Deeper (31 page)

Belle was
dead.

Murdered.

Stolen from me for all time.

19

There are
things we do in our lives that we regret.
 
For every single thing I got right in my life, I suppose there is at
least one action or idea I had that I would gladly do over.
 
That's the way the world works.

I never
regretted any part of my time with Belle.
 
I was ashamed of certain things I did, and if I could have changed those
things, I probably would have, but none of them involved her, not directly at
least.

I thought
about that a lot as I sat in my empty home and stared at the water.
 
The funeral was over, and my children who had
come to say their last goodbyes were gone again, made smaller and more fragile
by the loss of their mother.

I was made
smaller, too, and emptied of something vital.
 
I sat on the deck and drank to her memory, fully aware that something
inside of me was dead.
 
Not dying, but
already dead.

There was no
silver lining to the cloud over me, just more bleak days and cold misery.

I probably
would have sat on that porch for a week or two and seen if I could drink myself
to death, but there was something I had to do before I let that happen.

I had to kill
some fish men.

Now I expect a
few people would think I was a little crazy at that point.
 
Gotta say, there's a good chance those people
would be right.
 
But when there's nothing
else going in your life, revenge can seem like a damned fine alternative to
suicide.
 
Besides, there was always the
chance I'd get lucky and manage to get myself killed in the process.
 
What can I say?
 
Being raised a Catholic, lapsed or not,
suicide in and of itself wasn't really much of an option.

Still, one man
against an army of fish-faced
froggy
things with big claws?
 
Absolutely insane.
 
Let's not kid about this.
 
They'd already taken me out twice with a few
quick maneuvers, and I couldn't go down after them with a machine gun and just
go all Rambo on their asses.

So, again, I
wasn't really feeling like a poster child for mental and emotional health.
 
But I also wasn't quite as suicidal as a lot
of people would have thought if they'd known what was on my agenda.

We've all done
things that we’re not proud of.
 
Yes, I
know I'm repeating myself, but there's a reason for that.
 
If you've been reading all of this you might
remember that I did some things when I was getting started that I felt very
uncomfortable with.

What I haven't
mentioned before is who I did those things for.
 
Isabella was raised with enough money to live comfortably.
 
She was given a decent allowance and taught
to appreciate the value of a dollar.
 
She
was given her first car when she went off to college and her education was paid
for, all by the man I delivered drugs for.

How do you
think I got in the business and then got back out in one piece?
 
I ran the drugs for her father.

Demetrius
Edward Sloan was a short man, with shoulders broader than mine and a temper
that had caused him trouble in the past.
 
He took anger management courses to make himself more presentable to the
world at large.
 
He and I shared more
than a few drinks when I asked for his daughter's hand in marriage.
 
We drank and we told stories and we became, if
not truly friends, at least very good acquaintances.
 
Convincing him to let me marry his only
daughter had taken a lot of work and part of that work had been proving that I
was going to be a good provider for her.
 
In addition to a very lucrative chain of restaurants, he also did some
work on the side, the sort that never gets declared on taxes and can cause a
man to spend a lot of his life in jail.
 
Demetrius never went anywhere near a prison.
 
He was far enough removed from the actual
work that the chances of him ever getting caught were less than the chances of
Coca Cola giving away their secret recipes.

He knew I
needed money to make my dreams come true.
 
He knew I wanted to make his daughter happy more than I wanted almost
anything else in the world.
 
He was
willing to make that happen, but nothing in this world comes without a
cost.
 
I had to do a few deliveries in
exchange for the loan that let me buy my second boat.
 
That was the one that let me earn enough to
take out a legitimate loan on the
Isabella's
Dream
.
 
So I got the money, and he
got a son-in-law he knew was loyal.

We were never
friends, but we were partners in crime.

I drank myself
stupid for two days after the funeral.
 
I
drank as hard as I ever have and I cried my tears and cursed myself with every
breath I took and got all the grief I could out of my system.

And then I
paid my father-in-law a visit.

*
         
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Belle's family
lived in the same house the family had owned for years, a swank little affair
up in
Black
Stone
Bay
.
 
Let me emphasize this for you:
 
they were well off, as in filthy, stinking
rich.

The place was
as big as a palace and I would have never felt comfortable in there.
 
Still, I'd grown used to the idea of visiting
now and then after the first decade of married life.

It wasn't that
the place was so huge; it was just so damned perfect.
 
I don't think a blade of grass blade of grass
would have had the nerve to grow too long in that lawn.
 
I never felt like I was in a house when I
visited.
 
I felt like I was in a museum.

I didn't call
to tell them I was coming, so Marie, Belle's mom, was a bit surprised to see
me.
 
We hugged and she cried a little,
and I cried a little too, because looking at her was like looking at Belle the
way I was supposed to see her in another thirty years.
 
Marie was very old school; when I told her I
needed to speak to Demetrius, she simply nodded and sent me to him.

He was out on
his back porch, staring out at the ocean in the distance, with a snifter of
brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other.
 
I can't say that he looked happy to see me.
 
I knew even then that he, like me, believed I
was to blame for her death in some way.
 
Why?
 
Because he gave me his only
child with the understanding that I would always protect her, and consider her
life more important than mine.
 
At least
the second part of that was right.
 
He
still smiled when he saw me, but there was a distance in his eyes that hadn't
been there in a very long time.

We didn't sit
and chew the fat for a while, that had never been our style together.
 
Instead, I sat down and got right to
business.

"I need a
few things, Demetrius."

"What
sort of things?"

"The sort that you can get me."

"I
figured that, Joe."
 
His dark eyes
looked at me for only an instant, but it was long enough to know that he'd
taken my measure.
 
Unfortunately, he was
another man I found unreadable.
 
He only
ever let what he wanted to be seen show on his face.
 
In all the time I'd known him, he'd never
once given away anything unless it suited his needs.

"I have
unfinished business to take care of.
 
Back in Golden Cove."

"
This have
to do with Isabella?"

"Yeah."
 
For
maybe the third time in my life, I had trouble meeting my father-in-law's
gaze.
 
Shame will do that to you.
 
"It does."

"You let
something happen to my little girl, Joe."
 
He didn't raise his voice.
 
He
never raised his voice when he was angry.
 
"And now you want to come to me for
help?"

"They
took her from me.
 
I was down belowdecks
and she was just looking out over the water and they stole her from the yacht,
damn it.
 
In the middle
of the fucking water.
 
Do you
understand me, Demetrius?
 
They took her
when she should have been safe and they promised they'd return her, and they
took her from me."

"Who took
her?"
 
His voice didn't sound right,
and I finally looked back up at the man and saw the fury on his face, a rage
that made him not just intimidating anymore, but terrifying.

I told him
everything I knew.
 
He listened and never
once asked me any questions.
 
At least not until I was done.

"You know
what Golden Cove used to be called, Joe?"

"Oh, yeah.
 
I
know."

"But you
went anyway.
 
And you took my daughter
with you."

"She came
to surprise me.
 
I know the reputation,
Demetrius.
 
Everyone knows the rep that
place has, but I had a deal signed and delivered before I even knew where we
were going."
 
I looked down at the
boards under my feet, trying not to scream.
 
"And she came to me."

The old man
nodded his head and looked back out at the water in the distance again.
 
He didn't speak for almost ten minutes and I
knew better than to talk to him.
 
I was
making a request, and when it came to Belle's father, you learned to wait if
you wanted an answer.

"So what
do you need, Joe?"

I knew what I
needed.
 
I also knew that some of the
things you don't ask for out loud.
 
So
I'd taken the liberty of writing down everything I thought I might need.
 
I gave him the list.

He looked at
the single slip of paper for a long time and then he nodded his head.

"Thanks."

"I'll
have it for you tomorrow night."

I nodded and
stood up."

"Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"You
don't do this the right way, don't bother coming back.
 
Understood?"

I nodded my
head and turned away.
 
There were times
in my life where if I'd heard that sort of comment from Belle's father I would
have been terrified.
 
Just lately,
nothing much scared me.
 
I'd already had
the worst happen to me.
 
And, frankly, I
wasn't so sure I'd be coming back either way.
 
I wasn't going on a pleasure cruise.
 
I was going hunting for some very deadly game.

*
         
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*

I didn't do
much for the next day or two.
 
I spent my
time cleaning the house, leaving everything in order.
 
I didn't sleep much.
 
My mind wouldn't let me.
 
It kept trying to tell me that I was being a
whiny asshole.

I didn't much
feel like listening to that crap, so I ignored it.

The next
night, just as the sun was setting, a truck pulled up to my house.
 
The thing was as nondescript as they come, with
white sides and a cab that was the same musty shade of non-color.

The man that
came out of the cab was completely unknown to me, but I recognized his
type.
 
He looked like any of a hundred
men I'd dealt with in the past who worked for Demetrius:
 
tall, lean, a little older than I expected,
and with a slick way about him.
 
If I
were a cop, I'd have him pegged as a crook in five seconds.
 
Then again, most cops had no reason to deal
with the sort of man who was in front of me.
 
Most cops probably wouldn’t have known anything about how dangerous that
sort could be.
 
He had dark brown hair
cut very short and a face that was just about as plain as vanilla ice cream.

"You Joe Bierden?"

"That's
me."

"Your
father-in-law sent me."
 
He walked
toward me and I saw the way he looked the entire area over with a quick
glance.
 
If there had been anyone in the
neighborhood who didn't belong, I knew he'd have spotted him or her.

"What's
in the truck?"

"Supplies
you requested."

I pointed at
my piece of crap boat, the
Marianne
Winston
, and started following my own finger.
 
Isabella's
Dream
was still in Golden Cove, and I didn't know if I was going to be
coming back, so I left the other yacht where it was as something for the kids
to remember me by.