A Mighty Fortress (53 page)

“A DVD?” he whispered.

“You know, the video? The one you’ve killed for?”

He winced and glanced around before hissing, “That’s preposterous. You can’t prove anything.”

I shrugged. “I don’t have to.”

He somehow turned indignant. “You know who you’re talking to?”
 

I nodded. “Of course I do. And being the local hero you are, I’m sure we’ll be seeing you in the news, Dane.” I took Angie’s hand and led her away.

The judge apparently had a few drinks in him, and it took some effort to pry him away from the crowd. “Come on, Porter, I’m on a roll,” he pleaded before giving up. He wanted to tell Parker goodbye before we left, but for some reason Mr. Parker had to leave early.

And he did so without telling anyone that he was leaving. Or where he was going.

“So you told him about the video?” Pinkerton asked me while we waited in the parking lot for Hector to return with the van.

“Kind of,” I said. “I told him you sent it to the newspapers.”

Pinkerton grinned toothily. “You sly dog. You didn’t tell him I sent it to Art Scalzo?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Angie tugged on my arm. “I still don’t understand how you pulled that off in the penthouse.”

She still didn’t know about the help her dad had provided us. I thought about telling her then and there, but a line of police cruisers soon arrived with blaring sirens, interrupting my train of thought. I held out hope that maybe they were there to give Dane Parker a ride, but I gave up on that when Fred Mitchell approached and told me that his colleagues had a few questions for Angie and me.

I glanced across the parking lot at Hector. I couldn’t recall ever seeing him looking so sad as when he watched Angie climb into the police cruiser. I waved and gestured that I’d call him. Of course, I had no idea when.

After a few hours of interrogation, I was happy to see C-Rod appear for clean-up duty. They’d kept me and Angie separated for most of the evening, I supposed to make sure our stories were consistent, but at this point we really had nothing to hide. Well, maybe
I
did.
 
Regardless, I was happy to see C-Rod’s familiar face, and at least that it wasn’t too bruised. His left eye was black and blue, and his upper lip would need a few weeks to heal.

“You doing all right, L-T?” I said.

“I’ve been better.”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” I told him. “That was quite the collision.”

“Yeah, they say had he hit a foot to the left, I’d be a dead man.”

I found myself second-guessing my use of the work
lucky
, but I’d have to save that conversation for another day. “I’m really sorry about Shields. I know that can’t be easy to accept.”

He nodded. “As you know, I’d had my suspicions. But I never thought it would be this bad.”

“What about Parker?” I said.

“Let us worry about Parker.” C-Rod pulled his chair closer to mine, and I could tell he was turning fidgety.
 

“Something else bothering you, C-Rod?”

He nodded. “I’ll cut right to the chase. The guy who shot Shields, the girl’s father?”

“I don’t know who did that.”

“Don’t worry, Porter, we know who he is. But, as you can imagine, a sniper on the campus of the University of Tampa didn’t go over very well. We surrounded him after he fired. He finally turned himself in.”

“What he did was justified,” I said. “Shields was going to kill us, and you know that.”

“I don’t disagree with that,” he said. Then he put on latex gloves.

“Lieutenant, I hope you’re not going to ‘examine’ me.”

“Shut up, Porter.” Once the gloves were on, he pulled out a plastic bag that held a bloodied envelope. “We found this on him.”

“What the hell is it?” I said.

“It’s a letter, Porter.”

“What’s it got to do with me?”

C-Rod sighed. “We need your help, Porter. We need your help with the girl.”

It was my turn to put on the gloves.

What I’d come to understand to be Bob Hunter’s suicide note sat on the table between Angie and me. I’d explained to her several times how it all went down, and what the officials of TPD were proposing, but all she could do was cry.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “My dad killed that crazy cop, saved our lives, and they want to pin this on him?”

I nodded. “He put it in this note, I guess you could call it a suicide note, to save you, to clear you of any wrongdoing.”

“By why? He didn’t die.”

“He thought he was going to.”

“Why?” she cried.

“Because he wanted to help you. And he knew the police would bite at anything to cover up Shields’s corruption.”

“So they’re going to pay me to stay quiet?”

“That’s my understanding. But why don’t you read it for yourself?”

She picked up the letter, which I’d already read a few times, and cried as she read her dad telling her how long he’d prayed that God would give him the chance to show his daughter that he really loved her. He explained how sorry he was for all the ways he’d failed her; he told her he loved her, and that her mom had come to him in several dreams this week and told him he was going to have to die for their Angel, and he was willing to do that, if that was what it took.

“But she told
me
that,” Angie cried. “She told me
I
was going to have to die.”

I thought about what Gus had told me about her demons dying. “You sure that’s really what she said?”

“I don’t know anymore, Milo. I just don’t know!”

“Maybe she meant it figuratively, for both of you. That you can die and start all over. They’ll give you enough money to start over, Angie. A clean start. You can leave everything behind. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“What about my dad?”

“He might have to do some jail time. But he wants to do it for
you
.”

She cried louder. “And if I say no?”

“Well, you say no, then there’s nothing they can do about it,” I lied. I didn’t want to tell her they’d be pressing charges against me if she didn’t agree.

I was sure she had enough guilt to carry around for the rest of her life.

For better or worse, it didn’t look like I’d have to do that. Angie seemed content to honor her father’s wishes and accept the government’s bribe, but first she wanted to sleep on it for a night or two. And she wanted to do that somewhere far away, somewhere she’d never been before, where she was sure no one could find her (except, of course, for her mother, were she to visit her in a dream). So I helped her to get a cab to Tampa International, where she intended to book the next open seat on Southwest, regardless of where it was going.

We stood outside the State Attorney’s Office while she waited for the taxi. “So, if I come back,” she said, “your neighbor seems really nice.”

“He is,” I said. “And… well, I don’t want this to come out wrong.”

She tilted her head and seemed to brace herself. “Don’t worry, Milo.”

“Well, if you do come back, just take it easy on him,” I said. “He’s kind of damaged goods.”

She touched my cheek. “Aren’t we all?”

I nodded. “I guess we are. But he’s a good guy, too.”

“Like his neighbor.”
 

“You seem different,” I said. “You going to be okay with your dad?”

Her eyes floated down and settled on something I couldn’t see. “I think so, one day. It will take time.” Her eyes rose up and met mine. “You really mean what you whispered in my ear up there?”

I nodded. “I sure do. Like a sister, you know?”

She nodded. “I never had a brother before,” she said. “I love you too, Milo.” She kissed me on the cheek just as the cab arrived.

Later, C-Rod was kind enough to give me a drive home. We didn’t say much during the drive.

When we reached my driveway, I looked at my dark house. The Volvo sat alone in the driveway. I was hoping I’d hear from Gus soon; I wanted to hear if I’d done right. I wanted to see my dad’s face again, or at least Gus’s angelic reiteration of it.

I nodded good night to C-Rod. I didn’t see any reason to plague the moment with words. But C-Rod spoke up: “Porter,” he called as I stepped out of the car. “You really think that was luck?”

“What?”

“What happened to me today? Everything that happened this week?”

I told him I didn’t believe in luck, and wished him a good night.

In my living room there was just enough light from the street to see the outline of someone sitting on my couch. I can’t say I was disappointed to see that it was Val, not Gus. She flipped the switch on the lamp, and I fell onto the couch next to her and stared at her. She avoided eye contact. Then she crossed her arms, sighed, and asked, “Is it over?”

I nodded. “All done.”

She turned slowly and met my eyes. “You going to do it again?”

I thought about what Gus had told me, about the cross I had to bear. “Honestly?”

“Honestly,” she said. “I’m fine with it, Milo. I know you have to.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “And I want you to know something else.” She paused. I knew how hard this was for her, and I loved her for it. “What you said last night.”

I gave a nod of encouragement.
 

“I love you, too,” she said.

What followed was without question the sweetest kiss of my life. It didn’t seem to end, despite the fact that we eventually ended up in my bedroom. I fell asleep as she held me that night, and I fell into the deepest, most peaceful sleep I could remember enjoying, at least on this side of 9/11. Val never asked me to explain anything, never told me she understood or was happy I was okay. She didn’t need to. We communicated things that night that words could never convey, and I saw deeper into her eyes—no, into her soul—than I’d ever imagined possible. It was a night I never wanted to end.

So it was fitting that I dreamed it didn’t.

Instead, I awoke to an empty bed. Some of Val’s clothes were still strung around my bedroom. I called out for her, and she said she was going outside to get some fresh air.

I pulled on a pair of shorts, grabbed a T-shirt, and joined her.

When I reached my backyard, white lights were strung from every corner of my lot, intersecting at the old magnolia near the center of my yard. I didn’t see Val, but there was quite a feast underway on the picnic table beneath the magnolia. The kid from Texas was on one side, seated next to Rico. Angie’s mom sat across from them. It looked like the same spread I’d dreamed about earlier: a large platter with mounds of grilled lamb, thin cuts of pita bread, and fruits of some sort. There were stone casks atop the table, too, and everyone had a large tumbler filled with wine that looked black under the light of the moon.

Someone snuck up behind me and covered my eyes. Then I heard Val ask, “Aren’t you going to join them?”

It didn’t look like there was much room at the table, and something about the sight made me feel nervous and jittery. “I don’t know,” I said. “What are they doing here?”

“It’s a party, for you. Why don’t you join them?”

I turned to look at Val, but I couldn’t find her. “Where are you?” I asked.

“I’m going home, Milo. I’m going home.”

“Val?” I turned and scanned every corner of my backyard. But Val had disappeared.

A surprising breeze swept over me, and I felt like calling Hector over and inviting him to partake. But the kid from Texas was already calling me over. I walked over to him, nervously.

“How you doing, man?” he asked, his drawl as thick as ever.

I told him I was great, and did my best not to look down. I didn’t want to see how he’d healed up.

“Don’t worry about me, man. I’m good as new, Porter.”

It was as though he reminded me of my name, and then I glanced across the yard and saw Gus standing in the shadows like a security guard.
 

I wanted to ask him where Mom was, but he suddenly looked distracted by something in the sky. His eyes moved heavenward, and mine followed.

Then I glanced back at Gus, and our eyes locked. “We got work to do, Milo. A lot of work to do.”

I nodded and gripped the table as Gus looked up again.

My eyes followed. Fiery lights were descending on us now. They looked like mortars from WWI, but they were moving in slow motion, moving slow enough that I thought I could catch them. I started for them, and the kid from Texas told me not to worry about it.

“Why the hell not?” I asked.

“Because it’s just your doorbell ringing. It’s just your doorbell, Porter.”

And so it was, I realized, after I awoke in a panic. My breath was short, my head soaked in sweat. I leaped out of bed and felt the heat of daylight pressing on my bedroom. This time, at least, Val was still in my bed; and whoever had been ringing the doorbell had given up on that and turned to beating on the door.

I looked outside, expecting to see C-Rod’s Malibu or a police cruiser. Instead, I saw only my Volvo in the driveway.

Then there was a violent sound, like someone was knocking my door in. I pulled on my shorts and started to reach for the Sig.

When I heard what sounded like a cadre of men rushing through my hallway, I knew I didn’t have time for that.

The door to my bedroom flew open, and a wave of relief washed over me when I saw Rico Aguilar barely fit through the doorway. He panted hard and yelled my name. Then he saw his sister asleep in my bed. “You’re
sleeping together
, Porter?”

“Rico?” Val sat up, covered herself with a sheet.

Rico shook his head, and then seemed to remember something more important. “We’ll talk about this later. But read this.” He smashed a letter into my hands. “Read this, Porter.”

So I did. It didn’t take long.

“Does that say what I think it says?” he asked eagerly.

“What is it?” Val asked.

“It’s from the bank,” I told her. “They’re writing his mortgage off as part of some government settlement for unfair lending practices.”

“What does that mean?” she said.

“Tell her,” Rico said.

I glanced at both of them and rubbed my eyes, just to make sure I was reading it right. Once I was sure I wasn’t giving Rico false hope, I said, “It means he gets to keep the gym, and he doesn’t have to pay the mortgage.”