shooting started.
Waiting. Breathing. Envisioning. More waiting. Throbbing in head. Going to see Jenn. Going to see Jenn. Any minute now. Going to get her …
“I told you we should have left earlier,” Kieran said.
They had gotten completely swamped by traffic on the road into Boston. They had heard on the radio that the southbound I-95 was bumper to bumper, so Sean had tried Route 3 south toward Arlington, which would take them into the city via East Cambridge. It wasn’t moving any faster, and seemed to be slowing as they went. Kieran was hyper and restless as a terrier, and about as amusing to have in the front seat of the car. If it wasn’t for the poor fucker’s bad leg, Sean would have backhanded him by now.
“Think she’s awake yet?” Kieran asked.
“She wasn’t five minutes ago.”
“Come on, it has to be twenty minutes since we called.”
“It was five.”
“Then switch lanes. The right is moving faster.”
“Shut up, man. I need you to understand something,” Sean said. “And I don’t know if you can right now, with whatever the fuck you’re on, but you have to start thinking less street and more, I don’t know, avenue. You know what I mean? You know the difference between a street and an avenue?”
“What?”
“No, I’m asking you. What’s the association, what’s the first thing you think when you think street and avenue?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“I guess an avenue is kind of fancier than a street.”
“There you go. Even in your fucked-up condition, you get it. An avenue is fancier. This new racket of mine, it’s fancier than anything I ever done before. I’m dealing with suits now, and I don’t mean track suits. I’m dealing with top dogs. Rubbing shoulders with the best. I know Bev is gonna love it, running in a different pack. I think I might too. Now we have to maintain our street side if anyone tries to butt in on us, crowd us, but in general, I need you to start thinking a little more like a businessman and less like Jack Nicholson busting through a door with an axe.”
“You don’t think the bitch deserves payback?”
“Of course she does. But there’s professional and personal.”
“Yeah? You’d do the pro thing, I suppose.”
“That’s right.”
“And what would that be?”
Sean pursed his lips, thought a minute and said, “She broke your leg? I’d break her leg. Let her feel how it feels. Then I’d break the other leg too and let that sink in. And then I’d shoot her in the head and cut her kidneys out and cremate her like we did the Indian.”
“That’s it? Two broken legs and a bullet?”
“She didn’t torture you, Kieran. She hit you with a car.”
“It fucking hurts!”
“You should have stayed in the hospital.”
“Well, I’m out and you promised me my fun. You’re not taking that away.”
“Never said I was,” Sean said. “As long as you don’t freak out the congressman and his wife. They are exactly the kind of company I’m talking about. The creme de la creme, you know what that means?”
“I can barely keep up in English.”
Sean had to smile at his old friend, the big dumb bastard. “It means the best of the best,” he said. “The cream of society. The rich and the very rich. And since I have what they need, what’s that going to make me?”
“Very, very rich.”
“Damn right.”
“I get it.”
“Good.”
“Now can I call her?”
CHAPTER 38
I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, slow and measured, growing louder as someone approached Stayner’s car. A fob chirped and the trunk catch released. The darkness gave way to dim light, which brightened suddenly, almost painfully, as someone wearing scrubs opened it all the way. I looked up and saw a man in full surgical dress, mask included, wire-framed glasses over worried eyes.
“What do I do now?” he whispered.
“Get in as soon as I’m out.”
I eased my cramped body out of the trunk and he folded himself in.
“Stay there until someone lets you out,” I said. “It’s going to be the safest place for you.”
“What about the others?”
“They’ll be fine.”
I straightened up and looked around the loading bay. It was much as I’d pictured while in the trunk. The stairway was against the right wall, three steps up to the next level.
“How many men did you see?” I whispered, as I fished around in the trunk for the benefit of anyone watching.
“Five,” he said. “No, six.”
“Where?”
“There’s one by the front entrance and one just inside the door here.”
“And the others?”
“One has been in the room next to us the whole time. The other prep room. The other three walk around.”
“What about Sean Daggett? Do you know him?”
“Yes. We met him when we operated on his son.”
“He in there now?”
“Not that I saw.”
“Did the guy at the back see you come out here?”
“Yes.”
“He say anything?”
“He asked where I was going. I said we’d left some gear here.”
“All right,” I said. “Sit tight.” Like he had a choice. I closed the trunk. I didn’t know if I was on camera or not. I took out my gym bag and slung it over my right shoulder. It wasn’t zipped closed. I could get my hand in and get the Beretta out fast or fire the Colt right through the canvas bottom if I had to. I turned toward the rear door to open it for whoever might be waiting.
Before I got two steps, the garage door engaged and started rolling up. Headlights flared in my eyes.
“You find what you needed?” a voice called behind me.
I turned to see a man on the loading dock, his hand near the switch that controlled the garage door.
I held up the gym bag without speaking.
“Come on then,” he said. “Move it.”
The car was a pinstriped Monte Carlo-fucking Daggett’s car, idling as the door rolled up, flexing its considerable muscle. I turned my back and walked toward the stairs, zipping the bag halfway closed.
On my own now with no way to let Ryan or Victor in. No one at my back.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” the man on the dock said to me.
