Iron Night (23 page)

I'd been punched a lot tonight, and I didn't have much sympathy to extend to her. Just to piss her off a little more, I gave her boyfriend my biggest smile and said, “I'm sorry. Everything has been such a rush and I didn't catch your name.”

“Farid. Farid Amini.” He smiled widely, and I noticed that Suzume had joined Keiko in the doorway, and their combined mood was dropping the temperature in the room to testicle-freezing levels. My new buddy Farid was picking up on the tension, but he was holding on to his bright smile with enough determination to turn his face slightly manic. “It was really great to meet you, Suzume. It's crazy that we've kept missing each other this long.”

“Yeah. Crazy.” Suzume was exuding all the invitation and charm of an enraged cobra.

Clearly seeing me as the one bright spot in the room, Farid redirected his desperate first-impression brightness my way again. “We should all go out some time. You know, double-date.” There was the sound from the doorway of some partially suppressed noise, and it wasn't a reassuring sound, but Farid pushed forward. “My parents are just nuts about Keiko,” he assured me.

I'd always thought of myself as fairly moral, the kind of person who wouldn't torment someone else, even if provoked. Therefore, I should've been much more disappointed in myself when I gave Farid a jocular smack on the shoulder and said heartily, “We
should
do that. Dinner, some bowling.” I looked over my shoulder at Keiko and gave her just the kind of look I felt she'd earned after all the icy eye daggers she'd sent my way. “Just lots of time to get to know each other.”

Keiko made a small, choked sound. Suzume had a face like a stone wall.

Farid nodded like a bobble head. “The girls will set something up.” I ignored the muffled growl from behind us, but it was apparently finally enough to convince Farid that maybe he'd made enough of an effort to connect for this trip. “It's really late, and we should be going. But we'll definitely see each other soon.” With that final burst of blind optimism, he turned to Matt and pulled together what was clearly his best doctor voice. “Now, Mr. McMahon, remember what I said. Lots of rest; change the bandage every evening. If you see signs of infection or if you're feeling dizzy, you have my card, and remember that the clinic is free.”

Matt had been watching all of the interplay attentively, and now he nodded, careful not to dislodge his ice pack. “I really appreciate the house call.”

Farid laughed. “No, you actually did
me
a favor. I'd actually never gotten a chance to see where Keiko lived.” He looked at her, and my heart sank a little in my chest. The poor guy was absolutely in love with her. I'd gone vegetarian for a woman—I knew that look well. “I was starting to think you were married or something,” he teased her.

Keiko stepped toward him, smiling through gritted teeth. “You're so silly, honey. See? No secrets at all.” There was an almost collective wince from everyone else in the room at the size of that whopper.

“Not one bit,” Suze said heavily. She looked over at me and Matt and said, “Let's give you guys some space.”

I watched as everyone filed out, and wondered whether Farid was as oblivious as he seemed to be to the Shakespearian levels of star-crossed vibes that he and Keiko emitted. Or maybe Farid
was
picking up on their doomed aura, but he was one of those optimists who felt that good intentions and positivity could overcome all obstacles. Like people who sat up on their sofa one day and decided that they would climb Everest, even though they became winded walking up the stairs.

Or maybe it would all work out. After all, I clearly knew crap about relationships.

I looked down at Matt, who was pushing himself up into a sitting position. I leaned forward to help him, wincing at his level of wet-kitten helplessness. “Slow down, Matt.”

Matt batted my hands away and steadied himself, letting the ice pack drop onto the bed. “It's fine, just a cut and a rattle to my brain box. No concussion; nothing wrong.” He glanced at the door. “Some pretty impressive family tension there with that girl you're so sure isn't your girlfriend and her sister. That was a hell of a fight they were having.”

From that I knew that at some point Matt had tried to leave the room and the kitsune illusion had stopped him. “They have fiery temperaments,” I said blandly.

Small talk apparently over, Matt looked me straight in the eyes and said levelly, “So.”

I'd known this was coming. I'd tried dealing with Matt by sidestepping his suspicions and hoping they would eventually recede, but it wasn't working. The events of this evening would have only solidified his concerns. So I switched tactics, drawing for inspiration on the lessons in New England winter driving that Matt himself had taught me; I steered into the skid. “Listen, Matt, let's go full cards on the table here. I was following up leads that I wasn't telling you about, and you were tailing me because you didn't trust me.”

Matt was surprised, clearly having expected me to go denial again. He tilted his head, looking curious. “That's about the size of it,” he said. Then he laid down his challenge: “So, why don't you tell me what I don't know?”

So I did. Not the truth, of course. But the lie I'd spent the entire drive back from Newport coming up with, one that was salted with just enough truth to be accepted. Drawing inspiration from Lilah's childhood story of her teachers, I told Matt that Suzume and I had bribed Jacoby to confess that Gage and the other men had been killed by a secretive cult, one that had deep ties to power brokers like my mother, and enough money that they could bribe confessions and cover their tracks. We were working with a fringe member of the cult who had been born into it and who didn't approve of their actions—Lilah—and we'd all broken into the tattoo parlor to try to find hard evidence that couldn't be dismissed. It was a story that offered an explanation for what was happening and also had the beauty of being verifiable—if Matt started looking into the ownership of Dreamcatching, he'd quickly find the links that many people had seen before of a secretive, wealthy, and very weird group that displayed very cultlike behavior. I watched as he absorbed what I was saying, and braced myself for the question that I knew was coming.

“Why didn't you tell me, Fort?” For the first time Matt pulled back the suspicion, and I could hear the hurt that it had been masking. After all, hadn't he known me since I was still hitting Wiffle balls? Hadn't he been the only one who'd never given up on finding Brian and Jill's killer? The suspicion had hidden the hurt, the betrayal. Now he was showing it, this vulnerability.

And to keep Matt alive, I had to be the bastard who would take advantage of it.

I looked at him carefully, hoping that I was judging him right, that I really knew him and his values as well as I thought I did. I was the closest thing Matt had to family, and I was about to gamble that Matt really loved me more than everything his old badge had stood for.

I took the chance. “Suzume and I were the ones who saved Amy Grann,” I said, watching as shock and
I knew it
warred on Matt's face. “The guy who had grabbed her was in the house, we had a fight, and I shot him. A bottle of alcohol got smashed in the fight, and a candle was knocked over, so the fire was going, and we just ran. And we decided to keep it a secret.” Close enough to the truth that I could commit to it and not radiate bad poker face. Close enough that I hoped he would believe me. Far enough from the truth that it could keep him ignorant—and alive.

There was a long pause as he looked at me, taking it all in. My gut clenched, but I forced myself to look right back at him. When he spoke, Matt's voice was unusually tentative. “So the files going missing? The evidence destroyed?”

I nodded. “I told my brother, and he made a call.” I took a deep breath and added the last brushstroke to what I was hoping would be a masterpiece of bullshit. “That little girl is alive because of what we did, but I didn't want you to have to keep the secret. You were a cop, and what we did wasn't exactly legal.”

Matt gave a loud snort and dropped his face into his hands, the snort turning into a semihysterical puff of sound that on any other man I would've called a titter. “Wasn't exactly smart either, Fort,” he said. He rubbed his hands hard against his cheeks, then looked back up at me very seriously, and with a lot of fear in his usually unshakable brown eyes. “Fort, there's a reason why we have police instead of vigilantes. Vigilantes tend to get shot.” He sighed heavily. “And now you're doing the same damn thing, with your not-girlfriend cheering you on. Playing goddamn Batman.”

Funny, that was where I'd gotten the idea for the lie. After all, people kept Batman's secret.

There was probably a vampire-bat joke in there somewhere, but I refused to look for it.

I was committed to these lies now, so I pushed forward. “Gage's killers are in that cult. You saw one of them tonight.”

Matt traced the edge of the bandage with a careful finger. “Yeah, that chick works out.” I kept my mouth shut as Matt thought about it. “I saw your girl's knife, Fort, and I know that you have Brian's old gun, but what you're involved with is really dangerous. These people are killing guys in a very nasty way.” He paused again, considered, and I saw him struggle with it. Really struggle. Then he decided. Reaching out, he grabbed my hands hard, squeezing with enough strength to impact the blood flow, and stared at me intensely. “You have to promise me, Fort,” he said. “No more dumb shit like last night. We're looking for information, for evidence. Then we hand it to the police. There will be no dumb-ass heroics on this. Do you hear me?”

I looked at him, deeply humbled to think that he not only had believed what I'd said, but that he was offering this acceptance, this tacit blessing even, to my supposed career of vigilantism. I wished, suddenly and desperately, that I'd been able to tell him the truth about what I actually was and receive this open acceptance. It hurt that here was what I longed for most, and it was being offered for a lie.

I forced myself to nod, to look relieved and grateful. “Okay,” I said.

Matt dropped one of my hands and reached up to squeeze my shoulder manfully. But apparently that was insufficient for what he was feeling, because with a sudden movement he pulled me in for a tight hug. “You little shit,” he muttered, his voice tight with emotion. “You should've trusted me. I would never have turned you in.” And, however falsely, I knew that I had my Matt back.

I choked, but hugged him back desperately. “I'm sorry,” I said, and I was. So very, very sorry, for so many things.

The hug went on for a long time, then we both let go slowly. Matt coughed and rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Okay, enough of that,” he said gruffly. “Let's see what that not-girlfriend of yours is up to.”

Suzume was sitting at her table, flipping her way through a file that I recognized as Matt's. Matching folders were stacked around her. Apparently she'd taken the opportunity to look through Matt's car. She looked up with studied casualness when we approached, but flicked one careful look my way. I nodded slightly, and she relaxed.

“So, we're all on the same side?” she asked.

“Yes,” Matt said, and emphasized, “the side that investigates but doesn't do dumb shit.”

“Fine with me.” Suze lifted one of the files. “So, when you weren't stalking us, you found some new information.”

Matt ignored the jab and looked over at me. “Not too much. I got a hold of your friend's autopsy report, did some background on the new name you got from the tattoo artist.”

I thought about it, weighing what we knew. “All of the guys were sent an ad for a reduced-price tattoo. They were killed after they got the same tat, but the ads were addressed to them specifically. So however the cult”—I sent a quick look to Suze, making sure that she understood that this was our cover story—“is picking their victims, it's happening before they get the tattoos.” I pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, asking Matt, “What do these guys have in common?”

“Young, healthy guys. Three were from Rhode Island; one was from Massachusetts. Oldest was twenty-six; youngest was eighteen.”

Suze flipped a page and said, “From your notes, there's an education link. Two were undergrads, Gage was a graduate student, one was entering a PhD program.”

Matt shook his head. “Different colleges, and the age range and economic background could explain that.”

“All Providence colleges?” I asked curiously.

“One was Boston,” Suze said.

I considered, thinking back and trying to remember when I had come in contact with non-Brown students. “Maybe a club or a sports team?”

Matt still looked cautious but a little interested. “I wouldn't have expected to see mixing between so many colleges and different education levels.”

Suze made a little
tsk
ing sound. “Maybe not with bigger, established clubs, but some of the little fringe ones have a lot more contact. Swing dancing, bocce.” She shrugged. “LARPing.”

“Really, Suze?” I asked, smiling. “You?”

She batted her lashed coquettishly at me. “I'm a woman of mystery, Fort. Don't think you know all of my layers.” But when Matt pulled over the file to pore over and consider his notes again, she dropped the facade for a quick second, enough that I understood that she'd found something else, a real link, and that this direction was just to give Matt something to hunt to keep him out of our way.

Matt looked up from the file, and I recognized the look on his face. He was focused, considering, ready to chase down this possible lead, wherever it led him. “I'll make some calls tomorrow, maybe go to some of the campuses and ask around, see if there's anything.” He eyed me, then Suze, then me again. “And you two will be . . . ?”