TWENTY-SIX

Kelson drove downtown toward his office. He eyed the rearview mirror and saw only a parade of drivers minding their business – bored, talking on their phones, tapping their steering wheels to radio music. He gazed up through the windshield at the May sky, where clouds scudded on a stiff spring wind. ‘Family is everything,’ he said. He eyed the mirror again, then shifted lanes, cutting close to a silver SUV, which honked at him. ‘Or is that health?’

By the time he pulled into the parking garage, his mind – and his monologue – had wandered from the Cranes to Sue Ellen and back. He walked out to the sidewalk, just missing the garage attendant, who scurried away when he saw him coming, went into Ricky’s Red Hots, and ordered a hotdog and fries, then carried his lunch into his building.

When the elevator reached his floor, the computer training company classes were in session and the corridor was empty. He put his key in his door, but the lock tumbler had already turned. ‘This happens too often,’ he said. He set his bag of food on the floor, pulled his KelTec from his belt, and eased the door open.

Stevie Phillips sat in Kelson’s chair behind the desk. Greg Cushman sat in one of the client chairs. They looked pleased with themselves.

Kelson used a foot to nudge his bag inside, stepped in after it, and closed the door. He pointed his pistol at Cushman’s chest and said, ‘Pipsqueak,’ then at Phillips’s head, ‘Stretch,’ and then back at Cushman.

Cushman smiled up at him. ‘See, we don’t need to knock down doors – in motel rooms or offices. Stevie’s good with a pick.’

Phillips said, ‘My daddy taught me.’

Cushman said, ‘In the time it takes you to order a hotdog, Stevie’s inside and reading your mail.’

‘I’m that good,’ Phillips said.

Cushman said, ‘It’s why the Cranes hired him.’

Kelson asked him, ‘Why’d they hire you?’

‘I’ve got a pleasant smile?’

‘Tell that pleasant smile to pick your ass up off my chair and carry you out of here,’ Kelson said.

Phillips also tried a smile. ‘We could work together.’

Cushman said, ‘We have a shared interest.’

‘What would that be?’ Kelson said.

‘Your continued well-being,’ Cushman said. ‘The Cranes could knock you down. They could make you go away. But you’re an ex-cop, right? You’ve been in the paper and on the news. The Cranes like to keep things quiet, but if you don’t cooperate, they’re willing to make noise.’

Phillips said, ‘We’ve got nothing against you. Why should you get hurt?’

Kelson laughed at that. ‘You guys are a kick. Breaking into my office. Talking like movie toughs. But here we are. Me with a gun. And you – well, you looking like a couple of jagoffs who don’t know better than to talk tough to a man pointing a gun at you.’

Phillips reached into his lap and drew Kelson’s Springfield pistol up so it pointed at him. ‘Yeah, here we are.’

Kelson said, ‘What good is a locked door if everyone just walks through it? Why stash a gun if everyone just grabs it?’

‘Life’s mysteries,’ Cushman said.

‘What’s your deal?’ Kelson said. ‘Do you do regular security for the Cranes? Or do they hire you special to twist arms and do break-ins?’

‘Here’s the thing,’ Cushman said. ‘The Cranes are smart. Smarter than anyone you ever met. Stevie and me, we’re dumb next to them, but we’re still smarter than you because some of it rubs off. So I’ll say this again. No one needs to get hurt. We can do this together. Like friends. You put away your gun. Stevie puts away your other gun. Maybe you offer us some french fries – maybe not. But we work this out together.’

Kelson stepped toward him, aiming his pistol at the short man’s chest. ‘A couple years ago, I got shot in the head. Brain damage – too much for the cops to keep me on the force. I function fine now. I work. I eat. I get from one day to the next. But I have problems with impulse control. My therapist says I’m getting better, but sometimes it seems I’m getting worse. I say a lot that I shouldn’t. And sometimes’ – he stood close to Cushman now – ‘I do things. I take unnecessary risks. I show bad judgment.’

Cushman smiled up at him, but said to his partner, ‘Put down the gun, Stevie.’

Phillips laid the Springfield on Kelson’s desk – in reach, but out of his hand.

‘A gesture of good will,’ Cushman said.

‘Thank you. Now get the hell out of my office,’ Kelson said.

‘Not till we talk,’ Cushman said.

‘We just talked – at Susan Centlivre’s house.’

She talked. You talked. We listened.’

Phillips said, ‘Our words matter more than hers.’ He touched the Springfield barrel, spinning the pistol on the desktop. When it stopped, the barrel pointed at Kelson. ‘Or yours.’

Kelson said, ‘Is that because when you talk, your words are Harold and Sylvia Crane’s?’

‘Yeah, you’re quick,’ Phillips said. ‘You lying about the brain damage?’

‘I always tell the truth,’ Kelson said.

‘Susan Centlivre is a nice lady,’ Cushman said. ‘Sylvia isn’t. And Mr Crane? You don’t even want to know.’

‘We’ve got ideas about him,’ Phillips said.

‘Mr Kelson doesn’t want to hear our ideas,’ Cushman said.

‘Sure I do,’ Kelson said.

Cushman smiled at him. ‘I can tell you’re quite the conversationalist. Well, d’you want to be loved or feared?’

‘Loved by family and friends,’ Kelson said, as if the question was a riddle. ‘Feared by enemies – and you.’

‘Exactly. But with Mr Crane it’s all fear, and always has been.’ Cushman’s smile widened.

Phillips told Kelson, ‘Our job is to give that fear to you. Quietly if we can. Keeping you out of the news if possible.’

‘Got it,’ Kelson said. ‘Did you beat up Genevieve Bower? Did you give her the black eye?’

‘Let’s say we did,’ Cushman said. ‘Let’s say Susan’s story about the bar fight’s a lie we told her because she’s a nice lady. If you think about what we could do, a little beating doesn’t seem so bad. It might be a gentle message.’

‘Did you go to her motel room last night to hurt her?’ Kelson asked.

‘Let’s say we did that too.’ Cushman smiled. ‘Let’s say she ignored the gentle message. Let’s say the beating didn’t make a deep enough impression. Does that help you understand why we’re here?’

‘It does, thanks,’ Kelson said. Then he turned the KelTec in his hand and smacked the pistol grip into Cushman’s cheek. The metal cracked against bone, and a bright line of blood rose from the split skin. The silence that came from his mouth was like the silence of a baby who, suddenly injured, revs up to scream.

Phillips snatched the Springfield off the desk and aimed at Kelson. Kelson turned the KelTec and aimed at him.

Cushman’s voice squeaked. ‘You cocksucker.’ Blood streaked his face.

‘We came to talk,’ Phillips said. ‘To ask for your cooperation. Why’d you need to turn it into this?’

‘Impulse control,’ Kelson said. ‘Anger management. I don’t like anyone bragging about beating up people who can’t defend themselves.’

‘Now we’ve got a problem.’ Phillips had his finger on the trigger.

‘What was it before?’

‘It was an opportunity, maybe. You could’ve made money. Mr Crane needs men like you. But now you went and did this to Greg, who never did anything but smile at you with his winning smile.’

‘Everyone keeps offering me money. I like money. I wish I could take it.’

‘Yeah, it’s too bad.’

‘So what happens now? You shoot me, and I shoot you, and Pipsqueak crawls back to Harold Crane?’

Phillips stared at him, then eased his finger from the trigger and set the gun on the desk. ‘No, now you take us to Genevieve Bower. Mr Crane has bigger guns than these. He’ll have us come after you on his own schedule if and when he’s ready for that kind of fight. You can think about that. And think about this – Mr Crane is fine hurting innocent bystanders. To tell the truth, I think he likes it. Hurting them makes a point. So when you’re with the people you want to love you – your friends, your family …’ He gestured at the picture of Sue Ellen on the wall. ‘Is that your kid?’

Kelson flipped his pistol in his hand again and smacked the grip against the other side of Cushman’s face.

Cushman screeched. Phillips snatched the gun from the desk and said, ‘What the hell was that one for?’

‘Never threaten my family. If Sue Ellen ever—’

Phillips shook his head in disbelief. ‘Her name’s Sue Ellen?’

Kelson threatened to hit Cushman again.

Cushman cowered and yelled at Phillips, ‘Shoot him.’

Kelson swung around and aimed at Phillips, and they were back where they started.

Phillips said, ‘You’re a fucking idiot.’

Kelson said, ‘Heard it before.’

Then a hand knocked on the outside of the office door.

‘Disturbed the neighbors,’ Kelson said.

Phillips aimed at Kelson’s chest. ‘Ignore it.’

The hand knocked again.

Phillips said, ‘Shh.’

A voice spoke through the door. ‘Kelson? It’s Dan Peters.’

‘Ah,’ Kelson said. ‘The cops.’