The Dead Yard (19 page)

When the meal was over, we were going to eat a rhubarb tart that Kit had made early this
morning, refrigerated, and then immediately popped in the oven the moment we’d come back. Bank
robber, wannabe revolutionary, goth girl, and rhubarb tart maker—obviously a Renaissance
woman.

She went to get it and a brief moment later there was a scream from the kitchen. She came back
into the dining room with a furious expression on her face.

"Daddy, did you eat all the ice cream? You know we have to have it with vanilla ice cream
because it’s the perfect combination. You know I put that ice cream to one side, because I was
saving it," she said furiously.

"I took it," Touched lied, saving Gerry’s bacon. "Sorry about that, Kit."

"Well, we can’t not have ice cream," she said, huffing.

"I’ll go to White Farms and get some more," Touched said.

Kit shook her head.

"No, they don’t do good vanilla. I’ll have to go to Grandma’s in Newburyport. Anyone come with
me?"

"I’ll go," I said, seizing the opportunity.

She ran upstairs to get her car keys and her sunglasses. Touched led me out the back onto the
porch. He reached in his pocket and brought out a huge wad of twenty-dollar bills and gave it to
me.

"Your cut. Five grand," Touched said.

"For me?" I asked.

"For you, me old mucker. A fifth to my laundryman, five percent to the general fund, and the
rest between the four of us. Equal shares, too, you, me, Kit, and Seamus, no finder’s fee for me
or anything," Touched said without a trace of a lie in that cold, unemotional face.

"Cheers, mate," I said happily, knowing now that he must have pocketed at least twenty
thousand for himself.

"Nay probs, Sean boy, now don’t go crazy, flashing it about. Rainy day and all that," Touched
said in what was about as close to a speech on fiscal prudence as I was likely to get.

"Anyway, that should keep you in eggs. Ok, I have things to do, wee thing to scout tonight,
down at the National Guard, shit, shouldn’t have said that. Wipe that from your mind. It’s the
next wee op we might be going on, don’t worry about it. Anyway, I’ll be gone when you get back.
You just look after yourself, don’t let that young lady talk you into risking your life on a
bloody tree in the middle of the bloody ocean."

"I won’t."

Kit appeared, grabbed me.

"We’ve got to get the ice cream before the pie cools," Kit said.

She led me to the four-car garage and got in a pink Volkswagen Bug that had Greenpeace and WWF
stickers on the back windshield. Hardly the vehicle of a committed terrorist. Maybe the signs of
complexity in her character.

We drove into Newburyport and I let Kit chat about surfing and music. She wanted to talk about
anything, just not what had happened that day, which was fine by me. She blabbed away and I stole
looks at her and was a good listener. As we pulled into State Street she scanned for parking and
I spotted the All Things Brit store.

"Kit, have you ever tried clotted cream? It’s fantastic, it would go really well on the
rhubarb tart. It’s an English thing. I’ll bet we could get some at that British food store."

"But I was going to get ice cream."

"We can get both. It’ll be a real treat. Your da will love it and if you want to be really
decadent, you can even put it on the ice cream."

Kit nodded and luckily found a parking spot right in front of All Things Brit, which was only
a block from the ice-cream store.

"I’ll check out this cream of yours, and then we’ll have to dash to Grandma’s. I mean, look,
the line is out into the street."

All Things Brit was just closing down for the night. The woman who ran it was wearing a frumpy
orange and brown floral dress and a huge grin.

"I’m just closing up, can I help you darlings at all?" she asked happily.

"Yes, we’d like some clotted cream, please," Kit said.

"Certainly, my dear, and can I just say that you’re the prettiest girl we’ve had in here all
day," Samantha said.

I rolled my eyes behind Kit’s head. Samantha’s face was transparent with delight.

"We have a full selection in the refrigerator by the door," Samantha said.

Kit walked over to look.

"Oooh, this does look good, we’ll get have to get some for everyone," Kit said.

"Kit, I know which ones to get, I’ll pick them out, you run and get on line for the ice cream
and I’ll meet you up there," I said.

"You don’t mind paying?"

"Not at all," I said. "I’m flush at the moment."

Kit smiled and dashed outside to join the line at Grandma’s.

There were no other customers in the shop but someone could come in at any minute. I knew I
would have to speak fast.

"I’m in," I said.

"To the cell?"

I nodded.

"Congratulations," she said with a condescending grin that I didn’t like at all.

"It’s as I’ve said, Samantha, it’s a bit of a shambles. I think they’re falling apart. They’ve
had three defections altogether. That Mike guy, someone called O’Neill, and a kid called Jamie.
They’ve been decimated by the assassination attempt on Gerry. Don’t think the IRA isn’t smart,
because they are. The psychological effect of that hit has paid dividends. They’re running.
They’re running scared and I don’t think they’re going to do anything major at all. They’re all
talk."

"So who’s left in the group?"

"The total group is just Sonia and Gerry, Touched, Jackie, Kit, Seamus, and me. That’s it.
Sonia’s no player, though, and Kit is just a wee girl and Seamus has been knocking back two
bottles of vodka a day since the hit in Revere. So I think this whole goddamn mission has been a
waste of time. Everyone has basically got the IRA’s message and they’re not going to do anything.
I think you can let me go back to Chicago with a handshake for a job well done."

Samantha looked at me.

"What else?"

I sighed.

My hand was on the counter. She put hers on top.

"There’s something you’re not telling me," she said.

"It’s really nothing."

"What is it?’

"Well, it’s very stupid, you might have heard about it on the radio. That bank robbery in New
Hampshire. That was us."

Samantha’s eyebrows raised.

"It’s not what you think. God knows, Gerry doesn’t need the money, it was just a test, to see
if I was up to it."

"Was Gerry involved?"

"No."

"Gerry’s the one we want."

"I know."

Samantha smiled.

"I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we give it a couple of weeks. If it doesn’t look like they’re
going to do anything—if, as you think, they are running scared—I’ll pull you out. We’ll see. Who
was in on the robbery?"

"Touched, Kit, me, and Seamus."

"Hmmm. I’d take three convictions for armed robbery and consider this a successful operation.
We might even agree to suspend Kit’s sentence if Gerry would return to Northern Ireland to stand
trial. He might do that to keep his daughter out of jail. What do you think?"

"No, Kit waited in the car. She wasn’t involved at all. You can’t arrest her for anything," I
lied, firmly.

"Of course we can, she’s an accessory. Anyway. You’ve done well. I’ll check out the robbery to
see if the police have any leads. We might have to get the locals to slow-play if you left any
clues. And I hope you’re right, I hope they’re not trying anything. But you’ll have to tell me
the truth. If they are planning something big, we’ve got to know."

"But if not, I’m out. Right?"

"Right."

Kit came back in with the ice cream.

"What’s keeping you?" she asked.

Samantha hurriedly removed her hand from mine.

I don’t know if Kit saw but if she did, she didn’t think anything of it. We drove home,
distributed the ice cream, and as she had predicted the combination of rhubarb and vanilla was
close to perfect….

An hour later.

Kit and me sitting on the dunes. Gerry and Sonia body boarding on the beach break. Sonia had
changed into a neat one-piece swimsuit that showed off her lithe body and long legs. Gerry,
unfortunately, was also showing off his body, in a pair of size 48 board shorts.

Touched was off doing something secretive that involved the Massachusetts National Guard and
Seamus was sleeping away his hangover.

Kit had changed into a black Body Glove one-piece wet suit and was resting her feet on a
surfboard that said "Hello Kitty" above an anime cat.

There were about a dozen surfers on the water and at least twenty or thirty kids and older
people body or boogie boarding on the breakers. Amazingly, Gerry was one of them. Amazing and a
bit terrifying. A wave could easily have swept him up and plonked him down on some poor
unsuspecting five-year-old.

"How long has your dad been into that?" I asked Kit.

"Since we moved here from Boston."

"How long ago was that?"

"Since my mom died."

"It looks like fun."

"Family that surfs together stays together."

We sat and watched her da and Sonia and then she pointed out Jackie on the beach break. Of all
the surfers there, he was catching the most waves. He really was very good.

"Jackie is definitely the best one there," I said generously.

She turned to me and I caught her looking at my prosthetic foot.

"Come on, let me show you some moves," she said.

"It looks easy in theory," I said.

"It’s not that hard."

I lay back in the sand.

"Maybe another time. For now I just want to be mellow, sit down, enjoy the evening."

Kit nodded. "We got the rest of the summer to learn to surf and at least into October. If
you’re wearing a wet suit nobody would even notice your, uh…"

"My foot. You can say it, I don’t give a shit."

She smiled.

"Hey, I was thinking, you know what we’re a bit like today?" she said after a moment’s
pause.

"What?"

"You ever see that movie
Point Break
?" she asked.

"No, I don’t go to the movies much."

"You haven’t seen it? I thought everybody had seen that movie."

"Is Lee Marvin in it?"

"Who’s Lee Marvin?"

"Ok, I guess he’s not in it. So, ok then, I haven’t seen it."

"It’s Keanu Reeves. Have you at least heard of him?"

"Of course."

"It’s like us, it’s about this gang of bank robbers who go surfing. And look at us, we robbed
a bank today and now we’re going surfing," Kit said with obvious pleasure at the intersection of
celluloid and reality. I smiled.

"Listen, if you want to get into the water to complete the similarity, don’t let me stop you,
I’m fine here," I said.

"I’ll go in a minute," Kit said. "I’ll sit beside you for a little bit more. Maybe encourage
you to body board at least."

I shook my head.

"Honestly, I’m not going in. I’m no Keanu Reeves."

She laughed.

"You wouldn’t want to be anyway. He was the bad guy, well sort of, he played this undercover
FBI agent who wants to stop them robbing all the banks…."

Kit’s talk continued for at least another two or three sentences, but I didn’t hear a goddamn
word. The blood had chilled in my veins and I was trying not to show it.

"Ok?" she asked finally.

"Yeah. Sure."

I had obviously agreed to her departure. She got up, grabbed her board, said hi to Gerry and
Sonia, and paddled out into the water.

FBI agent. Jesus. Out of the mouths of babes.

Kit sat in the water for a long time and finally took a wave. Jackie had also selected the
same wave. He cut back and forth several times and even attempted a 360. Kit just rode it
sedately into shore.

She ran back up the beach.

"See how easy it is?" she said, sheer joy making her look cool and confident and happy. Big
contrast from earlier in the day.

I nodded. She sat down on the sand. The sun had long disappeared over the salt marsh and the
sky behind us was a burnt
amarillo
. And in front, from Cape Ann all the way up to
Canada, a pink haze dissolving into black.

Kit leaned back beside me and we sat together watching a fleet of fishing boats from
Gloucester heading up to the Grand Banks.

Beautiful.

The still Atlantic. The endless shore. Golden light disappearing beyond the Earth’s curve. The
sea breeze tousled her hair and calmed me and I imagined us out in that blue swell. Dissolving,
becoming part of all that space.

My fingers went down into the wet sand.

Kit’s were there too. The darkening sky. Birds. The tide coming in.

Water lapping at our ankles.

Her fingers touching mine. She was beautiful and young and I liked her. She had a depth that
she let no one see. Not Jackie, not her dad.

She was in that stage of transition from teenager to woman.

She was breaking out of the mold she’d been in for years and anything was possible. College,
the pro surf world, or small-time terrorism.

She reminded me of Bridget. Bridget in the half minute after she found out I was alive and as
she was deciding that she was going to have to kill me.

I looked at her.

Could Kit kill me?

Could I kill her?

Before the week was out, I’d know the answer to both those questions.

Gray wind. Green water. A vesper of sound on the cadence of the bog. Rose petals, seraphim,
Levantine cotton sheets. The ceiling, a facsimile of a busy part of the Sistine.

I slip outside.

Fog rolling in lazy tongues, the dead sound of a buoy bell, and the ocean hidden, silent,
pretending to be benign.

I rub my face and look at the sky.

It unnerves me.

There’s an ashen silver aftertaste on the horizon as if the morning has come reluctantly out
of the east, hungover, snarled in a slabber of ugly clouds. There’s hardly any sun. Only a smudge
behind the clouds over Cape Ann. Chilly, ponderable, empty of life and color. A cicatrice
covering old wounds.