SYDNEY HAD prepared a large breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausage, beans, and mushrooms after Ornazian had woken up just past noon. It was what she called a Full English. He sat at their kitchen table eating ravenously, washing the meal down with juice and coffee.
The dogs, Whitey and Blue, were following Sydney around the kitchen, hoping for scraps. She commanded them to sit, and when they complied, she gave them each half a strip of bacon.
“You’re spoiling them,” said Ornazian.
“I’m spoiling you,” said Sydney. “What time did you get in last night?”
“I don’t know. It was pretty late. That’s why I slept in. When did Gregg and Vic go to their playdate?”
“Well before you got up.”
“I’ve got some running around to do today. Maybe we can all go out tonight. Get some fried chicken and crab cakes at that place on Upshur.”
“The boys would love that,” she said.
He went up to his office on the porch, made a couple of phone calls, then showered, dressed, and loaded his daypack. Down on the first floor, Sydney was picking up toys, balls, and all varieties of plastic weapons. She walked Ornazian to the front door. They kissed. He felt a stirring and he kissed her again, deeply, his hand on the flat of her back.
“Later?” he said.
“Perhaps.”
“You’re smoking hot. You know that, don’t you?”
“You just like me.”
“That I do.”
“Are you done with all the nonsense with Thaddeus?”
“Yes. I’m done.”
“Maybe we can go back to our normal life now.”
“That’s the plan,” he said.
He got into his Ford, parked on Taylor Street, and drove out to Potomac, Maryland, the Tiffany bracelet in his daypack on the seat beside him.
ORNAZIAN SAT at the kitchen table of the Weitzman residence, counting cash. After Ornazian had phoned him, Leonard Weitzman had gone to his bank and withdrawn twenty-five thousand dollars and placed it in a manila envelope. Now he dropped it on the table. Also on the table was the Tiffany box that held the bracelet and the jewelry that had been in the paper bag: a string of pearls, a couple of rings set with precious stones, and a pair of diamond earrings.
“We’re good,” said Ornazian, sliding the envelope into his daypack.
“What about the other items you retrieved?” said Weitzman, referring to the jewelry. He was seated at the table, wearing a pullover with the Congressional Country Club coat of arms, crossed gold clubs over the Capitol Dome, sewn on its breast.
“I’m throwing them in,” said Ornazian. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way.”
“There is one thing,” said Weitzman. “I got a call from a man named Hanrahan. He says you spoke to his son, who apparently attended the party that night. You told the kid you’d go to the headmaster of his school if he didn’t give you some information.”
“That’s right.”
“Hanrahan threatened me with legal action.”
“Is there a question?”
“I asked you not to involve any of the kids or their parents.”
“You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll find a way to deal with Hanrahan,” said Ornazian.
“I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. You did good work for me.”
Ornazian stood. Weitzman offered his hand and Ornazian shook it, accepting the compliment without comment. He looked through the kitchen windows to the deck, where Lisa sat on a cushioned bench. She was staring out into the yard, ashing a cigarette onto her jeans.
HE RETURNED home and went up to the bedroom, where he put ten thousand dollars in an envelope he labeled Thaddeus and another ten in a separate envelope that he left unmarked. Then he took the remaining five thousand, put it in a third envelope, and went downstairs. There he found Sydney, kissed her, and told her he’d be back to take the family out to dinner. The boys had not yet come home.
Out on the street, he ignitioned his Edge.
ORNAZIAN DROVE to the District Line on Eleventh Street and parked his car. Michael was out on the side patio, splitting wood with a maul. A short man came out of a side door and said something to make Michael smile. Michael raised his arms and let the short man combinate a soft left and a right to his solar plexus. Michael took the punches and barely flinched. The two of them laughed and then the man began to gather the wood that Michael had split. Loaded with the fuel for the oven, the short man returned to the kitchen.
Watching Michael in his element, working and happy, Ornazian felt a flush of shame.
He found the envelope in his daypack, got out of his car, and walked toward the patio. Michael frowned as he approached.
“Hey,” said Ornazian. “This is for you.”
He handed Michael the envelope. Without looking at its contents, Michael slipped it under his shirt and apron.
“I guess that’s it, then,” said Michael. He placed the maul in a cage full of unsplit logs and fixed a padlock on its gate. He started to walk away.
“Hold on a second,” said Ornazian.
“What?”
“Look…I never should have gotten you involved in this.”
“You’re comin to it a little late.”
“I know. I was wrong. Accept my apology. Please.”
Ornazian, blown and distraught, held out his hand. Michael hesitated. He was bitter, but it wouldn’t cost him anything to give this man the small kindness he needed now.
Michael shook his hand.
“Thank you,” said Ornazian.
Michael nodded, turned, and went through the side door that led to the kitchen. Ornazian stood there for a moment, then returned to his car.
HE LOWERED his window, rolled back the sunroof, and drove south on Eleventh to Lamont, then he hung a right, took a left on Sherman Avenue, and headed north.
I was wrong.
How had this happened?
It hadn’t been his plan. No kid dreams of becoming corrupt. Ornazian tried to remember what had turned him, and he couldn’t think of one event. A cop once told him that there were grass-eaters and meat-eaters on the force. A grass-eater accepts a free cup of coffee from a diner owner. A meat-eater takes the cup of coffee one day and demands protection money the next. With Ornazian, it was witness tampering. Then rip-and-runs. Home invasions. He’d told himself that he only took off bad people. He’d told himself the money was for his kids. For Sydney. For their future.
Well, he was done. He’d taken that ride and it was over. He didn’t want his sons to know what their father was, and now they wouldn’t know. If he and Sydney had to struggle financially, they’d struggle, but the boys would grow up with everything they needed: food, shelter, love, and, most important, two parents who set an example of how to live one’s life.
He was headed home now. He’d kiss Gregg and Vic and hold them close as soon as he entered the house.
Up the road, a blue Mustang pulled off the curb and cut out in front of Ornazian. At Park Road and Sherman, Ornazian stopped at a red light behind the Mustang. Something about the car was familiar.
Ornazian glanced in his rearview mirror. A black Range Rover was accelerating toward him at high speed. It swerved around his Edge and came to an abrupt stop beside him.
He looked to his left, his heart beating rubbery in his chest. Cesar, Gustav’s second, was in the passenger bucket of the Rover. A cut-down shotgun swung up in his hands.
Ornazian said, “Syd.”