“I don’t understand your complaint,” Brown added, his lips pulling his mouth into a haughty frown. “According to your statement to the police, your boxes were empty at the time of the robbery.”
Petrenko nodded visibly this time. His hand slid into his pocket, feeling the hypodermic needle. In a second he could be standing next to this bank manager, his hand against the man’s throat. He would let Brown know what would happen if he didn’t start telling the truth. Then, afterwards, he would apply just enough pressure to the man’s throat to make him start to scream. As soon as his mouth opened wide enough, the hypodermic needle would be used. Petrenko had little doubt that this man had worked with Raymond Lombardo, providing Lombardo with his box numbers and arranging for the security system to fail. While he knew that there was nothing Brown could tell him to help him get back his possessions, he needed to know if anyone else inside the bank was involved because one way or another they were all going to pay for it.
“This is a waste of my time,” Petrenko remarked. He stood up, started towards the door, stopped. “I want a copy of my contract.”
The time it took for Brown to turn towards the copy machine located behind him would be all Petrenko needed. He stood patiently, bracing himself, feeling the point of the hypodermic needle. Brown started to get out of his chair. There was a rap on the door, which simultaneously opened, and the zhid cop walked in.
“Craig, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I have a few more questions,” Resnick said, all the while looking impassively at Petrenko.
“That’s quite all right, Detective. I believe you know Viktor
Petrenko. He will be leaving right after I make him a copy of some paperwork.”
While Brown made the copy, Resnick noticed Petrenko remove a hand from his pants pocket, his fist clenching and unclenching. Petrenko took the paper from the bank manager, and when he turned to leave, Resnick nodded to him.
“Be seeing you around, Viktor.”
Petrenko nodded back, his eyes as dull as stone.
Dan sat up front with Peyton, Carol in the back with Wendy. At one time they had been close friends, but after Peyton struck it rich they drifted apart. Dan knew it was mostly because of his own pettiness. He had worked as hard as Peyton over the years and it pissed him off that Peyton had made it and he hadn’t. The last year and a half being out of work, he had ignored the occasional phone calls from Peyton until they stopped entirely. This was the first time Dan had seen him in over two years, but they were quickly settling into their old friendship. There was none of the usual awkwardness that comes with someone you haven’t seen in years. While they drove to Connecticut in Peyton’s new Lexus SUV, Dan told him about the book and articles he was intending to write and then his plan to start a business examining outsourced software for potential backdoors.
“That’s a fucking great idea,” Peyton said.
“What I like about it is it can be started with very little capital,” Dan said. “A hundred thousand, and I think I could get this going.”
“Maybe I can help you out. Let’s talk later, okay, man? Call me next week.”
“Sure.” Dan paused, added, “As long as you don’t string me along like you did with Gordon and his Texas open-pit barbecue.”
Dan had meant the comment as a joke, but as soon as it came out he knew it was more pettiness rearing its ugly head. He wanted to kick himself. Peyton gave a pained, almost apologetic smile.
“Yeah, well, I guess I deserved that.” Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper he added, “I’ll explain about that later, okay, man?”
“Forget it. You don’t have to. Me, I don’t think I would’ve wanted to go into business with Gordon either.”
“It’s not that.” Peyton checked the rearview mirror, saw that Carol and Wendy were engaged in a heated conversation. Keeping his voice low, he said, “I would’ve given Gordon the money as a gift, but Wendy didn’t want me to. She was afraid Gordon would be over to the house all the time if we started a business together. As it was, she wanted me to wean him away from us. Shit, man, I wanted to help him out, but there was nothing I could do without pissing off the wife.”
“I was joking more than anything else.”
Peyton didn’t bother saying bullshit, but the look he gave Dan indicated as much. “Do you have any idea what Gordon was doing in Lynn?” he asked.
“No idea. All I can think of is he knew I had finished a contract with that bank. He must’ve gotten it in his head that if they hired me there was a chance they’d hire him.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Yeah, I know, but we’re talking about Gordon.”
As they drove, Peyton remarked how weird life was going to be without Gordon around. After all, he had known Gordon almost half his life. There was a note of remorse in Peyton’s voice. At one point he seemed to choke up. Dan felt nothing, but he played along and pretended to be equally affected by Gordon’s passing.
How in the world could he be expected to feel anything?
After what Gordon did to those two women?
The way Gordon screwed him?
And he did screw him. All he asked of the guy was to keep his mouth shut for ten minutes. Don’t do anything crazy for ten lousy minutes. He couldn’t do it, though. He had to turn the robbery into shit.
As much as he’d like to, Dan couldn’t blame Joel for the way he was acting. He couldn’t blame Shrini either. He knew trying to get Shrini’s cut from Joel was pointless, and he knew trying to talk Shrini out of it was just as pointless. The damn thing was going to end up with one or the other of them dead. All he could hope for was when the dust settled he’d somehow be left out of it. Thinking about that exhausted him. He closed his eyes, sat back and listened to Peyton reminisce about all the good times with Gordon.
The funeral service was scheduled to take place at the grave site. When they arrived at the grave, there were only a handful of people standing around. Aside from the minister and the cemetery workers, there were six mourners, all elderly. Although Dan had never met Gordon’s parents he had heard enough stories about them to be able to pick them out. Gordon’s father was a tall man in his eighties, his mother short, plump, exuding both a cheeriness and sadness at the same time. Even though Gordon was their only child, his father had written him out of his will years ago simply because he didn’t feel his son measured up. Gordon had told Dan that if his old man died first, he was sure his mom would write him back into the will, but he thought there was little chance of that happening. In fact, Gordon was convinced his old man would outlive him. Although Gordon never talked about it, Dan knew the reason he signed up for the Vietnam War was to try to win his father’s approval, since the senior Carmichael had been a decorated war hero during World War II. Likewise the reason he later went to Yale. Neither of them helped. According to his father, Yale wasn’t the same as Harvard and the Vietnam War was a national disgrace.
As they approached the grave, Gordon’s father stared at them disapprovingly before looking away, his face set in a harsh scowl. Peyton introduced himself. Gordon’s father stood silently, his scowl deepening.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” Peyton said.
The senior Carmichael nodded grimly. Dry-eyed, he commented that he never understood how a grown man could waste his life doing something as frivolous as playing with computers. Gordon’s mother touched Dan’s arm, her eyes moistening with tears. She thanked Dan for being there.