LITMIR.BIZ

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‘Dad.’ ”

      “She’s been talking about Grandpa Joe a lot lately.”

      “Did you know him?”

      “No. He died before I was born too. Mom always called him Grandpa Joe anyway. Don’t you remember?”

      To be honest, he didn’t. He only remembered his mother crying the day his father walked out on them. It was the dominating memory of his childhood, his mother’s sadness. When she was disappointed in him, when she compared him to his father. And now she was comparing him to her father.

      “Has Mom ever talked about her father being in danger?” he asked.

      “What? What are you talking about?”

      The old woman in the wheelchair who’d been crying earlier rolled past him and asked him to have a good day.

      He told Susan what their mother had said.

      “No,” Susan said. “She never said anything like that. I told you, she said he killed someone.”

      “Who would know about Grandpa Joe? Are there any relatives still around I could speak to? Maybe they could tell us what Mom is talking about.”

      “Aunt Faye is still around. She lives in Rutherford, I think. I’ll have to look up her address. Franklin and I send her a Christmas card every year. Hold on. Let me find the address book.”

      The thought of Susan and her husband actually taking the time to write out Christmas cards was vaguely sickening. She was living a normal life, the kind he never imagined for himself.

      Susan came back and gave him the address. Donne memorized it.

      For the first time, he noticed the antiseptic smell of the nursing home. It was too clean, like everything had been washed away.

      For all the work the staff put into making this a home, it still felt like a hospital, clean, sanitary, and distant.

      ***

      Mike Garibell burned the fake ID and became Bryan Hackett again.

      Standing in the middle of his living room, Hackett smiled as he watched the news. The feds had no idea. They hadn’t ruled out terrorism yet. He had plenty of time. And his job wasn’t even done yet.

      Jill came up behind him, dug her hands into his shoulder muscles, and kneaded. He closed his eyes and rolled his neck.

      “It went good,” she said. “How long before we get the money?”

      “These things take time,” he said. “This was only the beginning.” She stopped massaging. Hackett turned to face her.

      “You already talked to Carter. He knows you’re serious. He didn’t give you the money the first time you asked. Now he damn well better. And fast.”

      “It’s going to take more time. You’re right, he knows I’m serious. But knowing him, he’s going to try and show me he’s serious too. We’re going to have to get to the wife.”

      “You still think you’ll need to go through with the whole thing.”

      Hackett smiled. “I’m hoping I need to go through with the whole thing.”

      “We need the money.” Jill crossed her arms and pouted. “Soon.”

      “I know when the plane leaves. We’ll have it by then.” Hackett brushed a blond lock of hair behind her ear. “But things might get worse before then. I want you to go to your mother’s.”

      “What? No.” She stepped back from him.

      “You have to. It’s not going to be safe here.”

      “I want to be a part of this. I want to be there when you get the money.”

      Hackett nodded. “I’ll call you. You’ll be in the loop every step of the way. But it’s better this way. You won’t be hurt.”

      “This isn’t a good idea.”

      He wrapped her in his arms and held her tight. Jill’s hands never touched his back. She kept them at her sides.

      “Please,” he said. “I love you.”

      “Only if you promise to call.”

      “I promise.” He felt her finally return the hug. “Now go pack.” Jill broke the embrace and went up the stairs. Watching her go, Hackett thought it almost felt like he hadn’t blown up a building only hours before. Just another day of marriage.

      But the plan was in motion. One more thing had to be taken care of.

      Hackett picked up the phone and dialed Delshawn. When the call was answered, all Hackett said was “Make it happen.”

       1938

      Joe Tenant knew his wife would be worried sick. It wasn’t like him to be this late. He didn’t go out for a drink after the night shift like the other guys. He went home and walked his daughter to school, kissed his wife, and slept for six or seven hours. It wasn’t exciting, but it was his life and that was how he liked it.

      After talking to the police, he hoped he could put this behind him and get back to living his life. Three hours had felt like an eternity.

      He sat in his car and started it, letting it warm up. The engine rattled and he hoped it wasn’t on the verge of breaking down. While he was lucky enough to have a car in these hard times, he wasn’t lucky enough to be able to afford fixing it.

      “Joe Tenant,” a voice behind him said. An Irish brogue, thick and rough.

      Before Tenant could turn around, he felt cool metal against his chin. Whoever was behind him was pressing a knife against his skin.

      “You saw us, didn’t you? That’s unfortunate for you.”

      Tenant had to swallow before he spoke. He felt the saliva curl down his throat and he wondered if it would be the last thing he tasted.

      “Who are you?” he asked.

      The knife pulled against his skin, and he felt a sharp pain along his jawline.

      “Ah, you’re not gonna be asking any more questions, okay?”

      “Please,” Tenant said.

      “Now, listen to me, and I won’t have to dig this blade any deeper. Do I have your attention?”

      “You have my attention,” he said.

      “Good. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go home today, back to your wife, and tell her you love her. You’re going to sleep and you’re going to come back into work tonight. You’re going to live your life, do you understand?”

      Tenant said yes, though he didn’t understand at all. “What you’re not going to do,” the Irishman continued, “is go back to the police. You’ll know nothing of this day. It didn’t happen. The police have the body now and their investigation is under way. You did the right thing. But you’re not going to help anymore. You can’t help. You didn’t see anything else. Understand?”

      “Yes.”

      “We do business a certain way, Mr. Tenant. No one was supposed to find that body. It’s unfortunate it surfaced when it did. And that you were there. And it’s unfortunate you’re going to have a scar from this knife. But let me tell you something: A scar is a small thing compared to what we can do. Have a nice day.”

      The back door of the car opened and slammed shut. Tenant rubbed his chin, feeling blood on his fingers.

      His family was too important. He was going to keep his mouth shut, and they were going to leave him alone.

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