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HE SENSED THE WEIGHT of Asbjorn’s gaze on his shoulders from the faraway window. Being observed by Asbjorn felt different than those times when he could have sworn Frank Pettel had him in his sights. He gathered the feeling around himself like a warm cocoon of protection and enjoyed it for as long as it lasted.
He knew to cross the street and make a left, traversing a number of cross-streets in a neighborhood full of taller apartment buildings and single-family houses. Then he’d make a right turn onto Walnut Street, go down a block, then make a left onto Bass Street.
The neighborhood had both street lighting and large trees that provided shade and concealment, which is why both Sean and his adversary agreed to it as their meeting place. Older, colonial houses sat on interconnected properties where azaleas and rhododendrons would bloom come spring and where lawn care was taken seriously.
None of that mattered now. The snow that covered the pristine lawns was now compacted and grainy with an icy crust that glistened in the eerie gleam of the streetlights.
Sean refrained from checking his watch. Either the cops were in place, or they weren’t. It didn’t matter. He would meet Frank Pettel and look him in the eyes, see what made him tick. He would ask him why he did what he did. He’d ask him why he chose to be called Joe Green. He would determine what manner of a man made so many others suffer as Sean had suffered.
He’d get close and encourage Frank Pettel to put his strong arm around his shoulders.
He’d put his right hand on top of Frank Pettel’s hand and turn under his arm.
Twist his wrist.
Break his elbow and hear him scream as Sean had screamed.
Burrows-sensei had said the elbow joint is the most difficult one to fix.
Unrepairable.
Irreplaceable.
If the police weren’t there, Sean would employ those interesting, effective choke-out techniques he’d been practicing. The ones Nell said could be lethal.
He hoped the police would show up just a few minutes too late. Sean leaned into the bitter, frigid wind as the cadence of his footsteps increased in his effort to get there first. Revenge was a dish best served cold.
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ASBJORN CONTINUED TO pace, his eyes glancing at the diving watch he synchronized with Mark’s chronometer.
“He should be there just about – now.” He looked at Colleen. The officer looked like a delinquent girl-child, pretending at play with her concealed gun and her police-issue radio. She sat in silence, a focused frown on her freckled face. “Well?” he insisted.
“He got there two minutes early. Settle down, will ya? What’s making ya so nervous? It’s not like he’s yer girlfriend or something!”
Asbjorn sprung, crossing the space between the window and the small policewoman. His large hands grabbed her diminutive arms as he moved her out of the chair and lifted her face to his eye level. His glacial stare, now directed at the woman, used to shake up the most obstreperous recruits. “It just so happens I’m his partner, sister. And if you don’t wanna pull desk duty, you better not make any more derogatory remarks about our relationship.”
“Put me down.” She met his stare as an equal. Then she kicked him in the shin.
He felt as though a bucket of cold water was dumped over his shoulders. Coming to his senses, he lowered her back to her chair, careful not to drop her out of spite. “Sorry, officer.”
She pointed her nose at him, beady eyes piercing in the dim light of the living room. “Nobody told me. Sorry. Just... stop pacing, Mr. Lund.”
Asbjorn strode to the kitchen and opened the liquor cabinet. The bottles of whiskey and gin and promises of sweet relief. He closed the cabinet door.
He had to maintain his edge.
Whatever it takes.
He sat next to Officer Colleen. His fingers began to twitch.
The sound of drumming fingers soon permeated the small room.
“Hey... go pace if you want. It sure beats the drumming,” Colleen said, her eyes defocused as she tweaked the volume on her earbud.
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SEAN STOPPED ON THE corner of Walnut and Bass and peered down the hill. He was standing under a streetlight. There was a promising pool of darkness farther down the street, right beneath an old sycamore tree.
Nothing moved.
He waited. He tried not to look at parked cars to see if they were occupied. He forced his gaze away from the thick rhododendron bush down the street and to his right. No way would the cops hide in the bushes – too cliché.
A movement in the dark caught his eye.
“Sean?”
Sean couldn’t quite see him. Just a shadow in the dark. He wasn’t sure of his voice, either, and he needed a positive ID. “Joe Green?” he asked in a midtone, making his voice carry.
“Come down here.”
“No way. You come up here.”
“You’re standing under the light, Sean.”
“And you’re in the dark.”
Stalemate.
“How about we meet at the edge of the shadow?” Sean suggested. He moved down the hill a little bit, just halfway down somebody’s yard.
A van rumbled up the street and Frank Pettel jumped back into the concealing darkness.
Sean took a deep breath. He needed to lure him out and ID him and break his elbow. In that order. “Joe? You still there?”
Few moments of silence passed. “Yeah.”
“Well, come out. We have to talk.” Sean saw the moving shadow again, its shade darker than the salt-stained asphalt of the street.
“You come down here too.”
Sean centered himself, and in small, careful steps, he proceeded down the middle of the street, staying away from the icy sidewalk and its uneven footing. He stopped at the interface of light and shadow. The crooked limbs of the trees were outlined on the street surface in jagged lines and, as his eyesight adjusted to the dim light, he discerned a man-shaped pool of darkness near the tree trunk. “I’m not coming any closer. You’re the one who wanted to apologize.”
The shadow moved closer still. “I just wanna be sure we’re alone, Sean.”
“We’re alone.”
“Didya see that van?”
“What van?”
“A dark van passed us twice already.”
Sean saw only one dark van. He shrugged. “They’re probably looking for somebody’s house.”
“Then there was another car that passed by here.”
“Oh yeah? What kind?”
“Toyota sedan.”
“A pretty normal car.”
“With two guys in it?”
Sean shrugged, exasperated. “Look, if you don’t feel good about this, you can go home and I can go home and we don’t have to be freezing our asses out here.” The man’s build was just about right. There was no bandanna and no earring, but his eyes were the right distance apart and he recognized Sean. Moreover, his voice was eerily familiar. This was him, all right. Sean took off his baseball cap.
“So, are we talking, or not?” The shadow that was both Joe Green and Frank Pettel moved closer, and closer, and closer.
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COLLEEN SNAPPED HER fingers at Asbjorn, signaling him to stop pacing. “He’s got positive ID.”
Asbjorn nodded, his jaw clenched. Trying to remain still, he assumed a parade rest position.
“Damn.” Colleen spat.
“What?” Asbjorn moved closer and dropped to one knee as though he were pleading for more information.
“Your partner’s getting closer to the suspect than desirable.”
Asbjorn straightened and turned, ready to head for his winter boots and jacket.
“Before you get there it’ll be over one way or another. Just sit tight and trust ’em. They’re good. I don’t even know how they fit all those cops in such a small residential area.”
Asbjorn exhaled. He met the little woman’s piercing eyes. “Were you part of that first action tonight?” he asked.
“You know about that?”
“No – just that something was going down somewhere. Were you there?”
“Yeah.”
“Was it good?”
“You bet. A clean bust too.”
“Okay.” Asbjorn settled into the chair next to Colleen, propping his elbows on his knees and resting his forehead in his hands. He focused on his breathing. Something was going on just a few blocks from where he was sitting right now, but his place was behind the lines. He was support this time around.
Whatever it takes, sunshine.
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C’MON. JUST A BIT MORE.
Sean ached for action. Frank Pettel was ten feet away – too far to perform his desired technique. Yet Sean couldn’t attack first. It had to be self-defense one way or another. He jutted his hip, standing in a languid contrapposto. His gloved hand ran through his mess of frozen hair as he looked at his attacker – no, his uke – from underneath his eyelashes.
He saw the man’s gaze scan over him, moving a bit closer.
Yes! Just like that.
Sean turned some thirty degrees away from his uke, presenting a less frontal, less threatening posture. His body language invited Frank Pettel in. He didn’t need him to wrap his arms around his shoulder. Even if he just reached his hand toward him, that would do. A torn, dislocated wrist was better than nothing at all.
Frank Pettel inched closer, almost within arm’s reach, his hand toward Sean and his almost downcast eyes.
A van passed them, slowly crawling up the hill.
“It’s the same van! You set me up!” The taller man flinched away in alarm.
“Joe? We’re just two guys, hanging out. It’s no big deal.”
Sean was about to take a step toward his intended victim when a short, blond, white-clad bullet darted from behind the large rhododendron bush by the side of the building, heading for Frank Pettel in a straight line.
“No!” The quarry’s narrow-set eyes widened in alarm as he spun around to flee between Sean and the intervening third party.
Sean drew the pepper spray out of his pocket, flicked its safety guard down, aimed, and sprayed.
The perp stumbled with hands to his face just as Mark flew through the air in a flying tackle. Mark’s arms wrapped around Frank Pettel’s knees, but before they even had a chance to get a good fight going, two police cruisers screeched to the curb. One angled into the driveway where the two bodies rolled around on an abrasive mixture of gravel and icy snow.
“Stop! You’re under arrest!” Mark’s partner, sergeant Hastings, launched out of the unmarked car.
He burst forth with unexpected speed, his knees landing on Frank Pettel’s back with a thud. His gun was out, slide pulled back in mid-draw, the cold muzzle pressed to the bottom of Frank Pettel’s skull as he forced his face into the gravel and the snow. “Just give me one excuse, punk. Just one excuse!”
Hastings’s index finger was on the trigger, and the air was so tense Sean could barely breathe. He steeled himself for the crack of a gunshot.
“Hey, Hastings. I got ’im cuffed. It’s okay.” Mark’s voice was calm and melodious, his hand carefully not touching his superior. “Hastings, man. He ain’t worth it.”
A moment passed, stretching forever.
Sean saw Hastings fight for breath, his tense, bunched muscles slacking in forced relaxation. His ragged breathing was becoming almost regular.
Breathing exercises. He’s doing breathing exercises.
Ever so slowly, with great deliberation, Hastings slid his gloved finger slid from within the trigger guard and stood up. He pointed the gun at an empty spot on the ground as he pushed the lock, releasing the still-loaded magazine into his waiting hand. He uncocked the hammer and moved the slide back again, watching the round in the chamber eject. The brass cartridge embedded itself in the snow by his feet. Hastings bent over, picked it up, and slipped it into his pocket along with the magazine. He holstered his weapon. “He’s all yours.” Then he took a few tense steps to his unmarked Dodge sedan and slid behind the wheel.
Time resumed its flow with Hastings’s departure, and Sean looked around, aware of his panting breath and shaking hands, aware of the way the cops around him had settled into a careful, prescribed routine. He saw Mark and a uniform lift Frank Pettel off the ground, hands cuffed behind his back, and prop him against the cruiser, patting him down for weapons. The uniform removed a gun from behind his back, unloaded it much like Hastings had unloaded his, and placed it in an evidence bag.
Sean heard the Miranda warnings being recited by rote, not really absorbing the impact of the words. A dozen or so men and women, both in and out of uniform, watched Mark stuff the suspect into the backseat of the cruiser before they walked by him, saying their good-byes and congratulations by a punch to the arm or a clasp on the shoulder.
No words were exchanged.
The cruisers pulled out. Their flashing red and blue lights no longer reflected off the frozen snow in a dizzying array of colors – the street fell dark and silent. The police failed to answer the questions of those residents who noticed the intense, almost silent struggle in their front yards and came out to see.
“It’ll be on the news, sir. I’m not free to comment.”
“Sorry, ma’am. Nothing special. Routine arrest.”
Sean felt a sudden wave of nausea wash over him, and his knees threatened to buckle. He focused on his one point and breathed.
Just adrenaline. Adrenaline’s wearing off. Nothing new under the sun. He looked at the cops around him, mimicking their body language.
Nothing special. Routine arrest.
“What?” He realized a brown-skinned woman in uniform was trying to get his attention.
“I said, Mr. Gallaway, do you need a ride home?”
“Yeah.... Yes, please. That would be welcome.” He entered her cruiser. “One of your officers is at my home already, plus I need to return your body armor.” He noticed he said “my home” and felt warmth fill his heart.
His home. Asbjorn.
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ASBJORN HEARD A CAR park at the fire hydrant in front of the house. The door opened, and two people made their way up the stairs. There was no knock on the door and, realizing that, he released the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He watched Sean enter and kick off his winter boots like he had done so many times in the past, inviting the woman in uniform inside.
“Hi, Bjorn,” Sean said, sounding the way he sounded every time he came through the door. He slithered out of his too-tight jacket, revealing the undamaged Kevlar vest underneath.
Asbjorn crossed the space between them in a flash. “Hey.” He embraced him, burying his in the cold mass of Sean’s messy hair. “Let’s get you out of this getup. Where’s Mark?”
“He had to go to the station – the paperwork and interrogation will take some time,” Colleen said. She nodded hello to the other woman. “Came to pick me up, Martha?”
“Sure enough. Plus to drop off this sweet young man right back home where he belongs. What were you thinking, going after that guy like that? You jus’ gave the rest of us a heart attack!”
“He was about to run for it. He spotted that van cruising around the block.”
Colleen got that spaced-out look again, and then she grinned. “Apparently you got him good with that pepper spray. He’s bellyaching, requesting medical attention.”
The other woman cleared her throat. “What pepper spray?”
Sean looked at Colleen, confusion firmly written on his face. “Yeah. What pepper spray?”
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IT WAS TWO O’CLOCK in the morning, and Sean was thoroughly sick and tired of listening to Asbjorn go on about how terrible it was to sit behind and wait, and how terribly proud he was of Sean to do the brave thing and play bait, and how relieved he was that it was all over now and his sunshine was finally safe.
“Bjorn. I wanna go to sleep, Bjorn.” Sean’s adrenaline wore off two hours ago, and even though he could have summoned another burst, he didn’t want to. He wanted a soft bed with soft sheets and a down comforter and Asbjorn pressed against him for body heat. Which was exactly what he got.
They were woken up by a doorbell ringing at eight o’clock in the morning.
“What the fuck?” Asbjorn rolled out of bed, grabbed his robe and slippers, and went to look out the window.
Mark stood on the front steps.
Asbjorn walked downstairs to let him in. “What the fuck, Mark? Can’t you tell how early it is?”
“What the fuck, Asbjorn? Can’t you tell how late it is? I haven’t been to bed yet, you stupid fuck, and if you want any of these fucking donuts, you’ll let me upstairs and put up some coffee.”
“I can’t believe you guys do this for a living. The adrenaline was so high I thought I was gonna pass out,” Sean said later as he sipped his coffee with soy milk, enjoying a too-sweet donut in the company of his good friends.
“Well... the job has its perks. You don’t get many parking tickets.”
They laughed.
“Hey, Sean. I wanted to tell you how well you did last night. The guy was about to back out.”
Sean flushed with embarrassment. “Ah... it was nothing. It was you who tackled him.”
“Bullshit. Do you realize how many people were attacked before you? You’re the first one to take him down. It’s like you were in that basement room on purpose, you know. Like a karmic thing – the universe knew it was time for the bastard to be nailed, and you were the one with the guts to do it.”
“You make the other victims sound like a bunch of little girls, Mark,” Asbjorn growled.
“Nope. Men and women both, of all ages. It wouldn’t have happened without you. And the best thing is, those other vics are coming out of the woodwork, pressing charges of their own. With all those recordings you made, and fingerprints, we’ve got enough evidence to lock him up and throw away the key.” Mark put his half-eaten donut down. “I better get going. If I don’t sleep, I won’t be fit to drive.”
“Would you like to crash here?” Sean asked, concerned.
“Nope. Thanks, though.” He stood and reached his hand to Sean.
Sean shook it.
“No, dumbass. I want my pepper spray back.”
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THEY SHOWERED, AND to save time, they showered together. That led to touching, which in turn led to gasping moans until the water ran cold. Asbjorn exited the bathtub and hoisted Sean over his shoulder, carrying his indignant sunshine to the bedroom. The sheets got wet, but they didn’t care amid the kisses.
“I never want to lose you, Sean.”
“I felt so alone without you.”
“No help for it.”
“No.”
“If you were a girl, Asbjorn, I’d ask you to marry me.”
Asbjorn searched his eyes. “We are in Massachusetts Two guys getting married is a possibility here, you know.”
“Really?” Sean’s eyebrows rose. “I never paid attention to these things until....”
“Until I met you,” Asbjorn whispered. The unvoiced proposal hung in the air between them. “Although I can be a bit of an asshole at times. I’m not sure you want me on a permanent basis.”
Sean met his eyes and saw fear and regret. “You may be an asshole here and there, but you’re my asshole.” He gave him a flippant smile. “Plus you can cook.”
Asbjorn let out a long, inarticulate moan.
“Something to consider,” Sean continued, weighing his words with care. “Although after two weeks of traveling together, you’ll probably be ready to strangle me in my sleep.”
Asbjorn laughed, and the tension between them dissipated.
Two hours later they showered again and changed the sheets. There was still time to wash and dry a load before they had to leave for their evening flight. Sean went down to the dark basement to put up the spent linens, and as he stepped through the door, his right hand slid inside his pocket, fishing around for a sleek black canister of pepper spray.
It was gone.
He leaned against the wall and looked around, surveying the dimly lit area. He’d do the laundry without his pepper spray. Frank Pettel was in custody. He no longer needed it.