Powers (19 page)

“I hate to read. Why don't you paraphrase?”

Quince bent her neck and glared at Deena. “Look. Back on Peachtree … you know? It was fuckin' chaos.”

Deena edged closer to the singer. “Skip the preamble and tell me.”

“Ease off. Okay.” She took a breath and sat up. “Look, none of us knew anything about who or what might be killing our crew, right?”

“Sure.”

“But thing is, cops weren't eager to figure it out, either. And some of us? It helped us get a little side action with several of Atlanta's finest.”

Color rose to Deena's cheeks. She'd heard this all before, of course. Despite her overtures to ignorance, this was, indeed, ancient history. Still, she needed the confession. And perhaps it would lead her closer to wrapping this shit up so that she could maybe go home.

“Coupla us got sprung after Diamond and the Soldier tossed us in the can. Not many—four, maybe six. The Rammlers, Blitz, Hammerhands, me. They ran it past Mal, but he never bit. He wanted nothing doing with APHD.”

“Crane had nothing to do with the indicted detectives?”

Quince shook her head. “Mal stayed in jail. Did his time. Rest of us took the deal.”

“Which was?”

“You know … random acts of violence. Maybe coupla hits against criminal Powers and a few of our own. Look, we wanted
all
Powers to die, so it made no difference which side we hit. Seemed like we were covering up something else, something the cops didn't want us knowing about.”

“Like the Liberty murders?”

Quince frowned and shook her head. “Nah. None of the guys or the folks we iced had anything to do with that. But yeah, those cops used his work to cover their tracks. Felt like something else. But…”

“But some of your guys
were
killed by Liberty. One of the Rammlers. And Blitzkrieg.”

Wails sniffed. “Well, true. But that was separate from our thing with APHD. What I was gonna say … some of the guys we iced, the cops told us to tag the scene with his words.”

Deena sat up in her seat, heart hammering in her chest. “So to get this straight. The Soldier's crew put you away. Then, some of you were released by cops in order to—what?—kill evil Powers as a distraction from something else. But
not
the Liberty killings, because some of you had been killed by Liberty in turn. And the criminals you
did
kill, some of them you tagged with Liberty's words so that no one knew which were the
actual
Liberty killings?”

“Bingo.”

“Could Liberty have simply been that group of cops? Could they have been covering one set of killings up with another? A decoy set of murders, as it were?”

Wails shook her head. “Doubt it. The
real
killer felt like a Power. Like someone with gifts and skills. Atlanta cops weren't the sharpest tools in the shed. They just wanted an excuse to ice bad guys, figured they'd blame it on a serial killer. Hide a coupla murders inside a whole mess of 'em.”

All the cops but one,
Deena thought. “So what I need is to talk to one of the indicted cops and get the truth.”

“Sure.”

“Which of them hired you?”
Easy, Deena. You're opening a can of grenades.

“Uh-uh. No way. I want my lawyer.”

“After. First give me a name.”

“Fuck
that
. How's it gonna look I squawk, draw attention to the cause, Crane, and the cops? How's it gonna be if I give up the guy who hired me to kill a member of the Front and blame the boogeyman? No, I want a deal. I get protection; you get a name.”

I already know his name,
Deena surmised, face and chest growing hotter with every passing moment. “You'll have it. Now give me a cop before I step on your leg.”

Quince hesitated, and then she recognized the look of impatience and fury on Deena Pilgrim's face. She slumped down again and mumbled.

Deena craned her neck to hear. “What was that?”

Wails stared Deena in the eye. “It was your father, Detective Pilgrim. Waldo Pilgrim sprung me from jail and hired me to impersonate the Liberty killer.”

 

13

December. Eleven years ago.

Friday night. 7:56
P.M.

“Are you out of your
“goddamn
mind?”

The last time Waldo's face had been this red, he'd been through a three-day bender. He stood in the living room, fists clenched tightly, jaw about the same. Deena sensed he might start swinging if she didn't step in, but Judge Boucher, seated on a recliner, held out a hand and waved her away. Her father noticed the gesture and pointed an accusatory finger at his begrudging guest.

“Hey—leave my daughter out of this. Don't look at her! You don't keep
her
confidence!” Waldo advanced on the judge, spittle flying, and the older man rose to meet him. They squared off in front of the love seat, Waldo raging and the judge doing his best to contain the storm. Deena moved into the kitchen, keeping quiet and waiting for an outcome. The rest of the house was empty. Mom had been gone a week now.

“Why don't you drink with me, son?” the judge asked. “Let's discuss this after some liquid balance.”

Waldo fumed. “Don't offer me drinks in my own home, Ken. If I want alcohol, I fucking
know
where it is!”

“Is it with your manners? Because I can't seem to locate those anywhere in sight.”

The finger went up again, stuck before the old man's eyes. “I only serve goddamn alcohol to people who haven't betrayed me this month!”

“Son,” the judge said. “You betrayed yourself.”

Deena's father kicked an ottoman and swiped at a lamp, knocking it to the floor. No one scurried to clean it up; the Cubans had all gone, having been let go by her mother before she'd followed them out the door. Waldo stomped across the glass to the liquor cabinet and liberated a bottle of scotch, taking a long, spiteful swallow. He turned back to the judge, lifting his finger once again. “You
screwed
me, Ken. You and your damn kid.”

“We did no such thing. You were found guilty by a jury of your peers … and half the papers in Atlanta, son.”

“Guilty, my ass. You think I'm the only one?”

The judge shook his head and sat back down. “No, I do not. That's why we stripped several of your colleagues of badges, as well. Be thankful that you, at least, I was able to keep out of prison.”

Waldo scowled. “That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it. But big deal. Probably safer in jail. I'd have more friends than out here.”

This time, the judge raised his voice and stood back up. “That's because you released half the prisoners, you damn fool!”

“Hey, are you kidding me? You don't yell at—”

“Damn right, I'll yell!” It was too late; the judge advanced on Waldo Pilgrim, looming like a grizzly. Deena slunk deeper into the kitchen, wishing Aaron were here, wishing she could hide or turn back the clock. But the damage had been done, and there was nowhere to go but deeper into the abyss. Nothing to do but watch her father figures obliterate the remains of a once-wonderful friendship.

“Thirteen murders,” Judge Boucher began, circling Waldo, who had by now dropped into a recliner of his own. “A baker's dozen of corpses unceremoniously dumped throughout the city. Each scene tagged by this Liberty—whoever, whatever that's supposed to be. And have you done
anything
to find the real Liberty killer? Have you turned over rock and root to find this mysterious assassin?”

Now the judge kicked out, striking a soft, leather boot against the Pilgrims' sofa. “No! Instead, you and your crooked group of Keystone Cops stepped aside, took bribes, and released noted criminals—villains, mind you, who have graced
my
bench, subjected themselves to
my
rulings—hoping they'll do what you've failed to accomplish.”

Judge Boucher sniffed and then stepped over to the abandoned bottle of scotch and took a swallow. He wiped his mouth and continued with his diatribe. “And what happened, exactly? Half of those villains were
killed,
murdered by this so-called Liberty as cops and Powers alike stood around with thumbs up their asses—that is, when they weren't pretending to be him or raking in kickbacks and partnering with known convicted felons.”

Deena's face had bleached of all color by now. She'd heard accusations of the sort from Aaron in the past and picked up whispers from pockets of her mother's conversations with friends. She'd chalked it all up to naïveté, scorn, or do-gooder zeal. But now, faced with reality in the form of printed headlines, television broadcasts covering the APHD trials, and a rattling barnburner of a scolding from her father's oldest, closest friend, Deena finally had to face the truth.

“Ha,” Waldo broke in, the crimson in his face whitening to a pale, terrifying pallor. “You got a lot of fucking nerve coming here and saying this to me.
I'm
not the one that hooked up with the Soldier.
I'm
not the one who—”

The judge slapped Deena's father before he could finish. His hand left a mark on Waldo's face. Ken stepped away, chest heaving with fury as her father gingerly touched his raw, red cheek. Waldo sniffed once and held out his hand. “What did you expect me to do, Ken? You took my badge.”

“I expected you to do your job.”

Waldo shouted back. “Well, now I can't! Now it's gone! Let your arrogant, asshole
son
do it instead! That's what you both wanted all along,
wasn't
it? That was the ultimate plan!”

The judge chuckled. There was no mirth in that laughter, and he started for the door. “No, Waldo. It really wasn't. You essentially killed all those men, even if you didn't pull a trigger or light a fire. Rammler, Blitzkrieg, all the others who died at Liberty's actual hand. Victims who should've been locked away, safe from his wrath. Now all those felons are on the streets—either killin' or dyin'.” He turned back to Waldo. “How does that look for you—or for me? What does that say about the weight of my judgments, about the stability of my court?”

They faced one another from across the room. Waldo rubbed his cheek, and the judge donned his coat and hat. A moment went by, long and awkward, and Deena's father spat to one side. “You know that half of what you've said is
bullshit
. You
know
that. But keep up appearances and play the innocent, if you like. Now you got your pound of flesh, Ken. Get the fuck out.”

The door slammed, and Deena edged back out into the living room. Waldo ignored her, brushing by as he headed toward the fridge. He rummaged around in the freezer and pulled out an ice pack and then placed it against his cheek. After a moment, he set it aside, opened the refrigerator, and retrieved a beer. He twisted the cap and took a long, determined swallow. He set it on the counter, allowing the condensation to gather, and watched Deena carefully. She held on to the wall for support as she approached. Waldo was simmering with rage, and she trembled with anxiety as he took another drink. Then he put down the ice pack, placed both hands on his hips, and faced his daughter.

“What? Say it.”

Her tongue stuck in her throat, but she still managed to stammer out an accusation. “So it's all true. Everything Aaron ever said was true.”

“
Fuck
Aaron. You're
done
with that asshole. So am I.”

Tears glistened in Deena's eyes. “No. I don't live here anymore, so you can't—”

Waldo jabbed a finger up toward the stuccoed ceiling. “Out in college, you do what you want. But when you're under
my
roof—”

“I'm
not
under your roof.
No one
is under your fucking roof but
you
.”

“Fine, then get out.”

Deena sneered. “Mom did. Maybe she had the right idea. Maybe she was right this whole time.”

Her father splayed both hands against the counter and hung his head. She could see that Waldo was biting back anger, being careful with his next words. “Deena, I love you, but watch it. Things are not what they appear to be, all right? You have no idea what's going on, and I'm not in the goddamn mood.”

“What—you're in the mood for stealing and cheating, lying and killing, but not in the mood to deliver the truth to your own daughter? The truth of what they're saying about you on the
news
? Bribery, forgery, racketeering, conspiracy. Everything I'm reading in the papers and hearing from Ted Henry.”

“
Henry
. He's another one.”

She advanced on her father, blind with anger, shaking with rage. “Everything Aaron said—everything I
never
believed, but the entire time I must have been a complete and utter
moron
. This house, my clothes, the cars—all bought with dirty money.”

Waldo smiled at her—an evil, cruel smile. “Don't forget college, darlin'.”

She took a swipe, swinging with her left. He caught her wrist, careful not to squeeze and cause a fracture. “Don't do that. I'm still your father.”

“Not the one I knew. The father
I
knew was a
good
man, not a dirty cop. I looked up to
that
man—he was the reason I wanted to become a detective. He was my role model.”

“I'm still the same man. You don't understand.”

“Then come clean, okay?
Make
me understand,” she pleaded. “For the first time in your life, tell me the truth.”

Waldo bit his lip and shook his head, his hair shaking in his face. “No, I can't. It would hurt you; it would be something you couldn't bear. Like your mom.”