Carter went to rinse out her coffee mug before she left for the day. When she got back, there was a fat case file on her desk. She scowled at it, but when she got close enough she could see that it was stamped ‘CLOSED’. That made it a little better.
Actually, that made it a lot better.
She sat down and turned the file sideways to read the tab. Fitzgerald, Thomas. Carter looked up quickly.
Fusco’s desk was empty; he was out on a call somewhere. She opened the file gently, reverently.
After she’d skimmed the first few pages, she stopped, stood up, and went to get another cup of coffee. Then she came back and sat down to read in earnest.
***
John stared up at the man with the gun. He was huge. The last time he’d had seen a man that size, he was an Aryan Brother and Reese had ended up stealing his dog. His knuckles still ached, thinking about hitting that man. The way his hand had simply bounced off the man’s midsection …
This man was bigger. Older, a little softer maybe, but definitely bigger.
Of course, the gun in his hand made the man’s physical size somewhat irrelevant.
The big guy glanced at Reese and his gun, but his own aim never wavered from the boy. “On your knees,” he ordered.
Clay, thankfully, had the good sense to throw his arms up and drop to the ground. “Please don’t kill me,” he said. His voice was a good octave higher than normal. “Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.”
“Shut up.”
The boy did.
Now what? Reese thought. Before he came up with an answer. Christine Fitzgerald appeared at his elbow. He glanced at her. She shouldn’t be here, almost literally jostling his elbow. She knew better. He looked over to where Finch was holding the girl. Good. But what the hell was Christine up to?
She ignored him and looked at the big guy. “Hey, Teeny? Mr. Bellatore? You remember me?”
The man glanced at her. “Should I, sweetheart?”
Teeny? Reese thought. That’s Teeny Bellatore? Sure. What else would you call a guy that size?
“I’m Chrissy. Used to be. Ginger ale in a rock glass, two pineapple chunks and a cherry on a plastic sword?”
He looked at her again. “Chrissy?” Recognition washed over his face. His gun never strayed from Clay’s head. “No shit. How you been, girl?” He smiled at her.
“Not bad. You?”
“Okay. Knees bother me some, when it rains. Other than that, can’t complain. I heard about your dad. Real sorry how that went down.”
“Thanks.”
Reese stared at them. Just a casual friendly chat in the park, old friends catching up, as if there were not two guns being aimed between the four of them. Clay, in a rare show of good sense, stayed on his knees with his hands up.
“How’s your mom?” Teeny asked.
“Dead, too.”
“Good. That bitch was the meanest drunk I ever met.”
“Tell me about it.”
Clay said, “Please don’t kill me.”
“We’re talkin’ here,” Teeny snapped at him, “so shut the hell up.” He glanced at the woman again. “You still hangin’ around the bar?”
“I own it now.”
“Do you? Good for you. Always knew you were a smart kid.”
Christine shrugged. “Gave up the liquor license, turned it into a cyber café.”
“A what now?”
“Coffee shop, with computers.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. Heard about those. All the thing now, huh? You makin’ any money?”
“Not really.”
“Huh. What about Zubec? What’s he up to?”
“He’s still there.”
Teeny shook his head. “That guy. I tell you. You’re gonna have to haul him out of there feet-first.”
“I know, right?”
Reese cleared his throat softly. Christine nodded without looking at him. “So, Teeny, it’s none of my business, but how come you’re going to waste this kid?”
“Got to. He stole my wife’s purse, called her names.”
Clay’s eyes got very big. He started to say something; Reese shook his head and he stayed quiet.
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“Just since Monday. We came down to the city on our honeymoon.”
“That’s nice. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” The big guy shrugged. “And then this dipshit went and made her cry. How I gonna let that go, Chrissy? He made Holly cry.”
“You married Holly?” From her tone, Reese could tell Christine was completely astonished, and not in any good way.
The big guy grinned. “I know, I know. But I love her.”
“She shot you, Teeny!”
“I know, kid. She got jealous. You know how she is.”
“She shot you.”
“I waited for her,” he announced proudly. ”Nineteen years. She got out of jail Monday. I picked her up from the jail and drove her straight to the courthouse and married her.” He waved the gun again. “And then this idiot. Christ.”
There was a short silence. She’d been doing okay until then, but Reese realized Christine was too surprised to continue the conversation. “You know,” he said carefully, “if you shoot this kid, either I’m going to shoot you or you’re going to jail. Either way, the honeymoon’s over.”
The man turned his eyes to Reese. “I know,” he answered sadly. “But he made her cry. She’s my bride. What am I gonna do, just let that slide? Waited this long to marry her, and this jackoff makes her cry on her honeymoon.”
Christine stirred, got back into the game. “Look, Teeny, this boy’s an idiot. I know, I’ve been with his girlfriend for two days, and this kid is dumb as a stump.”
“So?”
“So it’s not worth going to jail for a dumbass. Can’t you just … make him apologize to Holly and beat the shit out of him and call it a day?”
Reese looked at her. “Christine?”
“Did you punch him in the kidneys when I asked you to?”
“Well … no.”
“Well, then.”
Teeny considered. “He need his ass kicked anyhow? How come?”
“Told his girlfriend to stay skinny so he didn’t have to wear a condom. She’s sixteen.”
He looked back at the boy. “Seriously? You never heard of AIDs? What are you, a fucking moron?”
“That’s what I said,” Christine confirmed.
Teeny shook his head. “Yeah. You weren’t kidding.” He considered a minute longer, then shouted without turning his head. “Holly! Holly, come over here!”
An older woman walked over to them. She was thin, haggard, bitter-looking, but she was very well-dressed. “What the fuck, Teeny? Why haven’t you killed this kid yet?”
Ah, wonderful, Reese thought. That’s just the attitude we need here.
“Hey,” Teeny said calmly, “you remember Chrissy? Tommy’s kid?”
The woman looked Christine up and down. “What, the crazy Mick’s ugly little bastard?”
Reese put his free hand on Christine’s shoulder. She didn’t actually lunge at the woman, but he could feel in her body how much she wanted to.
“This boy’s an idiot,” Teeny went on. “He’s going to apologize to you. And he’s going to make it really good. Really good, right, boy?”
“Yeah,” Clay squeaked. “Yeah. I’m sorry, uh, ma’am. I’m really sorry. I didn’t, uh … I didn’t realize, I needed the money, my family, I, uh …”
The woman’s face darkened, and so did Teeny’s.
“And you’re sorry you called her names,” Reese prompted.
“Oh, yeah, that. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I … I was just, you know, trying to, um …”
“Impress your girl,” Christine suggested.
“Yeah, that. Wanted to make her think I was a tough guy, you know, but I … I didn’t mean any of it, I swear. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Teeny looked to his bride. “That enough?”
She glared up at him. “That’s it? You think some mealy-mouth apology makes it right? God Almighty, when did you get to be such a pussy?” She turned and stomped away, as well as she could in heels on the soft grass. “What the fuck was I thinking, marrying such a pussy?”
Teeny shrugged, almost apologetically. He put his gun away, and Reese lowered his. “Get up,” the big man told the boy.
Clay scrambled to his feet. “I really am sorry, Mister … “
Christine grabbed Reese’s arm and pulled. “Back up,” she said urgently. “Backupbackupbackup.”
John took one big step backward, not voluntarily but because she’d yanked him off balance. It was enough, though. The fist the size of a ham missed his face by an inch as it swung.
It did not miss Clay. The hand connected with the boy’s face with an audible crack. The boy left his feet, flew five feet backward, and came down hard on his back.
Teeny straightened his jacket, rubbed his knuckles. He nodded to John, and then to the girl. “Good to see you again, Chrissy.”
“She’s going to kill you, Teeny. Kill you or get you killed.”
His face grew solemn. “Waited all these years for her, Chrissy. What else I gonna do?
She shook her head. Then she walked over and gave the man a hug. Her arms didn’t come close to reaching all the way around him. He patted her back gently with the same massive hand that had just leveled the boy. They parted, and Teeny strode after his angry bride.
Lis ran past them and dropped to her knees beside Clay. He stirred, rubbed his jaw and then the back of his head. She helped him sit up, put her arms around him.
Reese watched them for a moment. He rubbed his own jaw sympathetically. Then he took Christine’s arm and they walked back to Finch.
***
1992
The Hemlock Bar was smoky and loud. The conversation was rough, frequently vulgar. There was a prize fight showing on the two TV sets over the bar, but the sound was turned way down; no one cared what the announcers had to say. The skinny little girl at the far end of the bar barely noticed her surroundings. She kicked her feet well above the floor as she read her book. She squinted a lot; the light wasn’t good, and neither were her glasses. But it was a lot more peaceful in the bar than it would have been at home.
Teeny Bellatore came in. There was a general commotion; Teeny never went anywhere without causing a stir, and this bar was the center of his little kingdom. He made his way through the bar slowly, pausing to swap greetings and slap backs along the way. His voice boomed through the place. The little girl looked up and smiled as he came over to her.
“Hey, kiddo.”
“Hey, Mr. Bellatore.”
“Readin’ again, huh? Never saw a kid read as much as you do.”
“Don’t have a TV at home.”
He glanced at the bruises on her arms, and the one on her cheek. A couple of them were fresh. “Your mom’s on a tear again, huh?”
“Yeah.”
He put a big hand on the child’s back, gestured to the bartender. “You stay as long as you want, then. Unless the cops show up. Then you got to go.”
“I know. Thanks, Mr. Bellatore.”
Igor Zubec came down to her end of the bar and put a drink in front of her. It looked like a cocktail, brownish liquid in a rock glass, with a fancy skewer with pineapple and a cherry. The girl smiled up at him, and Zubec gave her a wink.
“Eat the fruit this time,” Teeny said. “Probably the only fruit you’ll see this week.”
“Thank you.” She bit one piece of pineapple, sipped at the ginger ale.
Teeny nodded, but his attention had been distracted by a young woman in a very short back dress. “Hey, Nancy, lookin’ good tonight.”
Zubec groaned and moved away.
Teeny went off and put his arm around the young woman. The little girl went back to her book.
The next time she looked up, Teeny was sitting with his back to the door and Nancy on his lap. But what had caught her eye was the front door of the bar opening. A thin, short woman came in. She looked around quickly, glared at Teeny, and walked right back out.
The girl thought a moment, then slid off the bar stool and made her way quietly to where the big man sat. “Mr. Bellatore?” she said anxiously.
He looked up, annoyed, and drew his hand out from under Nancy’s skirt. “Whatcha’ want, kid?”
She gestured toward the door. “Holly.”
He twisted to look toward the door. “I don’t see her.”
“She left. But she was here.”
Teeny frowned at her. “It’s alright, kiddo. Go read your book.”
Nancy giggled. “Yeah, little four-eyes, go read your book”
“Hey, you be nice,” Teeny scolded. “Or I’ll have to bite you.” He bent his head and nibbled on her neck Nancy squealed and slapped at him.
The girl retreated to her barstool in the corner.
Three minutes later, the door opened again and the skinny woman strode back in. She walked straight to the back of the bar, right up behind Teeny. Then she pulled out a small shiny gun and shot him twice in the back.
The bar went dead silent.
Teeny put his hands around Nancy’s waist, lifted her to her feet, and pushed her off a little. Then he stood up and turned around. “What’re you doin’, Holly? That hurt.”
She fired the gun again, point blank at the center of his chest, and kept firing until the gun said ‘click’ instead of ‘bang’. Then she stopped and stared at him, the little gun still between her two hands, still inches from the big man’s chest.
Teeny put his hand over his heart. He took it away and considered the bright smear of blood on it. “I told you, Holly, cut it out. That hurt.”
She pulled the trigger again. And again. And again.
Teeny’s face went dark and thunderous.
Igor Zubec reached over the bar, grabbed the little girl by the back of her shirt, and hauled her across to his side. He dropped her to the floor and shoved her under the bar between the kegs.
She heard the shouts and screams, the hits and the breaking furniture that followed, but she didn’t see any of it. In the brief pause between when the yelling stopped and the cops arrived, Zubec hustled her out the back door.
The little girl clutched her book tight to her chest and went in search of another refuge.
***
2012
“Twenty-two caliber?” Reese guessed.
Christine nodded grimly. “He bought it for her, for her birthday. He was bigger then.”
“That’s hard to imagine.”
“She’s going to kill him,” Christine repeated with certainty.
Reese looked down the bench. The woman was seated between him and Finch. Thirty yards away, Lis and Clay were still on the grass, hugging and kissing, talking and crying.
Finch tapped on his tablet. “Holly Goode. Sentenced to eighteen years in prison for felonious assault and attempted murder. He waited nearly two decades for her to get out of prison, so he could marry the woman who tried to kill him.”
“He retired after the shooting,” Christine said. “Moved upstate. Nobody could figure out why.”
“To be close,” Finch reported. “So he could visit her in prison.”
“She’s going to kill him. Or get him killed.”
Reese frowned. “You were, what, ten years old? What were you doing in a bar?”
“Hiding.”
“From your father?”
“From my mother. My father was just crazy. My mother was …”
“Evil,” Finch supplied.
“That,” Christine confirmed. “Teeny knew her. Knew her temper. So he let me hang out there at night, when the library was closed.”
Finch looked up from the tablet. “The bar. The Hemlock. It’s at the same address as Chaos.”
“Yeah. It was The Happy Hours in between, but it’s the same building.”
“Is that bar built on an Indian burial ground or something?”
Christine shrugged. “Could be. The weird all comes to Chaos. It always has.”
“And Zubec?” John asked. “Has he been with you your whole life?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Reese looked at the young lovers again. “Are we sure about those two? They’re actually happy together. Seems like maybe we should give them a chance.”
“They’re much too young,” Finch countered.
“Romeo and Juliet were young.”
“And they ended up dead.”
“Six dead by the final curtain,” Christine added.
Reese shook his head. “So young, and so untender?”
“So young, my lord, and true,” she countered instantly.
“King Lear,” Finch sighed. ”Such well-read companions I have.”
It pleased Reese to hear a rare compliment on his literacy. He decided to quit while he was ahead. “I’ll wait for the parents,” he said. “You two should go get some dinner and have that talk.”
Christine nodded, but Finch shook his head. “I’m afraid Miss Fitzgerald has a previous engagement tonight.”
“I do?”
“Thursday night. Movies with Agent Donnelly?”
“What?” Reese asked.
“No, not this week. He flew out to some conference this afternoon. Cyber-weapons, I think.”
“Ahh.”
“Wait,” Reese insisted. “You’re dating Donnelly?”
“We’re not dating,” she answered. “I’ve been emphatically friend-zoned by Agent Donnelly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he won’t sleep with her,” Finch reported, with just a little too much satisfaction.
“Did you put her up to this?” Reese demanded.
“I had nothing to do with it, I assure you.”
“But you knew about it.”
“I have been aware, yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“It wasn’t … relevant.”
“I am sitting right here,” Christine complained.
“Donnelly’s heading up a task force dedicated to finding me, and you don’t think it’s relevant that he’s trying to cultivate her as a source?”
“Miss Fitzgerald won’t tell him anything.”
“Then why is she dating him?”
“Still sitting right here,” Christine repeated.
“I have no idea.” Finch turned to the young woman. “Why are you dating him?”
She sighed, exasperated with both of them. “He intrigues me.”
“He intrigues you because he tells you no.”
“Well … yeah. Partly.”
Reese stared at them. “I do not want you sleeping with Donnelly to protect me!”
Christine looked at him, puzzled. Then she looked at Finch. Then she looked back, patted his knee. “Thanks, John. That’s, uh, that’s very big of you,” she said wryly.
“Christine …”
“John. I asked him out because he was interesting. And it went nowhere. We go see an old movie once a week, when he’s not working. We talk about … old movies, mostly. He asks about you, every time. I tell him I don’t know you, every time. And he won’t sleep with me because he can’t stop thinking about you. Which I find somewhat annoying, and also somewhat intriguing. But in a few weeks he’ll get bored and go away. They all do. So don’t worry about it.”
“Damn it, Christine ….”
“Mr. Reese,” Finch said calmly.
“And how could you let her …”
“John.”
Reese looked at him. Finch didn’t move, didn’t explain. His eyes said everything. I’ve got this. You don’t need to worry about it. Trust me. John stood up and took a few steps away from the bench. He believed that Finch hadn’t arranged it. But Christine was all but fanatically obedient to him; he could have stopped her with a word. He hadn’t. So the genius hadn’t technically pimped out his young apprentice to the federal agent. He’d just turned his back while she offered herself up to him.
And the only one that John wasn’t pissed off at in the whole situation was Donnelly himself. Donnelly who wouldn’t sleep with Christine because he was too busy thinking about him.
“Fine,” he said. He turned around. “If Donnelly’s not going to show, then you might as well go have your talk.”
“It can wait …” Finch began.
“It’s waited long enough.” Reese had been more than patient with his employer, but that was done. He’d let himself forget how ruthless the billionaire could be. If he was going to use Christine in his endless schemes, he might as well use her for something important. And it might as well start right now.
“John …” she began.
“Don’t let him out of your sight,” John warned her, “or he’ll find an excuse to disappear.”
Finch stood up. “Mr. Reese.”
“Tell her,” Reese insisted. “Tell her tonight. She needs to know.”
Their eyes locked. Finch’s face was expressionless, unreadable. Reese knew he was pushing too hard. He didn’t care. He was angry. Christine with Donnelly. How the hell had Finch thought that was anything like a good idea?
Why does it make me so angry?
He pushed the thought away. “Harold,” he said, more calmly, “talk to her. If you don’t think you can tell her, then let me, but we need her onboard.”
Christine stood up then and moved very close to Finch. “You’re scaring me, guys.”
“You should be scared,” Reese told her.
“John …”
“All right,” Finch said firmly. “All right.” He reached out and touched Christine’s hand. “All right. Mr. Reese is right. We should talk, tonight. If you have a few hours. If you’re willing.”
She didn’t answer out loud. She simply laced her fingers through his.
Reese nodded, satisfied, his anger draining away. “Good. Go. Eat. Talk. I’ll watch the kids.”
Finch nodded. His mouth was very tight, but he didn’t argue any further. He turned away, leading the young woman.
Christine hesitated. “John. About Donnelly. It’s nothing.”
If it’s nothing, why are you telling me? Why should it matter, to either of us? Reese simply nodded and turned away.
When he looked back, they were gone.
***
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