Robert B. Parker's Debt to Pay (11 page)

W
ithout warning, Hale Hunsicker spun on his heel and threw a big fist aimed directly at Scott Kahan's youthful good looks. It was a punch meant to do some serious damage, but the only damage done was to Hunsicker's pride. In a blur of arms, legs, and torsos, Hunsicker was facedown on the plush carpeting, his arm bent behind his back. Kahan's legs were on either side of the big man and he was holding his employer by nothing more than his thumb.

“All right, son, I think we've made the point to Chief Stone.”

Kahan released Hunsicker's hand, stepped aside, and assumed the military stance he'd been in a few seconds ago. Hunsicker did a push-up, got to his knees, and stood. He replaced his pants over the tops of his pointy-toed ostrich-skin boots, then brushed off his suit jacket. He shook the pain out of his right wrist.

Jesse said, “Very impressive.” But he wasn't impressed. “Problem is, the man we're up against isn't going to throw an unexpected punch in anybody's face.”

“With all due respect, sir, my team is prepared to deal with any sort of threat,” Kahan answered. His lips bent up in a sly, arrogant manner.

Hunsicker laughed. “You have your SEAL Team Six types, Jesse, then you have people like Scott. People governments don't go on TV to brag about. People who do the jobs that don't involve helicopter assaults, night-vision goggles, grenades, and the like.”

“CIA?” Jesse asked.

Kahan did that thing with the corners of his mouth. “Something like that, sir.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hunsicker wasn't laughing anymore. “So now why don't you tell me why you had me fly up to New York and pretend like I had business here this week? What's this stuff about somebody trying to hurt Jenn?”

Jesse reached into his inner jacket pocket and removed a second piece of paper. He unfolded it and stretched it out on the conference room table, a table for which many trees had made the ultimate sacrifice. It was a sketch of Mr. Peepers culled from Suit's and Jesse's recollections of the man and from whatever they could glean off the video. Kahan stared at it, studied it. His expression was basically blank. Not a hint of arrogance to be seen. On the other hand, Hunsicker was laughing again.

“Scott, you're too young, but Jesse's old enough to remember him. Guy kinda reminds me of the old-time actor Wally Cox.”

Jesse nodded. “Exactly. That's why they call him Mr. Peepers.”

Kahan did the talking. “‘They'?”

“He is a contract killer known to about every law enforcement agency in the world.”

“Name?”

“No identity other than Mr. Peepers. And if you cross his path, don't call him that.”

Kahan's expression changed, the corners of his lips turning down,
so Jesse kept at him. Jesse could see that it was Kahan he had to convince.

“No one even knew what he looked like until one of my officers and I had a confrontation with him. Shot my officer in the gut below his vest, but my guy wounded him in the right shoulder.”

“Hold on one second, you two,” Hunsicker said. “Before you go all covert ops on me here, I need to know what the hell is going on. What's this about him wanting to hurt Jenn? Why would he want to hurt Jenn? She hasn't been married to you for a far bit longer than you two were married in the first place.”

Jesse wasn't anxious to tell the story, because no matter how he related it, the bottom line was an unpleasant one for all sorts of reasons. And there was no way around the fact that all roads led back to Jesse himself. Peepers might have been the bad guy in this, but it was Jesse who had set the chain of events in motion. He told them straight out, no excuses, no explanations of why he'd done what he'd done. He'd had to save an innocent woman's life, so he did what he had to do. Hunsicker's expression displayed a full range of emotions as Jesse spoke. Kahan kept that blank, dispassionate look on his face as he listened. When he finished, Hale Hunsicker looked more worried than angry. Like earlier, Kahan spoke first, and to his boss's ears it was a peculiar question.

“You say in Salem he killed the dog, too?”

Jesse nodded, but unlike Hunsicker, he understood the question.

Hale had had enough. “All due respect, who gives a good goddamn if he killed the dog?”

“It speaks to a lack of compassion,” Kahan said. “He killed the dog in Salem because it was efficient to do so. He didn't think twice about it.”

Hunsicker plopped himself hard in a chair. “I must be losing my
mind. You two are talking about a lack of compassion because he killed a dog when he had just killed two complete strangers, an old woman and a cabdriver, for no good reason.”

Putting his hand into the side pocket of his jacket, Jesse said, “I've shown up at many brutal murder scenes where bodies were everywhere, bodies that were barely even human anymore. But the killer or killers couldn't bring themselves to hurt the pets. There were a few instances when the perps had risked capture to feed the dogs or cats before leaving the scene. Killing the dog says something about who we're dealing with.” Jesse pulled his hand out of his pocket and arrayed nine small color photos on the table. “These say much more.”

Hunsicker's eyes got big, though he said nothing. Kahan looked distressed and also kept silent.

Jesse pointed at some of the photos. “That's what he did to Gino Fish's receptionist. Those are the victims from Salem. That's what Vic Prado looked like before I stopped Peepers from finishing him.” Next Jesse pointed at what was left of some of Peepers's female victims. “He likes hurting people when he has the chance, women most of all.”

Hunsicker said, “Okay, Jesse, you've made your point. We'll call out the National Guard and the Texas Rangers. We'll round up every law enforcement type and ex–Blackwater employee we can find and we'll—”

But Kahan shook his head and said, “I would advise against it. We'll drive him underground, then he'll come at Mrs. Hunsicker when she's more vulnerable. You can't protect anyone twenty-four/seven. If you can kill a president or a man in prison in solitary, you can kill anyone, sir. I've had occasion to carry out missions against targets who considered themselves invulnerable. No one is invulnerable. No one.”

“Okay, then we'll move the wedding venue and—”

“Same answer, Hale,” Jesse said.

“He's right, sir.”

“Then what, I'm supposed to let the woman I love be the bait?”

Neither Jesse nor Kahan spoke, but their message was clear enough.

Hale Hunsicker stood and kicked over the chair he'd been sitting in. He walked up to Jesse and stuck a finger in his face. “All right, Stone. If Scott says this is what's got to be, then it's got to be. But if Jenn is injured in any way, this Peepers a-hole will be the least of your worries. I will make it my mission to fuck up your life and then kill you.” He pointed at Kahan. “And it won't be him doin' the killin'. We understand each other?”

When Jesse nodded, Hunsicker stormed out.

Kahan looked Jesse in the eye. “He means it, Stone.”

“I know he does,” he said. “I know.”

T
he rude blonde's voice was almost gone. She had been screaming through her gag from the moment she came out of her dream-filled stupor. You can scream for just so long. Only one other person was in earshot: the plain-faced man who'd stood over her, watching her, soaking up her panic like a lizard warming its cold blood on a rock in the sun. He seemed to enjoy the screaming, enjoyed her straining so hard against the straps that held her tight to the table. Eventually, she had nothing left in her to scream with and her panic dissolved into sobbing.

When the tears came, he gently stroked her sweat-soaked hair, smiling that smile of his. That frightened her most of all, his smile. His eyes went opaque and he seemed to go into a place in his head. She didn't want to think about what went on in that place. During her lucid moments, she had tried desperately to remember where she recognized him from, but it was always just beyond her grasp, like an itch too far down her back to reach.

“Shhh . . . shhh,” he said in a nasal whisper, putting his index finger across her dry, cracked lips. “I haven't even hurt you . . . yet. If you stop crying, I'll remove the gag for a while and give you
something to drink. If you misbehave, though, I promise you you will regret it.” He put his lips so close to her right ear that they brushed against it. She could hear his excited breathing. He said, “I would like that very much. I would like it if you misbehaved.”

That stopped the crying, but only induced another round of screaming into her gag. There was profound panic in her eyes and she struggled mightily against the restraints. Then suddenly there was a popping sound and her body went stiff with pain. Following the stiffness came her clenching in pain. But her left arm hung oddly off her shoulder.

He laughed at her, shaking his head. He'd seen this before. Sometimes when they fought too hard against the straps and twisted in just the wrong way, they would dislocate a shoulder or an ankle.

“You've dislocated your shoulder,” he said. “Immensely painful, isn't it? If you keep this up, I won't have to lift a finger to hurt you. Live with the pain for a while. Let it be your teacher. Maybe, if you behave, I'll reset it for you. Are you going to behave?”

She nodded furiously.

“Are you sure?”

She was nodding even more intensely now. Anything to make the pain stop. Anything. She'd never felt anything like it before. She was dizzy and nauseated from it.

“Please! Please!” she shouted through the gag.

He smiled at her. “Not so rude now, are you?”

She didn't understand, but shook her head. “Please! Please!” she screamed again.

“You did this to yourself, you know?” he said. “All I wanted to do was to have lunch in peace, but you just couldn't leave me alone. You just couldn't sit at another table.”

Then she knew. The itch was scratched. He was the guy from the
barbecue joint, the one who got the beer spilled on him. Maybe it was the aftereffects of the drugs or the intensity of the pain, but suddenly the absurdity of her situation struck her as funny. And instead of screaming or sobbing into her gag, she laughed.

He'd seen this, too. It was a kind of pain-induced madness. He didn't like it very much, even if he understood it. He laughed with her for a few seconds, then his eyes went opaque, his laugh morphing into a mocking imitation of her laugh. He put his face very close to hers.

“I'm glad you think it's funny, because laughing is misbehaving.”

With that he stood and pushed hard on her dislocated shoulder. The laughter came to an abrupt halt. Again, her body went stiff with pain. When her body went limp, he began to stroke her hair again.

“Don't worry, I'll reset your shoulder. You and I are going to get to be good friends over the next several weeks. Good friends. I'm going to teach you things about yourself that you never knew you were capable of. But for right now, I have some calls to make and other business to attend to. When I come back, I'll do as I promised. While I'm gone, while you learn to live with pain, think about your rudeness. Make it the only thing you think about.”

When he left the room, he took out his throwaway cell phone and dialed a Boston area number.

S
cott Kahan and Jesse Stone sat across from each other at the Italian restaurant on Fifty-third Street, alternating their gazes between the menu and the man on the opposite side of the table. Hale Hunsicker had wanted to be a part of their conversation, but Kahan advised against it, saying that it wasn't a good idea for him and Jesse to be seen together in public before the week of the wedding. Hunsicker didn't like it but had agreed not to come if it helped keep Jenn safe. Jesse got the sense that Hunsicker was a man who usually got his way, through charm or money or sheer force. He gave Kahan props for both his willingness to say no to his boss and for having enough credibility with the man for Hunsicker to back down.

Jesse knew that the system was rigged for the rich and powerful to get their way. He'd learned that lesson as a cop and detective in L.A., a town that churned out rich and powerful people by the dozen. And it wasn't any easier in Paradise, where the old money and town elders constantly held the loss of his job over his head. Not that he was given to buckling under the pressure. Buckling wasn't in his DNA.

“I noticed you didn't order a drink,” Kahan said.

“Uh-huh.”

“What's up? Not in the mood for Black Label today?”

Jesse didn't look up from the menu. “Don't need sources in the intelligence community to find out about my drinking. I'm sure Jenn's recited chapter and verse about my problems to your boss.”

Kahan laughed. “Actually, Mr. Hunsicker's intended basically sings your praises. I think it annoys the piss out of him.”

“Jenn is good at that.”

“I spoke with several of your former LAPD Robbery-Homicide colleagues.”

Now it was Jesse's turn to laugh. “I'm sure they gave you an earful.”

“To a man they said you were the best until you self-destructed. They said they couldn't trust you to have their backs anymore.”

“I'm surprised you didn't just break into my shrink's office. It would have saved you a lot of bother and money.”

“Dix? I tried scamming him into releasing your files to me. He didn't buy it and told me to go fuck myself.”

“He can be a pain, but he just scored big points in my book. Look, you want to know something about me, ask me.”

“Okay. You still a drunk?” Kahan was goading as much as he was asking.

Jesse nodded. “Technically, I guess so. You never stop being one, even if you stop drinking.”

“But you're not drinking today. Trying to impress me?”

“Nope. The last time I did something to purposely impress anyone was in A ball.”

“And what was that?”

“I bet the other shortstop on the team I could hit the first baseman in the glove with the ball three times in a row with my eyes closed.”

“What happened?”

“The other shortstop bought my meals for a week.” Jesse smiled. He hadn't thought about that in years. Maybe not since it happened. Now it seemed as if it was almost someone else's memory.

Kahan looked away from Jesse and back at the menu. “We have a common purpose, but I need to know whether I can depend on you, whether you'll have my back. You would have the same concerns in my shoes.”

Jesse didn't like Kahan's tone, but he had a point. They did need to trust each other.

“Fair enough.”

After the waiter came and took their orders, Kahan asked, “So, you're a hundred percent sure Peepers is our target?”

“Hundred percent. We've got him on surveillance leaving Gino Fish's office right after the murders.”

“Then why the sketch? Why not bring me a photo of him?”

Jesse said, “He was disguised.”

“Then you're not a hundred percent sure.”

“I'm sure.”

Kahan opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it.

“Does Peepers know you know about him?”

The million-dollar question. Jesse wasn't sure of the answer. That was the thing with Peepers: You could never be sure what he wanted you to know. Jesse was going to keep that to himself, but he needed this guy, for better or worse.

“I don't think so. My guess is he wanted me to know, but then changed his mind when things went wrong in Boston. He's a
planner, but he's also quick on his feet. He can improvise and he's not afraid to take big risks.”

“How big?”

“First time we crossed paths, he set off a smoke grenade in another town's police headquarters, waited until the building was evacuated, and then broke into their property room in order to locate a camera that might've had his photo on its chip.”

“We might be able to use that,” Kahan said.

Jesse was skeptical. “Maybe.” Then he shifted gears. “We both told your boss not to call out the cavalry, but I'm uncomfortable operating on someone else's patch without giving them a heads-up, especially if we have to call on them.”

“Agreed. The wedding and most of the pre-wedding events are taking place in Vineland Park Village. I know the chief there, Jeb Lockett. We can trust him to be discreet.”

“Can you arrange a meeting between us before the wedding?”

“But—”

Jesse put his right palm up. “You know your world. I know mine. Lockett will want to speak to me. How about next week?”

“It's a big risk, you coming to Dallas before the wedding week.”

“A risk worth taking. Besides, Peepers can't be everywhere at once. He won't be watching the cops. He'll be looking for a change in Jenn's routine or an obvious change in your procedures. That's why you can't do obvious security checks on employees of the caterers, the valets, the country-club employees, or—”

“You think?” Kahan made an angry face. “Give me credit for knowing my job, too.”

“Sorry.”

“One last question, Stone.”

“Shoot.”

“Mr. Hunsicker was too preoccupied by all this for it to register. Maybe it will occur to him later or maybe not. But how long have you had the photo of your ex with the message about the praying mantis?”

“More than a year.”

“And this is the first anyone's hearing about it. Why?”

“If you don't already know the answer to that,” Jesse said, “then I shouldn't give you credit for knowing your job.”

Kahan smiled, looked over Jesse's shoulder, and said, “Food's here.”