“Julie, you’ve known me for less than three days.”
She nodded. “And yet I’m asking you. Shouldn’t that tell you something?”
Yes, I thought, it should. But what?
I sat stupidly on the hard wooden bench of the picnic table, fumbling for a response. I had to tell her she was crazy, of course. But I didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should never have asked such a thing. It’s absurd, and it’s certainly not fair to you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Remember when I told you in the car that what happened in the whirlpool last night was a mistake?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” she said, “this was not a mistake.” She leaned in and kissed me softly on the mouth, holding the kiss for a while, and then pulled away. As attracted as I had been to her the previous night, it couldn’t touch what I felt for her then.
After a while we left the picnic table and moved to one of the wooden lounge chairs. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but at least we could lean back in it. Julie curled against me, and I held her as we sat there and let the night pass. It grew later, and the air grew colder, but we didn’t leave the deck, not wanting to give up the night any quicker than we had to.
CHAPTER 23
I WOKE shortly before eight, lunging off the couch and reaching for my gun. I had my hand around the butt of the Glock when I stopped and realized where I was. The little cottage was still and quiet, and there was no cause for alarm. I didn’t remember any violent or frightening dream left behind in the world of sleep, but there I was, reaching for my gun. Dream or no dream, it wasn’t a positive start to the day.
I put the gun away and went into the bathroom, hoping to get a shower in before Julie and Betsy woke. The water heater didn’t approve of my rousing it into action at such an early hour, a point it made clear by refusing to offer more than a tepid stream. I left the shower quickly, dressed in the previous day’s clothes, and returned to the living room. Julie was awake now, sitting at the kitchen table.
“You find some coffee?” I said.
She made a face. “There’s a jar of instant coffee. It’s going to be pretty bad, but it beats no coffee at all.”
“Barely.”
“When is your partner going to be here?”
“Eight.”
She looked at her watch. “Not much time. I’d better wake Betsy so she’s ready to see John.”
When she returned to the kitchen, she busied herself with the coffee. There was no mention of the night before, or of her request. A few minutes after Betsy joined us in the kitchen, I heard tires on the gravel drive and looked at my watch. Eight o’clock exactly. Joe is nothing if not prompt. I watched from the kitchen window as John Weston pulled in behind Joe, climbed out of his Buick, and walked up the deck steps, using a wooden cane with a brass head to support his balance. He was wearing an olive parka and light blue pants and moving at as fast a clip as he could, although the steps were causing him some difficulty.
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.