Mad Dog Justice (18 page)

A sickening eddy of dread washes over Roddy as he recalls Sandy standing near her bedroom door, her eyes red-rimmed and her face pale. He recalls her knuckles twisting around each other as she said, “
You won’t tell Mommy?”

He agreed not to tell Tracy.

“He just touched my hair.”

And then: “
His breath stinks.”

“How do you know?”

“He kissed me.”

He recalls the toxic brew of rage that poured through him like molten lava. He felt his brain would explode, shattering his skull into bits and pieces. He knew at that moment that he would reach back to his past—was certain the mad dog would return. He’d be forced to fight for himself and his family.

The consequences didn’t matter.

That day sealed Grange’s fate. And Roddy’s, too.

“Roddy, are you hearing a word I’m saying?”

His twisted reverie is broken. His pulse pounds through his body.

“Yes, Tracy. I’m listening.”

“And now Sandy thinks this man is coming after you. She said his name was on the card.”

“Trace, I—”

“Who is this man?”

“Listen, Tracy—”

“A man comes to our
house
—a child molester—and Sandy
tells
you, and you don’t tell
me
? You keep it a secret? From
me
? Sandy’s
mother
?”

“Tracy, calm down.”

“Who
is
this man?”

“He was the brother-in-law of a former patient. I don’t even remember his name. I called him, and he wanted to know if I would do a gastric bypass so he could lose weight. I told him I didn’t do that kind of surgery and never to come to our home. He apologized, and I never heard from him again.” Roddy’s skin feels like it’s shriveling.

“This man
kissed
Sandy. He fondled her hair, and you never
told
me?”

“I didn’t want to upset you. I got rid of him, and that was the end of it. He was just a fat slob with no judgment.”

“But this is … it’s insane. I can’t live with your lies.” She lets out a sob. Roddy feels his heart being crushed as Tracy cries into the telephone. “It’s been nothing but lies. I know you’re still keeping things from me.”

Roddy envisions Danny, Kenny, and himself in McLaughlin’s back office the night Grange first showed up. He recalls the buzzing overhead light, the kitchen clatter, and the dining crowd’s choral roar bleeding through the door. And Grange’s threats … and then the nightmare that followed. It all streaks through his mind as Tracy’s voice seems to fade in his ear.

“Roddy, are you there?”

“Huh?”

“This man comes to the house and he … and you never told
me? And now we’re in New Jersey while you’re … I don’t know where you are … and Sandy’s scared out of her mind?”

“Let me talk to her.”

“Why? What could you possibly say to her that will change
anything
?”

“Please, Tracy. Let me talk to her. I just want to—”

“Roddy, we’re
so
over.”

The line goes dead.

T
he Doral Arrowwood Hotel sits on 114 acres of rolling hills, meadows, and reed-filled ponds in Rye Brook, New York. It’s a short ride by car service to Danny’s office in Yonkers. But that’s not an option right now. Danny’s staying put in the hotel.

The hotel’s manager is a longtime client, and Danny landed an executive suite through the guy’s efforts and goodwill. On an upper floor, the suite has two well-appointed rooms with a fully equipped kitchenette. The suite’s office area has the whole enchilada, including a plug-in for his laptop, high-speed Internet access, a fax machine, and a top-of-the-line scanner and copier—everything he needs to help Natalie, his office manager, run his business right from the suite. She’s had the office locks replaced, and the landlord installed security cameras in the lobby, elevator, and stairwells. Dan’s glad Natalie knows the ropes and is überefficient. It’s simply a matter of staying in touch. No matter what the bastards who shot him took, Danny still has all his clients’ records stored in Dropbox, which he can access in a matter of seconds on his new laptop.

So now he and Roddy are living like fugitives while Angela and the kids are staying in Riverdale, in her brother’s cramped apartment.
God, what a jackass I was for hooking up with Kenny Egan
, Danny thinks.

Dan’s thoughts swirl in a jumble. He wonders why he was so
stupid he didn’t see that was coming down the track. Why had he let Roddy and himself stumble into the bind they’re now in? Because of his own stupidity—that’s why. Because of his wish to become more than an accountant. Because he wanted to rub shoulders with the New York glitterati. That’s why he let it all happen. He and Roddy went into business; and what did it lead to?

They violated the laws of God and of man.

In a cold sweat, Danny kneels at the edge of the bed and begins praying.

Oh, my loving and merciful God … where are you now? Are you dead like Da, or do you hear me? Can you forgive me for what I did? And will Roddy ever forgive me for what I did to him? That was my biggest sin of all, betraying Roddy. Dear God, do you hear me when I confess everything to you?

Danny’s convinced death lurks everywhere. It follows him—relentlessly—and there’s no escaping what will happen. And while Danny sometimes wonders if there’s truly a place called hell, he knows his life has become a hell on earth.

Apprehension seizes him. It’s a sense of dread so deep, he feels it sucking the breath from his body. His heart begins thumping insanely. He gasps for breath. It’s not the asthma—it’s pure nerves—and the air hunger is so bad, it feels like he’s being garroted.

He staggers to the bathroom, grabs his inhaler, and with shaking hands, puts it to his lips and presses the lever. He sucks inward, deeply, desperately, hoping for a breath of precious air as medicine-laced mist fills his lungs.

But his breathlessness worsens, so he grabs the orange vial of pills at the side of the sink and dumps a few Klonopin tablets into his trembling palm.

Oh God, please help me
.

The pills are in his mouth, but his tongue feels like fur and the tablets stick to it. He clutches a glass, fills it with water, and gulps. He slugs more water, but isn’t sure the pills are down, so he refills
the glass and guzzles more. He stumbles back to the bedroom and onto the bed, lies on his back, and stares at the ceiling.

Oh, please … sweet Jesus … let me breathe
.

A veil of calm descends, slowly, but he feels it taking over.

Klonopin, how ironic—the same shit Roddy used to put that bastard Grange into some half-assed state so we could dump him into the hole
.

And Roddy’s name is on this bottle as the prescribing doctor. Jesus, life just mocks you at every turn. Roddy’s told Dan it takes at least twenty minutes before the Klonopin even begins taking effect—before he feels that warm smoothness that lightens the horror of it all. And yet, within a few seconds after gulping the pills, Dan feels his breathing slow, and his heart downshifts from its pumped-up racing. The cloud of dread begins to dissipate.

Though he’s no longer kneeling at the bedside, Danny continues praying.

Oh, God in heaven, please help us get out of this hole
.

And please, dear God, forgive me for what I’ve done to Roddy and our families
.

Danny decides he must talk with Roddy. It would be such a relief, and besides, there are things he must say. He can’t hold it in any longer. He grabs the disposable cell, looks at the number taped to it, and dials. Roddy picks up on the second ring.

“Roddy, where are you?”

“I’m on the move.”

“I’m at the Arrowwood.” Dan pauses, feeling a slight flood of relief hearing his kemosabe’s voice. “How’re Tracy and the kids?”

“Don’t even ask. How about Angie and yours?”

“Good. Good. But I’m living like a hermit.”

“Me, too.”

“You learn anything?”

“Nothing else. Like I told you, he was a made man.”

A twinge of dread grips Danny as he hears those words. “So
they wanna clip us?”

“Looks that way.”

“How would they know we had anything to do with him?”

“He must’ve told someone about us,” says Roddy. “We gotta figure something out.”

“What’re we gonna figure, huh? Tell me, for the love of Christ, what’s there to figure out?” Danny’s hand trembles as he holds the phone to his ear. He breaks out in a cold sweat.

God in heaven, it’s all coming down on us
.

“Jesus, Roddy. I can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

“About what?”

“Those two bastards in the ground somewhere upstate. It never goes away. It’s like a bad dream, a never-ending nightmare. You know, the earth must be frozen by now. It’s probably hard as stone.”

“Look, Dan. You can’t let it get the best of you. We did what we had to do and—”

“I can’t forget the way we hauled that fat bastard outta your SUV and then dug that goddamned hole. I keep thinkin’ how we couldn’t get that star sapphire ring off his fat finger and how you used the cable cutter. Jesus, I almost puked when you did that. I still get nauseous when I think about it. And then—”

“Dan.”

“Then rolling him into that pit. You know what, Roddy? I still hear that thud when the bastard hit bottom.”

“Listen, Dan. You—”

“And then throwing the ring and finger into that swamp, and the gun, too; and then that sick son of a bitch, Kenny, jumping into the hole and cutting off Grange’s ear with the shovel and holding it next to his own and laughing like a sick hyena. Jesus, Roddy, I can’t get it outta my mind. You know what? I still smell that hole, the dirt, and the piss and shit. I swear, Roddy, I really do. And I sometimes see Kenny, half naked, smoking and sweating
and pissing his pants because he was so scared when you put that .45 to his head.”

“Dan, he deserved what he got. He—”

“And I think about how I felt and what I said. I can’t forget it. It’s in my head forever. It just won’t quit.”

Even as he speaks, Dan’s thoughts swerve back to those moments.

“Tell me, you son of a bitch, who ran Angela off the road?”

“I dunno.”

“Shoot him, Roddy. Shoot the motherfucker.”

Danny knows something hateful and vengeful erupted from within him that night. Danny knows he’d have blasted Kenny Egan to bits that night if he’d had the chance.

And Danny wonders about his own role in the entire McLaughlin scheme. How big a part did he play in what went down from the very moment he decided to partner up with Kenny … and the mob? Holy shit … the
mob
. The word alone sends shivers through him. It’s enough to shrivel his soul.

“Tell me, Roddy, how do you live with what we did that night? Huh?”

“It’s been fading for me. Until you got shot, the memory was getting dimmer.”

“Not for me. I can’t forget those woods. That moon and the bare trees. It was so eerie, and those peeping frogs and the crickets.”

“C’mon, Dan, you gotta get a handle on it.”

“I can’t, Roddy. I just
can’t
.”

“Kenny admitted what he did. He was gonna bilk us for everything. And he’s the one who ran Angie off the road and nearly killed her.”

“Would you’ve killed him if he hadn’t gone for that pistol?”

“I dunno.”

“Think about it. Would you’ve done it?”

“Hypotheticals don’t do us any good, Danny.”

“Maybe not, but it’s playin’ games with my head, Roddy. You know … when the kids’re watching
The Walking Dead
, I can’t look at that shit. It drives me up a wall. And I can’t watch anything on TV with guns or shooting. I start gettin’ short of breath.”

“You taking the Klonopin I prescribed?”

“Yeah, but it’s gonna take more than that to get my head straight.”

“Listen, Dan—”

“You know, since it went down, I’ve been to Mass every Sunday.”

“You gotta do whatever makes you feel better.”

“I wish I could go to confession,” Dan says, picturing the confessional with its kneeler and lattice screen. A momentary wave of warmth calms him.

“Jesus, Danny. Not
confession
. You’ll blow us sky-high.”

“I gotta talk to someone. I can’t go on this way.”

“Don’t say a word to anyone, Danny. Not to Angie or a priest. Not to a living soul. If confession makes you feel better, confess
privately
to God … not a fucking priest. Keep it to yourself. You
hear
me?”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” Danny closes his eyes and inhales deeply. His breath whistles through his nose. He weighs telling Roddy what he’s been thinking since he was shot. Can he do it? Can he actually say it and not worry about the inevitable blow-back sure to come his way? Does he risk arousing the mad dog inside Roddy? Why not take the plunge? After all, Roddy’s his friend, his blood brother, and they’ll always be friends, no matter what happens.

“Roddy, I’ve been thinking—and hear me out on this.”

“I’m listening.”

“It’s been on my mind for a while now, even before I got shot.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I gotta tell you, Roddy, because it’s been buildin’ up like a pressure cooker and I just can’t go on this way. I’d be holding out on you if I didn’t tell you.” Danny waits, clutching the cell phone as tightness grips his chest—it’s the fucking asthma.

Roddy says nothing.

“Listen, Roddy, maybe we’re best off going to Morgan and telling him what happened.”

There’s silence. Danny wonders if Roddy will erupt in fury. There’s an intake of breath on the other end.

“What the fuck’re you sayin’, Danny? Go to the
police
? You gotta be kiddin’.”

“No, I’m not. Why don’t we tell the cops and hope for the best? Right now, we’re holed up and don’t even know who’s coming after us or when it’s gonna happen. If we go to the police—”

“
Dan
, you can’t be serious. We tell Morgan a
thing
, he’ll push and probe, and we go down the tubes. We’re talkin’ premeditated murder here. Murder in the first degree. No matter how you spin it, it’s prison—Attica or Sing Sing—for the rest of our goddamned lives. And what’re we gonna have left then?”