Blood in the Water Page 7

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘They say that if hypothermia hadn’t set in, I probably would have drowned. Thank God they got me out quickly.’

  Kit looked over her shoulder to make sure they were alone in the room, then reached out and took his hand. ‘You’re still cold.’

  ‘You too.’

  ‘I’m trying to be sensitive.’

  He laughed. ‘Try harder, luv.’

  ‘I’m processing.’

  ‘Like a computer.’ He laughed again.

  ‘I would have missed you, though. I would have.’

  ‘You would have missed the information.’

  There was some truth to that, she knew. ‘The information you give me helps me do my job and protects the country. You helped us stop that shipment of explosives last year that was headed for the crazy militia group in New Hampshire. Who knows what they planned to do with that? Without you, we never would have recaptured Vincente Carpio.’

  ‘I’m a patriot.’ His voice was thick with irony. ‘I’m glad you appreciate that.’

  If she didn’t know him better, she would have thought his feelings were hurt. ‘I would have missed you, too, though. Not just the information.’ She gently squeezed his hand, but he pulled it away. ‘You’re more than that to me.’

  ‘That’s just physical,’ he said dismissively.

  She withdrew her hand, took a deep breath. ‘Who was it?’ she asked. ‘At the Mariner. Who came at you?’

  ‘MS-13,’ Cormack responded. ‘Soh and his men. He killed Cookie.’

  She thought about this for a moment. ‘There’s been cell traffic about Soh,’ she said pensively. ‘Drugs mainly. You think that’s what it was about?’

  Cormack shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t care, really. Any way you look at it, I’ve got to respond. Something like this can’t go unanswered.’

  Kit shook her head. ‘We have a deal. Nothing over the line. I can’t protect you if you’re active beyond the small stuff.’

  ‘I’m no use to you if people don’t respect me. And people won’t respect me if this isn’t answered. You knew who I was when you reached out to me.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘No, that’s not fuckin’ it. He came into my bar. I owe it to Cookie.’

  She nodded in understanding. ‘I can’t be a part of that,’ she said. ‘I understand, and I’ll honor our agreement regarding everything in the past. That’s all off limits. But going forward, I can’t protect you, and I can’t know about any of it. You’ll be on your own.’

  He gave her a thin smile. ‘That’s how I prefer it.’

  Eighteen

  The Naked Eye was a sad, stale place before noon on a weekday. The dancers – what few there were – strolled across the stage, their expressions blank, their movements disinterested. The patrons gave them obligatory attention, occasionally laying a bill on the bar, leaning back and looking on as the dancers bent over to pick it up. It was too early for lap dances or catcalls. The music seemed to pound with feigned enthusiasm, and even in the club’s windowless world, daytime seemed to reveal the grit and grime and tragedy of the place that people were able to overlook late at night.

  The daytime was how Diamond knew the place best. She’d been there at night as well, when the place came alive in a drunken, hormone-driven frenzy – when the crowd of sweaty, frothing men was three deep to the stage and bouncers paced like panthers on steroids, waiting for anyone to step out of line. She’d seen the women crawl over the men sprawled in the booths at the back of the place, naked and gyrating for twenty dollars a song, whispering whatever fantasies they thought might increase the tip or bring a request for one more dance. But in the daytime was how she knew the place. Sitting at the bar, doing what homework she could, as her mother served cocktails to the truly lost and desperate souls that found themselves there in the late mornings and early afternoons. This was what the Naked Eye looked like in the light of day, when the cracks in the facade couldn’t be hidden.

  Diamond looked around to see who was there, then slid into a seat at the corner of the bar, took off her coat and put it on the stool next to her, took off her hat and put it on top of her coat, stretched her neck and pulled her fingers through her hair in a halfhearted attempt to straighten it. Behind the bar, down at the other end, a woman pushing forty cast a glance down Diamond’s way, and gave a sad, knowing smile. Diamond gave a half-hearted wave and looked away. The bartender made her way down.

  ‘Hey, kid.’

  ‘Hey, Daisy Mae.’ As hard as it was to fathom, it was not a stage name. When she had danced regularly, she’d gone by ‘Chrystal’. Her dancing days were, for the most part, behind her now. She would take an occasional turn on the stage late on a Saturday night, when the place was filled with men no longer capable of seeing the signs of age, whose desire for any flesh overcame the need for perfection. For Daisy Mae, those nights weren’t about the money; they were about the attention. They were about feeling desirable – feeling powerful – for just that moment. As the years passed, there would be fewer and fewer of those nights, she knew, and it scared her. She spent most of her time now behind the bar, where she felt free to use the real name – one which, ironically, other girls might have chosen as a laughably obvious stage name. In that, she and Diamond O’Connell shared a bond.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Diamond thought long and hard about that. What was she doing here? ‘Can I get a whiskey?’

  ‘No, you can’t get a whiskey. You’re nineteen.’

  Age seemed the least of the reasons Diamond shouldn’t be drinking, but at that moment she didn’t care. Everything seemed so lost, she just wanted a little escape. ‘Please?’

  ‘You’re underage.’

  Diamond glanced up at one of the blondes leaning against a pole on the stage, swaying unsteadily to the music. ‘Tiffany’s a year younger than me, and she’s so strung out on heroin she can’t keep a beat.’

  ‘Only have to be eighteen to dance. And if she’s strung out, at least I didn’t give the shit to her.’

  ‘I’m not asking for drugs, Daisy Mae, I’m asking for a whiskey. Mom would’ve given it to me.’

  Daisy Mae frowned, wrestling with her best intentions. She reached under the bar and grabbed a highball glass, filled it from a plain-labeled bottle in the well, put it in front of Diamond. ‘One,’ she said. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘What are you doing here, anyway? You’re living with Cormack. You don’t need to be here anymore.’

  ‘This is where I grew up.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. All the more reason to get out of the place. And get the place out of you.’

  ‘This is where I feel closest to her.’ Diamond said.

  ‘Another reason not to come.’ Diamond could see the regret on Daisy Mae’s face as soon as she’d said the words. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have …’ She took a deep breath. ‘She loved you.’

  ‘As much as she could.’

  ‘She was a good person.’

  ‘She was a fuckup,’ Diamond said. She sniffed the cheap whiskey, lost in indecision.

  Daisy Mae poured a short glass, held it up. ‘Like the rest of us,’ she agreed, raising her glass. ‘A fuckup who did her best.’

  ‘A fuckup who did her best,’ Diamond allowed, touching her glass to Daisy Mae’s. Daisy Mae threw hers down. Diamond sipped hers. Down at the other end of the bar, a man glanced impatiently down at Daisy Mae. ‘You’ve got a customer,’ Diamond said, nodding at the man.

  ‘I do,’ she agreed, looking down the bar at the man. ‘He’ll still be there in a minute. You OK, kid?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘You ever need anything, you let me know, OK?’

  ‘I will.’

  Daisy Mae started moving down the bar, then paused, looked back at Diamond with hesitation. ‘Tell your father the same goes for him, OK? If he needs anything …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘I’ll let him know,’ Diamon
d said.

  ‘He’s one of the good ones.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Diamond conceded.

  ‘Sometimes is a hell of a lot better than most.’

  Nineteen

  T’phong Soh had learned at an early age that anger was the emotion of defeat. It grew from defeat and led to defeat. It clouded the mind, and caused mistakes. He had trained himself to avoid it at all costs. So the wave of rage that came over him when he learned that Cormack O’Connell was still alive took him by surprise.

  He was sitting with Javier Carpio, planning out the raid that would take place within the next two weeks. Nautical maps showing Boston’s inner harbor and the shoreline were spread over the table in front of them, and the men gestured toward different spots on the map, considering the options, using as few words as possible as they let the plan unfold organically, allowing the geography to guide them.

  He could tell that something was wrong as soon as Juan Suarez came into the room. They had worked together less than two years, but in that time he had seen the man function under some of the most difficult conditions imaginable. They had literally faced down death too many times to count, and Juan Suarez had never blinked. He was as solid and steady a man as Soh had ever encountered. And yet, when Suarez entered the room, Soh could see the shadow on his face – a darkness he’d never seen before.

  Suarez crossed the room and whispered the news into Soh’s ear, and as the words slipped out, Soh felt his anger grow so quickly that his normal defenses against the emotion were ineffective. The beast of fury overtook him before he had time to compose himself, and he leapt out of his chair, knocking it backwards, and grabbed Suarez by the shirt.

  ‘That is not possible!’ he shouted in his native Malay, pulling Suarez close to his face, snarling at the messenger like a lunatic. His hand went for the knife in his back pocket reflexively, Suarez saw the motion and, even though he understood no Malay, he recognized the danger. It was at that moment that Soh could feel Javier Carpio’s eyes on him.

  ‘Problem?’ The giant didn’t move. He just sat there, staring. Evaluating the situation.

  Soh released Suarez and turned so that he faced away from everyone in the room. He needed a moment to compose himself. ‘No,’ he replied, a little too quickly to be believable. He turned back and looked at the giant El Salvadoran. ‘A setback, maybe. Not a problem.’

  The giant said nothing, but his eyes urged Soh on, demanding more information without using words.

  ‘The Irishman is still alive,’ Soh said slowly, feeling the impact of each syllable, as though it hadn’t been real until he spoke the truth out loud.

  ‘How? You told me he was gone.’

  ‘He was,’ Soh said. ‘I saw him shot. I saw him in water, under the flames. He could not survive.’

  ‘And yet he has.’ There was a hint of judgment in the tone of the giant that brought Soh back to the reality of his situation.

  ‘It is of no matter.’

  ‘No? You said that he needed to be removed. That will be harder now that he knows you are coming for him.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Soh said. He wanted to lash out. If Carpio had not been there, he would have. If it had just been him and his men, one of them would have paid for his rage – given themselves up to assuage his anger. That was not an option, though. Outbursts like that would create an uneven foundation upon which to build a partnership with a man as dangerous as Javier Carpio. So he bit back his anger and forced himself to be calm, and to think. ‘We needed him out of the way because if he finds out what we are planning, he would be a problem.’

  ‘That is what you said,’ Javier agreed.

  ‘But he will be of little worry if he is distracted,’ Soh pointed out.

  ‘How do you intend to distract him?’

  ‘We already have. He knows that we are at war. Now we need to make sure that he cannot focus on anything else.’ That was when the thought occurred to him, and he gave an evil smile. ‘And I know how we can make sure of that.’

  Twenty

  Diamond felt him approaching before she saw him. She’d been raised in this place, where the unwanted attention of men was a principal danger, so she’d developed a keen sense for it. He was harmless, she could tell as she glanced out of the side of her eye. Older, maybe early forties, sad and pathetic – he’d have to be to be in this place at this time of day – he walked toward her in a suit that hung loosely on his frame, suggesting perhaps he’d been a man of greater substance at some point in his life. His tie was askew, and judging from the hitch in his step, so was he. His drink, half empty, flirted with the lip of the glass as he carried it unsteadily on his ill-fated walk over in her direction.

  ‘Hi,’ the suit said, as he sidled up to the bar next to her. Honestly, she’d heard worse openings in her life, but it wouldn’t make a difference. She didn’t reply, just sipped her drink and stared straight ahead. ‘You a dancer?’

  She took a deep breath, turned her head and looked him in the eye. ‘I’m having a drink,’ she said. ‘Alone.’

  It was clear from the look on his face that he misinterpreted her response as encouragement. ‘Yeah, I know what that’s like,’ he said. ‘Nothing worse, is there? Drinks were meant to be shared. With friends.’ For just a moment he got a far-off look in his eyes. ‘Friends …’ He said the word like it was a term he’d known once but had now forgotten. The silence drifted briefly before he pulled himself back. ‘Anyway, no need to drink alone, sweetheart. I could be your friend.’

  ‘No thanks. I’m not looking for a friend.’

  ‘No? What are you looking for?’ His hand slipped under the bar and brushed her thigh. He leaned in toward her with the booze-soaked breath and heavy-lidded gaze of a lost soul. Diamond took a deep breath as she reached into her bag.

  * * * * *

  Buddy leaned back in his chair, fingering the glass resting on the edge of the counter that ringed the stage at the Naked Eye. He’d decided not to show up to offload the Greek freighter, after all. It was the first day he’d ever missed, but he knew he had more important things to do today.

  Above him, a stripper tried to gain his attention, dancing with more enthusiasm than noon on a weekday deserved. Buddy was used to it. Women had always been drawn to him, particularly fallen angels searching for something to lift them up again. He’d never really understood it, but he never questioned it either. Bad boy looks and a good boy smile. That was how one girl tried to explain it once. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but it sounded profound and he’d liked it enough at the time to stay in her bed with her for a few more hours, holding her and moving with her body in a way that would let her believe that there was something more between them than there really was. It was, he wanted to believe, a kindness that marked him as a decent soul. He would be more convinced of his decency, though, if he could remember her name.

  He’d followed Diamond and saw when she entered the place and slid into the seat at the bar. He watched as she begged the drink from the bartender, wondered what they were talking about with such serious expressions. He was tempted to go right over to her, but he didn’t. Instead he watched her, studying her face, trying to figure out what it was about her that transfixed him. She was good looking, to be sure. But good-looking women were everywhere if you looked hard enough, Buddy had always found. There was something more about her – something dark and compelling.

  He had to suppress a smile when the guy in the suit made his move. Buddy knew the man had no shot, with his rumpled jacket and tousled hair that screamed middle-management-mid-life crisis. She would never be tempted by a man like that, he knew. Still, he was getting restless just sitting there, watching her. It was time.

  * * * * *

  Daisy Mae watched the scene unfold from the other end of the bar, far enough away that she couldn’t hear what was being said, but close enough that she could intercede if necessary. Diamond’s mother had been a royal pain in the ass. She was a junkie and sex addict who cared more about her next scor
e and her next fuck than her own child. But she belonged to this place and this place belonged to her. She was one of Daisy Mae’s people, for all her faults. And that was enough to give Daisy Mae reason to watch over Diamond to the extent that was possible with a nineteen-year-old girl who knew her own mind.

  Daisy Mae began moving down toward Diamond and the suit when she saw his hand slip under the bar. She wasn’t sure whom she was more likely to have to protect, her or him, but she knew there was no good outcome. She heard Diamond’s voice.

  ‘Take your hand off my leg.’ It was a growl. Not loud, but deep and threatening, with just a touch of pity. The suit was clearly too drunk and too horny to catch the tone.

  ‘C’mon, sweetheart,’ he slurred, leaning in even closer to Diamond. ‘I got lotsa cash!’

  Daisy Mae was hurrying down the bar, almost in front of them, but she feared she might be too late. ‘Is there a problem?’ she asked loudly, hoping to distract them for long enough to defuse the situation. It was a foolish hope.

  ‘What the fuck did you say to me?’ Diamond hollered. The pity was now gone, and there was nothing but anger left.

  ‘I said I got cash. We could be friends, you and me.’ The suit still hadn’t caught on. He was pawing at her; the booze and testosterone had overpowered any good sense and judgment that might have ever existed in the man’s brain.

  The good-looking young man appeared as though from nowhere, like a Canadian Mountie in the midst of the swill of the strip club. He was standing behind the suit, a firm hand on his shoulder. ‘I think the lady would like to be left alone,’ he said. His tone was more amused than angry.

  The suit turned to the young man, a confused look on his face. ‘I got cash,’ he said. He reached into his pocket and a roll of twenties tumbled to the floor. ‘See,’ he said as he bent down, fumbling to pick up the bills, ‘I got cash. I’m looking for a friend.’ He looked up at the young man. ‘Do I talk to you? Are you her …’