He entered the cottage in front of Joe and stared at Julie and Betsy as if they were greeters at the gates of heaven.
“Grandpa!” Betsy squealed, jumping out of her chair and running to him. She wrapped her arms around his legs and hugged him tightly. The cane fell to the floor as he picked her up and lifted her, and then the tears came. Julie joined them then, and I noticed belatedly that Joe had never actually stepped inside. I went out on the deck and found him sitting on the picnic table.
“Morning,” I said.
He nodded. “I figured I’d sit out here for a while. It’s their family, and their reunion. Got nothing to do with me.”
“Old John seems pretty happy. How’d he react when you told him?”
“Called me a lying son ofa bitch and said he’d break my legs.”
I stared at him. “You’re joking.”
He shook his head and grinned. “Nope, that’s what the old bastard said. I called him this morning and said I needed to come out to the house. Said I had some news for him. I go out there, he meets me at the door, and I told him he could see his granddaughter today if he was so inclined. He told me if I was lying he’d break my legs.”
“Oh,” I said, “if you were lying. Well, that’s different. The old-timer was simply expressing his gratitude.”
“I guess.”
The door opened, and John stepped out. He had the cane again, and he was wiping at his eyes with the back of his mangled hand. He walked to stand in front of us, but Julie and Betsy stayed inside.
“Whatever you want to be paid,” he said, “it’s yours. And whatever it is, it’s not enough.”
“We’ll bill the standard rate,” I said. “Unlike you, Mr. Weston, we expected us to succeed.”
He smiled at that. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you did.” He offered his hand to me and I shook it. “Remember when you told me why you were in this business?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So do I.” He cleared his throat loudly. “And, son? I guess you two are pretty damn good, after all.”
“Yes,” I said, “we are.”
“Your partner here wouldn’t explain anything to me, though.”
Joe shrugged. “I figure it’s Mrs. Weston’s tale to tell. We found her. She can explain it.”
I nodded. “We’ve got some things to take care of, John. Your daughter-in-law is still in danger, and we need you to stay here and watch them while we’re gone. No one should know where they are, and it needs to stay that way for a few hours. It should give you plenty of time to talk with Julie.”
“All right. But I’m going to want to sit down with you, too. I want to know how you found them, and what the hell’s been going on.”
“We’ll get to that,” I said. “For now, we’ve got a few things left to settle.”
His eyes went from Joe to me, and he seemed to understand the nature of those things. “Okay. Well, good luck. And thanks.”
Betsy began calling for him from inside, and he turned and limped back to her. Joe and I got off the deck and left. Julie called after me once, but I pretended not to hear her. I didn’t want to talk right now.
“We’re going to be cutting it close,” I said, looking at my watch.
“We’ll make it,” Joe said. “I suggest we take two cars, though.” I had been standing with my hand on the passenger-door handle of his Taurus. I nodded and went back to the Contour.
“Let’s go,” I said. “I hate to keep the mafia waiting.”
“You got the tape?”
I patted my hip pocket. “Got it.”
We took I-71 back into the city, across the Cuyahoga and into the heart of downtown. Joe pulled off the highway and onto Ontario Street with me right behind him. A red light brought us to a stop facing the Terminal Tower. Jacobs Field was on the right, empty now, waiting for warmer weather and baseball before it turned into one of the centerpieces of evening activity downtown. The light changed, and we made a left turn and followed the road as it wound down the hill, closer to the river, then back up to the bridge. A group of seagulls sat along the edge of the bridge, watching the river. We crossed the river and drove past the Northern Ohio Lumber and Timber Company building, an ancient brick structure with red wooden doors. The Contour rumbled across a short section of brick road, approaching the lift bridge, and I saw the skyscrapers looming above me. I’ve always enjoyed this stretch of the drive, where the old commercial section of the river district and the new high-rise office buildings converge. We curved back to the right, following the signs for Tower City parking. Joe pulled into the lower level of the garage and found a spot easily, and I parked a few cars down. It hadn’t been so long since we’d parked in this same garage on our visit to Jeremiah Hubbard.
“Well,” Joe said as I locked the car and joined him, “this is certainly the dumbest idea we’ve ever embarked on.”
“Should be fun.”
“Yeah, right.”
I did not ask Joe how he’d managed to contact Belov, and I would not ask him. Some things you just don’t need to know. Maybe Joe had vast underworld contacts.
We took the escalator up to the mall entrance. Usually at the top of the escalator you’re met with the conversational din of the food court, but this early in the morning the food court was closed and quiet. Out in the atrium a tall fountain cascaded down in front of us, and store employees moved about, readying for the crowds that would soon arrive. I’m not a shopping mall fan, but I enjoy walking through Tower City when I’m downtown. It’s a beautiful facility, with wide banks of windows looking down on the old commercial buildings along the river. I didn’t take much time to appreciate the scenery today, though. I was too busy looking for Belov or his soldiers. The mall wasn’t busy, but there were enough people around to make me feel somewhat safe. That feeling vanished when someone stepped up behind me and pressed the barrel ofa gun into my back.
Beside me, Joe said, “Morning, gentlemen.” I didn’t risk turning my head, but it seemed safe to assume Joe had a gun in his back as well.
“Morning,” a male voice with a faint European accent said behind me. “We’re going to be walking back down to the parking garage now, and then we’re going to see Mr. Belov. That is what you want, no?”
“Yeah, that’s what we want.”
“Excellent.” A hand slipped under my shirt and removed the Glock swiftly and smoothly. The videotape was left in my pocket. “You may turn around now.”
I turned and looked into the face of a man with the palest blue eyes I had ever seen. They were like chips of glacier ice. He was tall, several inches taller than me, and had fine, straw-colored hair and a broad-shouldered, muscular build. When I faced him, he gave me a wide smile of straight white teeth.
“We are old friends, yes?” he said. “Or at least we shall act like it.”
I got the message. The blue-eyed man had a partner who was much shorter and rounder, with dark, shaggy hair and several days’ worth of stubble. Both of them were wearing ski jackets and jeans. The jackets were open, exposing the guns they’d tucked back into their pants.
I looked at Joe. “Do you think we get our guns back?”
He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
We followed the Russians back down the escalator and into the parking garage. The blue-eyed man led us to a black Lincoln Town Car and climbed behind the wheel. Joe and I got in the back, and the bearded man climbed in with us.
“A Town Car,” I said. “Nice choice. Very in keeping with the organized crime tendencies.” No one laughed. Tough crowd, in a couple of ways.
We drove out of the parking garage and back down toward the river. I kept my breathing even and steady and drummed my fingers on the edge of the door. Relaxed. No need to be concerned, right? Would’ve felt a little better if they’d let us keep our guns, though.