The Last Family (15 page)

Joe McLean stood. “Okay, if Larry Burrows, Stephanie Martin, Sierra Ross, and Walter Davidson will follow me, I’ll finish the briefing down the hall.”

Thorne, Rainey, Sean, and Woodrow sat until the others were gone. Paul leaned against the edge of the table and looked at the two young agents.

“You two were selected specifically for your skills. There will be others in support positions when you get there, but I am charging you to protect the family at any cost. Is that clear?”

They nodded.

Paul opened a file. “Sean, you had the highest score in your self-defense classes—marksmanship was exceptional.
Whatever you have to do, you do. Of all the team members you two have the greatest chance of meeting Martin Fletcher face-to-face. Thorne and the two of you are best prepared to handle him. You know what I expect. Stay alert at all times. Rainey, you and Thorne take Sean to get something to eat. I’d like a word with Woodrow about his late arrival.”

Paul waited until the two had left the room. He stepped to the window, turned, and looked at Woodrow.

The agent returned the look. His hands were on the table, the fingers interlocked. “You were pressed on me,” Paul said. “Tod Peoples referred—make that insisted—that I use you.”

“I’m not familiar with anyone named Tod Peoples, sir.”

“No matter. Tod Peoples isn’t your boss on this. You will not report to
anyone
else while you are on this operation. The success of this operation is your one loyalty. Is that understood?”

“My orders were to that effect, sir.”

“I’m not going to ask what you did or who you did it for before you came here. As of now you are mine alone. There had better not be a hidden agenda.”

“Sir,” Woodrow started, “I’d like to … the truth is that I was asked to join your people because someone felt I’d be useful if it comes down to having to defend your family. I am, by trade and preference, a baby-sitter. It’s what I do. In my immediate group we have never lost a client, though there have been attempts to spoil the record. My word to you is that I will protect your family first and neutralize Mr. Fletcher secondarily only if it doesn’t compromise the family’s security. If I fail, it will be because I am dead. My loyalty to your family is absolute.”

Paul stared into the deep-set blue eyes, protected by light eyebrows. Despite the smile on the young man’s lips, his eyes were all business. Woodrow was there as someone else’s backup boy. He was the chief pit bull, the dog backed by the real money, and Paul suddenly felt comforted to have him on their side. He offered his hand,
and Woodrow’s grip was remarkably gentle, though the tissue under the tight skin was as unyielding as ivory.

Paul showed the soldier his warmest crooked smile. “I believe you. You’ll go to New Orleans tonight with Thorne Greer and Sean Merrin. Your cover is …”

“DEA L.A.” Woodrow Poole smiled a goofy, childlike smile that beamed California free-wheeling beach boy.

“Good luck in New Orleans,” Paul said. “You’ll take orders from Thorne. If you find an order … well, if you have reason to disobey … I’ll back you. Don’t put me in a switch. Thorne knows that you are a specialist. That’s all he knows.” He smiled. “It’s all he needs to know.”

“No problemo.”

“Good.”

Woodrow got up. He lifted his suitcase and walked to the door. He started to say something but didn’t. He left abruptly as Rainey Lee stepped in.

“So, Chief, what do you and I do?” Rainey asked.

“You and I are going to track Martin from the other flank. Starting here because he was here last. We’re gonna try and pick up his trail. See if we can discover who’s helping him, if anyone is.”

“I want to be there, to be in on the kill,” Rainey said. “I’ll play detective, I’ll crawl through mountains of paper and wear out the soles of my shoes, but when it goes down, I have to be there.” Rainey’s lip quivered. “I have to see it ended.”

“That’s out of the question.”

“I can’t be there when he’s stopped?”

“It isn’t a good idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you are still listed as suspended until further notice. T.C. would have to reassign you. He won’t. This is too delicate. You can stay with me and help behind the scenes. Or you can go back into—”

Rainey turned and started out the door. “Then I resign. From all of it. Neither you or T.C. Robertson can
keep me out of this. I’m gonna be there whether you like it or not. Martin is mine.”

“Fine,” Paul barked in irritation. “Find him on your own. If I see you, or if Thorne or Joe see you, you’ll be arrested and warehoused until it’s over.”

“My way or the … highway?” Rainey said, dropping the volume on the word highway. “This is a revenge exercise, Paul. Nobody deserves revenge like I do. Dammit, I paid for my ticket to the execution!” Rainey’s eyes lit up like bulbs, and he squeezed his fingers into a fist and rapped the conference table so hard, an electric pencil sharpener flew off and bounced on the floor. “This was all your doing. Just stay away from me, or I’ll kill you.” Rainey slammed the door as he left the room.

Off the fuckin’ wall
. Rainey had no business whatever being out of the hospital, and the prospect of his running around with a loaded weapon sent a wave of chills up Paul’s neck. He ran a finger over his scar where the bullet had travelled. He
knew
what the promise of revenge tasted like. He couldn’t even force himself to think of taking Martin alive.
 … It ain’t going to happen
. Anyhow, Martin Fletcher would never allow himself to be captured by Paul—or by anyone else, for that matter. He would be carried off the field. They might all be carried off the field.

Paul walked to the elevator, and as he waited, he looked at his face reflected in the mirrored wall. He pushed his cigarette into the sand in the ashtray beside the elevator door and stepped in, fresh anger radiating in waves, his eye filling with hot tears.

Rainey’s Cherokee was gone from his slot. Paul climbed into his rented Taurus and drove out West End Boulevard. He ate a cheeseburger on French bread at a place near the replica of the Parthenon. It was a student hangout, and Paul took a booth with his wound toward the wall.

After he finished, around eight-thirty, he drove to Rainey’s house, parked across the street, and settled
against the car door to wait He hadn’t felt tired, but he went out almost immediately.

When Paul woke, the sun was coloring the bottom edge of the night sky, and every muscle in his body felt as if it had been chewed on. He got out, stretched, and tried to put himself in Rainey’s head.
Where would I go if I was Rainey Lee?
Suddenly he knew. He started the car.

Paul sat in the car and watched his old friend perched like a vulture on a gravestone, reading his Bible. Rainey was facing the twin mounds of dirt that covered the caskets of his wife and son. Paul finished his cigarette and pressed the remains into the bottom of the ashtray. Then he stepped out, slammed the door, walked up, and stood beside him. Rainey didn’t turn his head so much as an inch from the Old Testament text he was open to.

The Bible was open in his lap. There was a third grave where the grass had grown over the remains of his daughter. Eleanor’s grave had a dark granite stone. The inscription said:

ELEANOR ANN LEE
OCT. 17, 1987-DEC. 12, 1995
SLEEP WITH THE ANGELS

Rainey closed the book and looked out over the graveyard and then turned back toward Paul.

“I came to a funeral here a few years back, and I liked the way this place felt. I could have buried them in the graveyard back home where my father is, but I decided we should all be here. You believe in heaven, Paul?”

“Did once, I guess.”

Rainey looked over at the graves. “I guess most deaths are senseless to someone. But none are as senseless as these three. I feel … I keep thinking if I had just paid closer attention.”

“You didn’t know,” Paul said. “Any man who could murder a child is a demon.”

“I’d feel better about it all if I could kill Martin myself. I know I would.”

“For a few minutes. Maybe like you’d been underwater struggling to get to the surface with your lungs about to explode and you get there and you take that breath. Then you look around and you’re in the middle of the ocean and for three hundred sixty degrees there’s nothing but the horizon and a few fins circling. No wind and no birds. You’re lost. Would you remember how good that breath felt for very long?”

Rainey smiled. “Christ, Paul. I’d forgotten. Where do you get those … analogies? You got a book somewhere with ’em listed out?” He looked at Paul. “Man wants to take revenge, see shark story page twelve. Man wants to poke the baby-sitter, page eight. God, I hate him,” Rainey said. “I hate him so … I didn’t know my emotions ran so deep. It’s like a fire in my chest.”

“I’m no grief counselor, Rainey. I’ve hated him because of what he did to me, and I realize it’s a speck of nothing compared to what he’s done to you and Greer and McLean.”

“The day George was killed, I just wanted to die myself. After Martin called, I forgot all about that. I started burning after that. All I could think about was my hands digging into his chest and jerking his heart out before his eyes went dark. I could take him. God would help me do it.”

“That’s no answer, Rainey. It won’t stop the pain.”

“I don’t think I can live without them, Paul. I can, maybe, but I just don’t know as I want to.” He looked at Paul, and tears ran down his cheeks. He nodded his head and wiped at his eyes. “The Bible says God will punish Martin—but I can’t be sure.”

“Help me, Rainey. I need you. The reason I agreed to let you in was the thought that the four of us are the only people who won’t mess up the chase—won’t give up until we have him in our hands. It’ll be four hundred percent with us. But I need you solid. I can’t do this if I have to keep my eyes on you, too. You’ve got to maintain.”

Rainey was silent for a long moment, and then he
said, “Okay, Coach, it’s your game. You put me where you want me. God’ll make sure I get to see what I need to see.”

Paul looked at the three graves and wondered if three like them were in his future. The thought struck hard, making him shudder.

Then Rainey looked back down at the graves and smiled. “I believe in heaven. I know what heaven will look like.” He looked out over the cemetery as though he were seeing something beautiful in the distance.

11

L
AURA FOUND A STOPPING PLACE AROUND SIX AS THE SHADOWS OF
the foliage outside were softening. Her eyes were tired of looking at paint strokes, her arm was tired from holding a brush, and her mind was tired from thinking about what her arm was tired of executing. She put the brush in the cleaner, and because she never abandoned a dirty brush, she cleared it of color and then went out to the kitchen. Her children were there waiting; Erin in the glassed-in miniden, lying across the couch with the phone receiver against her ear, and Reb reading a book. They reminded her of cows responding to the inner voice that whispers to them to stand at the gate until the farmer comes.

Reb lost interest in the book when his mother entered the room. He went over to sit at the counter on a director’s stool, watching as she removed the skins of spicy Italian sausage and began to brown them in a skillet. Then she added a can of spaghetti sauce, sprinkled in
a few spices, and started the flame under the stainless steel pot of water at the rear of the stove. Erin was still talking on the telephone with her hand cupped around the mouthpiece for privacy. She giggled and rolled her eyes. Laura was warmed by having her well-growing children in sight. She thought about how Erin would be going to college in three years and how Reb would be joining her in nine more. It made her feel a twang of guilt that she was painting while they were growing. What had she missed while she was locked in her studio and they were fresh from a day at school? They had grown to the point where they usually didn’t disturb her. Once they had come to her with questions whenever the telephone rang, but they had stopped that after a thousand discussions. They had just wanted attention, and it bothered them that they couldn’t get her attention when she was working, while anyone who had use of a telephone could.

“Talking to a new boy at school—Eric something,” Reb said, explaining Erin’s behavior. “Doesn’t know what a jerk she is yet.” He leaned on the counter with his chin in his hands, watching his mother. The bird perched on Reb’s shoulder whistled.

“Time twelve minutes, Reb,” she said as she snapped a bundle of pasta in half and dropped it into the now boiling water. “Put Biscuit in his cage before you eat. That bird’s unsanitary.”

Reb set his Casio for twelve minutes and pressed the button. He watched the numbers fly in reverse for a couple of seconds and then turned his attention to his mother, who was adjusting the tomato sauce with creole seasoning.

“This is going to be grrrreat,” she said, pulling the last word through time like taffy.

“Mama,” he said. “Know what?”

“No, what?”

“Why do people follow me around?”

“Because you’re cute. You having young female admirer trouble?”

“There was this plumber van out there across the
street when I got on the bus Monday, and when I got out of school, he followed the bus home.” Reb reached up, and the cockatiel stepped onto his finger. He brought the bird to his face, and the small beak nibbled at his lip. “Kiss the bird,” he said.

“That’s nice,” she said absently as she worked.

“And he stayed outside in front of Mrs. Walters’s house for a long time.”

“Who?”

“The plumber in the van with pipes on top.”

“It was probably a different van, Reb. Some companies have lots of trucks. Erin, get off the phone and set the table.”

“Yesterday it was a plumber van in the morning on the way, and in the afternoon all the way back, but then today it was a plumber van on the way and a red car back home. Do plumbers drive red cars sometimes?”

What Reb had said finally began to filter through her thoughts. “What are you talking about?” She stopped and looked at him.