Thirteen Million Dollar Pop

Gina Decker. He’d barely known her, but she was a lively little sprite. Neither she nor her child nor Decker himself, regardless of the sins he’d committed, deserved what had befallen them. Every creak in the settling house made him wonder if he-the professional contractor, or contractors plural-was coming for him. He rested his gun on the table next to him.

He’d lost Susan and it hurt, but he wasn’t sure if it was something he should be sorry over, because he and his way of life were toxic. That much was as clear to him now as ever. He was poison to everything and everyone around him. It was starting to get easy to be glad that she and the baby were gone. They were safer, better off away from him. He poured another bourbon, grabbed his phone, and moved to the couch. He set his gun on the arm of the couch and checked his lone incoming text. It was from Susan: I made it.

He punched out an inadequate text to her: Good.

When that was done he sent one more: Decker-call me if you want, Behr. At some point he fell asleep in his clothes.

67

Behr’s phone beeped and he sat up. It was early morning and he was still on the couch, and though it had been set to vibrate so he hadn’t heard it ring, the tone signaled that he had a voice mail.

“Behr, it’s Breslau … Look, we can’t find Saunders. We don’t have any contact info for him in D.C. We tried the home, we tried the place of business. You have any ideas where he might be, you let me know.”

Behr didn’t, not at the moment. He went and stood under the shower, freezing needles of water driving away the alcohol portion of his hangover. It was going to take a lot more than that to get rid of the emotional part. As he turned off the water a sentence came into his head. “Due to the political nature of it …” It was what Pomeroy had said. It was what was driving all the pressure.

When he dried off and dressed, he knew what he had to do. He dug around on his dresser and found the heavy stock business card that Kolodnik had given him. He looked at the name and the cell number for a long moment before dialing. He could only hope that Kolodnik hadn’t changed numbers or been issued a U.S. Senate phone or any number of circumstances that would cost him a trip to Washington. But after four rings a voice answered.

“Hello?” It was Kolodnik. It was 7:00 a.m., but the man hadn’t been sleeping.

“It’s Frank Behr,” he began, suddenly dry mouthed. “I need to talk to you about what went down in that garage and I need you to be forthcoming, because bodies are stacking up like cordwood around here.”

“Oh lord …” A long pause elapsed, then Kolodnik let out a slow breath. “All right, Behr,” he said, “we’ll go ahead this once. But you’re not to repeat it to anyone, or I’ll deny it forcefully, and regardless this will be the last time we speak.”

“Fine,” Behr said, seeing as he had no choice.

“Are you on a landline?” Kolodnik asked.

“Yes,” Behr said.

“Well, I’m not. Give me your number.”

Behr did so, and Kolodnik abruptly hung up. A momentary sickness hit Behr in the gut. He knew Kolodnik wasn’t calling back, and that’d be the end of it. But the phone rang almost instantly. The man was as good as his word.

“What is it you want?” Kolodnik asked.

“You know who was behind the attempt?” Behr asked.

“I have an idea. I don’t have every nut and bolt.”

“A business partner and an employee,” Behr said.

“Yes. Ex-business partner, if we’re being specific.”

“Then you got into it, didn’t you? The way the case was handled by the police.”

“I did.”

“The security tapes. You squelched ’em.”

“I asked a favor. Look, the truth is, they were grainy. The shooter was wearing a hood. The cops got a license plate that everyone knew would come back a dummy.”

“The plate wasn’t a complete dead end,” Behr said.

“I heard something about you and a fire. I really hope you take care of yourself and this doesn’t cost you any more trouble, Behr,” Kolodnik said. The man had no idea what it had cost him. “If there comes a time when certain individuals are facing prosecution, I won’t get in the way. I’ll even support the case any way I can …” The next part seemed like it took plenty for Kolodnik to say, but he went on with a clear voice. “The cleanest part of the video was me flopped on my belly with my hands over my head. You, on the other hand, looked like G.I. Joe, but I just couldn’t launch my political career with that footage out there on the Web. My adversaries would’ve used it for decades to come.”

So instead you went with good old vanity and suppression. Behr thought it, but he didn’t say it. He still felt a current of respect for the soon-to-be sworn senator on the other end of the line.

“And Saunders gets a free pass? ‘Keep your enemies close?’ ” Behr wondered.

“Not exactly,” Kolodnik said. “Shugie is smart, but he’s weak and greedy, and he let himself get distracted, but I didn’t give him a free pass. I left him behind to look after my local interests …”

“He’s here?” Behr gripped the phone tighter.

“Yes.”

It was a chilly, bloodless thing for Kolodnik to do, because he was more than smart enough to realize what was going to happen to Shugie Saunders now. Behr knew it was the last conversation between them, as Bernie Cool had stated, and that he would undoubtedly have a thousand questions fly into his head later, but he had the sudden need to get off the call. If Shugie Saunders was still in Indy, the contractor would surely be going after him and that might represent Behr’s last shot at him.

“I do appreciate that night, Behr,” Kolodnik said, “and so does my family. And I know you’re aware that if any of this gets out, it’ll badly hurt the state. You don’t want to hurt the state, Frank, do you?”

“No, sir, I don’t want to hurt the state.”

“Now, I have to go on and do this Senate thing, see where it leads. I know you’re going to do what you have to, and I wish you luck.”

“Roger that,” Behr said, hung up, and went for his car.

He didn’t get that far, because as he walked outside beneath heavy and darkening clouds, he found Eddie Decker pacing around his silver Camaro, which was parked in Behr’s driveway.

“Hey,” Decker said, looking at him with abject pain in his black eyes, which were barely visible for the dark circles beneath them.

“Hey,” Behr said. “How long you been here?”

“Two hours?” Decker shrugged.

“You okay?” Behr asked.

“Nope,” Decker said, then extended an envelope. “Here.”

Behr looked inside and saw seven hundred in cash.

“I shouldn’t have tore up your house.”

The damage and the money didn’t matter to Behr, but he understood Decker had to make the gesture.

“Thank you,” Behr said, “I accept.” Then he extended the money back to Decker. “And I want you to accept this, for funeral expenses. I insist.” Decker met his eyes. There wasn’t much resistance there. He nodded and took the money back, and it was clear it was not something that they would discuss again.

“You got anything on who did it?” Decker asked.

Behr hesitated and felt the grimace on his own face. Whatever he might find by catching up with Shugie Saunders would not be helped by having an emotionally on-edge Decker along with him.