Vincent loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt. He looked around and decided he was, hands down, the best-dressed customer in the diner that morning.
His booth was flanked on one side by three college guys who took turns exchanging enthusiastic recounts of last night’s revelries. By the looks of their breakfast selections, they were attempting to keep hangovers at bay with equal parts caffeine and grease. Behind Vincent sat an unremarkable elderly couple who spoke Russian when they spoke at all. An oldies radio station piped in “Puff the Magic Dragon.”
Thumbing through the oversized, laminated menu, Vincent contemplated ordering the Belgian waffles but decided not to tempt fate. He couldn’t afford to pay the dry cleaning bill if he spilled syrup on his suit.
“There’s my favorite former fugitive,” Leah said, approaching his table. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the T-shirt and jeans.”
He looked down at the black coat and maroon tie. “I haven’t put this on since Clementine’s funeral. Would’ve been nice to have a happy occasion to wear it to between then and now.”
Leah smiled sympathetically as she removed her stylish, knee-length coat, which was covered with rapidly melting snowflakes. She shuffled into the seat across from him. “I’m sorry I’m going to miss your brother’s funeral.”
“It’s probably just as well,” Vincent replied. “You being there might raise some awkward questions.”
“If Suzanne comes, you mean?” Leah asked. “You’re the one who pulled a gun on her. By the way, what does your mom think of all of this?”
“They told her the same thing they told the cops and everyone else…‘Vincent Cruz, Leah Chedid, and Jeremiah Weis were working under the auspices of a classified, government-sponsored project in the interest of national security.’ Whenever Mom presses me for details, I tell her I’m not allowed to talk about it. Mostly, I think, she’s just relieved it’s over.”
A waitress of indeterminate age refilled Vincent’s coffee and poured Leah some decaf. After they placed their order—a Greek omelet for Vincent and crepes for Leah—Vincent realized he had lost the thread of their conversation.
“So…your message said you’re flying out East this afternoon…” Vincent prompted.
“Yes,” Leah said. “I’m finally going to meet Boden face to face.”
“What? Look, I know Boden saved our asses after the cops arrested us at Suzanne’s place, but we don’t owe him—”
“I’m going because I want to.” Leah emptied a pink packet of artificial sweetener into her cup. “Boden wants to compare notes, but I also think he’s going to offer me a job.”
“With the CIA?”
Leah took a sip of her coffee, grimaced, and reached for another sweetener. “Boden said Project Valhalla could benefit from my expertise in sleep phenomena, especially RBD.”
“And you’re gonna take the job?”
Leah shrugged. “Maybe. Before you came along, my professional development had sort of stalled out. I was bored. Working with Boden and Dr. Baerwald could prove very rewarding, and I have to admit I am eager to learn more details about Project Valhalla.”
Vincent conjured up a mental image of Leah Chedid in a dark suit and black sunglasses, packing heat. He chuckled. “Well, you already have the badge.”
They drank coffee quietly for a few minutes. Then Vincent said, “They tried to get his body…Daniel’s, I mean. Someone, supposedly from the hospital, called Mom to see if she would consider donating his body to science. I wonder if it was Boden or Levi who called.”
“What did your mother say?”
“She said she wanted a real Catholic funeral with a body. But it still took a long time to get the coroner’s report, which is why the funeral is more than a week late.” Vincent sighed. “I can’t remember the exact lingo, but basically the coroner said his brain just shut off at about the same time I woke up with Jerry in a jail cell.”
Leah reached for Vincent’s hands and gave them a squeeze. “If Boden fills me in on anything that pertains to you and Daniel, I’ll be sure to pass it along to you.”
“Unless it’s classified,” Vincent argued.
She smiled slyly. “Far be it from me to break the rules.”
Their breakfast arrived a moment later, and they ate in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Vincent couldn’t decide how he felt about the idea of Leah moving away. On the one hand, he would miss her. On the other, it would be easier to stop thinking about her if she wasn’t around.
He flinched when Leah asked, “Do you think Bella will be at the funeral?”
After swallowing a forkful of hash browns, Vincent replied, “She said she would be.”
“You talked to her?”
“We’ve had a couple of conversations since Danny died. Bella always had a soft spot for him. I suppose everybody did but me.” He took another bite. Leah continued to watch him. Eyes on his plate, Vincent added, “I don’t know what’s going to happen. Neither of us has filed for divorce yet, but I don’t see us getting back together. Maybe we could be friends again though.”
“Well, talking is a good first step,” Leah said.
“It sure beats sulking.” Vincent attempted a smile. “I’m also waiting for a call back from Jerry’s boss. I figure any job is better than sitting around the apartment feeling sorry for myself.”
Leah wiped her mouth with a corner of her napkin and asked, “Are you going to be OK, Vincent?”
So many questions…you would’ve made a good shrink, Leah.
“The funeral will be all right. I already said goodbye to Daniel…and to Clemmy. I’m going to get a new job, and Mom loaned me some money, so I won’t get evicted. Things are looking up.”
“No more dreams?”
“Valenthor is gone. May he rest in peace. The only dreams I’ve had lately are the run-of-the-mill variety. Half the time I don’t even remember them. Which is nice.”
Leah looked at her watch. “I have to get to the airport. I’ll try to touch base soon.” She scooped up her coat and dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table. Before Vincent could protest, she said, “You can get the next one. Take care of yourself.”
“You too. Guess I’ll see you around.”
Over her shoulder, she said, “Maybe in your dreams.”
* * *
Idling at a red light, Vincent glanced down again at the address on the napkin. Not that he needed the reminder. He doubted he would have been able to forget Daniel’s last request if he wanted to.
The light turned green. He gently coaxed Jerry’s boxy, old sedan to a shaky twenty-five miles per hour. He supposed it was only appropriate that he should be driving a bona fide ghetto cruiser. The farther north he went, the more rundown the neighborhoods became. The North Side’s graffiti and barred-up windows reminded him of his childhood, back when Danny invented the game Spot the Crack House. Only later, when plywood replaced kicked-in doors and busted-out windows, would they know who was right.
Vincent shook his head and smiled.
Part of him had hoped the drive to the North Side wouldn’t be necessary. But there had been no surprise guests at the funeral. He must have been glancing around a lot because both his mother and Bella had asked him if he was looking for someone in particular. He hadn’t told them. Not yet.
He slowed down once he reached the street written on the napkin. The house numbers looked back from cookie-cutter apartment complexes that might have seen better days but probably not. When he found the number he was looking for, he pulled into a vacant spot in the crater-filled parking lot. The Buick gave a final belch and went silent. Vincent sighed.
No backing out now. A promise is a promise.
The hallway of the apartment building reeked of cigarette smoke. A steady thump of electronic bass rattled the door of one of the units. Vincent stopped at Apartment 8 and knocked. Several seconds later, the door opened a little. A dark brown eye with long mascara-black lashes peered at him from just above the chain.
“Who’re you?”
“My name is Vincent Cruz. I think maybe you knew my brother, Daniel.”
The eye narrowed. “I don’t know no Daniel Cruz.”
“Not Cruz…Pierce,” Vincent corrected. “We’re half-brothers.”
The door closed, and the chain jangled. Then the woman threw open the door. A cascade of jet-black braids framed a pretty face that regarded him suspiciously. She was short and, judging from the beach-ball bump under her pink tank top, very pregnant.
“You’re Dan’s brother?” she asked. Vincent couldn’t decide if the hint of accent was Hispanic or Hood. She looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on his suit. “You must’ve come from the funeral, huh?”
“Yeah…” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Can I come in? I have something I need to tell you.”
She crossed her arms awkwardly above her bulbous belly and scowled. “Unless you’re here to tell me Dan left a fortune for me and his kid, you got no business here.” She stared him down. “That’s what I thought. That asshole was no good to us alive and no good dead either.”
She started to close the door, but Vincent reached out and held it open. “Chloe, wait. I promised Daniel I’d tell you the truth about what happened to him. Please just listen. Then I’ll go.”
Her shiny red lips remained fixed in a frown, but she let go of the door.
“I know Daniel swore to you he was going to stop selling drugs,” Vincent began, “and he didn’t…at least not as soon as he should have. Daniel got arrested for possession with intent to sell. The cops said they would cut him loose if he went undercover to help them nab his supplier. It all went to hell, and Daniel got shot, hit his head, and went into a coma.”
Vincent took a deep breath. “But Daniel never shot a cop, Chloe. The only reason he was there was because he wanted a clean slate. He wanted to be there for you and the baby.”
Chloe’s expression didn’t change, but after a few seconds, a pair of tears trickled down her cheeks. “Are you for real?”
“He didn’t want his son or daughter to grow up thinking he was a bad guy.”
Chloe sniffed and wiped at her face with the back of her hands. “Dan was a bad guy. But he was a good guy too. God, I miss him so much sometimes.”
She started to cry, and the next thing Vincent knew he was holding her, patting her back. The hard bulge of her belly pushed against his abdomen. Her body shook with each sob.
He wished he knew more about her—how she and Daniel had met, how long they had been together before she got pregnant, what she did for a living—but at the moment, all that mattered was that she was family.
Sniff. “I think a part of me was hoping he’d wake up from the coma and come home like nothing happened. We were going to try to make it work. I don’t know what I’m gonna do now.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Vincent said. “You’re not alone. That’s my niece or nephew in there, you know.”
She pulled away and looked down at her stomach. “Niece,” she said. “I’m having a girl.”