I remembered.
‘Where are you headed now?’
‘Maybe away for a while, who knows?’
‘I want to know. Make sure you keep your cell with you. My beeper number is the same until the end of the month when I’ll give you my new one.’
A brown Jiffy-bag came out of the briefcase and he pushed it across the table, along with a sheet of typed paper. I leant forward to pick it up as he checked out the ceiling lights once more and glanced at his watch.
It said that I’d received $16,000 in cash from George and required my signature – maybe to stop him keeping it and buying a pony to go with his shirt. ‘I thought you said it was going to be twenty thousand?’
‘It is – but you just made a twenty per cent contribution to the welfare fund.’ He looked around at his plush surroundings and opened his arms. ‘There are old operators out there who didn’t have a marketing pension to fall back on when they were retired or got themselves all busted up. Life was different then, so I got to thinking that those old guys are entitled to share a little of our good fortune. Those guys find it hard in the real world, Nick. As I don’t need to tell you, it’s a jungle out there . . .’
I took a breath, ready to say I didn’t have a choice.
George got in before me. ‘Now you’ve settled in, this is the way it’s going to be. We all do it. Who knows? You might be calling for help yourself some day.’
I didn’t bother opening the envelope to check. All my cash would be there: George would have counted it out himself. Everything was correct with George, everything was always on time. I liked him for it.
He checked his watch again, then closed his briefcase and concentrated on the locks as he reset the combination. ‘This is where you leave, with your cup.’
I’d got to the door with cup and cash in hand when he gave his parting shot. ‘There’ll always be a place for you here, Nick. Nothing’s going to change that.’ I knew he was referring to Carrie, and turned back to see his face break into a smile. ‘Until they kill you, of course. Or I find someone better.’
I nodded and opened the doors. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. As I turned to close them again, I could see George looking up at the lights once more, probably planning a memo to the building superintendent. I hoped he had more luck with his than I did with mine.
6
Laurel, Maryland
Monday 5 May, 10:16 hrs
I sat in the back of a taxi on the way to Josh’s house, after the half-hour train ride from Central Station to Laurel. With all the messing about and waiting, I’d probably have been quicker hiring a car, but it was too late now.
We turned the corner into Josh d’Souza’s new estate of prim and proper weatherboarded houses, and I directed the driver to his cul-de-sac. My last visit had been only six weeks ago, but it was just as hard to tell the houses apart, with their neatly trimmed grass fronts, obligatory basketball hoop attached to the garage wall, and Stars and Stripes waving in the breeze. Some front windows even displayed a blown-up photograph of a young son or daughter in military uniform, virtually swamped by Old Glory. Josh’s house was 106, about half-way down on the left.
The cab pulled up at the bottom of the concrete drive. Josh’s place was set back from the road by about twenty metres, and on a slight rise, with his front lawn sloping up towards the house. A couple of bikes, a basketball and a skateboard lay outside the garage, and his black, double-cabbed Dodge gas-guzzler stood in the drive.
I caught sight of Josh looking out of the kitchen window, as if he’d been twitching the curtains waiting for me. By the time the taxi had pulled away, he was standing at the white-painted wooden front door, agitation etched all over his scarred face.
That was nothing new. Despite the I-forgive-you stuff, I still wasn’t too sure that he liked me. ‘Endured’ would probably have been a better word. I hardly ever got the warm smile he would have greeted me with before the shooting that fucked up his face. He accepted me because I had a relationship with Kelly, and that was about it. We were like divorced parents, really. I was the errant father who popped in now and again with a totally unsuitable gift, and he was the mother who had all the day-to-day problems, who had to get up in the morning and find her clean socks and be there when things went wrong, which was most of the time recently.
He turned, closed the door behind him, and double-locked it. ‘Why don’t you ever turn your cell on?’
‘Hate the things. I just check messages. Calls normally mean drama.’
We shook briefly and he waved the bunch of keys he had in his hand. ‘I’ve a drama for you. We gotta go.’
‘What’s happened?’
He headed us towards the Dodge. ‘The school called. She got pulled up by the math teacher for being late for first period, so she told him to go eff himself.’
The indicators flashed as he hit the key fob.
‘Do
‘I know, I know. That’s on top of walking out on her gymnastics teacher last week. The school’s had enough. They’re talking suspension. I said you were visiting today and we’d get down there as soon as you arrived. We got ourselves some firefighting to do.’
The massive engine kicked into life and we reversed down the drive.
‘You know, Josh, I sometimes think that in a past life I must have really offended someone really really deeply . . .’
‘You mean, as well as in this?’
The school was just twenty or so blocks away. I couldn’t remember if Kelly walked there or got the bus. Probably neither. Kids could drive at sixteen in Maryland, and she hung around with a slightly older crowd.
Josh waved his hand despairingly. ‘I can’t control her. She slips out at night. I’ve found cigarettes in her dresser. She’s so moody and irritable that I don’t know what to say to her. I’m worried about her future, Nick. I spoke to the school counsellor last time, but she hasn’t any answers because she can’t get anything out of her either. Nobody can.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up, mate. Nobody could be doing more than you are.’
Josh was half black, half Puerto Rican. His looks had changed quite a bit since the first time I met him. Standing next to Kelly’s family’s grave site in the sun, his hairless head and glasses had glinted as brightly as his teeth. But what you noticed first these days was the rough pink scar along his left cheek that looked like a split sausage in a frying-pan, edged with spots of dried blood where he couldn’t get used to shaving around the lumpy tissue. However much Christian-forgiveness shit he splashed around, and however much I tried to cut away, tell myself the damage was done, I still felt as guilty every time I saw it as he did about Kelly.
He was wearing a blue sweatshirt tucked into his black-leather belt with the same grey cargo fatigue trousers his Secret Service training team always wore, and a pair of Nike trainers. In the past, they’d always been accompanied by a very worn, light brown pancake holster on his belt, tucked against his right kidney, and a double mag carrier on the left, alongside a black beeper.
Five years earlier he’d been on the vice-presidential protection team, part of the Secret Service, until Geri had left him and their three kids for her yoga teacher. He’d had to sell the house in Virginia because he couldn’t afford to keep up the mortgage, and had taken a job up here at Laurel, training baby agents. We hadn’t come into each other’s lives at that stage, but I knew the first few years had been a nightmare for him and the kids. That was when the born-again Christian stuff had happened.
The Service was finished for him now. Like he told me, it had been an easy choice to make: quit, or his kids never seeing their father. Now he was a baby vicar or reverend, something like that; the God thing had given him a new career. He had another year to go before he was officially able to shout and breakdance in church with the best of them. I’d told him he ought to think bigger than that and go the TV route. I’d be his sidekick. He could talk up God for the first part of the show and after the break I would explain how the two of us, God’s little helpers, could
