The man himself was out. Eyes closed and moving behind his lids. A tray picked clean of food sat at his bedside. At least his appetite was good.
A wave of grief and self-loathing washed over me.
All of this because I liked the sound of her laughter.
On the way out I told Dad I was sorry in my head. Didn’t want to say it aloud and wake him. He needed his rest.
The front had passed on, leaving behind puddles and a clarity to the sky. The sun perched on the hills to the west, then fell beneath them as I pulled onto the Loop.
Dad’s house was cool and quiet with a faint smell of gas lingering in the rooms. Whoever had come in and out—the fire department, the cops, other officials—they’d left the windows open, so the scent wasn’t too bad, but it still turned my stomach.
For a few minutes I stood in the kitchen looking at the stove. Kel was right, we’d had it since Christ was a kid. I turned on a burner and it lit. Turned it off.
On again.
Off.
On.
They all lit the first time.
The floor had boot prints all over it. Scuffs, dirt, sand. I inspected all of them, walking slowly down the rear hallway to the back entry. The door wasn’t locked. Hadn’t been locked the night before either.
I locked it now and did the same to the front door after closing all the windows. The house had a sullen look to it with no lights on, no TV. It was only for a little while, until Dad came home, but it could’ve been permanent. Instead of the paramedics picking us off the lawn, they could’ve been rolling us out in body bags. Just like they had David.
Back at my place I didn’t bother using the burner phone; I called HerringBone with my own cell.
“HerringBone.”
“Speranza.”
“Hold on.”
The same pause, then the same gruff voice. I could almost smell cigar smoke. “Who’s this?”
“Andy Drake, you piece of shit. I get it, you don’t want me messing with your business, I understand that, but your issues are with me, not my dad. You want to kill me? Do it right. Come in and put one behind my ear—don’t sneak around gassing innocent people while they sleep. Got me?” I was shaking, but my voice remained steady through the entire rant. Over my heaving breaths, the sound of a lighter flicking came through the phone.
“You done?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” The line went dead.
I jerked the cell from my ear and looked at it, wound up to throw it. Set it down.
Paced.
A few minutes later my phone rang, and I didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Andy. We gotta have a quick chat,” the Visitor said.
27
“Is this connection okay? Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” I said, turning to look out at the darkening neighborhood, wondering if he were watching me right now.
“Okay, that’s good, because I want you to fully understand what I’m going to say about calling that number you must’ve memorized. I’ll even put it in my own vernacular just to be clear—shit can’t go on. Got me?”
“Was it you?”
“What, the gas thing? No. Sorry. Not my style.”
“Bullshit.”
“If you say so.”
“Then who was it? Crane?”
“Ah, I see you’re still barking up that tree. No, I’m afraid it wasn’t your esteemed neighbor, since he was out of town last night until early this morning. A few of my associates have dealings with him. Actually part of the reason I’m still in the vicinity—that and curiosity killed the cat. Sorry to burst your little gumshoe bubble.”
I settled into a chair. “My dad almost died.”
“I’m aware, but I’m telling you I wasn’t involved. Again, it would’ve gone a different way. Besides, you’ve been nudging around things that don’t necessarily involve my interests. Our Venn diagrams aren’t touching, so to speak. At least not enough to concern me. But what does concern me is you calling my employer. How do I put this . . . do not do it again.”
There was a tangible menace in his voice I hadn’t heard before. I could almost feel the cold press of a gun barrel on the back of my head.
When I didn’t say anything, the Visitor continued. “Anyhoo, working on anything new?”
“Wh . . . what?”
“Anything new? Writing-wise. Got a novel going? I’m always jonesing for a good thrill.”
“I, I mean, yeah. I just finished a new book.”
“Ah, very good. When could I expect to see it in my local bookstore?”