Frames Per Second (17 page)

Suzanne looked at Ben curiously. “Do I know you?”

He smiled. “Don’t think so.”

She looked at his hands. “No ring. Maybe I’ve seen you at the clubs.”

“That must be it.”

“Come say hi next time.” She looked in at McGuire. “He’s gonna be a minute. And you gotta get checked out by Warren anyhow.”

A thick-bodied man wearing a Hawaiian shirt came out of the inside door. He asked them for ID and to open their bags.

“What’s your name?” Sarah asked.

“Warren Reynolds.” His inflection was flat. A faint smile touched his lips. “Head of security.”

“And what does that entail beyond checking ID?”

“Have a seat, Miss,” he said, and returned to the back room. Ben saw there was a mirror on the wall that he presumed was one-way glass.

He and Sarah sat watching Jimbo McGuire talk on the phone for almost twenty minutes. He made no effort to hide his conversation, a booming dialogue with someone named Gary about the number and size of the fish he had caught and his best bets in the stock market. He did this with his feet up on the desk, fingering his silk tie. Gucci loafers, tailored linen pants, a dazzling white shirt.

Ben had the feeling that somewhere in McGuire’s home there was a stack of
GQ
back issues.

Finally, McGuire put the phone down and gave them a wave to come into his office.

Ben had taken enough distant portraits to know McGuire was handsome, but the shots didn’t begin to convey his cockiness. As Ben and Sarah walked in, McGuire stood behind his desk, undoing his shirt cuffs to display rippling forearm muscles. “I’ll give you five minutes,” he said, waving them to the chairs. Ben held Sarah’s chair out for her, and then stepped back against the wall to give himself some shooting room.

McGuire said, “I’d like to put this nonsense to rest. I don’t even read your rag, but I’ve got the cops pestering me with questions about you people. First off, tell me who this Peter Gallagher is.”

“You’re saying you have no idea?” Sarah’s voice remained neutral.

“Never met the man.” Suddenly McGuire called out to the receptionist. “Suzanne, did I ever have an appointment with a Peter Gallagher?”

“No,” she said, immediately. “Never did.”

McGuire put his hands out, palms up. “There you go.”

“I didn’t ask if he interviewed you. I asked if you knew of him.”

“Not until I read about his car troubles in the
Globe.
But that’s got nothing to do with me.”

“Car troubles,” Sarah said. “That’s your idea of a joke?”

McGuire leaned into her, turning on the aggression as if with a switch. “Don’t piss me off, lady.”

“Or what?” Sarah observed him calmly, pen poised over her pad.

Ben released the shutter, taking a fast set of shots of McGuire’s handsome face turning hard. It was clear to Ben as he looked through the viewfinder that McGuire was still a kid. A dangerous kid, perhaps, but a kid nonetheless.

“Put that goddamn camera down,” McGuire snapped.

“How about me?” Ben said. “When Dawson tried to kill me in my apartment—was that one of your little jokes, too?”

McGuire pulled back, smiling coolly. “I barely caught your name, much less have reason or the ability to send people to your house to murder you.”

“I believe the police may have shown you the photos that Peter took.” Sarah laid the prints on the table. She didn’t include any of the recent shots Ben had taken.

“No,” McGuire said, shuffling through them carelessly. “This is the first I’ve seen of them … Crappy shot of Suzanne, but she leads with her body, so I guess that’s not so bad …” He shuffled through the other shots. “OK, you see what a nut Dawson was. Started chasing your guy soon as he saw him. I had to call him off.”

McGuire’s face colored slightly when they came to the shot of him with the old man outside the candy store. “Big shit, you’ve got me talking to Red Donnelly. He may’ve been a wild guy in his time, but he’s an old man, runs a candy store now.”

McGuire tossed the sheaf of photos back to Sarah.

He said to Ben, “You people are lucky I don’t go after you for invasion of privacy. Maybe I would if this Gallagher were still alive. As for Dawson, he was an unstable guy. I let him go earlier this week myself. Maybe he was distraught, turned to burglary. I believe he may have had drug problems.”

“That’s your story?” Sarah asked.

McGuire’s smile widened. “No, that’s just my attempt to guess at what could’ve been motivating a troubled former employee. I’ve got no
real
clue as to what happened. But seeing as you’ve come to me, I’ve tried to help you as best I can.”

Sarah said, “I’ll be frank. We know that Peter was looking at you as an up and coming crime figure on the Boston scene—”

“It’s flattering to be seen as up and coming in any field, but …”

“And we know the police are looking at you hard as the individual behind Dawson,” she continued.

Ben spoke before McGuire could continue his banter. “What were you looking for in my studio? Peter took those shots, not me.”

McGuire put his palms out. “Sorry, I don’t know anything about this. I’m just a young guy trying to do something new here.” He seemed calmer now, less hostile than before. As if he were enjoying himself.

“And what is that?” Sarah asked.

“I’m a consultant.”

“Consulting who? About what?”

“Real estate development,” he said. “As for my clients, that’s confidential. But the point is that my family has been attacked like this for years, and it breaks my uncle’s heart the things people say about him. And because they say it about him, they say it about me.”

Here McGuire’s voice dropped a notch and he leaned forward slightly. “And that’s the tough thing about families.” He pointed to Sarah and then to Ben, his voice growing softer.
“You
do something,
or you
do something … and somebody’s blaming your families next. Not just you. It’s a shame, it’s not fair—but there it is. We’re all connected to the people we love, and they take the heat right along with us.”

“You get that?” Ben said to Sarah. “He just threatened our families.”

“Got it,” she said.

McGuire sat back, shaking his head. “That’s why I rarely talk to the press. You say one thing, they twist it to mean another.”

Behind them, the door opened.

A tall, older man with a shock of white hair strode into the office.

“What’s up?” McGuire said.

Ben was interested to see that McGuire’s ease of a moment before vanished. He looked like a kid caught outside peeing in the flower bushes.

McGuire said, “I’ll be done in a second, Uncle Pat. These folks were on their way out.’’

Ben saw Warren Reynolds step into the waiting room behind them.

An ugly flush crept up McGuire’s neck. “You made a call, Warren?”

“I was driving by, thought I’d stop in,” his uncle said.

Sarah and Ben stood, and she put her hand out to Clooney and introduced herself and Ben. She said, “Mr. Clooney, your nephew just finished threatening our families. Do you have any comment on that?”

McGuire laughed.

But the look his uncle gave him showed no trace of humor. “That’s nonsense,” Clooney said, looking with cold eyes first to Sarah, and then to Ben. “Absolute nonsense.” The older man looked at McGuire. He turned his attention back to Sarah and Ben. “This interview is over.”

“Uncle Pat, I’ve got this handled,” McGuire said.

“Shut up,” Clooney said. He reached into his pocket and drew out a business card and put it in Sarah’s hand. “In the future, you got a question that involves my family, you talk to me.”

“And how about my family?” she said. “I already lost Peter Gallagher, my ex-husband.”

“Gallagher was your ex?” McGuire said. “You didn’t say that.”

Sarah continued talking to Clooney. “Do I have to worry about my daughter now? And his kids?” She nodded to Ben.

“Lady, I don’t even know who they are.” Clooney looked first to Sarah, and then to Ben. And though his eyes were far from kind, they were steady. “If I got a complaint with you, I’ll take it up directly with you. Not your children.”

“How about him?” Ben said, jerking his head at McGuire. “Have you got a tight enough leash for him?”

“You asshole,” McGuire said, coming around the desk. “You got nothing, you
are
nothing. Now just get the fuck out of my office.”

His uncle put his hand flat on McGuire’s chest. Clooney looked at Ben and said, softly, “You’re looking for trouble?”

“I’m looking for your assurance that you can keep this boy away from our families. That’s what I’m looking for.”

A smile touched Clooney’s lips. “You got it,” he said. He put his hand out to shake.

Ben took his hand and said, “Why did you try to have me killed?”

“I didn’t.” Clooney’s hand was smooth and dry, like leather stretched over steel.

“Did you have Peter Gallagher killed? Or is your boy here just out of control?”

“I’m never out of control,” Clooney said, as he drew Ben off balance with his right hand, and shoved him from behind.

The move from the old man surprised Ben. Before he knew it, Reynolds had grabbed him and Sarah by their upper arms and was hauling them through the waiting room fast, never giving them the time to get their feet under themselves. Suzanne was waiting with the door open and Reynolds shoved them outside.

“Bye-bye.” Suzanne slammed the door behind them.

They stood blinking in the sudden bright sunshine.

“Jesus
Christ,
’’ Sarah said, straightening her clothes.

Ben rolled his shoulders, both angry and a bit unnerved by Reynold’s strength. “Yeah,” he said. He could still feel the imprint of the guy’s fingers on his triceps, and the pressure the old man had left on his hand. “Yeah.”

CHAPTER 19

THE FIRST THING BEN NOTICED WHEN HE ARRIVED AT THE RESTAURANT that night was that Jake was wearing a blue blazer, like Kurt.

“Hey, Dad,” Jake said, standing up to shake his hand.

“Jake.” Ben fought back the urge to hug his son tight and muss his hair. Jake clearly felt he was too grown up for that.

Lainnie, however, jumped off her chair into his arms.

“Lainnie!” Andi said.

Ben laughed as he staggered back. He set Jake’s present on the table so he could support her full weight. Jake sat down.

After Lainnie returned to her chair, Ben placed his hands on Jake’s shoulders and squeezed. “I command you to stop growing so fast. You’ll be in college by the time I blink.”

Jake smiled shyly.

Kurt said, “How was your surveillance today?”

“Nothing that can’t wait,” Ben said. Damned if he was going to spend his son’s birthday talking about this.

“The kids have missed you,” Andi said.

“I certainly hope so. I missed them.” Ben sat down and looked out the window. The view of Boston, with the Charles River silver in the moonlight, was truly phenomenal.

Lainnie said, “I heard Kurt and Mom talking about a fire in your building.”

Ben looked at Andi, and she said, “They know there was an accident at your building and your pictures were almost burned.”

“But everything’s all right,” he said. “Including my pictures of you two kids.”

“Especially mine,” Lainnie said.

“Especially yours.”

But Jake didn’t look satisfied. He looked at his mother and at Kurt, and then back to Lainnie. He didn’t press for any more information. Ben tried to catch his eye, but the boy looked away. Not just being cautious. Resentful, maybe. Perhaps at being lumped along with Lainnie as too young for the truth.

The waiter came and they took turns ordering. Lainnie still directed her attention to Ben without hesitation, but Jake maintained the formal distance of Andi and Kurt. That saddened Ben, but he kept it from his face.

“Lucien says we should drop our investigation of Cheever,” Kurt said. “What do you think?”

“There’s probably nothing there,” Ben said. “But let’s talk about this later, all right? I want to hear what’s been happening with these two.”

Kurt smiled diplomatically, and Andi surprised Ben by touching his forearm. “And I know they’d like to tell you. Lainnie, how about you start?”

She grinned and looked at Jake. “Even though it’s your birthday, ha!”

Ben winked at Jake, but he didn’t smile back.

Lainnie said, “Molly Rindge threw a party and you know how she’s been kind’ve mean to me? Well, she invited me anyhow and I found out she’s not so bad. In fact, her mom and dad are getting divorced like you and Mom, only it’s just starting now. So it really sucks, and—”

“Lainnie!
’’ Ben, Andi, and Kurt said in perfect unison. Their combined voices were enough to make people at the surrounding tables look over.