Among Thieves (18 page)

Ballick knew he was alone. He could have run; maybe he should have, but that wasn’t who he was. He accepted his fate with
the same ambivalence he’d shown toward life. The precautions he’d taken had not been sufficient. It was enough, and he sat
down in the chair out back of the shack to look out at the water and wait.

It didn’t take long. It was only a matter of minutes before he heard a footstep on the gravel to his right. “I figured you
were coming,” he said simply.

“So it seems.” Ballick could hear the streets of Belfast thick in Kilbranish’s accent. “Only four? I feel insulted.”

“Who says there ain’t more,” Ballick replied. “Maybe inside.”

“No,” Liam replied. “We’ve been watching. Only four.”

“We? I thought you worked alone.”

“Aye. Except when necessary.”

“Like twenty years ago?”

“Like twenty years ago. Only it didn’t work out so well for me then, did it?”

Ballick heard shuffling off to the left of the building and glanced over to see a shadowy figure blocking any escape in that
direction. “Maybe it’ll work out better for you this time.”

“That depends on you,” Liam said. He stepped forward and the thin beam of light cast by low-wattage spotlights hanging precariously
from the corners of the roof bisected his face, showing his eyes but concealing his mouth and nose. It made him look like
some sort of masked bandit. “Talk,” he said.

Ballick looked at Liam. The determination in his eyes seemed balanced on the edge of madness, and Ballick knew he’d seen his
last sunrise over the water. He looked out at the bay, his sight drawn naturally to the horizon, where the dark steel of the
water faded into the charcoal sky. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“Try me.”

“We don’t know where they are.”

Liam was standing only a few feet from him now, and he raised his arm, pointing his pistol at Ballick’s head. Ballick hoped
he would pull the trigger then and there, but knew it would be too easy. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“I’m telling you, we don’t know where they are,” he said again. “No one does.”

“Someone does,” Liam replied. He motioned toward the door to the shack with the barrel of his gun.

“It’s gonna be like that?” Ballick said.

“It’s up to you.”

Ballick stood. “Nothing I can tell you is gonna be of any use,” he said. Liam didn’t respond, but motioned to the door again.
To Ballick’s left, the other man emerged from the shadows. He seemed large and shapeless, and he had a face from a child’s
nightmare. He had a gun, too, and he moved with economy and confidence.

Ballick turned toward the water to take one last look. A stiff breeze kicked off the harbor and swept in, working over his
face like a farewell. He inhaled deeply, letting the frigid air fill him to the core, closing his eyes in memory, feeling
comforted.

Then he took two steps toward the door, and flanked by Liam and the other man, he stepped into the shack.

Devon led the way through the museum hallways and around to the security guard’s desk. He and the Irishman had discussed the
fact that Devon was the only one who would talk. He had the thick Boston accent shared by the vast majority of the police
on the streets. It wasn’t as though there were no cops in Boston with Irish accents, but it would stick out, and possibly
give the guards cause for alarm. They couldn’t afford to take the risk. The Irishman had reluctantly agreed to allow Devon
to do the talking.

Devon came around the corner first and saw the guard standing behind the security desk. That was bad. He was hoping the man
might have come around from the back, and they simply would have tackled him to prevent him from setting off the alarm. Now
it looked like Devon was going to have to lure the man away from his post.

“You the guy givin’ us such a hassle out there?” he yelled at the guard. The kid couldn’t have been older than twenty-two.

“Sorry, Officer,” the guard said. “I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to let the police in. I was told no one gets in after
closing.”

“That’s the dumbest fuckin’ thing I ever heard,” Devon pressed. He looked at the Irishman. “You ever heard anything so fuckin’
stupid? It don’t even make any sense.” He turned back to the guard. “You wanna try again?”

The guard was nervous now, Devon could tell. That was the goal—make him nervous. Some ratty little pot-smoking musician-slash-security-guard
would be naturally scared of the cops, and fear would make him compliant. “I don’t understand,” he said. “That’s what I was
told.”

“Bullshit,” Devon shot back. He stepped in close and examined the kid. He was so close that the guard involuntarily pulled
back from the security desk. “Don’t I know you?” Devon asked him.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, I do. I busted you three months ago down on Mass Ave, right? Possession, or some shit like that. You never showed for
your court hearing. Bad mistake; you probably would’ve gotten probation, but judges don’t like when you skip. We got a warrant
out for your arrest.”

The guard shook his head so hard, Devon thought he might break a vertebra. “You’ve got me confused with someone else, Officer.
I swear it.”

Devon made his eyes go dark and he moved toward the desk. “You little shit! You callin’ me a fuckin’ liar? I swear to God,
if you are, I’ll make you fuckin’ pay. I know a bunch of guys down at Corrections; I make one phone call, and you’ll be fucked
so hard in jail, you’ll shit spunk for weeks. You got that!”

“Yes, Officer, but I swear you never arrested me.” The guard was in a panic now, and Devon could literally smell the fear
on him. For a moment he wondered whether the kid had pissed his pants.

“You got someone else here, a partner?”

“Yeah,” the guard stammered. “He’s just finishing his rounds. I called him, and he’ll be right down.”

“He better be, because you’re in a shitload of trouble, and we’re gonna have to deal with it. Is there anyone else here?”

“No, sir, just the two of us. I don’t understand why I’m in trouble.”

“Get your ass out from behind that desk,” Devon ordered. The guard hesitated. “Move, you little shit! Or I will make you wish
you’d never been born, I swear it!”

The guard relented and walked around the desk. “What? What do you want from me?” he asked.

“I want you to shut your fuckin’ mouth, and I want you to move over toward the wall.” As the kid moved toward him, Devon knew
it was all just about over. It was unlikely that, even if the guard realized there was a problem now, he could get back to
the desk to set off the alarm. Still, Devon wanted to play the role out so that it would make the rest of the evening as simple
as possible.

“This is ridiculous,” the guard said. “I haven’t done anything!”

Devon spun him by the shoulder and pushed him in the center of his back toward the wall. “Keep talkin’,” he said. “It only
gets worse.” He shoved the guard against the wall and kicked his feet. “Spread ’em,” he said. The guard spread his feet. His
hands were already up against the wall. “Now put your hands behind your back,” Devon said.

“You’re making a serious mistake,” the guard pleaded.

“We’ll know soon enough,” Devon said. “I’m gonna call this in and run you through the system. But right now, I want you to
put your hands behind your fuckin’ back!” The guard put his right hand behind his back, and Devon closed the handcuff around
his wrist. Almost there. “Now the left one.”

The guard put his left hand behind his back, and as the second cuff closed, Devon realized he hadn’t frisked the kid. Not
that it really mattered—he knew the guards weren’t armed. But no cop puts someone in cuffs without frisking him first. He
turned the guard around and smiled.

“You’re not the police, are you?” the guard said.

Devon could feel his smile broaden.

Just then the other guard walked around the corner from finishing his rounds. He saw the first guard with his hands cuffed
behind his back, and the two police officers standing there. “What’s going on, Officer?” he said.

Devon nodded to the Irishman, and passed the first guard over to him. Then he moved toward the second guard. “This asshole’s
under arrest,” he said. “You’re next if you don’t watch it. I want you up against the wall, now.” He was manhandling the guard,
who was so taken by surprise he wasn’t even resisting.

It took less than five seconds for Devon to cuff the second man, and by the time it was over, the last chance the guards had
to avoid disaster had slipped fully away. All he said as Devon put the cuffs on him was, “I don’t understand why you’re arresting
me!”

Devon spun the man around. “You’re not being arrested,” he said evenly. “This is a robbery. If you don’t give us any trouble,
you won’t get hurt.”

“They don’t pay me enough to get hurt,” the guard said.

Devon smiled. “Good. You boys keep your mouths shut and don’t tell the police anything for a year, and we’ll send you a reward.”
Neither of them replied to this. “Which way is the basement?”

“Down the hallway,” the second guard said, motioning with his chin.

Devon nodded again to Liam. “Downstairs,” he said. They walked the two guards down the hall to a doorway that led down to
the basement. As they walked, Devon questioned the two captives briefly. “No more guards, right?” he said. That was the information
they had—that there were only two guards on duty at night, but that sort of intelligence can be wrong, so he figured he’d
confirm it.

“Just the two of us,” the first guard said. He seemed to be the senior of the two, though he was only in his early twenties.

“No other external alarms, right? Other than the one behind the desk?”

“No other alarms.”

Devon stopped them on the stairs. “If you’re lying and the cops show up, the first thing I’m going to do is run down here
and put a bullet in your head, okay?”

“I understand.”

Devon looked at the man, but saw no evidence of deception on his face.

They led the two men down to the basement and found two posts about a hundred feet apart. They had the men turn around and
bound their hands and feet tightly with duct tape. Then they tore strips and put them over the guards’ mouths and eyes. They
pushed them down on the ground and taped them to the posts. “Nighty-night, boys,” Devon said. “We hear any noise and we’re
coming down shooting. Remember what we said.” He looked at Liam and nodded.

They were in, and they hadn’t even needed to pull out their guns. His job was done.

Detective Stone arrived at the waterfront at dawn. The buildings were silhouettes against a gray sky to the east, and a light
mist hung in the air, reflecting what seemed like a thousand blue-and-red flashing lights. Police tape blocked the driveway,
and a bleary-eyed patrolman directed him to park on the street. “There’s a lot of ground to cover in there,” he said to Stone.
“It’s gonna take the crime scene boys a while to finish.”

As Stone got out of his car and started walking toward the driveway, another car pulled up and flashed its brights at him.
As it pulled alongside him, Sanchez rolled down the window. “You just getting here?” she asked.

“I just got the call,” he replied.

“Me too.” She looked toward the driveway. “Ballick?”

“Sounds like it. Some of his men, too. We don’t have confirmation yet.”

Sanchez rolled up the window and pulled forward, parking her sedan in front of the unmarked car she and Stone shared when
on duty.

The view down the long driveway, flanked by the trees on both sides, seemed surreal to Stone. As the crime scene technicians
did their work, flashlights sparked the fog in the growing light, like the warning signals of a dozen tiny lighthouses.