Mad Dog Justice (11 page)

“Okay, Trace,” he says, wondering how he’ll get through this minefield of half-truths and evasions. “Danny called Kenny, and so did Omar, the maître d’, probably a dozen times, but we never heard back. Eventually, we notified the New York City police.”

“And,” she says with her lower lip protruding.

“They got into his apartment and discovered some things.”

“What things?”

“It was disturbing.”

“C’mon, Roddy, just
tell
me.” Tracy’s lips now form a thin line. She crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“Apparently, Kenny was doing drugs. But more important, there were messages on his voice mail from guys who the police say were involved in mob activities.”

Roddy sees her intake of breath, and Tracy’s face blanches. She leans forward on the sofa and her hands clasp around her knees. Her knuckles look white.

“Mob activities?”

“Yes, gambling.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Danny and I went to the head of the Missing Persons Squad in Manhattan.”

“You went to the New York police and I’m first hearing about this
now
?” She shakes her head. And blinks rapidly.

“Because I didn’t want to—”

“How does this involve Danny getting
shot
?”

“I don’t know for sure, but Kenny must’ve owed the wrong people money because the messages on his voice mail weren’t friendly.”

“Roddy?” Tracy’s hand shoots to her mouth.

“Captain Greene told us gamblers like Kenny can get into trouble. He wondered if Kenny might have been killed.”

Tracy gasps.

“And now it’s possible the mob might be after Danny and me.”

Tracy’s irises look lost in a sea of white. She leans back on the couch, as though she’s repelled and wants to distance herself from Roddy.

“
Why
? Why would they come after you?”

“I don’t know. But since we were Kenny’s partners …”

Tracy’s hands begin shaking. “You waited until
now
to tell me this?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“And now?
Now
I can worry?”

“No, but—”

She crosses one leg over the other and leans forward. She clutches herself with her arms crossing her chest. “But
what
, Roddy? What’s going on?” Her posture stiffens, as though she might leap from the sofa.

“I don’t know exactly, maybe. Listen, honey, the only thing I care about is you and the kids.”

“Meaning what, Roddy?”

“Meaning … I’m not sure you should stay here anymore.”

“
What
?” She shoots to her feet. She crosses her arms and paces a short distance away. She whirls and faces him. Her mouth drops open.

He gets up, moves to her, and takes her hand. “I think maybe you and the kids should stay at your sister’s house in Nutley. Just for a little while.”

God, I sound so tentative … so unnerved
.

She yanks her hand out of his and moves away. “Roddy,” she says as her eyes bore into him. “You’re telling me Danny may have been shot by people who’re after both of you … people who may’ve
killed
Kenny? You’re telling me you learned about Kenny disappearing almost a
year
ago, and you said nothing to
me
? And now … now you’re saying that maybe the kids and I could be in
danger
? Because
of what? Some people from some mob? Are you
serious
? And you’re first telling me all this
now
… after Danny’s been shot?”

“Trace, I didn’t want to—”

“You didn’t want to
what
, Roddy?” Her face reddens. “You didn’t want to tell your wife that we could all be killed because of Kenny Egan … who’s now
dead
because he owed money to some mob?”

“We don’t know for sure that Kenny’s dead.”

Her mouth hangs open. “You don’t know for
sure
? But you
think
he’s dead? How … how could you
do
this?”

“I didn’t want you to worry … to be involved.”

“How could I not be involved? I’m your
wife!
” Her face is frozen in an expression of disbelief. “Have you told me everything, Roddy?”

“Yes,” he says, nearly cringing at his lie.

“Absolutely
everything
?”

“Yes, honey, I have.” He can barely tolerate his own voice.

Tracy resumes pacing. She brushes back a lock of hair from her forehead. “This is unbelievable, completely beyond anything I could have imagined. I don’t know what … I just can’t … Who have I been married to all these years? Just who
are
you?” She stops pacing and turns back to him.

“Trace …” He reaches for her.

“No, Roddy …
no
.” She steps back, trembling. Her eyes are wet, and her eyeliner looks smudged. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you? Do you
really
trust me?”

“Trace, I trust you and love you, more than—”

“Roddy, do you trust
anyone
?”

“Please, Tracy, let’s be sensible.”

“How could you not tell me all this?” Tears drip down her face.

He reaches for her again, but she backs away.

“Honey, I figured—”

“What did you figure, Roddy? Just what were you thinking?”

He stands there, nearly paralytic, feeling his life shredding apart. And he’s weaving a web of lies and deception. His mouth opens, but there are no words; there’s nothing he can say.

“Roddy,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her and shaking her head from side to side, “what am I to you?” She peers into his eyes.

“Honey, you’re my wife, and I love you more—”

“Okay, so you love me. But do you
trust
me?”

“Of course I do.”

“
Of course you do
? But you tell me nothing. There are men out there … men with guns. Danny—your best friend since you were maybe two years old—is in the hospital after he’s been shot. You’ve known about this Kenny Egan thing for almost a year and you kept it a
secret
from me?”

Roddy’s legs feel as though they’re going watery. He moves to the sofa and plops down.

“You’ve put our
children
in danger. Now you’re telling us we have to leave this house, our home, and you’re afraid for your life and our lives? And you told me
nothing
until now?”

“Tracy, I didn’t—”

She moves toward him with her eyes flashing. Her arms are still crossed and she’s trembling. “Look, Roddy, I know you had a miserable childhood. I understand all about your mother and father and how your mother’s lousy boyfriend, Horst, beat you. I know all about the old neighborhood and how tough it was. I get it. But there are limits.

“We’ve been married for fifteen years; we have two kids. We built what I
thought
was a good life—a solid marriage, a lovely home and family life. But it’s … it’s very clear that you don’t trust me. You don’t
really
trust me … your own wife. I don’t know if you can trust
anyone
.”

She turns and begins pacing again with her arms still crossed in front of her, as though she’s clutching herself to keep her insides from falling out. “You just can’t believe that someone can love you and care for you and be on your side no matter what, can you?” She stands stock-still for a moment and then shakes her head as tears stream in narrow runnels down her cheeks. “You just don’t really trust me.”

“Tracy, that’s not true. I—”

“Roddy, trust is the foundation of a marriage. My God, after all we’ve been through together, struggling to make ends meet, working and living together, having children, making a good life and … and … it boils down to
this
?”

I
t’s probably an hour later. Roddy finds himself in the den, then the living room, and at some point, goes upstairs. He hears Sandy crying and knows Tracy’s told the kids they’re leaving for Nutley first thing in the morning to live with Aunt Colleen and their cousins. He knows he’s talked with the kids, but it all seems blurred and remote—lost in a haze of dread and regret. Drawers open and shut as Tracy prepares for their departure.

Roddy’s now in the kitchen while Tracy is back in the den; he hears her on the telephone. She’s talking with her sister, Colleen. “I can’t worry about school right now,” she says. “Maybe I’ll register them in Nutley. We’ll be at your place by nine.”

She makes a few more calls: her supervisor at the library, one of her coworkers, a neighbor—the mail will be picked up so it doesn’t collect in the box—a couple more, one after another.

Roddy nearly collapses on the living room couch. Everything in their lives is crumbling. Tracy’s still on the telephone. He hears her from the den.

“It’s hard to believe, Angie. And they didn’t say a word about it.”

There’s a pause.

“I’ve noticed it, too.”

“Yes … there’s been a change in their relationship.”

“I think we’ve only gotten together twice since then. And I don’t hear Roddy talk about Danny anymore.”

More silence as Tracy listens.

“Where in Riverdale, your brother’s place? I’ll be at Colleen’s.”

There’s no doubt about it: Danny’s grown distant since it all went down. Is it that Danny’s afraid he might say the wrong thing if they’re all together—that he’ll let something slip, especially after a few glasses of wine? Or is Danny avoiding him because he’s ashamed he didn’t look into Kenny’s finances carefully enough?

Or is it something less benign?

Roddy again wonders if Danny knew something about Kenny’s shady dealings. But it’s ridiculous to think Danny was involved with Grange—or Gargano, that missing mobster.

But when it comes to people and money and greed, you never know. When money is at stake, plenty of people lose their sanity. They no longer act rationally.

You just can’t know what drives people to do what they do in this world.

R
oddy watches Tracy and the kids walk toward her Honda. He stands on the front lawn as Tracy opens the trunk, sets their suitcases inside, and lowers the lid. She wouldn’t even let Roddy carry them out to the car. And she hasn’t made eye contact with Roddy this morning. Sandy turns suddenly and dashes toward Roddy. He spreads his arms, swallowing hard to get rid of the lump forming in his throat.

“I don’t want to live in New Jersey,” Sandy blubbers, throwing her arms around his waist.

“It’s only for a few days, sweetie,” Roddy says, kneeling down. He looks at Tracy, who stares at him. Her eyes have a cold, intense look.

“But I have school and my friends.”

“Mom will call school when you get to Nutley,” he says. “She’ll take care of everything. And you’ll be back here very soon. I promise.”

Tracy walks toward them and takes Sandy’s hand. “C’mon, we have to go,” she says, glancing at Roddy. Her look says it all:
I’ll never forgive you for this
.

Tom gets in the backseat, looking sullen. He says nothing.

Roddy stands on the lawn, watching Tracy’s car pull away. He tries sorting out his feelings but cannot. He only knows his world is darkening.

A
n hour later, Roddy is in a Stop & Shop and purchases two disposable cell phones. The irony of it all isn’t lost on him: it’s the same supermarket where he bought a disposable cell to call Grange when he set up the meeting at McLaughlin’s. The night they killed him and Kenny. The night that led to this moment.

Driving to St. Joseph’s Hospital, he takes the Cross County Parkway and gets off at exit 3; he gets onto Yonkers Avenue. He drives to Nepperhan Avenue and heads west toward South Broadway. He drives with one eye on the road and the other in the rearview mirror.

Roddy switches lanes. A few moments later, he spots a black Navigator changing lanes. It’s now three cars behind. It looks exactly like the vehicle parked in the garage the night he saw the men waiting there. A flash image of Walt McKay comes to Roddy. His hands tighten on the steering wheel and begin cramping. He loosens his grip.

Roddy cruises into the right lane and peers into the mirror. The Navigator stays in the middle lane—keeping a safe distance. It’s still three cars behind. He suddenly realizes the streets are filled with dark-colored SUVs—Navigators, Escalades, Pathfinders, and Land Cruisers—all looking similar. Could he be seizing on any vehicle that looks like the one he saw in the garage? Is he being followed, or is he just too wired and suspicious?

He stops at a traffic light and glances in the rearview mirror. The low winter sun glares off the Navigator’s windshield, and he can’t make out the occupants. He peers into the driver’s side mirror but can’t get a better look. Still no view of the vehicle’s interior. The Navigator stays three cars behind him.

The light changes; he pulls ahead and makes a left onto South Broadway, heading toward the hospital. He could swerve and make a sudden turn without signaling and then take a circuitous route—try losing the Navigator—but Roddy decides he won’t play cat and mouse. It’s not the way to go. He won’t let himself
act like prey. In the Rangers, the emphasis was on stealth and offense—to combine them whenever possible. It’s far better to be the hunter than the hunted. Yes, be a predator. He won’t be another Walt McKay and let them come up behind him for a kill.

Roddy moves the Rogue to the middle lane. He glances in the mirror again. The Navigator shifts to the right lane. It hangs back, leaving a good distance between them. Roddy slows down, just to see if the Navigator pulls alongside him. It hangs back.

No other vehicle is in front of the Navigator. Roddy’s certain it will pull alongside him—on his right side—at the next red light. That’s when a shot will be fired, just as it happened with Walt McKay. Roddy presses the lever for the passenger’s side window; it lowers. He raises the console cover and lets it stand upright between the front seats.

Approaching a red light, Roddy slows, reaches into the console, and lifts the revolver. He doesn’t recall it being so heavy. He places it on the passenger’s seat as his Rogue rolls slowly to the red light, where he stops.