The Evil That Men Do (28 page)

He took exit 14 to Newark Airport and parked in long term. Even the airport seemed empty. He left the gun in the car, not caring. If they found the gun, it would be weeks from now anyway and he’d be long gone. Untraceable.

The shuttle ride to the terminal was quick, and he kept the duffel bag on his lap. Until it was time, he wasn’t letting it out of his sight.

He wondered when the state police would notice he was gone. They’d probably start looking and calling when they took down Donne’s statement. And if they’d checked up on Donne’s investigator background and his history, they might believe him, but it wouldn’t matter. Marshall hadn’t left a trail, he was sure of it. No one would know where he was going.

The shuttle let him off at the terminal. Before going in, he strolled down to the corner of the building. Traffic sped past him, dropping people off, picking people up. Much busier than the long-term lot. He was sure everyone was watching him. He picked up the pace of his walk without even thinking about it. He had to fight back laughter. His uninjured arm shook just a bit. He was so close.

He had a contact at the airport. A man whose cooperation had been bought. He met Robert Steinfeld at the corner of the terminal and passed him the duffel bag, along with five hundred bucks. They’d practiced the move before, Marshall standing with his back to the security camera, obstructing the view of the exchange. Steinfeld would make sure the bag got on the plane unchecked, slipping it onto the plane personally, after saying he checked it.

Ten minutes later, he was in the terminal. This was the scary part. He got through the metal detector unchallenged. He walked up to the bar and ordered a drink. No one followed him. But he was going to be out in the open for nearly an hour, just sitting and drinking. Anyone could find him.

He sipped his beer for about ten minutes. A blond woman sidled up next to him and ordered a Malibu Baybreeze. Marshall’s body flushed with warmth. He even got a bit hard. She’d made it.

“How’d everything go?” Jill Hackett asked.

Jason Marshall leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She gave him a one-handed hug in return.

“It went.” He tried to shrug, but his left arm still hurt. He sipped his beer instead. It tasted like shit. The tap needed to be changed. “We’re home free. The bag’s under your maiden name, in case they check when we get off the plane.”

They’d met at Hackett’s graduation from the academy. While Hackett was schmoozing with the bigwigs, Marshall had struck up a conversation with his wife. He liked her. She was hot, she was funny, and she was disgusted she had to be at the party. He’d asked her about Hackett’s background.

After they’d been fucking for a year, she’d told Marshall she had a plan and wanted to know if he was in. He was.

And now here they were, about to start a new life together. He knew that with money and Bryan out of the way, Marshall was the one she really wanted to be with. He had a way with women, but Jill was a challenge. And he’d finally won. And now he was so excited, he felt light-headed just looking at her. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks. He felt like a thirteen-year-old on his first date.

“We’re going to do it,” he said, then sipped some more beer. “Five hours from now, we’ll be drinking on the beach.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I’m getting my new life.”

Putting his hand on her arm, he said, “Is the money that important?” “You are just like my husband.”

“You think?”

Jill nodded. There seemed to be a glow around her face. She really made him light-headed.

“I need to ask you a question, though,” she said. “Why did you tell me to tell him you needed his help?”

He finished his beer. “I don’t know. Seemed like fun. I wanted to see him. I wanted him to see me and know what he was up against. Even if he didn’t know why exactly, I wanted him to know I was going to get him.”

Behind them, a woman on the intercom announced their flight.

“We’ll talk about this more on the plane. You ready?” he asked.

Jill Hackett got up. “I am. But I’m not sure you’re going to make it.”

He blinked his eyes and felt sweat at his brow.

“Why not?”

She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I poisoned your drink.”

And he realized it wasn’t the way she looked that was making him feel faint.

1939

Joe Tenant gave it six months. He let the New Year pass and winter set in. No one ever came to ask him about Willy Hackett, probably because the cops weren’t all that sad to see him go. Connor O’Neill retired from office and was out of politics. After the newspaper article, he was arrested and was currently on trial. Tenant kept in touch with Lisa Carter, getting to know her kids, getting to know the family. Work was horrible in the winter, the bitter-cold air off the river freezing his ears. But it was work.

No one threatened his life anymore.

One morning after his shift, Joe didn’t go to the hotel. He went home. He stood across the street for the longest time, ignoring the cold, just watching, hoping Caroline would come out to him. She never did, but she must have seen him, because she didn’t leave to take Isabelle to school.

After a couple of hours, he finally got up the nerve to ring the doorbell. It was even harder than visiting Willy Hackett.

He rang three times before Caroline answered.

She pulled the door open a crack, standing behind it and waiting for him to speak. She breathed heavily, staring at him. Her eyes were darts tearing through him.

Joe Tenant had spent the night at work rehearsing speeches in his head, trying to find one that would win her back. He’d even tried three of them on Sops. All his friend did was shrug when he heard them.

And now when he finally got to see Caroline, all the memories flooded back to him: the wedding, the birth of their child, the last time they’d been together that morning in the kitchen. And finally, bringing Isabelle home and getting kicked out of the house. He was speechless.

“What do you want?” she asked. Her voice was flat and quiet. The sound of it made Tenant want to turn and walk away right then.

But he didn’t. He had things to say.

“It’s over,” he said, his throat dry. “It’s been over for a while.”

“I’ve seen the newspaper.”

“Let me in, please.”

“No,” she said.

“Caroline, I only wanted to do what was right. I only wanted to help. They came at me. At us. It wasn’t my fault. But I’ve ended it.”

“You?”

He didn’t respond to that. She didn’t need to know about jamming a knife in someone’s throat. Caroline didn’t need to know the images that woke him up at night. At least not now.

“Joe, our daughter almost died because of you. I can’t forgive that.”

“Yes. You can.” He reached out to touch her face. She leaned out of range. “It won’t happen again, Caroline. I love you and I love Isabelle. I never wanted anything bad to happen to either of you.”

Caroline took another step backward. “How can I trust you again?”

“I didn’t go out looking for trouble. It floated over to me. I won’t look for it again. I won’t put our daughter at risk ever again.”

“I don’t know, Joe.”

He took a deep breath. “Please. If not for me, for Isabelle. She needs a father.”

“She misses you.”

“And I miss her,” he said. “Family. That’s the most important thing.”

Caroline sighed. And opened up the door, revealing herself. Her stomach had ballooned.

“Six months, Joe.”

Joe Tenant stared wide-eyed. He didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry. It’s yours,” she said. “That morning, in the kitchen.”

“I had Sops come and check on you. He never—”

“I know. I asked him not to.”

He stepped into the house and hugged her, held her close. Smelled the soap on her skin, felt her smooth face against his stubble.

“You’re going to have to prove yourself, Joe.”

“I know,” he said. “And I will. You have my word.”

And a man was only as good as his word.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Two airport security guards found Jason Marshall dead in the men’s bathroom. He’d ingested rat poison, apparently. The state police laughed at the irony of that in their press conference. He wasn’t exactly a rat — more a traitor — but no one ever said state troopers understood irony. The money never turned up. They were in the process of searching for the car and the gun.

Donne’s leg was sewn up and they gave him some blood. The doctors couldn’t do anything about his other injuries except tape him up, give him anti-inflammatories, and tell him not to move around more than he had to.

Franklin Carter had his arm set and spent a week in the hospital. Susan — also stitched up — was at his side nearly every minute of it, leaving only to attend Faye and George’s funeral with Donne.

Donne attended Mike Iapicca’s alone, as his wife wept. He wished he had some words to offer her, something nice to say, but instead he left without speaking to anyone.

The cops kept questioning him, pissed off he’d snuck out of his sister’s house when they wanted to ask him about Iapicca’s and Delshawn Butler’s deaths. They didn’t seem to have much of a case against him, because the final police report had decided it was probably self-defense. They took his Browning, and he would no longer be able to own a gun, much less carry one. And they were going to keep a close eye on him. It didn’t bother him. He knew he’d done what he could. And he’d been threatened by cops before.

He was still scheduled to start at Rutgers in the fall.

His mother still lay in hospice.

Susan and Donne sat in his newly repaired car in Wayne. He had the air-conditioning on, as the heat and humidity outside were stifling. The Decemberists played on the radio.

“I can’t go in there,” Susan said.

“Yes, you can.”

“The nurses will stop me at the front desk.”

“I’ll make sure you get in.”

“Jackson,” Susan said. “They probably hate me.”

“She’s going to die within the week, Susan. You have to see her.”

Susan’s eyes filled. It was hard to keep his dry. He turned the music up.

“It must be awful,” Susan said. “She’s just trapped in the past. That’s how her days are spent. She just talks about her dad. Franklin says Hackett visited her before I came to you. That’s what set it off.”

“It would have happened eventually.”

She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what that must be like. Her past. It’s all she knows. I just can’t imagine it.”

For a while, they didn’t speak. Donne thought about Bryan Hackett. His past drove him toward revenge. It blinded him to reality, caused him to lose his job and eventually his life.

How Bryan Hackett and Donne were more alike than he wanted to admit. And how Donne had been part of the reason he came after them. No matter how small the incident actually was, it stuck with Hackett. It pushed him. He remembered it, just like Donne remembered his fiancée every day.

“I can imagine,” Donne said.

The past few weeks, he’d made a decision. He was going to start over. He hadn’t had a drink in two weeks. He prepared to start college, trying to get a head start on some reading. He’d visited his sister more often. He couldn’t become Hackett, driven by hatred, and dying miserably in a puddle of mud.

Donne was better than that. Too long he’d been sitting around thinking about what happened in April. And he could feel himself get caught up in these events too. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

Instead he would let the past become the past.

He turned to Susan.

“Remember a few weeks ago when you told me I had to see her?”

Susan nodded.

“I went, before going after Hackett. I sat in there for half an hour and held her hand. I told her I loved her, and I said good-bye to her. I thought I was going to die before she did.”

His sister put her hand on his wrist.

“Jackson, I’m so glad.”

“Now it’s your turn. We have to go in there, before she’s gone. You have to say good-bye. She can hear you. I know she can.”

Susan didn’t say anything.

“You need to say you’re sorry. And not just for her.”

“The nurses,” Susan said. “Did they say anything to you?”

“They haven’t.”

Donne turned the car off and opened the door. His leg still ached whenever he put pressure on his foot. The heat warmed his skin. By this afternoon, they’d have a thunderstorm.

Donne stepped around the car and opened his sister’s door. Susan stared at him, not moving.

He put out his hand.

“Come on, sis,” he said.

Susan got out of the car on her own, putting on her sunglasses. He wasn’t sure if it was the glare or if she was covering up tears, but he didn’t say anything. They stood there for a long time, the summer sun beating down on them.

She took his hand and together they went to see their mother.

I would like to thank:

My editor, Julian Pavia, and my agent, Allan Guthrie. Both took the drafts of this book and helped shape it into something much better than it originally was.

My parents, Carol and Martin, and my brother, Tom, for their love and support.

My friends who lent their names for the book, and my friends who didn’t. I owe drinks all around.

The faculty, staff, and administration of Christopher Columbus Middle School for their continuing support.

The people who picked up
When One Man Dies
. I hope you came back to check this one out as well.

And all the writers out there who’ve been there for me. You know who you are and you know you’re completely awesome.

Thanks, everybody.