The Dead Man

Chapter Seventy

"We've come for the monkey," Dolan said.

"Anyone else, Dolan, and that would be the dumbest thing they'd ever said."

"C'mon, Jack," Kent said. "We've seen the letter your daughter sent you. Ammara Iverson knew about the stuffed animal. She's the one that put it together."

"You're telling me that you got a judge to sign a search warrant for a stuffed monkey?"

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," Kent said. "The harder you fight us, the harder we come at you."

He was right and I was buying time until I could find Lucy.

"Wait here."

I ran upstairs, coming back with Monkey Girl.

"You can look at it here. You want to take it with you, get a warrant. Until then, you've got my word I'll take good care of it. Deal?" Kent nodded and I handed it to him. "There's a pocket on the inseam of one of the legs. There's a piece of Velcro inside. I don't know if something was hidden there, but if there was, it's gone."

Kent handed it to Dolan and stared at me, deciding what to do next when his cell phone rang.

"Kent," he said, listening, the veins in his neck bulging. "You're shitting me! That is total bullshit! All right, all right! Here."

He handed me the phone, grabbed Monkey Girl from Dolan, and threw it on the floor, pulling Dolan to one side, whispering to him, flapping his arms like he was drowning. Dolan's face turned red and he tried to push past Kent who bodychecked him.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Dolan screamed. "We'll get you for this if it's the last fucking thing we do!"

Kent dragged him into the kitchen. I walked into the living den where I could see them, holding Kent's phone to my ear.

"Hello," I said.

"Jack, it's Ammara. I hope you know what you're doing."

"At the moment, the only thing I'm doing is watching Kent and Dolan pitch a fit. It's a good show but I don't know what it has to do with me."

"Don't play with me, Jack. This is serious shit," she said.

"I'm not playing with you. I have no idea what you're talking about."

She hesitated. "Okay. Here it is. We got an anonymous tip this morning that two and a half million dollars each was wired into Kent's and Dolan's bank accounts. We checked it out and the money came from an account in the Caymans that was closed immediately after the transfer was made. We don't know whose account it was or how the transfer was made but we'll find out and when we do, you better hope you still don't know anything about it."

I looked out the front window as Lucy and Simon pulled into the driveway, Lucy in my car, Simon in his. They got out and waved to me. Simon pointed at the government sedan parked at the curb, his eyes asking the obvious question. I nodded and they high-fived, kissed, and drove away in Simon's car.

"Maybe they won the lottery," I told Ammara.

"That's the best you can do?"

Dolan was on his phone, his eyes popping out of his head, Kent pacing circles around him. Roxy and Ruby raced in through the doggie door, jumped up on them, and peed on their shoes.

"What can I tell you? Every dog has his day."

After Kent and Dolan left, I showered and shaved, went to the grocery store, and came home. A taxi pulled in the driveway behind me and Joy got out of the backseat. She was wearing jeans, a down vest over a turtleneck sweater, her hair tucked behind her head, the only color in her cheeks coming from the cold. The driver pulled her suitcase from the trunk. She paid him and he drove away. We looked at each other, my arms filled with grocery bags, hers hugging her chest.

We were married a long time before we got divorced, long enough to know when something was wrong. I saw it in her flushed-out features, her slumped shoulders. I tilted my head at the front door.

"Let's go inside."

The dogs swarmed her while I put the groceries away. She sat on the floor with them, offering no resistance. I took my coat off and joined her. The dogs exhausted themselves, curling into our laps. I took her hand.

"Tell me," I said.

She cleared her throat. "It's funny. All those years I spent running from doctor to doctor and nothing was wrong with me except that I was a drunk. When I finally quit drinking, I quit running. Then, a few months ago, I felt something in the shower. I decided it was nothing, just my imagination. But it got bigger and I got scared and so I went to a doctor here and she sent me to M. D. Anderson."

"What did they tell you?"

"I have breast cancer, probably stage three or four. They won't know for sure until they get the rest of the tests back."

I let out a long breath. "I'm sorry. Is it curable?"

"Treatable. That's the new mantra. Nobody promises a cure."

"When do you start?"

"Soon. Surgery first, then chemo and radiation." She looked at me, her eyes filled. "If I live long enough, I get new boobs."

She dipped her head to my shoulder and I cradled the back of her neck in my hand. My phone rang. It was Kate. I didn't answer.