The Long Game (17 page)

I stuffed the receipts back into their file
and flipped to the last folder at the back of the drawer. There was
one sheet of paper inside, and my sore cheeks had to endure another
broad smile when I read what was written across the top in block
print: PASSWORDS. A string of numbers and letters followed. Some
were labeled, “electric, water, gas, bank, bank2, bank3,” and it
occurred to me this sheet of paper might come in very handy if Pop
decided he wanted his five hundred Gs back after all. Near the
bottom, a handful of four- and six-digit codes were written, and I
moved to the safe, intent on trying each one.

I punched in the first code, and the display
flashed. Same for the next two. Damn.

I moved on to the six-digit codes, and the
safe gave an angry chirp when I hit the fifth number. Apparently,
these last few codes were too long to be the right ones, which left
me with one last option. I took a deep breath and punched it in.
Flash.

“Fuck!” I smashed my hand against the keypad,
eliciting another angry chirp.

“Those things can be a real pain in the ass
to break into, huh?”

The scrap of paper fell from my hand as I
swiveled around to see Tommy. I hadn’t heard him come in and
honestly had no idea how long he’d been there watching me struggle
with his safe. Oddly, he looked more amused than angry, which was
far more unnerving.

“Yeah, I’d say you’re getting your money’s
worth.” I tried sounding casual, like there was nothing at all
weird about your girlfriend’s father catching you trying to get
into his wall safe.

“I’m surprised you didn’t try Spencer’s
birthday,” he said, still firmly rooted on his side of the
room.

“I did. That was the first thing I tried when
I was in here the other night.” Why bother lying now? I’d been
caught. It was time to change tact. A Traveler’s greatest asset was
an ability to think on his feet, right?

“Trust me. You could’ve had free reign of
this office for a week, and you probably still wouldn’t have
guessed the combination. Which is funny since it’s a number you’re
pretty familiar with.”

I quirked an eyebrow, but Tommy didn’t seem
to be in the mood to share more.

“So Michael finally sent someone to get his
book back?”

It was strange hearing anyone other than
Maggie calling Pop by his given name. “You did a pretty good job of
hiding for the last twenty years, but it’s a little harder to stay
under the radar when you buy a multimillion dollar house and stay
there.”

“It still took him over a year,” Tommy said
and crossed his thick arms over his chest in his default
intimidating-businessman posture. It reminded me a little of my
brother when he was working the strong, silent angle.

“I guess he had other priorities. It’s just a
book after all.”

Tommy gave a loud, barking laugh. “I think we
both know that’s bullshit, Shay.”

I was so distracted by thoughts of what the
hell could be written in the damn book that Pop would go to all
this trouble that it took me a second to realize he hadn’t used my
fake name.

“You know who I am.” It wasn’t a
question.

“A transfer student from Loyola?”

I’d worried Spencer’s disclosure during
dinner had cast some suspicion my way, but there had to be
something else, too. Not even “Saint Thomas” was that sharp. “Is
that so out of the ordinary?”

“You have Maggie’s eyes,” he said.

I stiffened. “I imagine those eyes have been
haunting you the last twenty years, considering you killed her
husband and left her with two kids to raise all on her own.”

“Does telling yourself that help you sleep at
night after what you’ve done to Spencer?”

My chest burned like I’d swallowed an ice
cube. My mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Leave Spencer out of this,” I said, allowing
far too much emotion to seep into my voice. I needed to focus on
what was important, but that was difficult when Spencer became
involved.

“What’s this? You almost sound like you care
about her. Not that I don’t understand why. She’s really special,
isn’t she? You do realize she’ll never forgive you when she finds
out you used her to get to me. That everything you ever told her
was a lie.”

Not everything. “Do you
think she’ll forgive you?” I spat out once I found my voice again.
“For
your
lies?”
The idea of Spencer’s reaction when she found out I’d betrayed her
had kept me awake at night, but there was nothing I could do. I had
a duty to my clan, to my family, to my da. “What do you think will
happen when she finds out about your old life? The fact that you
murdered a man so you could steal his share of the score and take
off?” I asked, recounting the details Judd filled me in on a few
nights ago.

“That’s not how it happened, but even if it
was, she’ll never find out about it—any of it. You can’t say the
same thing, can you? Once you got what you came for, you were going
to crawl back to that cesspool you call home, and she’d be left
here wondering how she could’ve been stupid enough to trust
you.”

“She’ll find out about you if I tell her,” I
said, my panic making me desperate.

Tommy laughed again. “And why would she ever
believe anything you say? You go ahead and tell her. It’ll just
prove you’re every bit the con artist that you are.”

The stiffness in my shoulders disappeared,
and they slumped like deflating balloons. “You’re going to tell
her.”

“Of course I am. The first chance I get. Now
get the hell out of my house.” Tommy finally budged from his spot
by the door. He stood to the side and opened it so I could do as
instructed.

“At least let me say goodbye, give her some
excuse about why I have to leave.”

“Not a chance. She’ll know exactly why you
left when I tell her why you came.” He tipped his head toward the
door. “Are you leaving, or am I throwing you out? I don’t want to
make a scene in front of all these people, but I will if I have
to.”

***

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” I pounded out the
number of the carriage house’s landline and paced back and forth on
the train platform, waiting for him to answer. “Shit.”

He picked up after two rings. “Yeah?”

“Judd? It’s Shay.”

“You get the book?” he asked without any
further niceties.

I paused, apparently long enough to give away
the answer without saying a word. “Goddamn it!” he roared, and I
was pretty sure I heard something shatter in the background. “I
knew you’d fuck this up. I knew it.”

There was nothing I could say to defend
myself. I had fucked it up. I’d fucked up the job, and more than
that, I’d fucked up things with Spencer. Once Tommy told her who I
was, I’d never get a chance to make it right. Thanks to my
stupidity, I had no book and no girl. I wasn’t even sure I’d have a
home anymore, which meant I’d probably screwed Maggie and Jimmy
Boy, too. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for the family of someone
who’d been dragged to take just as much grief in the end.

But even if there was nothing I could do for
myself, there was still something I could do for Spencer. I felt so
defeated when I left Tommy’s house, I hadn’t given a thought to
Judd’s reaction. But now that I had him on the phone, I knew what
his next moves would be. No matter what Tommy had done to my
father, it wasn’t worth risking Spencer’s life.

“Listen, Judd. Tommy’s on to me—on to us. We
need to get gone and do it fast. He knows where I’m staying, and I
wouldn’t be surprised if the police are already on their way.” It
was a gross exaggeration. I didn’t really believe Tommy would call
the police and he didn’t have any idea where I was staying, but I’d
say whatever it took to keep Judd from going after Tommy or Spencer
himself.

“You really are nothing more than a useless
buffer,” Judd hissed into my ear. “I knew as soon as Pop opened his
mouth to tell you about this job that it would all go to shit in
the end. I knew it.”

“Well, it looks like you were right,” I said,
my jaw tight. “If you clear out now, you can beat me back to the
Village and have everyone set to run me out on a rail as soon as I
get back.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Buffer,” Judd
said. “Everyone’s been set to do that for years. This’ll just give
‘em the excuse.”

The line went dead, and the words “Call
Ended” flashed on my phone’s screen. I shoved it back in my pocket
and stared down the tracks, glad to see the lights of an
approaching train. If I were lucky, Judd would be gone by the time
the train pulled up to the station in Balanova.

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE SHRIEK OF the teakettle startled me as it
filled the tiny carriage house. I turned the burner off and poured
the steaming water into the mug I’d already prepared. I’d been lost
in thought, staring through the window above the sink that looked
out over a line of trees separating my landlord’s property from its
neighbors. I’d never quite understood why country people always
insisted on cutting themselves off from one another when being part
of a community offered so many comforts.

Comforts like Maggie’s tea. I smiled to
myself as I took a sip, but even the connection to her wasn’t
enough to lift my spirits for long. I sighed and carried the mug to
the table. A matchbook from some two-bit motel was still on the
tabletop, apparently abandoned by Judd in his rush to clear out
last night. I swiped it aside and set my mug down, then flopped
onto the chair to continue my wallowing in relative comfort.

I’d fallen in love with Spencer, lost her,
and still managed to screw up a con twenty years in the making.
Things couldn’t possibly have gone worse. My chest felt heavy as I
allowed a moment for that bitter reality to sink in.

This con would’ve meant finally gaining the
status I’d always wanted. It would’ve meant a whole new life for me
and for my family. But now we’d be worse off than we’d been before.
I’d be lucky if I could even go back after Judd got done running
his mouth. But it was the thought of Spencer that really killed me.
By now, Tommy would’ve told her everything, and she’d never forgive
me.

I’d been up most of the night, and it was
Spencer my thoughts kept returning to over and over. I was afraid
of what Pop might do when I got home, of how I’d be treated by the
rest of the clan, but none of it seemed to matter when the image of
Spencer’s face appeared. I sighed heavily and pushed back from the
table again. I took the mug to the sink and poured out most of the
tea.

I glanced at the clock. Ten in the morning.
My bus home didn’t leave until tonight, but I was already packed,
thanks to a sleepless night, and the bustle of 30th Street Station
might be enough to take my mind off the mess I’d gotten myself
into. At least for a while.

I pulled a hooded sweatshirt over my head and
sat down to put my sneakers on. As I laced them, my phone started
to dance across the coffee table. I jogged across the room to
answer it before the buzzing stopped. It was probably Judd calling
to yell at me again now that he was halfway home and clear of any
potential run-in with the law. The phone’s display glowed, and the
buzzing persisted as I fumbled to answer it before he hung up.
Travelers, as a rule, didn’t use cell phones because they were too
easy to trace, but I had to admit they did come in handy for this
job, particularly when you were trying to blend in with a bunch of
college students.

I didn’t recognize the number on the phone’s
display. Only a handful of people had my number, and this call
wasn’t coming from any of them. Jimmy Boy and I had both gotten
burner phones before I left. He was even more opposed to the idea
than I’d been, but he’d promised to keep his phone with him day or
night in case I needed to get a hold of him fast. But this wasn’t
his number.

I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

Tommy’s stony voice came through the speaker.
“I need to speak with you.”

“I’m listening,” I said.

“Not on the phone,” Tommy answered. “Can you
meet me in the city?”

I thought for a long time before answering.
What could Tommy possibly want to meet me for after last night? He
must’ve gotten my number from Spencer, which meant this was about
her. If it was, did I want to hear what he had to say? In the end,
curiosity and the fleeting hope I might be able to salvage the
situation—whether with Spencer or Tommy—got the better of me. “Name
the place.”

***

Tír na nÓg had heavy oak doors that creaked
as I pushed through them. I glanced around and squinted in the dim
light. It was fairly crowded considering it was a bit early for the
lunch rush, but there were still plenty of empty seats. The bar—a
mammoth construction of deeply stained wood and gleaming brass
fixtures—dominated the room. I scanned the patrons scattered around
its edge. Two young women talked animatedly to one another over
their salads. They ignored a second pair of well-dressed
businessmen across the bar who appeared to be long past their first
drinks of the day. The men waved and winked at the girls, who, in
turn, erupted into stifled giggles but otherwise pretended not to
have noticed. An old man, who looked as if he’d been in the same
spot for so long he’d begun to grow roots, nursed a pint of thick,
brown liquid and grumbled occasionally at one of the televisions
mounted above the bar.

“Welcome! Can I help yah?” I turned my
attention to the source of the familiar accent and met the eyes of
a pretty brunette. She beamed at me, her hands splayed over the
swollen belly that strained the fabric of her cableknit sweater.
I’d known Tír na nÓg was an Irish pub but hadn’t expected to be
greeted by an actual Irish lass. I returned her broad smile with
one of my own.