Lawyers, Guns and Money

by Bob Mayer

  They rode the rest of the way on Route 2 to Fort Devens in silence. Kane drove Merrick to his quarters.

  “Here.” Kane held out the bag with the money. “College fund for the kids.”

  Merrick didn’t argue. Kane noted that the lights were on in Merrick’s side of the duplex as they pulled up, even though it was well after midnight. Kane remained in the car while Merrick decamped and Thao ran up to say goodbye to his sister. Bahn opened the door before Merrick and Thao reached it. She wrapped her arms around Merrick and then her brother. She abruptly stepped back and in the glow of the porch light, looked her brother up and down, taking in his blood-spattered clothes from his post-mortems. Her voice went up, speaking in their native tongue. Thao dropped his head and meekly received the tongue lashing, then was dismissed as Bahn led her husband inside, slamming the door.

  Thao returned and claimed the roomier passenger seat. Kane stayed at the speed limit, given the kit bag and rucksack full of weapons on the back seat. Thao was silent.

  “I’m sorry,” Kane finally said as they roared along in the dark.

  “I came along willingly,” Thao bowed his head for a moment, the glow of the dash reflected off his smooth skin. He looked ahead. “I thought I was done when we left Vietnam. I never wanted to kill again. I believed, and still believe, my life path is the opposite. To help people. To save lives.”

  “That’s why I’m sorry,” Kane said. “It’s why I didn’t want to—”

  Thao interrupted him. “After what you did the night of the Blackout, I had to reflect on many things. What we did in the war. During the escape. There are actions I’ve ignored, because it is easier to do so. One is the fact that Van Van bring us tribute that is tainted with blood and pain. It reminds me of the war. For you, it was clear-cut. You wore a uniform and fought for your country. My people have never had a country.”

  “I don’t wear a uniform anymore,” Kane said.

  “I know.” Thao fell silent.

  Kane didn’t know what to say because he rarely did when things took an emotional turn; something Taryn has accused him of more than once.

  He tried. “What’s Morticia’s real name?”

  “That is not mine to disclose.”

  Miles rolled by.

  Thao spoke. “Dai Yu, you do know there are other things that are important about a person besides their name?”

  “Sure,” Kane said. He waited a moment. “Are we talking about Morticia?”

  Thao sighed. “There are times you frustrate me very much. Does it bother you that she wears a wig and disguises herself at the diner?”

  “Her choice,” Kane said. He glanced over as something finally occurred to him. “Does it bother you?”

  “I saw through it from the first,” Thao said. “It did disturb me. I wondered why? I granted her that she had reasons but it was troublesome that someone would pretend to not be who they really are.”

  “Does it still bother you?”

  “No. I asked her why she did it.”

  “I did too. She told me it was a persona,” Kane said.

  “And what does that mean to you?”

  “I figured she wanted to separate her work from her life outside the diner. I don’t know. I didn’t think much about it.” Kane watched a pair of headlights in the side view mirror rapidly approach. A car zoomed by, red taillights disappearing ahead in the dark. He knew the Kid would be unhappy he was driving so slowly.

  “Why didn’t you ask her why she does it?” Thao asked.

  “I thought that was kind of personal.”

  “She is an aspiring singer and actress,” Thao said. “I believe she works in the diner not just for the money, but as training.”

  “A persona, yeah,” Kane said. “Makes sense, sorta. She certainly deals with all sorts of characters in there.”

  “She often comes to work directly from her performances,” Thao said. “There are times she changes into her ‘persona’ in the bathroom.”

  “Right,” Kane said. A couple of miles of darkness passed by. “Is there a problem?”

  “There are many problems,” Thao said. “Are you referring to our most recent topic? Morticia?”

  “Yeah. Morticia. Something I should know?”

  “Not that I am aware of,” Thao said. “I like her but I do not want you to be confused by her. Because of her training, or perhaps because she’s drawn to being an actress, she can be different people. She asked you one time to help a friend, did she not?”

  Given all that had happened this evening, Kane thought this topic was not exactly focused, but he’d been the one to bring it up. So much for his attempts at small talk. “Yeah. I referred her to Toni. She said she had a friend who needed a lawyer.”

  “Do you know any more than that?”

  “Nope.”

  “You didn’t follow up?”

  “Not my business.”

  “Do you know who the friend was?”

  “Nope.”

  “Her lover. A woman. She has talked to me about her. They live together.”

  Kane glanced over at Thao. “Really?”

  “Yes. The issue had something to do with their cohabitating in a rent-controlled apartment.”

  “I hope Toni was able to help her,” Kane said.

  “Good.”

  Kane shrugged. “I thought she’d hooked up with Omar Strong.”

  “They are friends,” Thao said. “They share some common interests, such as literature. She is well read and full of knowledge, both pertinent and esoteric.” Thao flashed a smile. “Like you, my friend.

  Kane waited for more but the miles rolled by.

  “I’m glad you thought ahead about recovering the bullets,” Kane said, trying safer, more practical ground.

  “Something we never worried about in combat,” Thao said.

  “Why did you think of it?”

  “Do you not watch Quincy?” Thao asked.

  “Who?”

  “A television show about a medical examiner. Jack Klugman is an excellent actor. It is on Sunday nights.”

  “I don’t own a television,” Kane admitted, which made him realize Thao had never seen his apartment. Morticia would give him shit about that. “I’ve got lots of books. You need to stop by sometime and check them out.”

  “Quincy is my Sunday night indulgence.” Thao sounded apologetic, as if working seven mornings a week in the diner and then going to med school in the late afternoon didn’t allow him an evening of television. “When he examines homicide victims by firearm, he recovers the bullets. They are tested to determine if they came from a particular gun.”

  “I appreciate it,” Kane said.

  “You are welcome.”

  They drove through the rest of the length of Connecticut in silence. Kane felt a twinge of something, not exactly nostalgia, when they passed the sign indicating they were entering the Bronx. This early on a Monday, the traffic was light. He took the Cross-Bronx, his father’s most hated road, into Manhattan and immediately looped off just before crossing the George Washington Bridge, onto the Henry Hudson Parkway South, which turned into the West Side Highway, cause of much recent grief for Kane. He took the last southbound exit and wove his way to Gansevoort and Washington. Kane dropped Thao off at the diner with the kit bag.

  “Do you know what the last line of the Magnificent Seven is, William?”

  The fact he used his name caught Kane’s undivided attention. “No.”

  “The two main characters, Yul Brynner and Steve McQueen, are riding past the graves of their fallen comrades, heading north. The Brynner character, I am sorry, I forget what he was called in the film, says to the other: ‘The old man was right. Only the farmers won. We lost. We’ll always lose’.”

  “Trying to cheer me up?” Kane said.

  “No. Trying to let you know that please do not listen to Sergeant Merrick if he has a plan next time. Your plans are usually better.”

  “Thanks.”

  “There is some
thing else,” Thao said.

  “Yeah?”

  “We cannot involve Sergeant Merrick in any more dangerous activities that might cause him to be hurt or end up in jail.”

  Kane waited for further explanation.

  “Bahn asked me.”

  “All right,” Kane said. “She seemed a bit upset.”

  “She is pregnant.”

  “Oh.” Kane didn’t know how to respond. “Yeah. That makes sense. No more involving Lew.”

  Thao smiled. “I will be an uncle. I will see you in the morning. Sleep well, my friend.”

  The door shut and Thao locked it, disappearing inside.

  “’Usually’?” Kane wondered out loud.

  Kane walked home from the Washington Square Hotel after tipping the doorman to pay off the day time concierge a little extra for the trouble. This was on top of the original money he’d given to the Kid. A former fixer at Toni’s old firm had impressed on him that tipping was an investment in the future and paid dividends. He trudged back to his apartment, the rucksack with the Swedish K in it heavy on his back. A murder weapon. He considered whether he needed to get rid of it. He was in uncharted territory as a criminal. Even with Thao’s impromptu post-mortem surgery it could be a problem. It was bad enough that Sofia Cappucci had the High Standard that had killed Cibosky.

  By the time he made it to Jane Street he decided not to. The bullets had been recovered and it was a special weapon, one he might need again. Kane had a feeling that in any confrontation with the Swords of Saint Patrick he was going to be out gunned and out manned, especially since he had promised not to involved Merrick in any more escapades, which he found a bit ironic considering the man was going to the newly formed Delta Force.

  Ruminating on the lack of firepower, Kane wasn’t in a good mood when he saw the tell was lying in front of his door. No note from Pope. He drew his .45. Checked the knob. Locked.

  Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.

  Kane backed up, went around the brownstone to the left, through the narrow alley and to the fence separating that yard from Pope’s. He peered over the wood barrier. There was a light on in his apartment; from the dimness and shadows, he could tell it was the bathroom. No sign of Yazzie lying in ambush in the backyard. Kane slid over the fence and dropped the ruck. Pulled out the K, unfolded the stock and pulled back the bolt, loading a round in the chamber. He moved to the door. That tell, which he’d emplaced since Yazzie’s uninvited visit, was present.

  Stock tight to his shoulder, left hand holding the weapon, he tried the knob. Locked.

  Kane gently slid the key in the lock. Turned it.

  He entered fast and low, shoulders tensed, the barrel of the K tracking with his eyes. He was through the kitchen into the narrow hallway between bedroom and bath, stopping short of being silhouetted by the light.

  Someone was in his bed.

  “Fuck,” Kane muttered, relief, and something more, flooding through his body. He flipped on the light as he said: “Truvey? Listen—” he stopped before the figure in bed became aware, because he recognized the scent.

  “What?” Toni murmured. “Will?” A hand brushed thick dark curls out her face and she blinked in the sudden light. She sat up. “Will? I’m sorry. I had nowhere else to go. You gave me the key a long time ago. Please don’t point that at me.”

  Kane had forgotten about the K in his hands. He lowered it. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t know who was in here. Last visitor wasn’t so friendly.” Although the one before . . . Kane chopped the stream. “What do you mean you had nowhere else to go? What’s going on?”

  Toni was wearing loose jeans and a t-shirt. She slid out of the bed, barefoot. She was a woman who could climb startled out of a bed looking gorgeous. “Where have you been, Will? Why do you have a machinegun?”

  Kane nodded toward the kitchen. “Let’s talk. I gotta eat something.” A sudden feeling of starving had punched up from his stomach; something he recalled from his combat tours. It happened after getting back from a mission, once the combat high wore off. As he passed through the bedroom, he was glad he’d remade the bed after Truvey’s visit.

  He put the K on the counter and opened the cupboard. “I’m gonna make some soup. Want some?”

  “No, thanks.” Toni sat at the tiny table, facing Kane, lines pressed into her face. “My office was raided today by the FBI.”

  “Were there two idiots named Tucker and Shaw in the raid?”

  “That was the entire raiding party,” Toni said. “A couple of assholes, but they had a legit warrant. I called and checked on it before I let them do anything.”

  Kane used a P-38 to open a can of soup without checking the label to see what it was. Plopped it in a pan and used a match to light one of the ancient gas burners. He added some water to the can to make sure he got every bit of the soup and added that to the pan, then tossed the can in the trash.

  “They make better openers,” Toni noted, indicating the small hinged metal opener that came with every C-ration.

  “What was the warrant for?” Kane asked.

  “Anything to do with my father. They’d already hit his offices so I had a feeling they were on the way.”

  “That made you afraid to go home?” Kane asked as he used a spoon to stir the soup.

  “Yazzie made me afraid to go home,” Toni said. “I got a call from my mother that he showed up at her penthouse looking for father.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’s on her way out of the country as we speak,” Toni said. “She was furious. She said Yazzie threatened her. Given father’s disappearance, she might not ever come back.”

  “Why didn’t she call the cops?”

  “Because she’s scared,” Toni said. “Afraid of what father might have been involved in. I didn’t tell her, but she’s no idiot. Other than the cops my father had on the take, they don’t like him given his history and clients.”

  “Why didn’t you go with her?” Kane asked.

  “I’ve got a business here,” Toni said. “But I didn’t want to run into Yazzie showing up at my place. Plus, I brought my cache with me.”

  “Your ‘cache’?”

  “Remember? You told me to keep my most important stuff in a single briefcase? I grabbed it before the FBI showed up and sent Mrs. Ruiz out with it. Picked it up on the way here. There’re things in there I don’t want the FBI looking at.”

  “What things?”

  “Nothing illegal,” Toni tried.

  “Right.” Kane poured the soup into a bowl that had seen better cleanings. He took the same spoon he’d used to stir and sat across from her.

  “Hungry a little?” Toni asked as Kane tore into the soup.

  “Busy day,” Kane said, between shovels of soup. “Did your mother give Yazzie anything?”

  “He’s lucky she didn’t shoot him with her derringer,” Toni said. “Have you found out anything about father?”

  Kane shook his head as he swallowed. “I’ve been on something connected. But nothing about your father’s current location.” He remembered the film in his backpack, but now wasn’t the time. Pope’s struggling garden in the back was visible in the glow that always hovered over the city and was reflected back by the clouds and smog.

  “It was a mirage,” Toni said.

  The spoon paused on the way to Kane’s mouth. “What? What was?”

  “My family. My father. My mother. Ted got away from a mirage. I never saw it for what it really was. Even when I left the firm.”

  Kane shrugged. “Most families are.”

  “Bullshit,” Toni said. “Don’t give me that. There’s got to be some normal people.”

  “Not in my social circles,” Kane said, which caused Toni to laugh.

  “That’s a circle that could hold a get-together on the top of a pin.”

  “Hey.” Kane mimicked being hurt. “I saw Lew Merrick and his wife today. Thao and I visited.”

  Toni raised one eyebrow. “Really? Just to visit? In the mids
t of this shit-storm?”

  Kane took the empty bowl to the sink, ran some water in it. Sat back down. “There’s a more immediate problem than your father and Yazzie.”

  “And that is?”

  Kane got her up to speed on the IRA and the Boston visit, leaving out the fatal by-products of the encounter.

  “What are these TOWs?” Toni asked when he was done. “How dangerous are they?”

  “They’re anti-tank missiles,” Kane said. “TOW stands for Tube-launched-Optically-tracked-Wire-guided. Which means you fire, track a target and hit it.”

  Toni let out a deep breath. “What do you think they’re going to do, Will?”

  “No idea,” Kane said. He stood. “We’ll talk in the morning. Get some sleep. I’ll be on the couch in the front room.”

  Toni didn’t argue. She climbed into the bed, between already broken sheets. Kane shut the door between the bedroom and sitting room. He looked out the blinds in the street level, narrow window. Nothing suspicious from this perch.

  Kane sat in the chair, facing the front door. He drew the .45 and rested it on his lap.

  14

  Monday Morning,

  8 August 1977

  GREENWICH VILLAGE, MANHATTAN

  Kane closed his eyes and feigned sleep as he heard Toni get out of bed. The first glow of dawn had crept in the street level window a half hour ago. He waited, hearing her move about before she finally opened the door.

  “Will?” she whispered.

  Kane opened his eyes and stretched. “Morning.”

  “I thought you would at least be on the couch,” Toni said. “You could have slept with me; I mean in the bed.”

  “Springs are shot on the couch,” Kane said. He stood, holstering the .45. “The chair is better.”

  “What now?” Toni asked.

  “Go to work,” Kane said. “Yazzie won’t come after you like your mother. He thought she might have known something about your father’s location that you didn’t. He understnds you want to find your father as much as he does.” He didn’t add that Yazzie, or one of his men, had probably followed her here.