“That ’ s not the way I play, Paul,” Behr said.
Riggi was jumpier than he ever remembered feeling. He ’ d been crossing the hotel lobby when he got word from Wenck and Gilley — Wenck on the phone, Gilley slurring through a cracked jaw in the background — that things had gone to shit. He ’ d made a hard left to the front desk and checked in. He asked that a bag containing a few things be brought from his car up to his room. He asked to be registered in complete privacy, that no calls be put through, and no messages taken on his behalf with no acknowledgment made by the desk staff to any visitors that he was there. Fifty-dollar bills all around ensured his wishes were carried out.
He passed a long, unpleasant night unlike any he ’ d ever spent in a nice hotel, places in which he usually enjoyed room-service dinners and flowing champagne in the company of young women. It was only when the morning light came burning around the edges of the curtains that he realized he hadn ’ t slept for a moment. He forced himself into action, ordering eggs, toast, and cappuccino from room service. Then he took a shower, alternating the water temperature from scalding to freezing for a good twenty minutes until the food showed up. He sat on the edge of the bed in his hotel robe and felt his mind start to settle and his calm return. His exposure was fairly limited, after all. He decided he would stay at the hotel for a few more days, for good measure, and would risk a quick swing home to pick up some clothes and other things he ’ d need. He also decided he would no longer allow himself to think about how things had recently gone wrong. What he needed to do was to focus on a positive future and a rebuilding. Once he finished eating, he dressed, turned on the television, and put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. He ’ d let a chambermaid in to do her business only once he was back to supervise. Looking both ways down the corridor and seeing no one and nothing, he headed for the elevator.
He could ’ ve sent someone, but after the job Wenck and Gilley had done, he suddenly felt there was no one he could trust, and the truth was, he wanted to clap an eyeball on his house himself, to make sure there was no activity around it, police or otherwise. He figured if everything looked clear, he ’ d go in, get his things, sanitize certain papers, lock it down, and be gone in ten minutes. As he was driving up his block, his recent return to calm deepened. The suburban street was quiet, almost silent but for the birds. Putting his money into a nice house in a desirable neighborhood had been a great investment and an even better quality-of-life choice. It seemed to his eye that nothing out of the ordinary had, would, or ever could happen on his little street. It was by dint of discipline alone that he drove past his house and around the corner at speed. He then circled around and passed more slowly. On the third pass, all was still quiet and he turned into his driveway. He pressed the garage button while he was still at a distance and slid right in. He left the garage door up, the car running, and headed for the interior door. As soon as he entered the small hallway that the real estate agents like to refer to as “the mudroom” and had closed the door to the garage behind him, he realized something was wrong. There was no beeping of the alarm. He turned to the panel and saw the light a steady green. He was sure he had armed it before leaving the night before.
TWENTY-EIGHT
It was still dark and Carol was sleeping when they left for Behr ’ s place.
“Do me a favor and make the coffee while I shower,” Behr asked when they arrived. He crossed to his answering machine and played the lone message; it was a woman ’ s voice.
“Hey, Frank, Sue. Wanted to thank you for last night. Do me a favor: When you call, don ’ t forget to tell me again how that kind of thing never happens. Well, that ’ s it. Oh, and do me another favor: Watch yourself.”
Behr wore a faint smile as he headed toward his bedroom.
Paul was pouring his second cup of coffee when there was a rapping at the door. Behr, hair wet, pulling on pants, emerged from the bedroom and went to answer it. The man at the door was thin, dark-skinned, with black hair that would have been curly had it not been cropped close. His nose was prominent, like the prow of a Viking ship.
“This is Toombakis,” Behr said by way of introduction. The man shifted his battered mason bag from right to left and offered a work-callused hand.
“Paul.”
“How are you?” Toombakis replied. Paul detected an East Coast accent, New York probably, not New England. The man ’ s voice was fairly bright, but he had dark shadows under his eyes that hinted of a difficult past.
“Coffee,” Behr offered, and went off to finish dressing. As he did, Paul saw not just Behr ’ s injured forearm, which was swollen and blackish-purple, but welts, scars, and cuts, including a starfishlike magenta pucker on his lower back that wrote a story of a life battling in the streets across Behr ’ s large torso.
They drank their coffee, and Toombakis didn ’ t volunteer why he was there and Paul didn ’ t ask; rather they talked dispassionately about the Colts and the Hoosiers.
A half hour later the three of them were sitting just around the corner from Riggi ’ s house, where they had a view of the place across a lawn. The night before, Paul had set up farther away but on the actual street. His was a more conspicuous spot, he acknowledged to himself. Toombakis was in the backseat, his head leaning forward between theirs; his car was two blocks farther away.
They sat and watched the house for a mere quarter hour. There were signs of morning activity beginning in the other houses nearby, but none in the one in question.
“Well,” Behr said rhetorically, then pulled out his cell phone and dialed. He put it to his ear, and in the quiet of the car they could hear the muted ringing on the other end. It rang and rang before voice mail picked up. Paul felt a sharp dose of embarrassment over the obviousness with which Behr probed whether or not someone was inside the house. Behr hung up on the voice mail and redialed.
“Is he listed?” Paul asked, hoping to mitigate his feeling like a dunce.
“No, but I ’ ve got a reverse directory that lists every number by address. It ’ s very comprehensive.” This made Paul feel better, but only by a little.
“All right, we ’ re a go,” Behr said after a final ring, closing his phone and getting out. Just like that, a short wait, no excruciating period of hours.
Toombakis fell in next to Behr, Paul a few steps back.
“Locks aren ’ t my thing, you know,” Toombakis said. “I could give it a try, but…”
“Let ’ s just have a look,” Behr said. They continued past the house, and Behr pointed at a security company sticker in a front window.
“Ah, fuck, I see it,” Toombakis said as they crossed around to the side door. “The blue Valiant crest.”
“Problem?” Behr asked.
“We ’ ll only have thirty seconds instead of a minute once we ’ re inside,” Toombakis answered. “And we can ’ t lean on the door until we ’ re in. Pressure strips.”
“Hmm,” Behr breathed as they reached the door. His eyes scanned all around the frame, then came to rest on the knob and lock. He moved quickly. There was a zipping sound and a black leather case folded open in his hands. An array of almost dental-looking equipment was fastened to the velvet lining of the case: Allen wrenches, awls, tiny screwdrivers, and a dozen of what Paul now knew were pry bars and tension wrenches.
“You sure you don ’ t want to try?” Behr offered Toombakis.
“Nope. Not even. Unless you want me to drill it” came the response.
Behr gave the man a look and then kneeled and went to it. Toombakis and Paul did their best to appear casual, as if waiting for a friend, and used their bodies to try to shield Behr as he worked. A few minutes later, with no unusual activity on the street, Behr stood. “Okay.”
Paul glanced at the lock, which looked as if it had undergone acupuncture, with several thin metal tools protruding. Behr had his hand on a short, corkscrewed piece of metal, holding it in place.
Toombakis opened his bag, drew out a few pump-ratchet bit drivers of different sizes and several tiny two- ended alligator clamps connected by red wire, which he draped over his neck like a tailor ’ s measuring tape. He handed Paul his bag, which was surprisingly heavy.
“Keep this close to me,” he instructed, then nodded to Behr.
“If we need to head for the car, do it fast but don ’ t run,” Behr instructed, then turned back to the knob. He snapped down with the hand that held the tool, causing a clicking noise in the lock and a grimace to cross Behr ’ s
