Part 24 (1/2)

Enough: she hadn't failed, not yet. Identification alone wouldn't have put Baulman on a plane back to Germany anyway. An obstacle had been placed in their way, and they'd simply have to find a way around it.

But it wasn't just about Isha. There was also her daughter, and Bruno Perlman, and the Tedescos. Perlman remained connected to Isha through Lubsko, and although doubts were now being raised about whether the mark on his...o...b..tal socket had actually been made by a blade, Demers was still convinced that he'd been murdered, if only because Lenny Tedesco, who appeared to be one of Perlman's few friends, had also been killed, along with his wife, and Demers wasn't about to buy that many coincidences.

Now there was Baulman, and another potential Lubsko link in Maine, even if it had been almost severed by Isha Winter's inability to identify him as Kraus. No, this wasn't over. Pieces were missing, but they would find them.

On the drive to Bangor, the ticking of her watch grew so loud that she took it off and placed it in the glove compartment.

Yet still she thought she could hear it.

47.

The ride from Bangor to Burlington, Vermont was about six hours or more, since Louis was doing most of the driving.

'You drive like you got Miss Daisy in the back,' said Angel, as they made stately progress west. 'I feel like I'm in a f.u.c.king funeral cortege.'

'And you know why I drive this way?'

'Because you're frightened?' suggested Angel. 'Because someone put a limiter on the car? Why?'

'Because I'm black. That's why I'm careful.'

'You're not careful: you're just slow. The internal combustion engine is wasted on you. You want me to get out and walk in front with a red flag?'

'Yeah, would you? Then I could run you over.'

'You couldn't accelerate fast enough to run me over. By the time you got up to speed, I'd have died of old age.'

'Why don't you just count the number of black men you see driving cars between here and Vermont? It's like a white supremacist road race. And while you're counting, go find me a black state trooper. Around here, they see a black man doing fifty and they already writing his name beside a cell door.'

'At least if you get arrested in Vermont they might give you ice cream, try to rehabilitate you.'

Parker listened to them bicker. His back was against the door on the pa.s.senger side, his feet stretched out before him. He'd taken a painkiller just some Tylenol, not the prescription stuff they'd given him before he left the hospital. He wanted to keep a clear head.

He'd called Rachel shortly after they left Bangor, and told her he was on his way to see Sam, with Angel and Louis in tow. He a.s.sured her that they wouldn't stop by until the morning, though. By the time they reached Burlington it would be nine p.m. at least, and he didn't want her to keep Sam up on his account. Rachel didn't sound too pleased to hear that he was heading to Vermont without giving her more notice, but he didn't care. Relations between them had been even tenser since Ruth Winter's murder. Rachel had driven from Burlington to Maine as soon as the call came in from the police informing her of what had happened on the beach at Green Heron Bay. She'd arrived at the Bangor Medical Center to find her daughter in the care of a female officer, and Parker's internal injuries being treated on an operating table. She'd then stayed with Sam while she gave her statement to the police, and they'd both been present when Parker had come out of the anesthetic. He hadn't been able to say much to either of them, but he could feel Rachel's anger, even through his drug-induced daze. He'd only spoken to Rachel once since then, when he'd called to check on Sam. She'd been pretty curt. He couldn't blame her.

Parker's side began to hurt after a couple of hours in the car, so they stopped at a Dunkin' Donuts to get some coffee and let him stretch his legs. He felt like a dog being exercised. They then drove on for a time before deciding to break up the ride at St Johnsbury, where they checked into a chain motel and ate at Bailiwicks on Mill.

Over coffee, Louis told them the story of The Man Who Died Twice.

'You remember Bart Freed?' he asked Angel.

'No.'

'Yeah, you do. He was a shylock out of Ocean City. Had a piece of some arcades far south as Cape May.'

'Bodybuilder? Looked like someone had amputated his neck and stuck his head straight back on his shoulders?'

'That's him.'

'Yeah, I recall him now. He died a couple of years ago, right?'

'Burst a blood vessel while bench-pressing four hundred pounds. Caved in his chest. So way back, there's a guy called Minimum Mike got the name because he only ever pays the vig on his loans without ever denting the princ.i.p.al. But then Minimum Mike becomes Below-Minimum Mike, and crosses so many people who shouldn't be crossed that he's like a map of chaos, and these people decide it's time something was done about him. So they hire two guys out of Maryland to take care of him, and Bart Freed sets him up. Minimum Mike comes to Bart's house to talk about his debts, the two Maryland shooters are waiting inside for him, they quiet him down, and then they take him away. They don't drive him too far because, you know, n.o.body wants to be pulled over with some guy weeping in the back seat. They already have the hole dug for him in the woods so they shoot him, watch him fall in, then cover him up and drive off. They take the car to an all-night wash, get the full treatment for it inside and out, go have a burger and a beer, and figure they've done a good night's work. They crash at a motel and sleep like babies.

'Then, about four a.m., they get a call, and it's one of the guys who's picking up the tab for the night's work. He tells them that there's some problem at Freed's place, and to get their a.s.ses over there and sort it out, because Freed's hysterical, and it doesn't pay to have people hysterical after the event.

'So they drive back to Ocean City, and Freed answers the door. He's calmed down some, but he still doesn't seem happy. He doesn't even let them into the house, not immediately. He keeps them on the doorstep, and he says, '”So, Minimum Mike.”

'”Yeah?”

'”You did what you were supposed to do, right?”

'And the hitters say, yeah, of course they did, and they explain about the hole in the ground, and the gun, and covering up the body.

'”So he's dead?” says Freed.

'”Yeah, he's dead.”

'”Well, if he's dead, why the f.u.c.k is he sitting at my kitchen table?”

'So the two hitters look at Freed like he's dropped a couple of screws, and he steps aside to let them in. They go to the kitchen, and just like the man said, Minimum Mike is sitting there. He doesn't look good. He's, like, covered in earth and dirt and s.h.i.+t, and when they make a closer examination they see that he has a hole in the back of his head and another close to his right eye, but it's definitely him. He's also got a gla.s.s of milk in front of him, and a cookie, although he hasn't touched them. They ask Freed why he has the milk and the cookie, and Freed tells them that he didn't know what else to give him.

'They figure what happened was that the bullet entered his skull, damaged his brain, came out under his eye, but didn't kill him. Somehow he woke up in the grave, managed to claw his way out, and had some vague memory in what was left of his lobe of being at Freed's, so that was the first place he went to.'

'What did they do?' asked Angel.

'They put him in the trunk of the car, drove him back to the grave, shot him again, and buried him. The second time, he didn't come back. The hitters, they didn't come back either. They retired. I think one of them had a breakdown.'

Angel thought about it all.

'Is that true?'

'What I heard.'

'Wow.'

'Was a time,' remarked Louis, 'when you'd have said more than ”Wow” after a story like that.'

'I guess it takes a lot to surprise me now,' said Angel.

'Yeah,' said Louis. 'Takes a lot to surprise us all. We splitting the check?'

'No,' said Parker. 'I got it.'

'Wow,' said Angel. 'That is-'