dizzy, loping strides, after his partner. They got in their car, which Behr made as a Gran Torino, though he couldn ’ t see any license plate, and it backed out of the alley fast. The car shot into the street, lurched into forward gear, and disappeared.
Behr doubled over a bit, cradling his wounded arm, when a hand landed on his shoulder. He flinched and shrugged it off, then spun to see who else was coming after him. It was Pal Murphy.
“I heard the noise,” he said.
“What noise?” Behr wondered. He had experienced the fight in complete silence. He received a quizzical look from Pal, and even Susan, who had emerged from behind the car. As he replayed the encounter in his mind, he realized that all three combatants had screamed unconscious war cries as they attacked. His ki-ai was as instinctual as it was loud.
Pal put his hand back on Behr ’ s shoulder, and his other on Susan ’ s lower back. “Come in. Have something to drink until the cops come.”
“No cops,” Behr said.
Pal looked him in the eye, then nodded. “Okay, just the drink. And something for that arm.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Behr drove fast. He had allowed Pal to lead him and Susan back inside. Twenty minutes later, after a pair of Tullamore Dews, Behr ’ s arm was wrapped in a bar towel full of ice. Susan was recovering from a slight case of the shakes, and the color began to return to her cheeks.
“Hell of a date you put on, Frank,” she said, smiling over the rim of her glass. He ’ d imposed upon Pal to take Susan home. They ’ d hugged each other tight and promised to see each other again, and Behr prayed she didn ’ t have second thoughts about it.
There was no connection between him and Paul. Riggi had made a play for Paul ’ s identity, which he had shut down. All the same, Behr took out his cell phone, hesitating for only a moment before dialing his employer. It was odd, he didn ’ t think of Paul in that way anymore. Though the man was paying him, their relationship was unlike any he ’ d ever had with a client. They weren ’ t partners and they certainly weren ’ t friends. A tether that went beyond compatibility and personality now joined them. They weren ’ t soul mates, for the silly romantic connotations that term held, but they intersected at a place in the soul. They were joined, in this moment in time, looking for a single answer, simple or complex, and wouldn ’ t be pulled apart until they had it.
He tried the Gabriel house and got no answer. He hung up after four or five rings, before an answering device picked up. He tried Paul ’ s cell phone, and this time when the voice mail picked up, he left a message.
“It ’ s Frank. Be aware tonight. If anything ’ s out of the ordinary, you hear a doorknob rattle, a branch scraping a window, call the police first and then me. Call me either way when you get this.”
He called the house again, ready to leave a similar message, when Carol answered.
“Hello,” she said, sounding distant. He wasn ’ t sure if he ’ d woken her, or if this was just the way she seemed now.
“It ’ s Frank Behr. Can I speak to Paul?”
“He ’ s not home. I ’ m upstairs, but I haven ’ t heard him come in. What ’ s wrong?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, what do you mean? Are you?”
“Is the house locked?”
“Yes — ”
“Keep it that way. I’ ll be there in five minutes.”
Paul ’ s cell phone had been ringing, but he didn ’ t bother answering it. It was all he could do to keep his car on the road and in an approximation of the standards of speed and safety. He felt like he had a dead body in the trunk. There was the accompanying clunk and shift as he cornered too quickly. Paul couldn ’ t remember ever doing anything as reckless as this, and he ’ d thought he was about to pay for it when he was caught in the high beams. He ’ d expected the car to stop and for Riggi to come at him out of the glare. Instead the car slowed, the baffled face of the driver just staring at him as it passed by. The car continued down the block and turned into a driveway, but Paul was in the LeSabre and out of there before anything else could happen.
He pulled into the garage, leaving the door up behind him, and turned off the car, the adrenaline finally easing off in his system. He picked up his cell and saw the call had come from Frank and that there was a message waiting. Instead of checking it, he opened the trunk and removed the garbage bags. He was bent over at the waist, untying the first bag, when the door to the house opened. Carol, dressed for bed and wearing a robe, stepped into the garage.
“I thought I heard the car,” she began, looking with curiosity at the bags.
“Hi, what ’ s up?” Paul said.
“You tell me,” she answered.
They were illuminated by the sweep of headlights as a car rolled to a stop in the driveway just outside. Behr got out of his car and walked toward them, a towel wrapped around his arm.
The separate pieces of the night came together as the three of them picked through Oscar Riggi ’ s trash. Carol, for the most part, was silent in her surprise. She ’ d had her ideas about her husband ’ s and the detective ’ s comings and goings, but none as to how far things had gone. Paul bowed his head while Behr chastised him for his surveillance of Riggi ’ s house and for taking the garbage. Both of the Gabriels fell silent at the telling of Behr ’ s assault.
“We must ’ ve pushed his buttons,” Paul said of Riggi.
“Oh, yeah,” Behr answered, “and he tried to push mine in return.”
Carol was aghast when Behr rolled up his shirtsleeve, wet from melted ice, and showed his swollen forearm.
The garbage bags didn ’ t yield much: old utility bills — cable, electric, and water, no phone — all shredded, and various food packaging, both frozen and fresh. There were magazines: Sports Illustrated, Indianapolis, Money, and Playboy. They learned that Riggi drank scotch, good scotch. There was an old pair of sneakers, along with a bunch of worn-out socks. Riggi wore size eleven. There were plastic and stickers from CD or DVD purchases. They all kept half an eye out on the street in case a strange car showed up.
They stood back from the pile of refuse.
“I guess that was a lot of risk for nothing,” Paul said. Behr clapped him on the shoulder in encouragement.
“It ’ s late,” Carol said. “Either I fire up the coffee maker or it ’ s time for bed.”
“You gonna head home?” Paul asked.
“Why don ’ t I stay here, make sure nothing exciting happens tonight?” Behr offered.
Paul and Carol looked to each other. Paul nodded.
“You can stay in Jamie ’ s room,” Carol said.
Behr understood the significance of the offer. He cleared his throat, then said, “I should be closer to the front door. The couch is fine.”
“Okay. I ’ ll get you a pillow and blankets,” Carol said, heading through the door into the house.
Behr spoke quietly to Paul alone. “Do you have a gun?”
“No. You don ’ t?” he answered.
Carol stopped. “Oh, Jesus.”
Behr adjusted his tone for everyone to hear. “I don ’ t generally carry one. It would ’ ve just been a precaution.”
“What about Jamie ’ s baseball bat?” she asked.
“That ’ ll be fine.” They continued on inside.
Carol had rested Jamie ’ s bat against the couch and had gone up to sleep. Behr was scrolling through numbers on his cell phone when Paul hesitated at the foot of the stairs before going up for the night. He had something to say that seemed to be bothering him. “After what happened tonight,” he began, “is it time to…Are you going to back off?”
