Little Mountain (24 page)

         Fitchie spoke in a soothing tone. “Sam, why don’t you go
see
Julie? These folks have offered to watch your little girl for a while.”

         “Don’t go, Daddy!” Trish’s fingers dug into Sam’s back.

         “No, I won’t leave you, sweetheart. We’re going to see Mommy right now. Mommy’s going to be fine, you’ll see.” Sam brushed his lips against her hair and tried not to let his voice crack.

         “Mister Gowan described the assailant,” Fitchie said. “Sounds like Viseth Kim. Apparently he stole that Trans Am and left it behind; Besson’s lifting prints right now. Wilkins said you should take a couple of days off to look after your family. We’ll nail Viseth for you, pal.”

         Sam didn’t blink as he looked into Fitchie’s eyes. “I want him,” he said. He freed up his right hand and drew a swift slicing gesture across his neck.

Sam buckled Trish into her back seat and drove to Lowell General Hospital. Trish sat in his lap in the waiting room while Julie was being treated. The overhead television was tuned to a sitcom he didn’t recognize. They said very little to each other, and Trish fell asleep after an hour.

         He tried to imagine the scene with Viseth at the door, and the terror Julie and Trish must have felt. It had to be Viseth, didn’t it? Why had Sam put them at risk? Every muscle tightened in his legs, his arms,
his
chest. His scalp tightened on his skull, and a headache began to take shape that felt like a freight train barreling down the tracks. The wall clock said ten oh-three. He found a pay phone, braced himself, and called Julie’s parents. He wished he had called sooner.

         “So we’re an afterthought,” his father-in-law said. “We’ll be right there.” Then he hung up without another word.

         Five minutes later, a nurse finally spoke to him and sent him up to room 412, where Julie was. He walked in with Trish’s face next to his chest. Trish’s thumb plugged her mouth, and her drool soaked into his shirt.

         A Dr. Kurz introduced himself. “Your wife will have a five- or six-day visit with us,” he said. “She missed the main force of the blast, but her injuries are still significant. We removed a lot of splinters that I understand came from a door, and some buckshot from the surface of the skin. Unfortunately, some of the buckshot has penetrated deeply. A surgical procedure to remove all of the material would do more harm than good at this point. It appears that we’ll have to leave the extraneous material where it is. Do you know anything about the kind of shell that was used?”

         Sam numbly shook his head. “What’s the difference?”

         “If your wife has lead shot in her, there is a good chance of blood poisoning. Then the aftereffects of the initial trauma can be serious.”

         Sam remembered Katsios’ autopsy report on Bin Chea, which had reported lead pellets. “I just don’t know yet,” he said.

         “We’ll need to watch her closely for a while. I understand that your wife is a brave woman, getting your child out of harm’s way.” Dr. Kurz heard his name on the PA system and excused himself.

         They were trying to pluck his family like petals of a lotus. He would not let them do it.

        
“How you doing, Sam?”
Julie said.

        
“Terrified.
I’m supposed to ask how you are.”

         “They gave me some pain killers, but it still hurts a lot,” she said. An IV dripped a glucose solution into her wrist, and she looked as though the wound had drained away all of her blood. With her free hand she brushed Trish’s bare leg. “Do my parents know?”

         “I just called them from the lobby. They should be here any minute. Meanwhile, I have a couple of days off to stay with you.”

         “You and Trish could stay with my folks tonight. They wouldn’t mind.”

         Julie’s parents soon arrived, Eric Nordstrom still wearing his blue power tie, his face filled with anger and worry. Dorothy wore shorts and a print blouse. They’d both been yanked out of their peaceful routines to face a family nightmare. “Oh my God, sweetheart!” she said. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Honey, what did they
do
to you?”

         Sam stepped out of their way and sat down in a molded plastic chair. “The doctor says--”

         Eric cast a withering glance at Sam. This was going to be a very long night.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The street lights glowed through a veil of mist that soaked Viseth down to the marrow of his bones. Yellow light reached into the alleyway only as far as the garbage buckets. Those buckets shielded him from the police cruiser that flashed its blue lights as it inched down the street.

         He crouched in the darkness between Canby’s Pub, where his father swilled too much beer, and Tetrakis Cleaners. Cruisers had driven past him twice and kept going, their flashlights missing him in the shadows.

         A couple of blocks away from the Longs’ place, he had tossed the gift box into a Dumpster and then climbed in. But it smelled as though a skunk had crawled in there and died.

         A siren wailed in the distance and got louder for a while before it trailed off into silence. The cops were going in circles, but the circles were tightening. Tires hissed on the wet pavement. And then the hissing stopped right beside the Dumpster.

         A blue glow reflected off the lid, which left half the Dumpster covered.
Radio static.
A voice on the radio squawked like a guy with a mouth full of fish. A car door thumped shut.
Footsteps, then quiet.
Viseth reached for a shell. One left. He could barely slide it into the chamber, he was shaking so much.
Had to get out of this stinking hole.
Should have put something on that cigarette burn on his chest--shit, that hurt! Was the cop going to look in? Any cop who looked in would get to be part of the stink in there.

         Viseth sat completely still.

         Then the same noises in reverse.
Footsteps.
Thump. Squawk.
Hiss.
Viseth buried the shotgun in the garbage, then climbed out and tried to brush himself off. A pair of red lights flashed as though the devil were staring back at him, then the cruiser moved through the intersection. He scraped off his slimy shoes on a storm drain.

         What would the Man think when he heard what Viseth
had
done? The Man was old, too old to fight his own battles. He needed young men like Viseth to blast his enemies. Viseth pictured himself as the Man’s lieutenant as they grabbed control over businesses like the Pailin Jewel. The Battboys would all take orders from Viseth--all except Huon, of course,
who
would get a bullet between the eyes no matter what.

         A few minutes passed, and the street was still. He walked up the street to the shopping plaza. Out in front of the K-Mart was a pay phone sheltered from the rain by an overhang. He slipped a quarter in the slot and dialed.

         The old bastard sounded weird. “Yes,” he
said,
his voice so soft Viseth could barely hear it above the rain behind him. “Yes, I see that you taught him a lesson.”

         “Look, I need a place to stay tonight. I can’t go home.” The line was quiet for a minute. Was the connection broken? “Did you hear me? I need a fucking place to get dry.”

         “You needn’t swear at me. I’m thinking how I can help you. Police are driving up and down my street, so you can’t come here. Meet me down by the Westford Street canal at two o’clock. I’ll have a hundred dollars and some dry clothes for you.”

        
“Only a hundred?”

         “Don’t whine. I didn’t ask you to do this. Besides, you didn’t do the job very well.”

         “I got his wife.”

         “You got no one. The woman will probably recognize you. We need to get you out of town.”

         “There was blood all over his place. I know I got her.”

         “Your target was Sambath Long.”

         “I want him as much as you, but he’s scared now. He’s out of our lives.”

         “No. He’ll track you down,
then
you’ll lead him to me.”

         “He’s worried that I’ll find
him
. Look, bring me a pack of cigarettes. I’m all out. I need some place to go, too.” Viseth shuddered.

         “You didn’t think this through at all, did you? I’ll take you to meet
Angka
, my organization. They’ll explain things better than I can, and they’ll give you all the cigarettes you need. Then I’ll drive you to Bangor tonight.
Angka
will give you a place to stay. The detective will never hurt you. I promise.” There was another pause on the line. “Do you still have your gun?”

         “No, I got rid of it.”

        
“Very good.
You are smart to throw it away. I’ll bring another weapon for you tonight.”

         “What organization? And who’s in it besides me?” Viseth asked, but the Man hung up. Sure, he wanted to meet
Angka
.
But why tonight?

         The dial glowed on Viseth’s watch. It was nearly one o’clock, and he didn’t want to walk in a straight path to the canal because of the occasional pair of headlights that came down Mill Street. A block from the canal, he found an unlocked car and climbed in to wait until it was time to go and meet his ride to Maine.

         What kind of weapon would the Man bring? He lay on the back seat, shivering, and lit his last cigarette. He cupped his hand over the lighter’s flame, as though anybody might be looking at this time of night. It flickered and warmed his palm.
Ky
was just about ready to have that baby. She was starting to feel the pain last night before the Battboys came over to steal all his money. He should have gone to see her instead, the way she’d begged.

         When the Man brought the weapon, maybe Viseth should blow him away and take off to Maine by himself. The police were looking for him, but at least
Long
was going to be out of the way. Who in his right mind wouldn’t wet his pants with fear when his family’s brains are almost blown out, and he knows it could have been him? And that left the rest of the cops nowhere. None of them knew one Asian from another, he was sure of that.

         He walked down to the canal, wishing for another cigarette. Without thinking, he put his knuckle in his mouth--Phew! The garbage was all over his skin, and it clung like snot. He spat on the ground.

         A steel tubular railing sat atop the stone retaining wall at the edge of the water, and it was visible mainly by the glimmer of a street light on its wet surface. In the shadows, three park benches sat in a carpet of grass along a path of asphalt; he would have sat and watched the black water if the weather were a little better. A hundred yards away, the road was still. No cars had passed by for at least ten minutes, and it was a couple of minutes past two now.

         A police cruiser approached quickly with its lights flashing as it slowed for a turn. Was the cop coming here? The Man hadn’t set Viseth up for a fall, had he? How could he do that without hurting himself?

         Something seemed to move along the walkway and disappear into the darkness. That was stupid, of course, like seeing an ink blot in a closet. Over the railing, he looked down at water the color of motor oil. The trees were dark shapes silhouetted against the faint glow of the shopping center lights that stayed on all night. There were low-branched maples that he sensed more than saw.

         Where the hell was the Man? It was quarter past two now, and Viseth hugged himself. Where did that cop go? The night was a mixture of sounds, soft sounds mixed with silence: the hiss of tires on wet asphalt, a dog barking constantly somewhere in the distance, the swallow of saliva inside his throat, the dull rush of blood between his temples when he yawned, the faint tapping of raindrops on the leaves.
And from behind him, the snap of a stick.
He looked around and saw nothing. Too bad he wasn’t home in a dry warm bed, but there was no going back home. His old man and old lady were on their own now.