“We got four hundred and fifty K in heroin,” Liam says. “We’ll be fine. I’ll sell it up in Canada, we’ll get new IDs and fly down to Mexico. Right back in fucking business.”
She still doesn’t say anything.
“What are you, mad?” he asks. “You pouting? I said I was sorry.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Well, I am.”
“That’s great.”
Up around Lowell, Liam gets tired.
He pulls off at a Motel 6 and parks the car around the back, where it can’t be seen from the highway.
Pam goes to the desk to check in, gives a fake name and pays in cash. Before heading back to the car, she goes to the pay phone in the lobby.
Jardine takes the call.
Hears a woman’s voice say, “Motel 6, Lowell. Room one-thirty-eight.”
The woman hangs up.
He knows who it is.
Pamela Murphy.
He calls Paulie Moretti and then heads out.
Danny wonders if he’s doing the right thing by going. Leaving Terri at the edge of the void, to die alone, slip away down the road to God knows.
But he knows his mother is right.
Even God is telling him to get out.
For Ian, for sure, but not only for him. I’m the leader now, I have to take care of my people.
I gotta get us all out of here.
Find a place to set our feet.
He leans over, kisses Terri’s cheek.
It feels like she’s already gone, like this isn’t the woman he knew, the woman he loved. It’s weird, he can smell the vanilla on her skin, even though it’s not there; he can feel the fine little black hairs on her forearm that he used to stroke with the back of his hand when they’d lie there after making love, even though her arms are covered now in patches and tubes and needles. He can see her so clearly—not her when she was sick, but her when she was younger. Can feel her body warm asleep in bed beside him, can see her walking on the beach. Can hear her breathing softly, the way she used to when she was deep asleep, not like the mechanical rasping that comes out of the ventilator; can hear her voice—teasing, mocking, loving, tough and tender—although she’s silent now, drowning under a sea of morphine, drifting out and away.
Terri’s gone and he can’t find the woman he knew.
Danny don’t know if it’s real or he imagined it, but he could swear that she opens her eyes for a second and says, “Take care of our son.”
“I will.”
“Promise.”
“I promise,” he says. “I swear.”
Then he straightens up.
So what’s it going to take, he asks himself.
First you gotta get out of here, out of this trap.
Say you can, then what?
Money—it’s going to take a lot of money to go on the run and stay off the radar. Money for you and Ian, money for the rest of them.
Like the money ten keys of dope will bring in.
You have to get out of here and get the heroin.
“Where are you going?” Liam asks. He’s stretched out on the bed, but his hand is on his revolver.
“To take a shower,” Pam says. “Is that okay with you?”
“Leave your clothes here on the bed.”
“Liam—”
“Do it.”
Pam sheds her clothes and goes into the bathroom. Lets the water get hot and then stands under it. The bruises have come out on her body, purple and red; her ribs hurt and she wonders if one of them is cracked. Her neck is tight from when he slapped her and she turns around to let the water hit it.
Then she slides down the shower wall.
Sits there and cries and cries.
She doesn’t hear the motel room door open, but does hear a man’s voice say, “Don’t do it, Murphy. Let the gun drop.”
Pam doesn’t get up.
She hears Liam yelling, “You fucking bitch! You fucking whore! You’ve killed me, Pam! You’ve killed me! I loved you!”
Then she hears the door shut.
Danny goes out into the hallway, where Jimmy is waiting.
“Tell Ned to go by my place,” Danny says, “pick up Ian, get down to my dad’s and wait. Tell Kevin and Sean to head down there, stay in the area but don’t go in. Watch for me on the road.”
“What about me?”
“You’re going to help me get out of here.”
Jimmy goes downstairs; Danny finds the staircase to the roof and goes up. Walking to the edge, he can see all of Dogtown, the old neighborhood, the Gloc, the basketball courts, the house he grew up in, the house he lives in now.
Or used to live in, he thinks.