Mr. Hooligan (34 page)

“It’s about to start happening fast. You have everything ready?”

Harvey hunched forward. “Yeah. I guess.” Sounding tired.

“Passports, cash? Hotel reservation made?”

“Yes, all that.” Same tired note of resignation.

Riley wondered how long this was going to last, Harvey’s willful refusal to accept his circumstances. If he couldn’t, he stood a solid chance of getting himself hurt. Maybe, more than likely, it was …

“Gert giving you grief, Harvey?”

Harvey lifted his glasses, rubbed his eyes. “She doesn’t want to go back to Guyana. She doesn’t have any family there, not since her sister moved to England and the rest of them passed on.”

“She’s got
you
. You guys stay here, she might lose you next.”

“Yeah … no, she understands. We bought the tickets, we’re going…” He adjusted his glasses, looking at the table somberly. “My whole life is turned around. I never saw this coming.”

Riley thought, Then you’re blind. He said, “You’ll be a richer man.”

“Riley? You think this will work? Really?”

“I wouldn’t be doing it otherwise.”

“Get that money and take off, just like that. Begin a new life you’re saying.”

Riley nodded. “Yeah.”

Harvey reached and snatched Riley’s forearm. “R.J., buddy, can you believe we’re doing this? Me and you? This, this don’t hurt you? The bar, leaving it behind, your home? Your son?”

“Leaving Duncan is the roughest, but what can I do? I’ve got to have an out, in case it gets too hot for me here. At the moment it’s not exactly wintry.”

*   *   *

Later on, sitting on his bedroom carpet at home, Riley could still feel Harvey’s hand gripping him and it made him feel sorry for his friend. Harvey wasn’t made of the hardest stuff, was too fun-loving, too lacking in street meanness for what he’d gotten into. The swell of emotion surprised Riley, had him hoping keenly that he’d come through everything without too much damage to his mind.

He counted out eight thousand twenty in cash, all the U.S. currency he could find in his safe. Arranged two stacks side by side. Picked up the Kimber, checked the magazine, slapped it home, laid the pistol down. Picked up his passport and checked for the second time that day that his visa was current. He sat, encircled by everything, asking himself, hoping to feel it, if there was something missing, something he’d overlooked.

The phone rang and he was tempted to ignore it except he hadn’t heard from the girl next door all day.

“Speak to me, baby.”

“Riley?”

“Oh, hey … Sister Pat.”

“Riley, when are you going to get an answering machine? I’ve been trying all day, you’re never home or you don’t pick up.”

“I’ve been busy,” and he fought a sudden and powerful urge to drop a hint, lay the groundwork for his farewell.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“You have a minute we can talk?”

Riley looked down at the circle of cash, passport, .45, and said, “I was in the middle of something actually … but I might have a few minutes.”

“Can you come over here tonight?”

“Ahh…” He didn’t want to show himself on the streets any more than necessary despite Lopez’s agreement.

“My friend … my dear friend died today,” and suddenly Sister Pat was crying. “Roger died today.”

Riley couldn’t remember if he had ever heard her sound like this. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about that, Sister Pat.”

“He’d been ill for so long … so long, and it’s not that I didn’t expect this, it’s just … it’s not easy when you lose a good friend.”

Riley held the phone tight and listened to her breathy sobbing. He wished he could think of something to say.

“I’ve lost him, such a good friend, a
great
friend. I’ve lost him and now I don’t want to lose you.”

“Sister Pat, you’re not going to lose me, what are you talking about?”

“You’ve been like a son to me, Riley. You’ve been like my own child, my own boy.”

“I know,” Riley said, “I know.”

“Have I ever judged you? Have I ever let you feel … Have I ever let you feel alone or unloved or worthless, or that I didn’t value you as a man? Oh, Riley, I … because I do love you, I want you to know that.”

“No, yes … Hey, Sister Pat.” Riley wasn’t following this tangent.

“I have something to tell you, and I want you to listen to me.” Her voice sounded clear, stronger. “You promise you’ll listen to every word? To the end?”

“Yes, sure, I will.”

“I worry about you. I do, I can’t help it. I want you to understand something, okay? I was the one who asked Roger to offer you a place to go, to get away from the trouble you’re in. It was me. He said he did, but you refused. Then this afternoon, he said … He was lying in bed and was in and out of consciousness, in and out all day. The hospital knew he was dying so they let me stay there, and I was holding his hand, Riley, I was holding his hand and talking to him, and there was a moment when he opened his eyes wide and all the energy he used to have seemed to fill him up again, just for a few moments. He gave me a little smile and … and we started chatting. Just chatted away. He was lucid, it was wonderful.” Sister Pat’s breath caught in her throat, and she sniffled and then was quiet for a second. “He told me what he did. About the guns. He said there were some vests, some bulletproof vests. He shouldn’t have done that, I didn’t ask him to go that far. He said he did it for your protection. He said you reminded him of himself when he was your age. He also said the deal he arranged went through. Riley, listen to me, please. Would you listen to me?”

Riley closed his eyes. “I’m here, I’m listening.”

“I’ve always told you, Live an interesting life. I haven’t agreed with all the decisions you’ve made, but it was your life and I’ve always said you’re the one who’s got to live with the consequences. But now, after today? I can’t justify my silence, Riley. I know you have something planned, you’re up to something. I know, and I can’t keep quiet any longer.”

“Sister Pat, you’re confusing the hell out of me. What do you want to tell me?”

“Sit down for a second, sit down and hear me out. There’s something you need to know. About your fiancée.”

Riley felt a jab in his chest. He walked over to the sofa and sat down. “I’m listening,” and he thought, Aw, hell, here comes something he knew he’d overlooked.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Malone walked through Candice’s living room in his bow tie and suit, shiny black shoes, perusing. He roamed the kitchen, touching the stove, peering through the screen door to the back porch, shoes echoing on the tiles.

From the living room, arms folded across her chest, Candice watched him open the cabinet by the fridge, asking, “You wouldn’t happen to have any tea, would you?”

She went out to the front porch and looked up and down the street to see where he’d parked. Maybe around the corner? She saw Riley’s truck and van parked in his yard, bedroom light on.

She came back inside and said, “You need to be careful. Our friend is awake next door.”

Malone lifted the kettle. “You use bottled or straight from the tap?”

“The bottled water’s in the fridge. Why’re you dressed up like this? And why are you here? I know it’s not for biscuits and Darjeeling.”

Malone filled the kettle with bottled water, set the kettle on a burner, and turned the stove on.

“How did you get here, Malone? You didn’t walk.” She rubbed her arms, feeling exposed in her running shorts—when he knocked she’d been lying on the bed reading—and her too-small T-shirt she wore only around the house.

He came from behind the counter into the living room, examining the ceiling, all around, nodding to himself. He hitched up his pants and sat down. “If you had more time, you could’ve done a lot more for this place, make it seem a little more homey. Kind of bland, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t come here to insult my décor,” she said, “nor drink my tea.”

Malone crossed his legs, smiled almost wistfully at her. “I was at a party at the ambassador’s house when I received word. So I decided to come and inform you in person.”

“Received word about what?”

“You’re well aware our work has been hurt by local law enforcement, a certain corrupt bunch anyway. In spite of that, we’ve gathered sufficient information and we know now that there’s something afoot. It’ll probably happen—if our contact is accurate—tomorrow morning.”

“A shaky
if,
” Candice said, sitting down.

“Nonetheless, we must follow through.” He scratched his jaw, fixed her with a stare, and it began to make her uncomfortable. “We must follow through and end this operation on a high note since it’s coming to a close.”

“When? Has it been compromised that much?”

“Candice, listen to me,” and he looked away, working through something in his head, then came back to her. “We have reason to believe that your association with”—he tilted his head—“our friend next door is damaging the integrity of the investigation. We’ll be shutting down this part of the investigation, the house here, any aspect of it related to your work. By the end of the week, you’ll be transferred out of here, first to the Miami office, then after a debriefing you may be assigned to a country of the administration’s choosing. If you refuse, you may be asked to reconsider your future with the administration, possibly open yourself to an internal inquiry. It may very well happen, Candice, so this is why I’m here, to tell you personally that what transpires next, we believe tomorrow or the next day, is of the utmost importance to this operation. And to your career.”

Candice sat back, arms folded tight across her chest. Her eyes drifted from Malone to the tiles, the brown grout. “What the hell … You expect me,” she said, “to defend myself against that sorry-ass accusation, you’re wrong. I have been here a year, dedicated myself to this operation a full year and now that local police screwed things up, I shouldn’t think it’s so predictable some of their dirt flies in my direction? Careful how we throw that suspicion around, Malone.”

He tapped his feet. “Before you start preaching to me how deeply I’ve offended your professional sensibility, let me just say—the rumor isn’t new. We heard months ago. Certain neighbors told us, during what they may have believed was casual talk, that you and Riley James are an item. You’ve been seen also in his truck, on more than one occasion, driving through the city, but that’s understandable, to a point. Now there’s talk of an engagement? I mean, are you insane? Now, wait, hold it, I know the closeness, this undercover friendship is part and parcel of your assignment, but the administration doesn’t need to prove the nature of your real feelings in order to make adjustments. It’s not about you, it’s about results. If enough suspicion is there—and Candice? there is—I believe a change is warranted.”

The kettle started a piercing whistle.

Candice stared at Malone for a time, before she said, “How do you take your tea?” getting up to go to the kitchen.

His hand shot out and his palm wrapped around her right thigh, stopping her. He looked at his fingers pressing into the pale skin of her inner thigh.

She said, “What are you doing?” shaking her head fast. “Don’t.”

He let go, pulled his arm away. His hand settled in his lap.

“What the hell was that?”

He lifted his shoulder and gave a long sigh. “Little bit of cream, one sugar.”

She fixed his tea, the spoon clanking against the cup, loudly in the awkward silence.

“A girl, a local girl brought me here,” he said, staring at the floor. “She’s a secretary at the embassy. A nice young woman.” He turned as Candice came with the steaming tea. “I’ve been lonely,” he said. “My wife filed the papers yesterday and all day I’ve been feeling like shit. It’s awful, divorce is plain awful. Do yourself a favor, don’t ever get married.”

He sipped the tea. She asked if it was fine; he said it was perfect. She arranged herself in the love seat to his left, legs turned away, out of groping distance. “This is kind of an odd way to inform somebody of an assignment change, abrupt to say the least.”

He blew on his tea. “This whole operation has been kind of odd.” He blew on the tea some more and slurped. He set the cup on the floor and pulled forward. “You’ll be getting an official letter … I’m thinking, next week?” He wiped the corners of his lips with two fingers and seemed to be waiting for her reaction, then he reached down between his legs for the cup, stopped and looked at her. “Speaking of odd. You haven’t asked why you’d be subject to an internal inquiry.”

“It’s because you think I’ve been fucking Riley James all this time, isn’t it?”

He snorted. “No need to talk like that.” He stood up and walked toward her room. “Candice, let me tell you something,” paused to examine framed photos on the wall—a pier like a wooden finger in green water at St. George’s Caye; a low wide-angle shot of coconut trees going crazy in a blue-black storm—and he said, “It’s because we believe you’re fucking the DEA.”

“Didn’t you just say no need for that talk.”

“It’s a different sense of the word, dear.”