Beautiful Addictions (26 page)

The next evening’s news would report that Evan Randal, thirty-eight, was found dead
in his home by his housekeeping service. There were no signs of forced entry and no
witnesses. The police had no suspects.

18. Terminator

The boundary between night and day on a celestial body.

Barry stood near the corner of Chartres Street and Ursulines, awaiting the arrival
of his former colleague. He leaned against the building, cupping his hand so that
his cigarette would light in the night breeze. Though he’d never left the South, he
hadn’t grown jaded or indifferent to its charms. He enjoyed the damp city air and
the jarring horns of the passing river barges.

When not working for Dean Moloney, he loved to pass the time fishing. There was a
peace to being in the space between water and sky. He felt small and insignificant
there. It was a calm feeling, void of responsibility. His daughter always worried
when he went out alone. She would tell him to wear his life jacket and don’t drink
too much beer and always bring his cell phone. He would laugh at their role reversal
and ask her how a cell phone could prevent him from drowning.

Sometimes Barry imagined sinking into the warm brackish water and feeling it fill
his lungs. He thought it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go. On the other hand, it was
also easy to imagine himself living out his last days drowned in women and whiskey
from the Quarter.

He was an old man now. His graying hair and leathered face left nothing up for debate.
His waist size and his bank account had expanded over the years, but not much else.
What his physical age hadn’t taken from him, his time in the business had.

Moloney shared secrets with Barry. He confided in him and trusted him. While Barry
respected and had pledged his life to this man, he knew the sentiment was not returned.
Most days, he felt like an overdressed errand boy. This business was messy and dangerous.
Anytime Moloney didn’t want to get his hands dirty, it became Barry’s job. He’d been
taking orders for thirty years and was resigned to do so for the rest of his life.

Barry was uneasy about this meeting. His insides were churning as he thought about
anyone catching him here. He was taking a huge risk meeting with Tristan, but he owed
it to him. The boy had twice saved his ass during deals gone sour. It was the least
he could do.

In all his years, he’d never met anyone like Tristan. The kid was smart—not just street
smart but genuinely gifted. He had a cool head and a sharp eye. It hadn’t surprised
Barry in the least when he’d quickly climbed through the ranks. Of course, it didn’t
hurt that he was banging Moloney’s daughter. The news of Tristan’s departure from
the organization had shocked Barry; he had figured him for a lifer.

As if on cue, Tristan rounded the corner, his appearance taking Barry by surprise.
He was much larger now, a man in every way, and his tattoos had multiplied over the
years. His trademark mess of inky black hair had been shaved down. Barry didn’t understand
why kids these days wanted to look like damned hooligans. He was more of a tailored
suit and silk tie kind of man.

“Barry, good to see you,” Tristan said, offering him a one-armed hug.

“You too,” he replied, stomping out his cigarette. “Shall we?”

Tristan nodded and followed him inside. The hostess, recognizing the regular, sat
them in the back corner and immediately returned with two cold beers.

“Wow. Great service,” Tristan pointed out.

“You have no idea,” Barry answered.

They both laughed and fell into an easy conversation summarizing the last couple years.
When this was done, Barry found himself at the bottom of his beer and the end of his
patience.

“Down to business, then.”

“Well, the short version is that Moloney wants my girl dead and I need to know why.”

“I know he has a hit out on some cop’s kid, but nothing else. You remember Chief Delaune
from Gretna, right? Ah, you would have been a youngster then. Back in the day, he
couldn’t get anything on Moloney himself, so he ended up arresting a group of us for
stacked misdemeanors. Delaune shut down business for nearly six months.”

Tristan nodded silently, wanting to extract as much information as possible.

“After the conviction, Moloney had Conners take out the chief’s wife. Made it look
like an accident. Ol’ Earl Delaune must have gotten the message loud and clear because
he took his kid and hauled ass across the country.”

Tristan almost growled at the dismissive way Barry spoke about Josie’s family. The
rage built so rapidly, he felt a burning flush consume his body. He took a deep breath
and calmed himself before speaking.

“Why is he after her? How could she possibly be a threat?”

“Ah, you know. Moloney has his reasons. Once he makes a decision, that’s it. Earl
was talking to the feds, so we took him out. Was supposed to off the kid too, but
she escaped. Pretty clever too. She broke a window and then hid up in an air duct.
Moloney’s men thought she had squeezed through the bars on the window. When they left
to search for her, she really escaped. Bested by a little girl.”

“She doesn’t remember anything.”

Barry’s eyes shoot up to meet Tristan’s, a look of genuine shock on his face.

“How would you know?”

“His daughter, that’s my girl.”

“No shit? What a small world!” Barry exclaimed. “Damn, man, that’s too bad. He’s had
Mort on her for a while. How’d she stay under the radar for so long?”

Tristan eyed his former associate. He knew that the man was fishing for more information.
He ignored the question.

“How close is Mort to finding her?”

“He’s in San Diego.”

“Shit,” Tristan whispered, scrubbing at his face with his rough palms. “That fucker
would slit his own mother’s throat for the right price. He’s the typical model for
dissociative detachment. I bet he’s even got psychotic symptoms.”

“I’m not sure what all that means, but he’s ice-cold, that one. Look, all I can tell
you is that there’s been pressure on us lately to tie up lose ends. The Italians are
not happy with Moloney’s growing business. Gino Gallo moved into town and he’s been
trying to recruit us. Offering more money and a pardon for allegiance. He’s determined
to eliminate the competition.”

Tristan nodded again because he knew exactly what Barry meant. Gallo was legit Italian
Mafia. Moloney had flown under their radar for a while, but apparently his operation
had gotten too big and they considered him a threat now.

“What are Mort’s orders?”

“I don’t know,” Barry answered.

“That’s bullshit, Barry. You know everything that goes down. Give me something!”

“Watch yourself, boy. I’m telling you the truth. This is personal for Moloney. He’s
handling everything himself.”

Tristan cursed again and stood to leave.

“Thanks for the information.”

“Forget it, Fallbrook, consider us even. Get back to your girl and you two disappear.
I don’t know, head down to Mexico or something.”

“I was never here,” Tristan said, knocking his knuckles on the table.

“Of course not.”

Barry watched the kid leave and groaned. He had given just enough information. And
when the time came, Tristan would fall right into place.

*   *   *

Monica sat folded in half on Josie’s couch, painting her toenails a deep purple color
called Pump Up the Jam. Josie watched Monica with curious fascination. She’d never
seen a woman more in her element than Monica was now.

“I’m glad you asked me over,” Monica said, smiling to herself. “Rob and I had plans,
but I told him we’d have to hold off. I need to hang with my girl.”

Josie smudged her penciled line on the paper, shading Monica’s face just so. She’d
never been anyone’s girl before. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. What did being
someone’s girl entail? Was she expected to gossip about boys while they braided each
other’s hair? Would she need to have Monica’s back in a bar fight? These were things
that, being a twenty-two year old woman, Josie thought she should know.

“You didn’t have to blow off your boyfriend to come over.”

“It’s okay. I see him every day. I hardly ever see you.”

Josie wanted to roll her eyes at Monica but couldn’t risk offending her. She was so
glad to have another human’s company that she’d do almost anything to keep her here.
Somehow, Monica made Josie feel more normal than anyone else. She sighed and wondered
when she’d become so obsessed with normalcy.

Monica leaned over and grabbed a book from the floor.

“You’re reading J. D. Salinger?” she asked.

“That’s for Tristan. They’re all over the apartment.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, do you have any cigarettes?” Josie asked.

“No, Josie. You know I don’t smoke.”

“Anything better than cigarettes?” Josie hedged, knowing she’d get a reaction.

“Are you seriously asking me for drugs?”

“Relax. I was kidding. I haven’t done anything besides smoke an occasional joint since
meeting Tristan.”

“Is he one of those ‘Just Say No’ guys?” Monica asked, intrigued and thrilled by Josie’s
confession.

“No. He would never be so judgmental. I think when he’s around, he fills all those
holes that I usually try to block with risky behavior.”

Josie grinned and shook her head, amazed at how she now echoed the words of every
therapist she’d ever seen. She wondered why on earth she would share this information
with her almost-friend, Monica. A pressing weight sat on her shoulders and she hated
that the conversation had just taken a serious turn.

“So he fills your holes, huh?” Monica asked, eyebrow raised in amusement.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, both of them burst into a fit of giggles.
The air around them grew light again. When she finally was able to catch her breath,
Josie genuinely smiled. Maybe this was what being somebody’s girl was all about, knowing
and providing what you need when you need it. Josie feared that she’d never be able
to carry out such an important responsibility.

Alex, hearing a ruckus through the paper-thin walls, came barreling in to find Josie
wiping tears from her eyes. Shocked by the man barging into the apartment, Monica
gasped, pointing her nail file toward him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed.

“Nothing! Calm down. You can’t come barging in here like a Power Ranger. We were just
laughing.”

“Oh. Well, that’s why. Never heard that shit coming from this apartment before,” he
answered. “Power Ranger, Jo? Those guys
son jotos
! Coulda made me something cool, like He-Man.”

“Oh, yeah. He was so straight in his loin cloth and classic bob haircut,” Josie answered,
rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I don’t presume to know what you do in your personal life.”

“
Mamacita,
you of all people know that I like the ladies,” Alex responded, a victorious lilt
to his voice.

Josie blushed.

“Oh, this is my … friend. Um, Monica. Monica, this is my neighbor-slash-warden, Alex.”

“Hi,” Monica said, waving her nail file at him.

“Nice to meet you, Um Monica.”

Josie flipped him off and refocused on her drawing.

“What were you gonna do? File me to death?”

Monica smiled and returned her attention to her nails.

“Heard from Tristan?” he asked, glancing back and forth between the two women, not
knowing how much Monica knew.

Another involuntary smile graced Josie’s lips at the mention of Tristan.

“Yeah, I talked to him for a while last night. There have been some interesting developments.”

Alex assessed from Josie’s strained code language that Monica didn’t know anything.

“Okay, well, I’ll give him a call when I get back.”

“Where are you going?” Josie whined.

“Heading downtown. I’ll be back soon. Stay inside and out of trouble. For the last
time, lock this fucking door!” he warned, pointing his enormous finger at her.

Josie huffed and waved him off. The door closed behind him and she scurried over,
locking all three locks with an overdramatic flair before turning and crossing her
arms in defiance. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about her safety, she just hated
being told what to do. At some point, one of her shrinks had diagnosed her with oppositional
defiant disorder. Of course, she’d argued that he was a quack with no logical explanation
for this imaginary disorder. She’d told him to fuck off when he pointed out that she’d
proved his point.

“Did he say to stay inside? What? Are you grounded or something?” Monica joked, wiggling
her painted toes in admiration.

“Uh, kind of. Not really. Maybe a little bit,” Josie responded uncomfortably, tucking
herself onto the sofa.

Monica looked up, suddenly aware of Josie’s conversational avoidance maneuvers. She’d
come up against them more times than she could count.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m kind of in some trouble,” Josie answered, not meeting Monica’s worried gaze.

“Trouble? Like I stole a pack of gum trouble? Or I killed a hooker trouble?”

“Like we think we know who was responsible for my parents’ death and now he’s after
me trouble,” Josie spit out.

Monica’s strangled gasp cut through the air and her trembling hands reached to embrace
Josie. After the initial shock had worn off, Josie told Monica everything she knew.
She hadn’t realized how much of a load she’d been carrying around by keeping the secret.
When she was finished, she sat in silence, trying to calculate Monica’s reaction.

“Josie, we’ve got to go to the police,” Monica said.

“No! Monica, this is so far beyond the police. It would only make things worse. Tristan
will figure something out. I know he will. I’ll understand if you want to leave. I
mean, it could be dangerous to be here.”

Monica shook her head, knowing that she’d never bail on this girl.

“I could call Rob to come over?” she offered.