City of the Sun

TWENTY-SEVEN

Behr drove fast. He had allowed Pal to lead him and Susan back inside. Twenty minutes later, after a pair of Tullamore Dews, Behr ’ s arm was wrapped in a bar towel full of ice. Susan was recovering from a slight case of the shakes, and the color began to return to her cheeks.

“Hell of a date you put on, Frank,” she said, smiling over the rim of her glass. He ’ d imposed upon Pal to take Susan home. They ’ d hugged each other tight and promised to see each other again, and Behr prayed she didn ’ t have second thoughts about it.

There was no connection between him and Paul. Riggi had made a play for Paul ’ s identity, which he had shut down. All the same, Behr took out his cell phone, hesitating for only a moment before dialing his employer. It was odd, he didn ’ t think of Paul in that way anymore. Though the man was paying him, their relationship was unlike any he ’ d ever had with a client. They weren ’ t partners and they certainly weren ’ t friends. A tether that went beyond compatibility and personality now joined them. They weren ’ t soul mates, for the silly romantic connotations that term held, but they intersected at a place in the soul. They were joined, in this moment in time, looking for a single answer, simple or complex, and wouldn ’ t be pulled apart until they had it.

He tried the Gabriel house and got no answer. He hung up after four or five rings, before an answering device picked up. He tried Paul ’ s cell phone, and this time when the voice mail picked up, he left a message.

“It ’ s Frank. Be aware tonight. If anything ’ s out of the ordinary, you hear a doorknob rattle, a branch scraping a window, call the police first and then me. Call me either way when you get this.”

He called the house again, ready to leave a similar message, when Carol answered.

“Hello,” she said, sounding distant. He wasn ’ t sure if he ’ d woken her, or if this was just the way she seemed now.

“It ’ s Frank Behr. Can I speak to Paul?”

“He ’ s not home. I ’ m upstairs, but I haven ’ t heard him come in. What ’ s wrong?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, what do you mean? Are you?”

“Is the house locked?”

“Yes — ”

“Keep it that way. I’ ll be there in five minutes.”

Paul ’ s cell phone had been ringing, but he didn ’ t bother answering it. It was all he could do to keep his car on the road and in an approximation of the standards of speed and safety. He felt like he had a dead body in the trunk. There was the accompanying clunk and shift as he cornered too quickly. Paul couldn ’ t remember ever doing anything as reckless as this, and he ’ d thought he was about to pay for it when he was caught in the high beams. He ’ d expected the car to stop and for Riggi to come at him out of the glare. Instead the car slowed, the baffled face of the driver just staring at him as it passed by. The car continued down the block and turned into a driveway, but Paul was in the LeSabre and out of there before anything else could happen.

He pulled into the garage, leaving the door up behind him, and turned off the car, the adrenaline finally easing off in his system. He picked up his cell and saw the call had come from Frank and that there was a message waiting. Instead of checking it, he opened the trunk and removed the garbage bags. He was bent over at the waist, untying the first bag, when the door to the house opened. Carol, dressed for bed and wearing a robe, stepped into the garage.

“I thought I heard the car,” she began, looking with curiosity at the bags.

“Hi, what ’ s up?” Paul said.

“You tell me,” she answered.

They were illuminated by the sweep of headlights as a car rolled to a stop in the driveway just outside. Behr got out of his car and walked toward them, a towel wrapped around his arm.

The separate pieces of the night came together as the three of them picked through Oscar Riggi ’ s trash. Carol, for the most part, was silent in her surprise. She ’ d had her ideas about her husband ’ s and the detective ’ s comings and goings, but none as to how far things had gone. Paul bowed his head while Behr chastised him for his surveillance of Riggi ’ s house and for taking the garbage. Both of the Gabriels fell silent at the telling of Behr ’ s assault.

“We must ’ ve pushed his buttons,” Paul said of Riggi.

“Oh, yeah,” Behr answered, “and he tried to push mine in return.”

Carol was aghast when Behr rolled up his shirtsleeve, wet from melted ice, and showed his swollen forearm.

The garbage bags didn ’ t yield much: old utility bills — cable, electric, and water, no phone — all shredded, and various food packaging, both frozen and fresh. There were magazines: Sports Illustrated, Indianapolis, Money, and Playboy. They learned that Riggi drank scotch, good scotch. There was an old pair of sneakers, along with a bunch of worn-out socks. Riggi wore size eleven. There were plastic and stickers from CD or DVD purchases. They all kept half an eye out on the street in case a strange car showed up.

They stood back from the pile of refuse.

“I guess that was a lot of risk for nothing,” Paul said. Behr clapped him on the shoulder in encouragement.

“It ’ s late,” Carol said. “Either I fire up the coffee maker or it ’ s time for bed.”

“You gonna head home?” Paul asked.

“Why don ’ t I stay here, make sure nothing exciting happens tonight?” Behr offered.

Paul and Carol looked to each other. Paul nodded.

“You can stay in Jamie ’ s room,” Carol said.

Behr understood the significance of the offer. He cleared his throat, then said, “I should be closer to the front door. The couch is fine.”

“Okay. I ’ ll get you a pillow and blankets,” Carol said, heading through the door into the house.

Behr spoke quietly to Paul alone. “Do you have a gun?”

“No. You don ’ t?” he answered.

Carol stopped. “Oh, Jesus.”

Behr adjusted his tone for everyone to hear. “I don ’ t generally carry one. It would ’ ve just been a precaution.”

“What about Jamie ’ s baseball bat?” she asked.

“That ’ ll be fine.” They continued on inside.

Carol had rested Jamie ’ s bat against the couch and had gone up to sleep. Behr was scrolling through numbers on his cell phone when Paul hesitated at the foot of the stairs before going up for the night. He had something to say that seemed to be bothering him. “After what happened tonight,” he began, “is it time to…Are you going to back off?”

“That ’ s not the way I play, Paul,” Behr said.

Riggi was jumpier than he ever remembered feeling. He ’ d been crossing the hotel lobby when he got word from Wenck and Gilley — Wenck on the phone, Gilley slurring through a cracked jaw in the background — that things had gone to shit. He ’ d made a hard left to the front desk and checked in. He asked that a bag containing a few things be brought from his car up to his room. He asked to be registered in complete privacy, that no calls be put through, and no messages taken on his behalf with no acknowledgment made by the desk staff to any visitors that he was there. Fifty-dollar bills all around ensured his wishes were carried out.

He passed a long, unpleasant night unlike any he ’ d ever spent in a nice hotel, places in which he usually enjoyed room-service dinners and flowing champagne in the company of young women. It was only when the morning light came burning around the edges of the curtains that he realized he hadn ’ t slept for a moment. He forced himself into action, ordering eggs, toast, and cappuccino from room service. Then he took a shower, alternating the water temperature from scalding to freezing for a good twenty minutes until the food showed up. He sat on the edge of the bed in his hotel robe and felt his mind start to settle and his calm return. His exposure was fairly limited, after all. He decided he would stay at the hotel for a few more days, for good measure, and would risk a quick swing home to pick up some clothes and other things he ’ d need. He also decided he would no longer allow himself to think about how things had recently gone wrong. What he needed to do was to focus on a positive future and a rebuilding. Once he finished eating, he dressed, turned on the television, and put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. He ’ d let a chambermaid in to do her business only once he was back to supervise. Looking both ways down the corridor and seeing no one and nothing, he headed for the elevator.

He could ’ ve sent someone, but after the job Wenck and Gilley had done, he suddenly felt there was no one he could trust, and the truth was, he wanted to clap an eyeball on his house himself, to make sure there was no activity around it, police or otherwise. He figured if everything looked clear, he ’ d go in, get his things, sanitize certain papers, lock it down, and be gone in ten minutes. As he was driving up his block, his recent return to calm deepened. The suburban street was quiet, almost silent but for the birds. Putting his money into a nice house in a desirable neighborhood had been a great investment and an even better quality-of-life choice. It seemed to his eye that nothing out of the ordinary had, would, or ever could happen on his little street. It was by dint of discipline alone that he drove past his house and around the corner at speed. He then circled around and passed more slowly. On the third pass, all was still quiet and he turned into his driveway. He pressed the garage button while he was still at a distance and slid right in. He left the garage door up, the car running, and headed for the interior door. As soon as he entered the small hallway that the real estate agents like to refer to as “the mudroom” and had closed the door to the garage behind him, he realized something was wrong. There was no beeping of the alarm. He turned to the panel and saw the light a steady green. He was sure he had armed it before leaving the night before.