The Barbed-Wire Kiss (33 page)

The wind blew with fury on the day of the funeral. it whipped through the cemetery like a thing alive, scattering wreaths and floral arrangements and flapping the skirts of the tent over the grave. To the east, the sky was dense and gray, clouds moving slow and steady on the horizon.

He stood behind the last of the dozen or so mourners, wearing a suit jacket he’d borrowed from Ray, the left side draped over his shoulder and sling. Janine and her parents sat alongside the casket, listening to the priest finish his reading. When he was done, the mourners began to file by slowly. Some leaned over to kiss her, grip her hand. Harry stayed where he was.

After the last of the mourners had drifted back to their cars, Janine and her parents sat there for a while, alone. Then she stood and tucked a single flower into one of the handles of the casket. Her father, a thin, white-haired man, rose to stand beside her. Harry began to walk back up the hill to where he’d parked his car, separate from the others.

“Harry.”

He stopped, turned.

“Harry, wait.”

He watched her come up the hill. She’d worn neither a hat nor a veil, and the wind blew loose strands of hair into her face. She brushed them away from her eyes.

When she reached him, she said nothing for a moment. He put out his arm and she came into it. He held her tight, felt her tremble against him.

After a few moments, she broke away. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry.

“You should come by my parents’ house. We’re having some people over. You can follow the cars.”

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“I know how you feel,” she said. “But he’s safe now.”

He felt the wetness in his eyes, looked into the wind.

“I’ll be driving back to North Carolina in a couple of days with my sister. Rich is going to stay up here and settle things with the house. I don’t think I can bear to stay around here any longer.”

“I understand. You’re doing the right thing.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot over the last few days. About what happens now. The only thing I know for sure is that I’ll miss him every day for the rest of my life.”

“So will I.”

“There’s only so much you can do for someone you love, Harry. You can’t live their lives for them, make their decisions. And you can’t change their past. All you can do is love them, be there when they need you. It took me a while to realize that. We do what we can, but it isn’t always up to us.”

He felt the tears now, tried to hold them back.

“You were there when he needed you, Harry. And you loved him. You don’t owe him—or me—anything else.”

She looked back down the hill to where her parents were waiting.

“I should go,” she said.

She raised up, kissed him lightly on the cheek.

“Take care of yourself, Harry,” she said. “Come visit someday if you get a chance. Or just call me, let me know how you’re doing.”

“I will.”

“We both need to look ahead now. Not back. That’s what he would want.”

He took her hand, squeezed and released it. She started back down the hill, her steps sure. Her father waited for her beside a limousine, the rear door open.

He wiped his eyes, walked up the slope to where he’d left his car. The green Ford was parked behind it, Wesniak and Eagleman standing alongside, a pair of binoculars on the hood.

He looked at them, got out his keys.

“Nice of you to come by,” he said. “You here the whole time? See anybody interesting?”

“No one special,” Wesniak said. “But you never can tell. It’s always worth taking a look around. Buy you a cup of coffee?”

He shook his head, unlocked the door.

“I don’t think so. But, hey, the family are having some people over to their house. Maybe you two could go by there, check IDs or something.”

“Hold up a minute.”

He opened the door, waited.

“I’m sorry things turned out the way they did.”

“You told me.”

“Your friend made some bad decisions, but he didn’t deserve to go like that. We can do something about it, with your help.”

“Is that right?”

“Let’s talk, Harry. Get out of this wind a little bit.” He opened the back door of the Ford.

“Am I under arrest?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I’ll pass.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eagleman said. “Just get in the fucking car.”

“Easy,” Wesniak said to him.

Harry shut the door of the Saturn.

“Okay, let’s talk.”

He walked back to the Ford, looked at Eagleman, and slid into the backseat. He had to fight the wind to pull the door shut. Wesniak went around to the other side, got in beside him, closed the door. Eagleman stayed outside.

“We ended on a bad note last time,” Wesniak said. “That may have been partially my fault. But I thought you should be kept up to date on some new developments. We’ve got a lead on Dunleavy.”

Harry looked at him. Wind rocked the car.

“A surveillance detail spotted him yesterday in Bloomfield, meeting with Paulie Andelli. Do you know who that is?”

“Yeah.”

“He got away. They couldn’t follow him without blowing the whole setup. They had to make a choice.”

“So they let him go?”

“Like I said, they had to make a choice. But at least we know for sure he’s still around.”

Harry looked out the window. Down the hill, the casket sat alone beneath the tent. Two men in suits were folding up metal chairs.

“We checked out a condominium he’d been keeping in Wall Township. He’s gone, but he couldn’t have gotten far yet. We’ll get him. And you were right.”

“About what?”

“The gun he shot Fox with. It was the same one used to kill Cortez and his cousin. The bullets matched. I’m guessing it happened pretty much the way you said.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No. But whether or not we can link all this to Fallon is another question. It’ll be easier once we get Dunleavy.”

“You couldn’t hold Fallon.”

“No chance. But we’re watching him now, and I imagine he’ll be showing signs of stress soon. His life may not be worth a lot in the next few days.”

“How’s that?”

“Put it together. Fallon was handling something fairly straightforward for Andelli and blew it. He got two of Andelli’s people killed and drew so much attention to himself that some of it can’t help but slop onto the old man. On top of that, Fallon is an amateur. He’s not one of them. Andelli can’t trust him if anything happens, because he knows Fallon doesn’t have the stones to keep his mouth shut. If Fallon was smart, he’d be knocking on our door right now, pleading for protective custody.”

“So Dunleavy went to Andelli to square with him, say it wasn’t his fault?”

“That’s my guess. He wants them to know it wasn’t him who fucked up. Dunleavy’s smart enough to know he can’t run from those people. I don’t know if Fallon is. Either way, I think it’s likely someone’s going to take a crack at punching your clock before too long. Maybe Dunleavy himself. He’s no fool, he knows he has to get back in Andelli’s good graces. And the only way to do that is to close this thing out and tie up the loose ends. Right now those loose ends are you and Fallon. Without you two, no one could make a case against Andelli in a million years. How does it feel to be so special?”

“Can’t say I like the company.”

Wesniak gave a short laugh.

“Still calm and cool, eh? Nothing fazes you. Not even a bunch of hard-case Italians walking around with your name and address? Maybe it’s time to think seriously about a new career in Argentina.”

“Or come in and help you?”

“Did you hear me ask? I don’t remember it if I did. As I said last time, you’re on your own.”

“Then why’d you come here?”

“Just to pass on some information, make the playing ground a little more level. A final favor for a former brother officer.”

“Thanks.” Harry reached for the door handle.

“Don’t mention it. By the way, you can go back to your house now. It’s clear. Oh, and there’s one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You know that fellow Wiley, big guy, worked for Fallon?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there must have been some dissension in the ranks. He tried to take off a few days ago, bought a plane ticket for California.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because he never made it. They found his Jeep in Brooklyn. It was left in a handicapped zone, so it got towed before anyone had a chance to steal it. The registration and insurance card were in the glove box. He had a suitcase full of clothes in the back. It didn’t take a lot of detective work to figure out something had happened.”

“Did you find him?”

“Yeah, we did in fact. Behind a tank farm on Staten Island. He took three in the head.”

Wesniak touched each temple, then his forehead.

“Very thorough. He was naked, tape on his wrists and ankles—that sound familiar? He had burn marks on his thighs and genitalia. Someone used a cigarette lighter on him.

“The only reason I’m telling you this is to let you know what the situation is here. Face it, life would be a lot easier for Mickey Dunleavy without you around. He has plenty of reasons for wanting you out of the picture.”

“How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That Wiley was going to California.”

“Easy. It was on his plane ticket. They came across it during the post. Took a while to piece it together, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“The ME found it when he went into the stomach. It was in strips. They made him eat it before they killed him.”

He drove out to the marina in Sea Bright where Bobby kept his boat, walked up the dock to where it was moored. Boats rolled and creaked in the wind and he had to time his step off the dock to keep from going into the water.

The cabin door was locked. He opened the sliding door of the compartment beneath the helm, knelt, and reached in. His fingers slid across smooth wood until they touched the leather key case that hung there. He took it out, stood up. There were two keys inside, one for the ignition, a smaller one for the cabin.

When he’d gotten what he’d come for, he locked the boat again, climbed onto the gunwale, and hopped onto the dock. He took the keys with him.

The Sand Castle was closed, the parking lot empty. He drove around to the side, saw the Lexus parked in back of a Dumpster, out of sight from the street.

He parked, got out of the car. The wind raised grit and dirt from the blacktop and sent it swirling around him. Beyond the seawall, he could see whitecaps on the ocean.

He went up the wooden stairway to the rear deck, took the Glock from his sling. A side door that led onto the deck was propped open. He went to it, listened for a moment, then stepped inside.

Fallon sat alone at a booth against the wall, facing the door. He was counting money, an open strongbox in front of him. The wind followed Harry in, lifted place mats and napkins on empty tables. The only sound was a yard-long lobster tank bubbling along one wall.

“How you doing, Eddie?”

Fallon looked up. He let the bills fall into the box, moved his hand to the folded newspaper beside it.

Harry lifted the Glock, shook his head. “Don’t.”

Fallon touched the newspaper, slowly drew back his hand.

“What do you want?” he said.

Harry slid into the booth across from him, used the Glock to push aside the paper. Beneath it was a silver automatic, the Star 9 he’d taken off Wiley at the country club.

“Nervous?” he said. “Pretty unusual, isn’t it, carrying one of these yourself? Running short of help?”

Fallon took a pack of Kools from the table. He shook one loose, speared his lips with it. He looked pale, tired.

“Say what you came to say,” he said. “Or do what you came to do.”

“I just got back from burying a friend.”

“So?”

Without thinking, he swung the Glock, batted the cigarette out of Fallon’s mouth. He leaned forward, pushed the gun into the soft flesh below Fallon’s left cheekbone, pinned his head against the back of the booth. His finger slid over the trigger and his mind raced ahead, saw the muzzle flash, the spatter of blood on the wall.

They were frozen like that for a moment.

“You don’t have the balls,” Fallon said.

Harry took the gun away. The muzzle left a white circle on Fallon’s skin. Harry sat back, slowly let out his breath. He was trembling.

“That’s the difference between you and me,” Fallon said. “When it comes down to it, you can’t do what has to be done.”

“Where’s Dunleavy?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t work for me anymore.”

“I have news for you. He never did.”

He put the Glock on the seat, rubbed his sweat-slick palm on his jeans, picked up the Star 9.

“Is this for me or for him?”

Fallon was silent.

Harry made sure the safety was on, put the automatic in his sling. He pulled the strongbox toward him. Inside were loose twenties and fifties, a petty cash fund, maybe five hundred dollars in all. Below the money were deeds, a liquor license. He closed the lid, pushed the box aside.

“Tell me,” Fallon said. “How long?”

Harry looked at him.

“You and her. Was it that day at the country club? Or earlier? How long were you screwing around behind my back?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not. But what really gets me, what I can’t figure out, is what she sees in a washed-out fuckup like you. Or maybe she’s back to her old ways, where she’d suck off anybody in the bar for an eight ball of coke. Is that what it is?”

“Shut up.”

“Fuck you. You think I’m going to give her up, just like that? Let her walk away with any jackoff who comes down the line? I’ve got too much time and money invested in her to let that happen. You want me out of the way, you better pull that trigger now.”

“It’s not me you should be worried about. Dunleavy went to see Andelli yesterday. He sold you out.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. If I had to guess, I’d say he told Paulie it was your fault everything went to shit. Now Dunleavy’s in charge of closing the pipeline. Guess who’s at the top of the list?”

Fallon took another cigarette from the pack.