thirty-five

He ended up getting no sleep at all. Time seemed to tick by slowly, but eventually it was time to leave. Took one last look around at his house. He was happy here, and had looked forward to many days of listening to the water slap against the hull. Hearing the seagulls cry as they flew above. He hoped he’d have the chance to come back here, to this place he now regarded as home.

Mallen rolled his window down as he drove, drinking in the foggy night air. Made him feel a little more alive, and he needed that right now. As he drove, there was again that wish that he’d never gotten clean. At the moment, shooting his life away seemed the better alternative. But a voice inside him told him that was the easy way out. That taking the hard road, doing those things that tore at you but in the end made you stronger, was the only road worth taking at all.

_____

He turned down Baker and drove along the lagoon next to the Palace of Fine Arts. Built in 1915 for the Panama-Pacific Exposition, it was still one of the most beautiful places in the city. Couldn’t count the times he’d brought Anna here to watch the swans or fly a kite. Hopefully he’d be able to do that again, one day. He parked in the empty lot next to the old Exploratorium building. There was no point in playing this on the sly, or quietly. He knew he should’ve asked Oberon to accompany him. Oh fuckin’ well. It was a question of Chris’s life. He just couldn’t run the risk of them seeing he had some form of backup. The only precaution he’d taken was to leave the .38 Oberon had given him and take the Glock from his file cabinet, along with the spare clips. He’d also shoved the knife he’d used on Westbrook’s neck back into his left boot. But with all that, his only goal was to get Chris and get away. He had no idea what they’d try once the box of tapes was in their hands; he had to be prepared to shoot his way out. Once out of there, the two tapes he’d kept back would hopefully act as a shield for him and his family. In perpetuity.

The dome loomed above him. As he advanced, he perceived a group of men standing in the shadows close to the lakeside. Seven, maybe eight. Couldn’t be sure. Two of those men detached themselves from the rest of the group and walked toward him. One was Goatee—who Obie had revealed was the policeman named Wong; the other a man he’d never seen before. Older, maybe sixty. Thinning hair. Tall; six feet and some change. Healthy-looking, and his suit fit like a glove. Newspaper nestled casually under his right arm. They must be feeling very sure of their position if this guy was here, because that meant management was in town. That made him nervous. Couldn’t help glancing at the shadows, wondering how many hidden enemies might be there.

“How’s that hand?” Wong asked as they came up. He gestured with his cigarette, a smile on his lips.

“Enough,” the man scolded. “And put that cigarette out.” Wong did as he was told. The man turned his attention back to Mallen. Eyed the box under Mallen’s arm. “Thank you for coming,” he said.

“You bastards have my wife,” Mallen replied.

“And in the biblical sense, too, junkie,” Wong said.

“Ex-junkie. Thought I told you that.”

“He’s lying, of course. Officer Wong here has a desperate sense of humor,” the man said as he shot Wong a deathly look that made Wong step back and put his hands in his pockets.

The man then turned back to Mallen. “Taking her and then making the tape was meant only as a warning, I assure you,” the man said. “We had to be sure you knew just what this encompassed. We didn’t think you did, until it was too late.” He then looked over his shoulder at the group of men and made a gesture much like a man calling for a waiter. A figure moved forward from the midst of the group. It walked stiffly and as it came closer, Mallen saw that it was Chris. She was dressed in a dirty, torn linen sun dress. Had mental hospital flip-flops on her feet. She saw Mallen and tried to run to him, but was intercepted by Wong who grabbed her by her wrist and held her back.

“Mark!” she cried out as she struggled.

“Chris! I’m here. It’ll be all right! I’ll get you home and back to Anna, I swear.” He then said to the man: “No, I guess I didn’t know what this was really about. Not right away. Not until the night you guys iced Teddy in the warehouse.”

The man nodded, scratched at his chin—Mallen wondered if that was a sign. He kept his hand gripped around the gun in his pocket, waiting to hear a shot that could come from anywhere.

“No, we’re not going to kill you,” the man said, like the guy could read minds or something. “What we have here is—what was that cute phrase from the seventies? Ah, yes: a détente.”

“Yeah, détente. What do you mean?”

“Well, it has gotten a bit out of hand, hasn’t it? A lot of people are nervous. I’m sure that some of those tapes are still out there somewhere. You’re obviously that smart and cautious. And it’s a big world, correct? You know, there’s been quite the discussion on how best to handle you and your ever-growing army of friends. Friends such as Detective Kane, or that ‘Gato’ gentleman. There’s also the question of your family, yes?”

Mallen thought of Chris and Anna. Chris, horribly abused, almost killed. His family’s safety. His family’s future. “What’s your offer?” he rasped out.

For an answer, the man handed Mallen the newspaper tucked under his arm. He took it and read it. The San Francisco Chronicle, dated today. He knew that it had probably just hit the stands. Read one of the lead stories. Seemed that Judge Toland Reynolds, mayoral assistant Brett Nolan, and head of security John Westbrook had been killed while flying to Tahoe for the weekend. The small plane had gone down in the mountains during the night. The reason for the crash was still under investigation.

“Take that,” the man said, “as a sign of good faith. We’ll never find those other tapes. We know that. However, you’ll never give them to anybody, either, because you know your family will then die. You’ll die, too, but only after watching them shuffle off this mortal coil in a very bloody manner. Might make a great movie, who knows? And maybe we’d throw in your friends, for good measure. Your in-laws? Every person you’ve ever known or spoken to. So, you see? Stalemate.”

Mallen forced the word from his mouth, the taste bitter: “Right.”

“So,” the man continued, “we go our way, you go yours. You don’t give the remaining tapes to anyone. Ever. We let you and yours go your own way unmolested. Agreed?”

Mallen looked at Chris’s face. At the tears that ran down her cheeks. “What guarantees do I have you won’t change your mind?” he said to the man. “Like a couple months, or years, down the road? When my guard is down, yeah?”

“You don’t. But then, neither do we. You could disappear, your family could go into the witness protection program. Look, neither side is ever happy with détente, correct? That’s what makes it détente.” After a moment, he added, “So? Do we have a deal?”

Mallen stood there and gazed at the man, then at Wong, and then over at the dark group of men whose faces he couldn’t see. And that was the perfect image for him: a group of men whose faces he couldn’t see. As long as he had a family, he’d never be able to take these guys down. Never. The fact they were talking to him like this meant they’d probably really come to a place where they felt they could live with this fly that refused to buzz away. He thought of the women on those tapes, already beyond his help. It was for his family, he told himself.

“Deal.”

The man smiled, and Wong let go of Chris. She came over to Mallen and threw herself into his arms, shaking. He hugged her tightly, as tight as he dared, not wanting to hurt her more than she’d been. Chris looked into his eyes and he looked into hers. In hers, he saw her strength. Saw her pain. It would be a very long time before she was over it, but he knew she would get over it. She was so strong. He stroked her hair, just like he’d done in the old days.

“I’m so sorry, Chris,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

“You look like shit, Marky,” she answered, a tired smile playing over her mouth for a moment.

Wong came over and held out his hands for the box. Mallen gave them over. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again,” Mallen said to him.

“I’ll bring the hammer and nails. Good luck with that hand,” Wong said and then turned and walked back to the group of men.

The man in the suit seemed ready to reach out to shake hands but then thought better of it. “Hopefully we’ll never meet again, Mallen.” He turned and then walked away.

Mallen watched them go, feeling like he was watching a part of himself go too. Even though both sides had called a truce, he’d failed. No one went down, and no one was going to pay for all the bodies he’d seen in the last week. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to look at himself in the mirror tomorrow morning. Maybe not ever. He couldn’t ever remember wanting to shoot some horse so badly in his life. Just fly away from the whole shitty world.

Then he felt Chris’s hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Mark. I want to see our daughter.”