The Last Family (37 page)

“Hot damn!” the boy behind the bar said, amazed. He reached out and touched the handle tentatively. Then he gripped it with both hands and pushed and pulled for a few seconds with everything he had, but the knife wouldn’t waver.

The other two men had backed up all the way to the door leading to the pool room.

Woody looked at the boy behind the bar and smiled. “Keep trying, King Arthur. Who knows?” He put his hand on Erin’s arm and led her to the door.

Sean stepped out into the street first and scanned the sidewalks and tops of the buildings until Woody had secured Erin in the backseat of the waiting Volvo. A pair of police cars had parked one at either end of the block.

Martin had seen the cars approaching, the Volvo leading, and had stepped into a small rare-book shop located
diagonally across the street from Roscoe’s. He stood inside the shop’s window with a book of poetry in his hands, looking up casually as the agents loaded Erin into the waiting Volvo. Sean Merrin climbed into the driver’s seat, and for a brief second Martin’s eyes met Woody’s as the agent paused before entering the car’s passenger door. Martin dropped his eyes to the pages of the book, and when he looked up again, the Volvo was gone. He glanced at the book’s spine as though he were checking the condition of the cover and then set it back on the shelf.

39

T
HE
DEA
JET, WHICH HAD BEEN CONFISCATED FROM A CAPTURED
drug lord, had been outfitted for the trip with sandwiches and drinks. The interior was done in what Paul referred to as “Splendor de Latinos,” which to Rainey explained the red leather, crushed velvet, and gold-plated chromium strips on everything. The bathroom had been marble with gold fixtures, but the agency had taken it all out so the plane would be able to take off with full fuel on board. They had left the crushed velvet and wall coverings and the chrome-plated trimmings. “Only a Latin drug lord who had grown up in a hut with hard dirt floors and tin walls would consider marble and gold trimmings worth cutting the airplane’s range in half for,” Paul said. The two agents had the entire cabin to themselves, but they sat together in overstuffed leather seats. The plane took off and turned south.

Paul looked at Rainey, who was staring out the window
at the carpet of cloud that stretched unbroken for as far as he could see. He had debated whether he should allow Rainey to accompany him, or send him on to the Barn immediately, but decided it was better to keep him close at hand for now.

“Miami. It’s been a long time,” Rainey said. “Doris loved Miami Beach. It’ll be great being back there.”

“We’re not going to Miami,” Paul said. “Not yet.”

“Where are we going?” Rainey turned to face Paul.

“New Orleans.”

“Why? Martin’s heading for Miami!”

“I want to see Thorne and take a look at the operation. Review the troops. We’ll leave there when Eve makes her move.”

“Tonight?” Rainey asked nervously.

“First you and I have to talk.”

“What about?”

“You and this operation.”

“What about me?”

“What happened at the Buchanan house?”

Rainey turned his head. “I know it was extreme, but I was afraid the operation was in jeopardy.”

“You could have put it in jeopardy.”

“I did what I thought needed to be done. I was swept up by my … zeal.”

“Fortunately Ed Buchanan is going to forget it happened. At least for the time being.”

“But you disarmed me.”

“I had a talk with T.C. this morning. No change for you. Never was, officially. You’re still on administrative leave.”

“Until when?”

“Until there has been a psychiatric evaluation and you’ve got some much needed rest. You need help and you need time. I was wrong to let you come into this. I made a bad call.”

“Oh, you made
a
bad call?” Rainey looked at Paul incredulously.

Paul turned his head.

“Your bad calls cost a lot of people, including me.
You know that? They cost me …” Rainey started crying, slammed his hand on the arm of the seat, and leaned forward almost in Paul’s face. “My family!
You
cost me
my
family.”

“I didn’t have any idea what would happen.”

“Oh, you didn’t have any idea. Well, then it’s okay, Paul,” Rainey said sarcastically. “Paul didn’t mean to do any harm. He built a fire in a tank farm and it got to the stored gasoline. My, my. He got in a pissing contest with a polecat. Well, then all’s well with the world. My daughter burned up in front of my eyes!” Rainey stood, hitting his head against the ceiling. He didn’t seem to notice. “Burned up and died in agony. I watched that!” He slammed his chest and leaned down, placing his hands on Paul’s wrists and putting his face inches away from Paul’s. Paul didn’t know how to respond.

“I was
there
while you were fly-fishing in the mountains. My son was thrown off a cliff onto a floor of sharp rocks. He exploded like a bag of oysters tossed out of a helicopter. He was spread over the …” He dropped his head. Tears were flowing freely. “And Doris—”

“I don’t …” Paul felt numb. “Rainey, you have to believe me. I didn’t …”

Rainey’s eyes were like those of an enraged animal. “Fuck what I have to believe! And fuck you! You owe me. You have to answer for what you’ve done. And you will, by God, you will answer.”

There was silence in the cabin except for the whine of the jet engines. Rainey let go, straightened his hair, and sat back down. He composed himself with two or three deep breaths, took a handkerchief from his coat pocket, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose.

“You going to cuff me, strait-jacket?”

“No. I’ve worked something out with T.C. When we go to Miami, you’re going to continue on to the facility in Ashborne, accompanied by a Justice agent.”

“To the Barn. You mean I’ll weave baskets and vegetate with the other cows at pasture. Paul, I’ll go. But, listen, I have to be there when it goes down. I have to be there, or I will never be able to live with myself.”

“We’ll take care of Martin.”

“No. I knew that Thorne’s family died. I knew that Joe’s family died. I should have known what was happening.
I
should have taken the precautions to protect my own, no matter what Doris or anyone else thought or said.” Rainey slammed his thumb against his breast for emphasis. “
I
was in denial and
I
failed them. I failed them and they’re gone. Maybe you or Martin set things in motion, but I was in a position to see it happening. See, it’s on my head more than yours. You were out of the loop.”

Paul sat back wearily. His left hand was throbbing, so he put the cane aside and took the worn tennis ball from his pocket and began squeezing it vigorously.

“I can’t live with it. You have my gun.”

“I put it in the safe at your office,” Paul replied. “Relax.”

“Handcuff me, but let me be there when he’s taken. That’s all I ask. I beg you! No matter what either of us has done … just give me that. Let me see his body. Please? I’m begging you? That can be your atonement.” Rainey got out of the seat and got onto his knees and looked as if he were praying to Paul. “I’m begging for my life. After, I’ll go anywhere. I’ll take retirement. I’ll check into the Barn, anything.”

Paul was collapsing inside with a thousand pains, aches, and confusing thoughts. He honestly didn’t know what was right. Could he trust Rainey to stay back and let the A team handle Martin?

“All right,” Paul said in a whisper. “You’ll go to the Barn after this is over? And you won’t get in my way or try to get in the middle of anything?”

“Word of honor,” Rainey said.

Paul looked at his watch and then out the window.

“I just thought of something,” Rainey said. “The date on my watch reminded me.”

“What’s that?”

“You know what tonight is?”

Rainey was facing Paul, but his eyes were looking out the window over Paul’s shoulder. “Six years ago yesterday
Thorne, Joe and I were standing in a hospital waiting room in Miami, covered with your blood.”

Paul looked at Rainey. “Really?”

“Well, I remember because I missed Doris’s birthday—we were in the middle of planning and executing the raid on the dock. Remember?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Funny what you remember and why.”

“That’s one anniversary I haven’t been celebrating on a yearly basis,” Paul said, frowning.

40

T
WO FIGURES MOVED UP THE SIDEWALK, HOLDING TO THE SHADOWS
. One moved ahead of the other and out into the sidewalk beside the curb. The other slipped over the wall and moved silently into the overgrown yard.

Alton Vance, dressed in slacks and a T-shirt with a London Fog jacket to cover the nine-millimeter machine pistol, was standing on the north side of Laura’s porch, watching the bushes for a cat he had seen a few seconds earlier. He looked at his watch. It was early, but darker than normal due to the overcast sky. He heard footsteps on the street outside the wall and turned to watch for the approaching pedestrian. He wondered whether he should radio the house, but those people had been through hell.

They had arrived in the Volvo, Erin looking deflated, Sean shaking his head in some sort of signal to let Alton know something amazing had occurred, and Woody, Mr.
Stoneface, staring straight ahead. He couldn’t wait to find out what had happened. He wondered if he should call the guy in to Woody, but the fellow was just a drunk. Thorne was a little ways down the street, walking the dog, and there were cops out on the perimeter at every intersection for two blocks. Sometimes drunks cut down Laura’s street after the cops had checked them out. They couldn’t very well close off the street.

Alton was thirty-one and African-American. He had been assigned to New Orleans straight out of training after law school. His wife had wanted him to practice entertainment law, but he’d been drawn to a life where there was a touch of steel and a badge and satisfaction that this would be a better world as long as he did his job well. He was tired, but this assignment was coming to a head hundreds of miles away. He was sure that Monday morning would find him back at home for a week’s vacation. He needed it.

He saw the top of a head for a split second and heard someone fall and mumble.
Fuckin’ drunk
. He checked the Uzi, which was shoulder strapped and hung under his right side, as he moved to the gate. As soon as he got to the bars, he saw the feet flailing as the man tried to get up. “Goddamned bitch,” the man growled. “Tryin’ to tell me somethin’. Fuckin’ whore … I got money! Who she think she is?”

Alton relaxed his grip on the machine pistol, stepped through the gate, and stood above the man, whose face was to the ground. Alton reached over to lift the man, and as he did, a second man slid in behind him and pressed something against his back. “Don’t move or you’re dead.”

The drunk flowed upright, looked up and down the street, then smiled at the agent. He tucked his head and said, “Inside, move it.”

Agent Alton Vance moved through the gate with the ex-drunk before him and the unseen man behind. The ex-drunk stripped Alton of the Uzi and the SIG Sauer nine-millimeter. Alton felt something cold slide around his neck.… “What was that?” he said as he put a hand to
his throat. In answer the man behind him said, “That, Mr. DEA, was Martin Fletcher cutting your worthless throat. Welcome to the end of the world.”

Alton Vance had never imagined himself capable of such blind fear.

Laura was furious with her daughter. Erin had hit the door raging against Woody and Sean and all the babysitters who were ruining her life. Laura had almost slapped her but managed to hold back. Then Erin had collapsed in tears. Laura had been paralyzed with fear the entire time she had waited for them to return, thinking that Erin had been grabbed by Martin Fletcher. Erin had made a passing reference to the fact that Woody had broken a man’s arm in a bar while disarming him.

Now Erin had showered, dressed in clean clothes, and was lying on the couch in the sun room off the kitchen, resting her head on Laura’s lap the way she had when she’d been younger. She had even apologized for her selfish behavior. Laura hoped that she had learned the kind of lesson that no one could have taught her. Kids all thought they were born bulletproof, tragedy resistant. Sean was seated across the room with an ice pack held to his neck. Reb and Woody sat at the counter, and Reid was leaning against the stove with a glass of wine in hand. Laura was a little miffed at him because he hadn’t reacted with appropriate horror to the news that Erin had run away. “kids, go figure,” he had said to Laura’s complete amazement. “She’ll come home when she gets hungry.”

Laura hadn’t spoken to him until Erin had returned.

Reb and Woody were arm wrestling on the counter after the dishes had been cleared. To everyone’s feigned amusement, and Reb’s genuine amazement, he was beating the agent. “See, using the breath-expansion technique works—when you take a breath and hold it and put the air power into your muscles,” the agent said. Woody groaned as the boy pressed the backside of his hand against the cool marble countertop. He whispered to Reb
so the women wouldn’t hear. “A quick uppercut to the nuts is the only thing that works better.”

“Is that what you did to the man that scared Erin?”

“If the breathing technique works so good, Woody,” Reid said, “how come you don’t use it yourself and beat him? Take a few minutes off, for Christ’s sake.”

Woody didn’t look up. “What’s eating you, Mr. Dietrich?”

“You. All of you guys. How many times a day do you have to be a hero?”

“We do what we’re paid to do.”

“The DEA? Does the DEA hire people with your demonstrated talents as agents?”

“There,” Reb said. “It does work! I can feel the power.” He growled.

“It’s about the transfer of the power from mental to physical,” Woody said. “Three out of four. So you know you didn’t just get lucky.”

“That’s enough,” Laura said. “Erin, run the dishwater.”