Rules of Honour (3 page)

Chaney looked at me. ‘You shot me, you bastard. You should’ve let your buddy kill me, ’cause I’m gonna . . .’

‘Going to what?’ I glared down at him. ‘I barely scratched you. You’re an ungrateful piece of crap; I’ve just saved your life.’

‘Says who?’ Chaney struggled to get up, leaning on the bench with a blood-slicked hand. ‘The way I see it your buddy is too much of a pussy to shoot. If he was gonna do it, he’d have goddamn done it. Just wait ’til I get up and—’

I kicked his support arm from under him. Chaney went down on his backside with a solid bump. Anger flared in him, shame at what he perceived as the ultimate humiliation. He began to struggle up once more. Rink and I shared a glance and it was just like old times, before all this started. I shrugged at him. Gave him the go-ahead.

Rink turned up the corner of his mouth in a smile. Then he slapped the butt of the Glock against Chaney’s skull. The enforcer was out cold before he’d slumped all the way to the floor.

‘What now?’ Rink looked at me.

‘We get off at the next station and make ourselves scarce.’

‘Thought you’d maybe explain yourself first.’

‘There’s no time.’ I left Rink while I searched the floor and came back a moment later, pocketing the flattened round I’d put through Chaney’s leg.

Rink grunted. ‘That’s why I wore gloves and used his gun. No forensics to worry about.’

‘As if that would make a difference? Doesn’t look like you made an effort to avoid the CCTV cameras.’

‘They’d have seen a big guy with black hair, but only the top of my head. Could be one of a thousand dudes, even in this shirt.’ He tugged at the collar of his bright Hawaiian number that was only partly hidden by a black leather jacket. It would look like a warning beacon anywhere else but here; there was still a large contingent of hippies and arty types in San Francisco who sported much gaudier attire. Rink nodded at me. ‘I see you’re still dressing as classy as ever.’

I was pleased to hear the tongue-in-cheek insult; it meant my big friend was back, thinking a little clearer than before.

‘It’s academic now,’ I said, referring to the concern about forensics. ‘Chaney isn’t going to call the police. He didn’t die, and when he wakes up he’s going to realise how lucky he’s been. All that talk was just bluster. Fear. He’ll keep quiet. But that won’t mean a thing if we’re still standing round here when we reach the next stop.’

Rink crouched down and pushed the Glock into Chaney’s holster, then arranged his coat so that it was hidden from view. Then he followed me through the carriages, away from where the Chinese woman sat oblivious to what had just occurred. We were pulling into the next station at Montgomery Street and I could see that some bleary-eyed passengers were waiting on the platform.

‘What’s the time?’ I asked.

Rink calculated. ‘Has to be coming up six o’clock by now.’

‘Good. Some of the shops should be opening. Don’t know about you, Rink, but I need a cup of strong coffee.’

‘What you need is to get rid of that coat. It smells like someone took a crap in it.’

The doors opened and we had to stand aside to avoid a suited man who rushed aboard, already conducting business on his BlackBerry. He didn’t give us so much as a glance and went for the nearest seat. We got off the train and made for the exit stairs. The train was already moving away and, as it slid parallel to us, I glanced into the carriage where we’d left Chaney. He was still sound asleep. Probably he wouldn’t wake until the train reached the terminus at San Francisco International Airport. Wherever he’d been heading this morning, he was going to be late for his appointment.

I dumped the coat first chance I got. The jeans and boots should have gone in the Dumpster with it, but they were all I had with me. I threw the wool cap in with the rubbish, made do with smoothing down my hair. It was short so didn’t look too bad. The shirt and canvas jacket I’d worn beneath the coat weren’t filthy, so I looked reasonably dressed and wouldn’t be kicked out of the coffee shop we headed for. Rink was silent as we strode across a thoroughfare beginning to swell with foot traffic as people headed for their workplaces. Rink is the epitome of the strong, silent type – until he gets going – but this morning his silence was deeper than normal. I could feel it like a living thing, caged for now but ready to be let loose to ravage and tear.

I gave up smoking and hard liquor years ago, but the old habits had been replaced by my overreliance on strong coffee. I ordered the largest cup on sale, together with a fruit smoothie for Rink. The shop had only just opened its doors and the barista was overworked. As soon as he’d delivered our drinks he continued the task of stocking the shelves we’d disturbed him from doing. That suited us: there were no other customers and we could speak in private. We took a table where we could see the entrance and out of the front window, so there’d be no surprises. It was an old habit I’d been unable to lose.

‘I saw you.’

‘Thought you might’ve,’ I said, cupping my drink with both palms. ‘But you were still going to go ahead with the hit?’

‘Figured you might try to stop me.’

‘I did.’

‘Yeah.’

‘If you were determined enough to kill Chaney there was nothing I could’ve done about it.’

Rink closed his eyes briefly. ‘No. But I’m glad you did. You said I made a mistake; I trust you. But you’d better tell me how or I’m going back for the punk.’

I took a long swallow of coffee. ‘Chaney is a thug; there’s no denying it. And I don’t doubt that he deserves the bullet you planned to put in him, but it wasn’t him.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘I went back and talked with your mom again, Rink.’

‘She told me it was Chaney.’

‘She was . . . uh, lying.’

Rink’s forehead creased, not at my suggestion that his mother was less than the symbol of virtue and goodness he believed, but because my words had struck a chord in him.

‘Not lying per se,’ I went on, ‘but guessing: putting two and two together and getting five. As you know, there had been some trouble with Chaney’s lot throwing their weight around, so it was only natural that your mom should mention him to the police, and to us when we got here. But she’s had more time to think and she doesn’t believe that Chaney’s the one responsible any more. For a start, she doesn’t believe that a clown like him could’ve done what he did.’

‘No,’ Rink said. ‘Now that I’ve met him and tested his mettle, I don’t think so either. But it doesn’t make a difference to me, Hunter. Someone is responsible and I’m gonna find him. And when I do, even you won’t be able to stop me next time.’

‘As if I’m going to try? I’ll be right there beside you, brother.’

Rink hadn’t even looked at his smoothie until now, and he chugged it down. ‘You went back to see my mom. How is she?’

‘Hurting. Physically and mentally. She was more concerned about you running off the way you did than anything else. She was frightened that she sent you after the wrong man and asked that I stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life.’

‘Chaney wouldn’t have been a loss . . . to anyone.’

‘Maybe not, but the way you went about it, there’d have been only one suspect. Your mom didn’t want to see you going to prison for the wrong man.’

‘That’d put a wrench in the works . . . no way I’d find the right one then.’ Rink squinted at me. ‘I take it the disguise wasn’t for my sake?’

‘I had to get close to Chaney in order to find you. Like many, he’s blind to anyone he deems beneath himself. It worked. I was able to find him, and he led me to you. Had a feeling that you’d do him on the early train where there was little chance of collateral damage. But I wasn’t positive and decided I’d shadow him for as long as it took you to make a move. Would’ve made life much easier if you hadn’t done a runner from the hospital, or if you’d answered your bloody phone when I called you.’

He curled a lip at my ear bashing. Usually the tables were turned the opposite direction. Then he grew melancholy, and his hooded eyes sparkled with unshed tears. ‘Didn’t want to bring you down with me, brother.’

‘Jesus, Rink! It’s your dad we’re talking about here. I want to avenge his murder as much as you do.’

Chapter 4

‘I’ll wait outside, Rink. I think it’s important that you speak with your mom alone.’

‘She’ll be glad to see you, too.’

‘I know, but there’ll be time for that later. You need to speak with her in private. There’s something she wants to say, but my guess is it’s for your ears only.’

I watched as Rink headed into the intensive care unit, then went to stand in the parking lot, kicking my heels against the kerb while I killed time. The hospital, considered one of the finest public hospitals in the US, nestled at the foot of Potrero Hill in the city’s Mission District. I didn’t doubt its reputation. Now that the early mist had burned off, I was happy to feel the Californian sun on my face, but that wasn’t why I chose to wait outside. I preferred things that way.

Though I respect doctors, nurses, in fact everyone in the medical profession, I hate hospitals. For me a trip to a hospital usually means that I’m injured, or someone I care for is hurt, suffering illness, has already perished or soon will. The smell is often enough to cause a negative reflex surge inside me, but then it’s been said that the olfactory sense has the greatest memory. It isn’t so much the antiseptic smell that raises my gorge but the underlying odour of pain. It’s a distinct aroma that has dogged my memories most of my life.

Visiting the hospital this time there was one thing that made me grateful, and that was the fact that Rink’s mom was on the mend, her injuries not as life threatening as we’d first feared. She had suffered blunt force trauma, most probably from the barrel of a gun, but thankfully she’d been struck a glancing blow. It had been enough to rip her scalp, to scar the bone beneath, but not split her skull completely. The blow had knocked her unconscious, left her with concussion and a throbbing headache, but nothing lasting. The surgeons’ greatest fear was that there could be an internal bleed, but MRI scans had shown her brain to be uninjured. Their second fear was that the elderly lady’s underlying health problems might kill her.

For some years now Yukiko had been suffering cardiac problems, and the concern was that her failing heart might not be strong enough to sustain her recovery: particularly when she was told her husband had died. Yet Yukiko had surprised us all and was much stronger now. Probably the relief of seeing her sole surviving child by her bedside helped. Yesterday, when Rink had made off from the hospital, Yukiko had looked at me and I had recognised terror in her face. She had outlived her husband, and two children; she did not want to outlive her youngest boy. She had made me swear that I’d bring him back safely to her. I’m glad that I was able to do that and to give her some comfort.

I hoped now that Yukiko would repay that debt by telling Rink the truth about who had murdered his dad.

I waited an hour.

When Rink was a no-show I feared that he’d sneaked off again on another uncharacteristic rampage. But I was doing him an injustice and so I waited some more.

Another hour later Rink finally approached. Since flying in we’d hired a rental car, and without looking at me he headed directly for the silver Chrysler. I fell in step with him, arriving at the car at the same time.

I leaned on the roof of the car, caught my friend’s eye. ‘Well?’

‘She’s doing fine. The doctors say she’ll be able to go home in a day or two.’

‘That’s good,’ I said, and meant it. ‘But that’s not what I asked.’

Rink nodded me inside the car. I’d have offered to drive, but things were usually this way with us. Rink didn’t trust me to stay on the right side of the road. Ordinarily he’d make some jibe, but not now. He started the car and pulled away, and he didn’t have a destination in mind judging by the way he paused at the exit. Finally he took a left, for no other reason than that it was as good as any direction.

‘She swears she doesn’t know who killed my dad.’

We’d been there when a detective had attended her bedside and recorded a statement. Yukiko had related how she and Andrew had been wakened by a noise and her husband had gone downstairs to investigate. She had followed him down and seen a man in black standing over Andrew, a gun in his hand. The man had his back to her and she’d taken the opportunity to arm herself with a plant pot. The trouble was he’d heard her approaching and had struck her unconscious. That was all she could recall, despite all the detective’s attempts at teasing further detail from her. That was when she’d mentioned some trouble with Chaney and his friends and suggested that he might have had something to do with her husband’s murder. The detective had noted her words down, then left, and Yukiko had drifted into a fitful sleep. A few minutes after that and Rink had slipped away. At first I’d thought he’d snuck off somewhere to be alone, to grieve in private, and I gave him some space. But that only lasted until Yukiko had woken from her sleep and asked for him.

‘Do you believe her?’

Rink nodded. ‘She told me that she mentioned Chaney to the cops because she thought he deserved extra notice from them, but that was all. She was also about to say something else but her nurse came in and she clammed up. Though I tried to press her on it afterwards, she wouldn’t say anything. She changed the subject, started making preparations for my dad’s funeral.’ There was a hitch in his voice at the end, so I allowed him a moment or two of reflection.