The Hard Bounce

Chapter Twenty-Four

I waited for the hammer to fall. It never did. The news shows were reporting an undercover police officer had seen Danny Barnes the night of Cassandra’s death and went to inform the district attorney when the shit hit the fan. The officer was in stable condition. Underdog would get himself a medal out of the ordeal. Shit, he deserved it.

I added to my battery of injuries a nose that looked like a ripe plum about to burst and a quarter-sized piece of ear that was missing. I’m still not sure how that happened.

Depression started to blanket me. I’d gotten Barnes killed. I’d possibly gotten Paul killed. My actions, my self-inflated obsessions, put Junior in a coma. If justice was served, it sure hadn’t been my responsibility to serve it. I’d fucked up, and the people around me paid the price.

But I still wasn’t done.

First, I returned to Sid’s. Nobody had reported her AWOL yet. I kept an eye out for any yellow tape or unmarked cars. I didn’t see any.

Carefully, I made my way into her apartment. The smell must have been more horrific than usual, but my broken nose kept me from having to experience it. Blessings in disguise. I found what I was looking for fairly easily. In her desk, sitting right in the top drawer, was a ledger. On the front, in big, bold magic marker, was Red Dot Customers. The information on the inside was complete with payments, amounts, and…

Addresses.

I stuck the ledger under one arm, the fat chihuahua under the other, and left.

I named him Burrito.

During my flicker of lucidity right before I pulled the trigger on Donnelly, I realized what had been bothering me about my meeting with Cade, what had lurked in the recesses of my mind the second time I saw Derek Bevilaqua.

Ollie confirmed my suspicion with a few clicks on the computer when he hacked into the Boston Public School records.

I called ahead to Conor’s Publick this time. The dinosaur glared at me from under the thick bandage wrapped around his head but let me pass.

Without saying a word, I walked over to Cade’s table and placed the disc on the checkered cloth, then turned and left. I had nothing to say. The disc would tell all. Cade would recognize his daughter. I did. I would have never made the connection had she not inherited her father’s tragic ears. The poor kid who looked like the scared mouse on the first video we’d seen. The video where Derek beat and raped Angela Cade.

Frankie’s daughter.

Around the time of her death, there were rumors it was a suicide. She couldn’t have done it long after the video had been shot. She was thirteen at the time she died.

Five days later, the depression decided to stop dicking around and sucked me in completely. I spent a lot of time drinking with my whispering demons. 4DC lost two more security accounts. I had to let six of our guys go. I was still fucking up, still bringing grief into the lives of those around me. I found it hard to care. My mind flooded with questions. No answers.

What now?

Who gives a shit, the demons answered, and toasted me another round.

The media was still going apeshit. Forensics pulled up traces of blood on the floor of the DA’s bathroom. They found more in the trunk of Danny Barnes’s car. They’d pieced together that Cassandra died in the apartment and Barnes helped Donnelly cover it up, leaving the poor kid’s body in the squat.

I got no comfort from Barnes’s involvement. I’d still cost him his life. I wasn’t so sure he deserved what he got. When I’d walked a mile in his shoes, would I have done the same for Junior? Would he have done the same for me?

I didn’t like what I thought the answer might be.

Right behind the Donnelly story was a report on a severed arm found wrapped in a black plastic bag in a Dumpster in Providence. The report included an artist’s rendition of the snake tattoo wrapped around the dismembered limb.

Rhode Island police would appreciate any information.

A week and a half after that, I started to feel a little better. I managed to stay sober for a whole twenty-four hours.

I repossessed the last of the DVDs. In my recoveries, I only had to break a total of six fingers, one wrist, five noses, and three or four ribs.

I enjoyed each and every one so, so much.

Then I anonymously mailed the ledger with a note of explanation to the Boston Police.

The bounty we’d collected was almost depleted between the hospital bills from both my trips and Junior’s care. I didn’t give a fuck. The money was tainted, and I couldn’t get it out of my life fast enough.

Trying to buy a little bit of redemption, I bought a ’68 VW Van. After parking it in the driveway next to the house, I dropped the keys in an envelope and taped the envelope to Phil’s door. I think he’d been in hiding ever since he ran from the crash. I knew he was still up there, though. The clouds of pot smoke hadn’t diminished one bit.

I ended the day by paying a visit to Cassie’s grave as the setting sun painted the horizon the same pink as her room. I knelt to say a prayer before I remembered that I didn’t know any. Somehow, I’d managed to spend ten years of my life in a place named Saint Gabriel’s without memorizing one prayer. Not that I believed in it, but I thought Cassandra might have liked to hear me say one.

“I’m sorry, kid,” I said softly. “I wanted to be your hero. I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

Then I placed the bouquet of yellow and white daisies under the long shadow of her grave marker and listened to the wind for a while.

I got another message from Kelly. She sounded like she’d been crying when she asked why I wasn’t answering my cell or my phone at home or calling her back. As I listened, a gnawing ache dug through me. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to see her.

I also wanted her to do better than me. She deserved better. She deserved better than a thug who was good for nothing but playing tough guy. I tried to think objectively about the events, about what had happened.

Only one fact was carved in my mind as though set in marble.

The people I loved died.

She was kind enough never to come by The Cellar.

That’s not to say I didn’t look for her every night.

She deserved better.

I was sitting at Junior’s bedside, reading him some Eddie Bunker, when the nurse came in. “Hey, Boo,” she said.

I looked at her, vaguely recognizing her. “Hey,” I said.

“My name’s Patti. You remember me?”

Suddenly, I remembered the girl. She bartended at The Cellar while she was in school. For nursing, I could only assume. “Hey,” I said again. “You look different.”

She ran her fingers through her chestnut brown hair. “Yeah, they kinda frown on platinum mohawks on the nursing staff. Had to grow up a little.”

“Glad one of us did.”

“Just thought you’d want to know. The kid who came in with Junior?”

“Yeah?”

“He’s gonna make it. He’s out of the woods and out of the ICU.”

Relief flooded my chest so violently I couldn’t even breathe in for a couple seconds. “Thank you. I hadn’t heard.”

She lifted her chin at Junior. “How’s he doing?”

“Fucking thirsty,” Junior said.

“I’ll get you some ginger-ale,” Patti said, unaware of how big the moment was.

“Hey,” I said.

Junior squinted and took in a long breath through his nose. “Was that Patti?” he mouthed in a dry whisper.

“Yup.”

“Always did want to fuck her.”

Junior was going to be fine.

I walked into The Cellar to work out the weekly schedules. Since Junior wouldn’t be able to work for at least a couple months and I wasn’t exactly at my fighting best, I decided to hire in a couple of the guys I’d just given their walking papers at the other bars. It was as close to redemption as I could get.

When I walked in, Audrey was leaning at the end of the bar nearest the door, concentrating on a hand of solitaire with her well-worn deck of Jack Daniels cards. There was only one customer, sitting alone in the darkest corner of the bar.

“Hey, Willie,” she said in a bored and lonely monotone.

“How’s it going, cupcake?”

“You seen Brendan around?” she asked, ignoring my attempt at idle chitchat.

“Nope. Guess he’s taking a break.” I hadn’t seen him since the night at the loft. I hoped he was doing well. A week ago, I’d considered paying him a visit, but I thought it might unnecessarily complicate things.

“I got nobody to play cards with no more,” she said.

“When I come down from the office, we’ll go a few hands of gin.”

Her round face lit up. “You promise?”

“Promise.” I put up two fingers and held them together.

I got two steps away from the bar when I saw who the lone customer was.

Louis Blanc sat in an immaculate gray suit, sipping a bottle of Coke. He stared straight ahead at the liquor bottles behind the bar. His blind eye faced me, the long scar creasing the side of his head like a second mouth, frowning at me.

His lips made a soft popping sound when he brought the bottle away from his mouth. “Got a minute, Mr. Malone?” he said toward the bottles in that eerily paternal brogue of his.

I quickly calculated motive versus opportunity divided by common sense and decided he’d either come for the buffalo wings or to kill me. I took the barstool to his left, where he could at least see me. He didn’t look over. He wasn’t even watching me in the mirror. He seemed content to keep his eye on the bottles.

“Mr. Cade sent me here,” he said.

I didn’t answer. With gaping depression comes comfortable fatalism. It was a perk, in a way.

“He doesn’t want to thank you, exactly, for what happened. But he wants you to know that he’s in your debt. For opening his eyes.”

I didn’t want that unholy cocksucker to be in my debt for a goddamn thing, but I kept that to myself. I just nodded and stood up to leave.

“And I wanted to apologize,” he said.

Blanc saw that I didn’t understand.

“Not for your leg. You earned that one. I wanted to apologize about your friend. And the boy.”

“It was you at Sid’s that night,” I said with numb lips.

“Yes, it-”

Before I processed the consequences, my body was in motion. With a roar, I grabbed the collar of his perfect suit with my left hand and my right snatched the thick Coke bottle, smashing it into his temple in one vicious motion. His head snapped to the side as the glass exploded against his skull. As momentum and surprise took him backward over the barstool, I ran with him, off-balance myself, and drove him into the jukebox with my full weight. The glass on the jukebox shattered and we fell to the floor, my body on top.

Audrey screamed as we hit the floor. “Willie! What are you doing?”

Blanc’s good eye rolled up, and he groaned as I knelt over him. Two thin trickles of blood ran from the spot where the bottle burst on his head, one from the corner of his blind eye like a teardrop.

I still grasped the jagged neck of the bottle in my fist. I pressed the splintered glass against his pulsing throat. “Motherfucker,” I screamed in his face, spittle flying. I was foaming at the mouth like a mad dog. “Why?” I pulled him off the floor and slammed him back down. His head knocked loudly off the wood. “Why?”

“Willie, stop!” Audrey cried, doing a frantic dance from foot to foot behind us.

“Get back, Audrey,” I yelled over my shoulder. “He’s got a gun.” C’mon, my mind screamed. I leaned close and whispered. “Reach for that fucking piece. Do it. Just try, and I’ll push this bottle through your fucking neck until I hit the floor.”

Audrey gasped and Blanc, the cold bastard, smiled. “Actually,” he said calmly, “I don’t have a gun.” Bleeding, assaulted, and on the floor with a broken bottle pressed to his neck, he might as well have been on a cruise.

“Answer me why, you fuck! I swear to God, I’ll do you right fucking here!”

Blanc cleared his throat and spoke gently. “It truly was an accident. Sid pulled a gun on me, and I killed that pig. But I don’t kill children.”

His eyes locked with my own, never blinking as he said his confession.

And Lord help me, I believed him.

I climbed off him, panting harshly. “You… you’re a fucking killer,” I said, my voice ragged.

“This is true,” he said, gingerly applying his fingers to his wounds. He rubbed the light smear of blood between his thumb and forefinger. “But I’m not a murderer, and I think you know the difference.” The trickle of blood ran down his neck, seeping into his shirt collar. “Excuse me, do you have a napkin?”

“Get out of here. Now.”

Blanc helped himself to a few napkins off the bar. Dabbing at his head, he said, “Derek was told only to make one disc. He wasn’t supposed to make the second-the fake.”

Derek had said something about “making the other movie.” Another hint I’d missed.

“What disc? Who’s Derek?” Audrey was still way in the dark and confused to tears. “Who’s got a gun?”

Blanc took Audrey’s pudgy hand and smoothly kissed the knuckles. “I apologize, Audrey. It was a poor joke on my part, and Boo misunderstood me. Everything is fine.”

Hardly. But Audrey seemed satisfied with his answer and, so help me, blushed like a virgin on prom night. “That right, Willie?”

“Yeah. Misunderstanding.”

Satisfied, Audrey poured me a whiskey and cracked Lou a fresh Coke. “You two drink and make up, or I’m kicking both your asses.” With that, Audrey sauntered back behind the bar and resumed her solitaire game.

“Slainte,” said Blanc, holding his bottle to me with that smile.

“Fuck your mother,” I offered back, and I downed my shot.

“May I continue?”

When Audrey was out of earshot, I lowered my voice. “Cade…”

“Mr. Cade wanted his nephew to capture the girl in an inappropriate situation. A situation he could use for leverage, were Mr. Donnelly to be elected mayor.”

“And you don’t see where that’s fucked up?”

“I’m not justifying it. I’m just telling you what happened.”

I swallowed a swelling lump of disgust. “She was fourteen. Fourteen fucking years old.”

“Fourteen-year-olds have sex every day, Mr. Malone. I’m not here to debate the proper age for sexual activity to start. But that was all the DVD was supposed to be. Unfortunately, Derek was a weak and confused young man, and he made a second DVD to sell. I was at Sid’s for the same reason you were. Mr. Cade wanted me to recover the other discs, but you interrupted my recovery.”

“And you shot at me.”

Blanc smiled at me again. “I shot around you. I had no reason to kill you. I didn’t have to miss.”

“Gee, thanks. You’re a fucking prince. We done?”

“You feel bad, don’t you? About the cop?”

That stopped me. I felt like a fly caught in a web as it was built around me.

“You shouldn’t. Barnes is no loss to this world.”

“How do you know?” I was the only person left alive from the loft except Underdog, and I couldn’t see him relating the story to Blanc.

“Knowledge is power.” Opening his gold cigarette case, he took out a long, dark cigarette and tapped it on the case. “Don’t worry. I won’t light it in here.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“I received a phone call,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I had been keeping tabs on Barnes all week. He was working both sides, as you may or may not have known. We weren’t sure how much we could trust him anymore, recent circumstances being what they were.” He paused when he saw me fighting to process the new information he’d tossed on my lap. “He thought you were stringing them for more money. If at all possible, he wanted to avoid more deaths. At least, deaths he would have to dirty his hands with. You played it well, Mr. Malone. The only reason he didn’t kill you himself was your aggression. With you putting him on defense, he couldn’t take you out, not knowing fully all that you had on them.”

“He wanted you to do it,” I said, stunned.

“I told him to clean up his own messes. Either way.”

“Donnelly wasn’t going to be a problem for you or Cade anymore.”

“Smart boy,” he said, tapping his finger on the tip of his nose. “How do you think Mr. Cade has remained so untouchable for all these years? Who do you think led us to Cassandra, so that Derek could make his little movie?”

A chill ran through me. “You telling me it was Barnes? Barnes set the whole thing up?”

A nod.

“Why?”

“Mr. Barnes had his own weaknesses, or shall we say tastes? Mr. Cade makes these tastes his business. As I said, knowledge is power.”

Nearly the same words Donnelly had dropped on me the first time we met.

Blanc went on. “Let me ask you a question.” He leaned in and looked me straight, eye to eyes. “Assuming you watched them? The DVDs.”

“Yeah. I saw them.”

“Did you notice anything about the cinematography, so to speak?”

Then it hit me like a thunderclap between the ears. Why hadn’t I noticed it? How the hell could I have missed something so simple? It was literally right in front of my face on the screen.

The camera panned.

Somebody else had to be in the room, in the closet behind the two-way, moving the camera.

Blanc saw understanding dawn on my face. “Bright lad,” he said. He opened his black leather billfold, placed a twenty on the bar, and stood to leave. “Be seeing you,” he said, crisply pulling the creases from his coat sleeves. As he walked out, he lit his smoke with the lighter that would have cost me two weeks’ wages. Over the flame, he gave me a warm parting smile and a wink.

With his dead eye, of course.