The Devils Punchbowl

?Bollocks! Whoever picked up your kid blew through this town like the fuckin? Secret Service. They iced Quinn?s men like they were corner boys. If you wanted out of this town, you?d be

gone.

But you?re still here, aren'?t you??

I shrug. ?This is the biggest weekend of the year for the city. I have obligations.?

Sands pulls a mocking face. ?I thought you didn't care about the job.?

?I'm still a man of my word.?

?My point exactly. You must have taken an oath when they swore you in. I'?ll have to get a copy of that.? Sands?s levity disappears like bubbles in a tube of blood. ?Who got your women out of town, Mr. Mayor? The FBI??

I shake my head. ?No. Those men work for a private security company I?'ve dealt with in the past. They have no government or law enforcement connection whatever. They?ll guard anybody for the right price. Even you.?

Jiao rises silently and takes two steps toward me. A scent like warm caramel reaches my nostrils. ?Please do not involve yourself in our business. I can see that you care about your family. It would be unfortunate for everyone if you allowed your priorities to become confused.?

?I haven'?t,? I tell her, trying to blot out the memory of Tim?s mutilated corpse. ?I promise you that.?

?We very much want our property back.?

Yeah, I got that.

With her feline gaze still on my face, Jiao reaches out and takes hold of my hand. Then she looks down, turns my palm up, and traces out the lines that curve across my skin. Her exotic face becomes somber, as though a cloud has passed over a terra-cotta figure. She looks over her shoulder at Sands, then back at me. I try to penetrate the blue-green portals of her eyes, but I can?t. At last she drops my hand, murmurs something softly in a foreign language, then leaves by the same door she entered through.

?What was that about?? I ask.

Sands raises his eyebrows. ?Who knows? I'm guessing she saw something linking the two of us. Or thinks she did, anyway.?

?What did she say??

?I have no idea. Nor do I give a fuck.? With his flint-hard eyes on me, the Irishman stubs out his cigarette, then lights another, drawing deeply. When he leans forward and speaks, exhaling smoke with every word, I'm reminded of how Tim characterized him in the cemetery. ?Listen to me, mate. I?'ve done things for kicks you wouldn'?t do to save your own life. I?'ve lived in places where nightmares are scenery, killed too many people to remember. Man, woman, child?it makes no difference. After you'?ve gone where I have, you understand: There are no civilians. Not on this stinking planet. Now, I gave you the rules last night. You cross me, I act?immediately and irrevocably.?

?I haven'?t crossed you. I?'ve only done what any father would do.?

?Father,? Sands echoes thoughtfully. ?I suppose

your

father could serve as de facto hostage for now. While we see where you really stand.?

?I can live with that,? I say with apparent resignation, even as my heart begins to race. ?You don'?t mean as a prisoner??

Quinn laughs behind me.

?No need for that,? says Sands. ?We know where to find him.?

?All right. Look??

?Tell him about the USB drive,? Sands says.

?Jessup made a copy of the DVD he stole,? Quinn says. ?Part of it, anyway. He made it while he was still on the boat. We need you to find that too.?

?Why didn't you tell me that last night??

?We didn't know last night, did we?? Quinn says angrily. ?We?'ve been going over the computer logs, and we just found it. He copied nearly two gigabytes of data from the DVD drive to something attached to a USB port. It was probably a thumb drive, but we don'?t know. You just keep your fucking eyes peeled.?

Real exasperation enters my voice. ?How am I supposed to find this stuff? I don'?t even know what I'm looking for. How do you know he didn't e-mail a copy of the data to a dozen people??

Sands shakes his head slowly. ?He couldn'?t access the Internet from where he was. It would have set off an alarm.?

?Plus there?s no record of that in the logs,? Quinn says.

?He could have done it from his car, couldn'?t he? From a notebook computer.?

?If he had done, he would have e-mailed it to

you.

Do you have my property, Mr. Mayor??

?No!?

?Then stop worrying about things we?re not worried about.?

?Okay. Fine. If that?s all, I have somewhere to be.?

Sands looks at his watch. ?The first race? You?ve already missed it.?

?I should still make an appearance.?

The Irishman makes a clucking sound with his tongue. ?What you

should

do is start looking for my property. While everyone else is busy. I?d start in the city cemetery.?

So Tim did make it that far last night.

?Maybe I will.?

Sands picks up the newspaper from the kitchen table. ?Yer one from the

Examiner

wrote a story about Jessup?s death. They must have held the presses for that one.?

I have no idea what he?s talking about. My

Examiner

is still lying beside my front porch where the paperboy threw it this morning.

?See that she sticks to the script, right? And not too loud with it. Wouldn?t want anything to happen to her. You might want to go back to banging her one day. If she?ll have you.?

As I bite off a stinging reply, Sands cuts his eyes at Quinn. ?Take him back to Bedford Falls, Seamus.?

Without another look at me, Sands exits through the same door Jiao used, his muscular calves rippling beneath the hem of the robe.

Quinn grins but says nothing while I follow him down the long, tiled hall to a stone portico, then out to my Saab.

The two goons I brought back are nowhere to be seen. Quinn reaches into his pocket and fishes out my cell phone, then takes my gun from the small of his back and passes it to me.

?Don?t do anything like this again, Your Honor. That was local boys watching you last night. Next time it?ll be my men.?

?Who was that girl back there? Miss Teen China??

A gleam of malice lights Quinn?s dark eyes. ?Maybe one day you?ll find out.?

Ignoring his implied threat, I reach for my door handle.

?Keep your cell phone switched on,? Quinn says. ?I like to know where my friends are.?

With my gun hanging loose in my hand, I look off toward the river, then turn back to Quinn, my eyes stripped of all affect. ?You stay away from my family.?

The Irishman?s eyes flash with challenge. ?Or what??

?This isn?t Northern Ireland. It?s Mississippi. We know how to play rough here too.?

?I'?ll remember,? Quinn says, his voice filled with good humor. ?Looking forward to it.?

He turns and walks back toward the house.