“How?”
“Secure text message. Use your Jay Gould account. We’ll reach out to you the same way.”
“Then am I done?”
Slocum folded his arms. “If we get what we need, sure.”
“And what if he catches me?”
“Don’t get caught,” said Slocum.
“Thanks,” said Danny. “But I’m an amateur. I’ve never done anything remotely like this.”
“It’s not difficult,” Yeager said. “We’ll give you step-by-step instructions.”
“Wonderful,” Danny said in a flat tone. “But you still haven’t answered my question. What if I get caught?”
“I wasn’t kidding,” Slocum said. “Try real hard not to get caught. These Sinaloa guys, they’re careful and they’re ruthless. There’s a reason Galvin’s driver doubles as his bodyguard.”
“That guy’s his bodyguard?” Danny said. “Who’s Galvin afraid of?”
“The competition,” said Yeager. “Other cartels. These guys don’t screw around.”
“Just be prudent,” Slocum said, “and you have nothing to worry about.”
19
Rex’s tail thumped against the floor when Danny returned home. He was curled up at Lucy’s feet as she sat on the couch working. He didn’t even try to get up.
“That didn’t take long,” Lucy said. “I hope you didn’t scare him off.”
“Scare who off?”
“Art Whatever. Your friend the wannabe writer.”
It took Danny a moment. His nerves were still vibrating like a plucked string. “Oh, right. No, he just wanted to know some basic stuff, you know-how to get an agent, all that. The usual.”
“What kind of book does he want to write?”
Lying to her was bad enough, but now having to elaborate on the lie was even worse. “I don’t even think I could tell you. He didn’t have a very clear idea himself. Hold on, let me say hi to Abby.” He’d noticed her backpack on the floor.
Abby was sitting on her bed, MacBook in her lap, tapping away.
“Hey, Boogie, how was school?”
“Hey, Daddy,” she said without looking up. “It was all right.”
“How was precalc?”
“It was great. I won the Nobel Prize for calculus.”
“Yeah? Do you have to go to Oslo or Stockholm for that one? I always forget.”
She shook her head distractedly, done with the game.
“Am I interrupting your homework?”
“Yeah, but it’s fine.”
“Writing a research paper about Facebook?” He could see enough of the screen to recognize the Facebook logo.
“Did you want something, Daddy?”
“How’s Jenna?”
“Fine.”
“You planning on going over there tomorrow?”
She looked up. “I don’t know, why?”
“Because I’d love to be looped in on your social plans.”
“Ha ha ha. Is this about how I’m spending too much time over there? I mean, I was home for dinner and you weren’t, so I’m just saying.”
“Someone’s being a little oversensitive.” He could see this starting to spin into an argument, so he tried to reel it back in. “They’re great, aren’t they? I can’t blame you for wanting to hang out with them.”
“I don’t ‘hang out’ with them, I hang with Jenna.”
“Chillax, baby.”
“‘Chillax’? What are you, like a bro now?”
“I meant it ironically. So what’s Esteban like?”
“Their driver? I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to him. He’s a good driver, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He was about to ask whether Esteban carried a gun, but then thought better of it.
“I’m sure he is. He doesn’t have to take you home all the time. I can pick you up, some days.”
“I thought you don’t like driving out to Weston, and losing your parking space.”
“I’m happy to pick you up. We need to spend more time together, you and me.”
She shrugged, went back to her tapping. “Whatever.”
“Anyway, I’ll be doing some research at Wellesley College, so it’s convenient.”
She nodded.
Somehow he had to get himself back inside the Galvins’ house. He couldn’t exactly invite himself over. There was no plausible reason for him to see the inside of Tom Galvin’s home office again any time soon.
Unless he could think of an excuse. A reason to come over again that didn’t sound contrived or bogus.
The right opportunity. He hoped it would come soon.
20
The next day, Abby texted him from schooclass="underline" ok if I study with Jenna after school?
Instead of the usual, mild annoyance, he felt a strange sort of relief. Home for supper? he texted back.
Her answer came almost immediately: Sure!
He texted back: I’ll pick you up.
Her answer came half a minute later: Thanks! But that’s ok, Esteban can drive me home.
He thought for a moment, then texted: I’ll be out there anyway, remember?
Adults tended to text, Danny had noticed, like they were sending a telegram: short and terse. Kids, who had no idea what a telegram was, texted as if they were writing e-mail, conversational and slangy. Then again, Abby and her friends considered e-mail as archaic as writing on foolscap with a quill.
Her text came back: ok?
Meaning: Okay, if you insist, though I don’t really get it. She’d forgotten that he’d told her he was doing research at Wellesley College. Or maybe she didn’t hear it the first time. It was like the old Peanuts animated cartoons, whenever a teacher or parent talked to Charlie Brown or his friends. You never heard actual words. You heard the mwa mwa mwa mwa of a trombone. Half the time, that was how Danny suspected his voice sounded to Abby.
He texted back, Pick you up @ 6.
Thanks! came her reply.
Then, at around five thirty, when he was about to leave for Weston, his iPhone made the tritone fanfare announcing the arrival of a new text. He glanced at the screen. It was from Abby: OK if I stay for dinner?
Danny thought for a long moment. He could always say no, pick her up at six as planned. If he said yes, it wouldn’t be plausible that he’d still be in the area later on. She’d want to have the Galvins’ driver, Esteban, take her back to Boston.
The phone nagged a tritone reminder.
He decided not to reply. He’d learned how the mind of a sixteen-year-old worked. She’d assume the answer was yes unless she was told otherwise.
At just before six, he was standing in front of the Galvins’ castle door. He rang the bell. As he waited, another tritone text bleated. He didn’t look at it. He knew it had to be from Abby. Only Lucy or Abby ever texted him.
The door opened after a minute or so. Celina Galvin was wearing skinny jeans and a purple V-neck sweater. At her feet, the bat-faced hairless dogs scurried and scampered and yapped.
“Oh, Daniel, I’m so sorry! Abby didn’t tell you she’s having dinner with us?”
“Is that right?” A delicious smell wafted from the interior.
He knew exactly what she was going to say next. At some houses, you’d never hear the words. But Celina was Mexican, and Mexican hospitality is legendary.
“Can you stay for dinner?” she said. “Please?”
It was just four of them: Celina, Jenna, Abby, and Danny. Brendan was back at his dorm room at BC, and Ryan had returned to his apartment in Allston, where he lived with a girlfriend he still hadn’t brought around to meet the parents and probably never would. (“For me it’s fine,” Celina said. “He knows she’s not the right one, so why do I have to waste my time being nice to her?”)
They all sat at one end of the long farm table. The family cook, a stout gray-haired woman named Consuelo, ladled sopa de frijoles, black bean soup, into colorful ceramic bowls.