Part 12 (2/2)
Cain ignored the question and turned to her son. ”Why don't you try one more walk, and don't back down from the hard questions. You have a right to know who your mother is and why she's made the decisions she has, even if it changes the way you feel about me.”
”That would never happen,” Hayden said with confidence.
”Buddy, we all make choices in life that alter it in ways you can't begin to fathom. Hindsight doesn't make them better, and they change how you feel about yourself. So suffice it to say they change how other people see you. Even those who love you the most.”
She put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed gently. ”I know you hate when I say this, but bear with me this one time. It'll take you getting older to fully understand what I just said, but years and experience under your belt won't make it any less true.”
”I love you, Mom.”
”To hear you say that is my greatest accomplishment. I love you too, son, and at the end of your walk I'll be here to answer the questions Emma can't.”
”Cain, I don't think this is a good idea.” As much as Emma wanted Hayden with her, she didn't want to shatter completely his image of and feelings for Cain. To find out his parent was a cold-blooded killer would most likely make Hayden reject the one person he loved most.
”Like I said, Emma, I made a choice four years ago, and it cost me something precious. No amount of lamenting over it now is going to bring it back, so the boy has a right to know how we got here. He's young, that's true, but give him the benefit of an explanation of why his mother left.”
”Are you sure?”
”Positive.”
Cain patted Hayden's shoulder one more time and strode to the bunkhouse. Relaxing into the old chair next to the phone, she started making calls that in essence were the beginning of her downfall. Kyle's men recorded call after call, full of the information Kyle had been waiting for.
When she returned to New Orleans, her Canadian supplier would deliver a warehouse full of contraband liquor, and Kyle would be waiting. Merrick listened in horror as the agents in the barn exchanged hugs and congratulations.
”I have faith in you, but I don't understand why,” Merrick whispered into her ear.
Cain leaned forward and kissed the woman's lips. ”I want you to trust me to know what's best for my family.”
”I do trust you, Cain. It's the giving up I don't understand.”
Cain smiled and kissed Merrick one more time. She cherished the woman's loyalty.
”My father once told me a story about when he was a young man just learning the business. His father took him to a c.o.c.kfight one night. It wasn't something my grandfather did often, but some of his clients enjoyed that kind of thing. The sport of kings, I believe it's called.”
Merrick, no matter what she did for a living, s.h.i.+vered at the thought of the barbaric sport.
Cain pulled the guard down to sit on the arm of her chair and kept hold of her hand when she got comfortable. ”Pop said one of the last fights he saw that night was between a big bird with an impressive head of plumes and this small, insignificant-looking bird with a missing eye. As their owners threw them in the ring, the money started changing hands. This was back when twenty bucks meant a day's pay, but he said most of the people there saw that big c.o.c.k and pulled their wallets out. They were slapping money down to cover the growing odds and the two hadn't exchanged a peck, but the spectators were sure the little one was going down.”
Merrick relaxed a little more, leaning against Cain and starting to realize what the moral of the story might be, but asking anyway. ”What happened?”
”My grandfather pulled five hundred bucks out of his pocket and bet on the small bird, amidst the laughs of those around him who warned he was throwing his money away. For twenty minutes that big, good-looking rooster chased the shrimp around the ring without laying a beak on him, Pop said. He chalked it up to the small one's fear of the inevitable, but when the big one showed the first weakness, he revealed his strategy.”
”A bird can formulate strategy?”
”According to Dalton Casey, Jr., it could. He said that little bird, dismissed by everyone there including himself, and most importantly his rival in the ring, turned and sunk his talons into all those pretty feathers. It was over in nothing flat, and the big rooster was dead. He said that bird taught him a valuable lessonnever take for granted what seems like ultimate victory or defeat. The winning or losing in anything comes in the playing, even for small, one-eyed birds.” Cain stopped and pointed to her eyes, hoping Merrick understood what she was saying. She wasn't running, and she wasn't half blind.
”When's the s.h.i.+pment getting to the city?”
”Two weeks at our dock offices. The boxes will be labeled 'sardines.'”
Merrick nodded and got up to start dinner.
Cain's only thought was ”good girl.” She had only two more things to do, and then they could all go home.
Chapter Nineteen.
”Ross, it looks like you've got some s.h.i.+ngles loose on the roof of the barn. Want me to climb up and check it out? It'll save you a service call.” Cain looked up and pointed to the area she was talking about.
”You don't mind?”
”I can't wait.” She scaled easily to the first section of roofing next to the loft, with a hammer in her belt and a box of nails in her coat pocket. It only took a few minutes to check the s.h.i.+ngles and remove the tapes and equipment she had left the night before. She chuckled as she imagined the agents on the other side of the wall holding their breath and praying she wouldn't hear anything to alert her to their presence. She didn't care about them, though; she stared off into the distance, where she could see Hayden and Emma in one of the pastures.
She wondered if she was asking too much of her son, considering his age, and tried to bury her guilt. Not for the choices she'd made, but for the real reason for allowing the talk he and Emma were having. ”I've had to live with the consequences of my life, Emma, but don't think you get to walk away unscathed because of what you believe were your n.o.ble choices.” Her soft voice never reached the two people now in the middle of an empty pasture.
”I'm sorry, Hayden, for letting you find out about this in this way. As much as I love you, I've always been too afraid to tell you.” Her apology was also a prayer the boy wouldn't walk away too scarred, but today Hayden would get the answer he had wanted for four years.
Two Weeks after Marie Casey's Death No one on the street paid attention to the marked police car making a routine stop. In this section of town the men in blue routinely ha.s.sled the residents for the smallest infraction, as an excuse to search for something more illegal than failing to use their turn signal. As the patrolman made his way to his door, Danny Baxter studied his face in the rearview mirror to make sure he didn't have a trace of white powder around his nose.
”Is there a problem, officer?”
”Step out of the vehicle and come with me.” The leather utility belt creaked when the cop placed his hand over the holster near his gun and waited. ”Don't make me say it again,” he added when Danny didn't move.
They walked to the unit together, and the patrolman held the back door open for him. Danny finally thought to look at the cop's face. ”No f.u.c.king way.”
”Come on, idiot. Someone's waiting to see you,” said Merrick from the backseat. She pointed her gun at his head, and Cain's other trusted guard Lou pressed his to Danny's back.
Screaming or begging now would be futile, so he got in, deciding to save the dramatics for later when he could play on Cain's sympathies. He recognized where they'd stopped and laughed at Cain's sense of irony. Marie had spent her last tortured hours of life at this dilapidated shotgun house where most of the crackheads came to smoke their scores. Tonight it was quiet, but not for long.
The door lock clicked closed with such ease it belied the condition of the rotted-out building, and Merrick pushed him farther in to where Cain waited. Her boss stood at the rear of the house gazing out the kitchen window at the unkempt yard. In the center of the kitchen was the only piece of unbroken furniture in the place, a green Formica table with stained aluminum trim.
It had taken Cain some time, but she had pieced together where Marie had died. The table had to be the spot Danny used, since she could still see traces of dried blood on one of the legs and at one corner.
”Anyone follow you?” she asked, without turning around.
”Lou was careful. n.o.body but the rats know we're here.” Merrick didn't lower the gun she had pointed at Danny's head, motioning for him to move farther into the room. ”You ready, boss?”
”You should've brought a chair if you're tired, sweetheart. We're going to be a while.”
”Who are you f.u.c.king kidding?” Danny decided to let his impatience show, hoping it would shorten the time he'd have to spend with his cousin. ”Cut the bulls.h.i.+t and hit me some more if you want, but the tough act is c.r.a.p.”
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