. It was her outfit. She was wearing flannel pajamas under a long down-filled parka with a really ugly hat, the kind with the earflaps, wedge snow boots, and she was smoking a cigarette. All this in the middle of the day alone made it impossible for me to drive by. I was in my Lexus GX 460, which I’d left at the airport, wanting to drive home in my own SUV instead of taking a cab or having someone ferry me out here. Pulling up beside her, I turned on the hazards, left the motor running, got out, and moved to her side.

  “Sous,” I greeted her.

  She sighed deeply before turning her head to blow smoke away from me and then smiling wide when she was back to looking at me. “Darius, good to see you.”

  It was still strange to hear that name from anyone other than Efrem, but I’d told first Ceaton, as well as his boyfriend, Brinley Todd, and Ceaton’s guys, then my neighbor. I hadn’t told Lee. He was still using Conrad, which I actually preferred with him. It sort of mirrored our relationship, still a bit prickly and mostly professional.

  I cleared my throat. “You need a ride home?”

  “Yes, that would be really nice. I just have to watch for a few more minutes.”

  “What?”

  She tipped her head, and I glanced out to see a sailboat engulfed in flames.

  “Holy crap.”

  She scoffed.

  Eyes back on her. “Sweetheart, is that your boat?”

  “It’s Dean’s boat.”

  I looked back. “Can I ask why we’re watching Dean’s boat burn in the harbor?”

  “Can you see the piano from here?”

  “No, I… no.”

  She passed me a pair of opera glasses from her pocket.

  Once I could see the boat up close, I spotted the living room table I’d taken note of the last time I was in her house, along with the aforementioned grand piano, a lot of suits, some golf clubs, and a portrait of her and her hubby taken by a celebrity photographer years before after they won it at an auction benefiting a children’s hospital.

  “I liked that table,” I commented.

  “I liked it, too, but that was before I came home from taking the dogs to the vet and found him fucking my friend Heather on top of it.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Well said,” she sighed. “Can you see the metal box?”

  “Yeah, what is—oh no.” I groaned loudly. “You did not.”

  “Oh, I d
id too.” She cackled.

  I had to smile; it was just too good. “You had the car compacted first?”

  She sighed happily.

  Her husband, Dean Bath, had shown me the Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren Roadster 722 S just once. I didn’t get to ride in it; I only got to look at it. That was all right. I liked cars, especially fast ones, but I didn’t collect them. I didn’t idolize them like he did. It had been nice of him to take the time to show me at all; otherwise, I wouldn’t have known what I was looking at just from seeing a piece of the fender.

  “Holy shit, Sous, he’s going to murder you.”

  “Hah!” She cackled again. “He can try.”

  I lowered the glasses. “At least now you can do the remodeling in the house you wanted to do without any interference.”

  “Oh, you’re right,” she agreed. “Another bonus I hadn’t considered. Thank you.”

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the level of retribution that went into this, but won’t you get in trouble?”

  “Already did,” she said, pulling a neatly folded in half white 4x6 piece of paper from her pocket. Once I opened it, I saw that I was looking at a town-issued ticket, not a state one, a Uniform Citation that listed the maritime law for littering and the town laws for open fires. The fine amount was a hundred and fifty dollars and was written out by the harbormaster.

  I looked up at her. “That’s it?”

  “Bill had to do something, even if we are friends, so yes, that’s it.”

  “Did he just notice the fire?”

  “No, I called him, and the Coast Guard, to let them know what was going on. Didn’t want anyone diverted from something important.”

  “No, of course not, very thoughtful of you.”

  She grunted.

  “And what happens when it’s all burned up?”

  “I already made arrangements with a lobsterman to tow it in.” She sighed, and then her face lit up. “I didn’t want to just leave the carcass out there. I don’t want any kids to get the bright idea to go mess around with it.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “You’re never going to guess what I used for accelerant.”

  “You didn’t just use gasoline?”

  “No, that would have been bad for the fish. So would kerosene, so I used all that gin we had left over from the New Year’s Eve party.”

  “That was a lot of gin, and it was in those gallon jugs.”

  “And you said I’d never have a use for it.”

  “Well, you showed me.”

  “Yes, see, even distraught, I’m a friend to the environment.”

  “Very thoughtful of you,” I confirmed as I passed the ticket back, and she gently refolded it and put it in her pocket. “From how careful you’re being, I’m thinking you have plans for that.”

  “Indeed I do,” she said cheerfully. “I’m going to frame it and hang it over the toilet in the master bathroom.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Remind me never to piss you off.”

  Shifting her weight, she leaned against me. “No, I already know you’re not the kind to cheat or break hearts. You’re a good man, Darius Hawthorne.”

  She didn’t know anything about me at all, but the words were kind.

  “Where is ole Dean?”

  “In the Bahamas on a business trip.”

  “He didn’t see you? He doesn’t know you know?”

  “Nope,” she assured me, dropping the cigarette and grinding it under her boot before bending to pick it back up. The woman was not a litterbug. Burn all or most of her husband’s belongings on his prized sailboat—yes. Leave a cigarette butt on the side of the road—no.

  “How does he not know?”

  “I came in through the backyard because I left the dogs out there—they always have to go after the vet—and there he was, and there she was, and you know, I always have my phone.”

  I turned to her. “Did you take video?”

  Quick nod.

  “What did you—are you—planning to do with it?”

  “I met with his partner, Heather’s husband, this morning and we commiserated over breakfast, and then we both went home.”

  I nodded. “Was he sad? Did he cry?”

  “No. He did call his lawyer, though. Apparently they had a fidelity clause in their prenup.”

  “So he’s off the hook.”

  She grunted.

  I faced her. “May I drive you home now before you freeze to death?”

  “Darling, I don’t think I could freeze on Everest in this coat.”

  “So is that a no on letting me drive you?”

  “No, but could we get coffee on the way?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  I got a tender smile in response.

  “Did you by any chance meet Heather’s husband in this outfit?”

  A big impish grin accompanied much nodding.

  “What was he wearing?”

  “About the same, except, you know, wool cashmere blend overcoat.”

  “Okay.”

  I put her in my SUV.

  “Oh, I like this,” she said, leaning back, getting comfortable. “It was cold outside.”

  “I thought you said—”

  “On my face,” she clarified

  It was. March in Nahant was still arctic, and she’d been outside for God knew how long.

  “You realize they’ll be talking about this for years down at the Dunkin’ Donuts.” She cackled. “Going to be fabulous.”

  I had liked her the moment I met her, shoveling her driveway after I moved in. She had pointed out another new neighbor on the other side of me.

  “Where are you from?” she had asked as I shoveled my own drive, both of us in parkas and boots, gloves, scarves, and wool beanies.

  “Detroit,” I answered as I moved to shake her hand.

  She giggled and asked if I wanted to bet her how long the guy from Jacksonville was going to last in his jeans, sweater, sneakers, and leather jacket. His gloves looked like the kind my mother used to garden, not at all made for warmth.

  “That’s mean,” I said, even as I took that action.

  I won hot chocolate at her house when Florida ran inside before he turned into a Popsicle. The two of us helped dig out his Mini Cooper afterward. I explained the benefits of an SUV all-wheel drive and Sousanna explained where the North Face store was downtown. The man at least needed a decent jacket.

  We rolled through Dunkin’ Donuts, got large coffees, and were home in time for her to meet the locksmith. I waved before I hit the alarm code on my front door and had my hand on the knob when a car pulled into my driveway. I was surprised when Rahm Daoud got out of the oddly colored Ferrari Enzo.

  “What the hell is that color?”

  He turned and looked at the car he’d just gotten out of before giving me back his attention. “Pearl.”

  “It’s not good,” I assured him.

  He squinted and tipped his head back and forth like, maybe.

  “Are you coming in?”

  I didn’t have to ask him twice.

  Chapter Six

  “YOU KNOW,” Daoud began once he was sitting at my kitchen table with a cup of Earl Grey tea with milk and honey in his hand, “becoming the vault doesn’t suddenly replace God knows how many years of murder-for-hire. You’re still you.”

  “Meaning what?” I asked, yawning as we sat in the kitchen nook off the cavernous kitchen that was better suited to a caterer than me. It was way more than I needed. The double ovens and Gaggenau and Thermador appliances, the skylights, the way the open floor plan flowed from one room to the next—it was stunning. I needed about eight more people living with me in the Tudor-style mansion, though. It was much too big. Though, this way, heaven forbid, if I was ever attacked, I had room to maneuver.

  “You’re not some paragon of virtue,” Daoud pointed out, sipping his tea, squinting at the space around him.

  “I never said I was sin-free.”

  He eyed me. “Just because you’r
e the vault doesn’t make you good or any more likely not to go to hell.”

  “We’re carpooling, I’m aware.”

  He took another sip. “I hate Boston,” he informed me.

  “Yes, I know, you said that the last time you were here,” I reminded him.

  “Did I?”

  I grunted.

  “This house is ridiculous,” he said, offhand.

  “Says the man who owns a villa on Lake Como,” I shot back.

  He grunted because, really, there was no comeback to that.

  As he stared out at the bay—the view was outstanding—I studied the deep obsidian eyes accentuated by long glossy lashes beneath thick coal brows and thought, as I always did, how striking he was. His gaze, combined with the warm tan skin and jet-black hair, made it difficult for him to go unnoticed, which in our business was problematic. I blended in far easier than he did, and no one had ever told me that being a black man in what, at least in Hollywood, was thought of as exclusively a white man’s game, would have seemed problematic. The truth was I’d never been looked at twice whether in Rome or Madrid, Berlin or Paris. Even at six four, built more like a quarterback than a lineman, as Trevan had told me, I went unnoticed in most arenas. I did not stand out. No one had ever told me I didn’t belong some place, and when people did take a second look at me, it was the bespoke suits, designer shoes, or the Cartier watch that they saw. I came and went more under the radar than most people I knew.

  “Where is your head?” he asked, returning his onyx gaze to me.

  “I was just thinking how much easier James Bond would blend in if he were black.”

  He nodded. “It’s true. The world is a multicultural place wherever you look.”

  “Unless you’re killing people in rural Kentucky or something,” I said snidely, arching an eyebrow to bait him.

  “Do shut up.”

  “How many deputies did that sheriff have again?”

  “I can’t seem to recall.”

  I scoffed. “Sometimes if a contract seems odd, you ask a friend to help you out.”

  He didn’t reply, and I went back to admiring the fine aquiline nose and his square jawline that only comic book characters had.

  His low chuckle was a surprise.

  “What?”