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“These things happen,” Carol said.

She seemed a little disappointed, but not too much, probably happy enough that he had gotten his other contract. He knew she was also relieved to think that her suspicions about the bank robbery had been unfounded.

The kids had been home for over an hour. Carol had made a tuna casserole for dinner which none of them really cared for. Still, the mood was better than it had been for the past couple of days, even with the occasional comments Carol made about Gordon. Susie couldn’t help smiling a few times at Dan’s bland, innocuous jokes and Gary was buzzing about the Sox winning streak. Halfway through dinner Dan had found he was able to look at his kids without being overwhelmed by guilt.

It was now thirty minutes since they’d finished dinner, and the kids were upstairs, Susie plugged into her music and Gary watching the Sox game. Dan sat on the living room sofa scribbling notes for his book proposal. Carol was next to him, leaning against him while she read the paper. He checked his watch again and saw that it was now seven thirty-three. “The guy’s not going to call,” he repeated. “Why don’t we splurge and take the kids out for some ice cream?”

Carol twisted herself around. Turning his face with her hand, she kissed him hard on the mouth. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she said. “If we can talk the kids into it.”

Susie gave her typical
whatever
response, but her sullen act was half-hearted at best and she joined them without too much of an argument. Gary groused a bit about being torn away from the Sox game, but agreed as long as he could listen to the game in the car. It was the first time they had gone out for ice cream that summer. Since Dan had lost his job they had stopped doing little things like that.

Dan could tell the kids enjoyed the outing. Susie stood close by him, her body at times bumping into his. Gary was his typical good-natured self, happier than usual since it looked like the Sox were on their way to winning an eighth straight game. While they stood eating their ice cream, Carol moved close to Dan and held his hand.

When they returned home there were two messages waiting for him. One from Shrini, another from Peyton Hanes.

“Why don’t you call them back tomorrow?” Carol asked.

Dan dreaded calling either of them. “They probably want to talk about Gordon,” he said. “I’ll call them quickly and get it over with.”

“If you have to. Don’t spend too long.”

Dan nodded. When he got to his study, he stared at the phone for several minutes before calling Peyton. One of Peyton’s kids answered and left Dan waiting. After a while, Peyton picked up.

“Hey, hey, Dan,” Peyton said. “Man, it’s been a while. Can you believe what happened to Gordon?”

“Hard to believe,” Dan said.

“Shit, yeah. I saw that drawing on the news last night and it didn’t even register that it could be him. Damn, I still can’t believe it.”

“It’s a shock,” Dan said.

“Yeah, man, it sure is. Any idea what he was doing in Lynn?”

“With Gordon, who knows?”

“The whole thing is just so fucking bizarre. Listen, I talked to Gordon’s parents. The funeral’s going to be this Saturday. You’ll be there, right?”

“I’d like to, I just don’t know if I can make it—”

“Shit, Dan, you’ve got to come. Gordon’s parents are in their eighties. It’s got to be tough enough for them to bury their son, but I’m beginning to think no one else is going to show up. Tell me you’ll be there, okay?”

“We’ll see.”

“Man, I expect to see you there.”

Peyton gave him directions to the cemetery and hung up. Dan was still staring blindly at the phone when it rang again. From the caller ID he could see it was Shrini. Reluctantly, he picked up the handset.

“Hey, dude,” Shrini said angrily. “I’ve been waiting for you to call back.”

“Sorry, Shrini, I just got home.”

“You heard the news, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, dude, we’re on for tomorrow as agreed, right?”

“I think we should wait a few days—”

“Fuck that! You gave me your word before. And believe me, with or without you I’m seeing that little peacock—”

“Okay, okay,” Dan interrupted, afraid Carol or one of his kids might pick up the phone and hear Shrini ranting. “I’ll stop over tomorrow morning at nine.”

“You better, dude.”

After Shrini hung up, Dan thought about how he was going to explain this to his wife. At some point the lies were going to have to stop. How many could you keep piling up, one on top of another?

After he had settled on a story, he waited until he could muster the strength to get up, then joined Carol so he could add still more lies to all the rest.

24

At seven the next morning Resnick pulled up in front of Petrenko’s address. Settling in, he poured black coffee from a thermos and drank it as he skimmed the stories on the front page of the paper about Lombardo and Gordon Carmichael. After that he found Carmichael’s obituary.

As he had guessed, Carmichael was a loner with no wife or kids. The only family mentioned were parents living in Greenwich, Connecticut. The obituary had more about Carmichael’s father, a retired industrialist, than it did about the dead man – mentioning only that Carmichael had served in Vietnam, was awarded two Purple Hearts, and after his service earned a degree from Yale before working as an engineer at a number of companies, none of which Resnick had ever heard of.

Shortly after ten, a silver Mercedes pulled into Petrenko’s driveway. A man with a thick build, about five foot eight, got out. He was in his late thirties, had blond hair cut close to his scalp and a nose that had been pushed sideways across his face. Resnick recognized him, having seen him with Petrenko several times before, including at the Russian restaurant. The man stared indifferently in Resnick’s direction before heading to the front door. It was already eighty degrees in the shade and he was wearing a leather jacket, which told Resnick that the Russian was probably carrying a piece. He considered whether to try picking him up on a weapons charge, but decided to sit still and see where this led.

Ten minutes later Petrenko left the house, escorted by the same man. Petrenko gave Resnick an indifferent look before turning his gaze away. The Mercedes pulled on to the street and Resnick made no attempt to hide the fact that he was following it.

The Mercedes headed into Boston. At Government Center, the car turned towards the North End. When it got to Hanover Street, the car stopped. Petrenko stepped out and walked briskly in the opposite direction, nodding at Resnick as he went past.

Resnick was stuck. The street was too narrow for him to pull over without blocking traffic. He could gamble, drive down Hanover Street, and hope that Petrenko would double back. That seemed like a bad bet. Instead he stayed on the Mercedes. He knew the driver was Petrenko’s muscle, and he doubted Petrenko would do any business without him.

At the next street the Mercedes stopped abruptly, forcing Resnick to hit his brakes to keep from rear-ending it. The driver’s-side door opened and, in a coordinated move, the driver got out while another man stepped from the sidewalk and took his place behind the wheel. There was still no room for Resnick to pull over. The thick-bodied Russian leered at him as he jogged past. With no other choice Resnick continued following the Mercedes, knowing the best he could do now was pick up Petrenko later. Grudgingly, he had to admire the maneuver Petrenko used to lose him. He made a mental note not to underestimate Petrenko again.

Joel was surprised when he answered the phone and heard his uncle Hymie demanding to know what type of trouble he had gotten himself into.

“Calm down, Uncle Hymie.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” There was a silence, then the old man continued in a low whisper. “A reward is being offered for information about uncut diamonds. Do you want to know who’s offering this reward?”

Joel didn’t bother answering. He waited for his uncle to tell him it was Viktor Petrenko.

“I’ve asked about this person,” his uncle went on. “He’s a thug, a dangerous man. In Russia, he was an interrogator for the KGB. Do you know what that means, Joel? Do you have any idea what type of person you stole from?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t steal anything.”

“You’re going to lie to me? You think I’m some
fercockt meshuggina
to believe your nonsense? What’s wrong with you to think you could do something like this, getting yourself mixed up with an animal like Petrenko? Do you have brains in your head?”

“Don’t you lecture me. I never let Pop talk to me like that and I’m sure as hell not going to let you!”

Joel looked out his window and spotted Dan and his Indian buddy walking up his driveway.
These two fucking momsers have to bother me now?
he thought as he watched them approach.

“You little
pisher
,” his uncle was saying. “You’re going to talk to your uncle like that?” Then, “Hello, hello? Joel, you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here,” Joel said. He walked over to his desk, unlocked the bottom drawer and took out a twenty-two caliber semi-automatic handgun. He checked to make sure it was loaded. While he would’ve liked more firepower, this would have to do. There was a knock on his front door. Peering out a window, he could see the two of them waiting for him. “Uncle, look, I’m sorry about what I said. I lost my temper. But I didn’t steal any diamonds.” Lowering his voice, “Don’t mention any of this to anyone, okay?”

“You really think I’m
fercockt
?” There was a pause, then his uncle added, “Joel, get rid of those diamonds. Throw them away if you have to. Don’t be stupid. The next funeral I go to I want to be my own, understand?”

“Uncle Hymie, I appreciate what you’re saying. And don’t worry about anything.”

“I’m not the one who should be worrying. Don’t ever talk to me about those diamonds again,” his uncle said before hanging up.

Joel stood glowering at the phone handset before throwing it hard across the room. The handset splintered when it hit the wall, scattering pieces across the floor.

That KGB son of a bitch!

He could screw Petrenko several times over if he sent those computer disks and videotapes to the FBI. If they got their hands on that stuff, they’d send that Ruskie to prison for a long fucking time. Joel had looked at enough of it to know what he had. Records of money laundering and payoffs, and if that wasn’t enough for that blackmailing KGB son of a bitch, videotapes of sordid sex acts. Well, now the shoe was on the other foot. Joel knew he wouldn’t be able to unload those diamonds while Petrenko was on the streets, but if he could figure out a way to send a package to the FBI without having to worry about it being traced back to him…

There was another knock on the door. Joel remembered Dan and his friend standing out there. Holding the gun waist-high, he swung the door open.

“Are you two fucking morons?” Joel asked, his mouth frozen in a hard sneer. “I told you what would happen if I saw either of you again.”

Dan took a step back on seeing the gun. His friend inched forward, his muscles tensing.

“Take a step back now, Gunga, or you’re dead.”

Shrini’s eyes moved from the gun to Joel’s face. Reluctantly, he followed Joel’s order.

“This isn’t going to work,” Dan said. “You’re going to have to give us our cut.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s working just fine. The frame for that Mafioso worked as planned and I’m sitting with all the money. I don’t see any reason why I should give you shit.”

“Joel, you know this isn’t fair—”

“Fuck you. I warned you what would happen if your nutso pal screwed things up for us.” Joel grimaced as he absent-mindedly rubbed his jaw. “Because of Gordon I have to live with that dead girl on my conscience the rest of my life.”

“We all have to.”

“But I shouldn’t.” Joel shook his head, trying to force out the thought that Eric, and by extension himself, had contributed to what happened. “Sorry, Dan,” he said. “You’re not getting a dime.”

“Joel, we saw how much money we took from those boxes. There’s enough for all of us.”

“Forget it. You’re the one who promised Gordon would behave himself. This is your fault, not mine.”

“Okay, let’s say it’s my fault. At least give Shrini his cut.”

“I’m not doing that.” Joel shifted his gaze to Shrini. “Take my advice, Gunga, just be grateful you’re still alive.”

Shrini had been fuming. This was too much for him. “Can you believe this peacock?” he exclaimed. “We plan the robbery, invite him along and he’s going to strut about believing he and his pig friend deserve all the money!”

“Peacock, huh?” Joel’s mouth dropped into a humorless grin. “Eh, I’ve been called worse. And guess what? It doesn’t matter whether I think I deserve all the money. What matters is I got all the money.”

“What do you mean you’ve got all the money?” Dan asked. He took another small step backwards. “What about your buddy?”

“Eric’s not around any more.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Joel didn’t bother to answer him.

“Dammit, Joel! You’re trying to send the police after all of us?”

“Don’t get hysterical. Nobody’s going to miss him.”

As the three of them stood staring at each other, the anger brewing inside of Shrini boiled over.

“You’re a coward,” Shrini said to Joel. “A peacock with a big yellow tail. Believe me, if you weren’t holding a gun I’d kick you and your tail feathers all over the place.”

“I’m getting sick of this,” Joel said, his grin completely gone, his eyes turning glassy. He faced Dan. “Give me one good reason why I don’t get rid of both of you right now?”

“Carol knows I’m seeing you,” Dan started to say. His voice cracked. He had to swallow before he could continue. “If I don’t come home later, she’ll send the police here.”

“So? What do you think they’d find? I know plenty of places in New Hampshire where I can bury two bodies.” He aimed the gun towards Shrini’s chest, then remembered Eric. The cops would probably bring corpse-sniffing dogs to search his property. Those dogs would find him. Even without the dogs, the cops would be able to spot his grave easily enough. If he were to kill these two, he’d have to dig up Eric and move his corpse as well. He’d also have to explain to the cops why it looked like he had a freshly dug grave on his property. The thought of doing all that tired him out. Lowering his gun, he told the two of them to beat it. “If I see either of you again, you’re dead,” he said.

“I’m not leaving without my money,” Shrini insisted.

Giving him one last weary look, Joel shot Shrini in the foot.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Shrini howled, hopping up and down. Dismayed, he turned to Dan. “This peacock shot me,” he said, still not quite believing it himself.

“Next one will be through the heart,” Joel warned. “Get out of here, both of you.”

“Joel, what the fuck’s wrong with you?” Dan demanded. He waved a hand towards Shrini’s wounded foot. “How are we going to explain this?”

“You’re a smart guy. You’ll think of something.”

“You goddamned asshole—”

Joel stopped him with a look. “I meant what I said before. We’re through, Dan. I like Carol, but if I see you again she’s a widow. Now you’ve got ten seconds to get the hell out of here! Ten… nine… eight…”

“Joel, think about what you’re doing!”

“Seven… six…”

“For Chrissakes, we’ve known each other twenty years!”

“Four… Three…”

Dan could tell from the way Joel’s eyes had glazed over that none of that mattered. There was nothing he could say. No way to get through to him.

Putting his arm around Shrini’s shoulder, Dan helped him down the driveway. He knew if he as much as looked back, Joel would shoot him.

Petrenko sat in the back room of a small Italian restaurant on Prince Street. Yuri stood to his right. Across from him sat “Uncle Pete” Stellini. Stellini, close to three hundred pounds and almost as wide as he was tall, was in his sixties with gray hair that had been dyed black and a face as round as the moon. Petrenko had dug around enough to find out that Stellini’s nickname “Uncle” didn’t come from his friendly fatherly appearance, but from when he was younger and doing collections. The story was that when he got his hands on a deadbeat, he’d twist the guy’s arm behind his back and make the guy say “uncle” before he broke it. Three of Stellini’s men now stood behind him, all of them smirking as they stared at Petrenko. They were all out of shape, all carrying at least an extra fifty pounds. Even though Yuri’s gun had been taken before they were brought back to meet Stellini, Petrenko had no doubt that he and Yuri could dispatch all of these Italians if they had to.

“What can I get you?” Stellini offered, a warm smile stretched across his face. “Cappuccino, espresso? I can’t have you sitting there with nothing.”

Stellini ordered one of his men to get Petrenko his drink. “And bring a plate of biscotti,” Stellini said with a wink towards his guest.

“Now, I gotta tell you, I appreciate you coming to talk to us like this,” Stellini said. “You could’ve gone off and done something stupid instead, and Viktor, that wouldn’t have been good for anyone. Now here’s the thing. Forget about what you’ve been seeing on the news. Ray had nothin’ to do with that bank job.”

This was pretty much what Petrenko had expected him to say. “Is that so?” he asked.

“Yeah, it is.”

Stellini maintained a casual, friendly appearance as he looked at Petrenko. Absent-mindedly, he popped a couple of pieces of candy into his mouth. Realizing it, he held a paper bag out to Petrenko. “Chocolate malt balls,” he said. “You want one?”

Petrenko shook his head.

“I dunno, I’m addicted to these things,” Stellini said. “Of all the things I could be eating, it’s gotta be this shit. What are ya gonna do, you know?”