Marked Man

65

It was dark now, with only the flickering of the citronella candles and the intermittent headlights sweeping across the landscape illuminating our faces. But even in that strange, uneven light, I could see the tears, on Charlie’s face, on Monica’s cheeks, welling in Joey’s hard eyes. Only Rhonda seemed distracted, keeping watch on her tape player, taking notes by candlelight.

“How come you didn’t look for him?” said Rhonda.

“We thought he’d contact us,” said Joey. “At first we was scared something happened. But when there was nothing in the papers, we figured he’d give us a call sometime.”

“He said something before about going to Australia,” said Charlie, wiping at his nose with his wrist. “What was we going to do, head off to Australia? But in the end I’m not sure we really wanted to find the bastard. He didn’t flash that gun just to show he was prepared. It was a warning, too.”

“Australia was just a feint,” I said. “He was planning to rip you off from the start.”

“What about Chantal?” said Monica. “What else do you know? What did he do with her?”

Charlie looked at Joey, who glanced back and then down.

“What is it?” said Monica. “Tell me.”

“We was burying everything connected to the crime in the basement, our clothes, the guns, the equipment we used to melt the metal,” said Joey. “Everything they could use to identify us. We thought it was safer than chucking it into a landfill. Early on, we had bought the cement and some sand and gravel to mix up with it to slather on top. The day after Teddy disappeared, when we started filling in the hole, we saw it.”

“What?” said Monica. “What did you see? Exactly.”

“The edge of a sheet. Holding something, covered by chunks of cement and piled-on dirt. I knew what it was right off.”

“Oh my God,” said Monica, breaking into tears. “All this time. But I would have known. I would have felt it.”

“What did you do, Charlie?” I said.

“What could we do? The four of us, we buried everything and tried to forget.”

“That’s really why we didn’t hunt so hard for Teddy,” said Joey. “Would you?”

“But it ruined everything,” said Charlie. “All the dreams, they died with her. Hugo left a few weeks later, Ralphie and Joey just hung on. I knew someone who knew someone, and I figured I was only good for one thing anymore, so I passed the word about locks and safes, and soon I was doing it all again and again with them Warrick brothers, but it never felt the same.”

I was sure it didn’t. There was something so ecstatic about the story of five neighborhood guys pulling off the crime of the century that the aftermath had never made much sense. Teddy and Hugo had altered their names in an attempt to obliterate their pasts, and now I knew why. Ralph and Joey hadn’t moved forward at all in their lives, and now I knew why. Charlie’s life had turned into an absolute wreck, and now I knew why. At the heart of their effort to reinvent themselves was the worst of all crimes, the murder of a child, and how could anything bright and shiny come from that?

I lifted my arm to the candlelight, checked my watch. “We have to go. Do you have what you need, Rhonda?”

“Sure. Thank you. It’s quite a story.”

“Hold it like you promised,” I said. “And when I’m ready, I’ll tell you who Teddy Pravitz became in his new life after the robbery.”

“Will it be interesting?” she said.

“It will be on the front page, is what it will be, and get you your full-time gig. Now can you do me a favor and take Monica home?”

Rhonda turned to Monica, who was still in tears and who seemed lost in some strange emptiness. “Of course.”

“No,” said Monica. “I’m staying with Victor.”

“It’s going to be dangerous. I don’t want you around.”

“Are they going to dig up that basement tonight?”

“Probably,” I said.

“Then I’m going.”

“Monica-”

“Don’t even, Victor,” she said. “It’s my sister. Someone from her family should be there.”

I thought about it for a moment, realized there was nothing I could do to change her mind, and nodded.

“Go on ahead,” said Rhonda. “I’ll clean up.”

And so we left her at the table as the four of us made our way slowly to the back of the ruined shed and climbed into the borrowed green taxicab. Monica sat in the back, leaning against the door and as far away from Charlie as she could. Charlie leaned forward, wringing his hands. Joey nervously tapped the wheel with his fingers. I pulled out my cell phone.

“Where to now, Victor?”

“Home,” I said as I pressed the button for Beth’s cell. Just as we were about to pull away, I saw Rhonda, clutching her pocketbook and coming toward the car. “Hold up,” I said to Joey as I closed the phone.

Rhonda leaned into my car window, her elbows on the sill. “Can I ask one more question?” she said. “Something I forgot to bring up?”

“Go ahead,” I said.

“Charlie. You said that Teddy gave you the Rembrandt, but you never said what you did with it.”

I turned to look at Charlie, shook my head. “He doesn’t know what happened to the painting,” I said. “It disappeared.”

“Really?” said Rhonda. “No idea?”

“I have an idea,” said Charlie. “A pretty damn good idea.”

“Charlie, be quiet.”

“No, Victor. Joey don’t want nothing more to do with that painting, and neither does I.”

“Are you sure?”

“Let it go back to the damn museum. Every penny would only make me sick. You told me I can’t start new without paying for my past. How could I start new with a wallet full of cash from what happened?”

I thought for a moment, let the familiar disappointment roll through me, and then I realized how right he was. “Okay, Charlie. Go ahead and tell her.”

“So where is it?” said Rhonda.

“Is Ralphie’s workbench still in the basement?” said Charlie.

“Yes, it is,” I said.

“It was made up of plumber’s cast-iron pipes and wooden beams. I pried up a beam, slipped it in one of them pipes, and hammered the beam back down. It should still be there.”

“How fabulous,” said Rhonda.

“That doesn’t get printed until I give the okay.”

“I promise,” said Rhonda.

Just then she leaned forward into the window, leaned in and faced me as if to give me a huge kiss. I felt a little awkward about kissing her in front of everyone after everything we had heard, but then her face kept moving until it was past me. She reached out, grabbed the car keys with her right hand, killed the engine, pulled back with the keys in her hand until she was once again leaning on the car window.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“I’m sorry, Victor, but I can’t let you go.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not what I get paid for, sweetie,” she said as she reached her left hand into her purse, pulled out a neat automatic, and placed the tip of the muzzle right at my head.