Authors: John R. Maxim
”. . . you're gonna be okay.”
That wasn't Megan. He opened one eye to see Julie
Giordano at his bedside. It was Julie who was squeezing
his hand.
“Johnny?” Michael had to wet his lips. “How's
Johnny?”
“Not good. Say a prayer.”
“His head?”
Julie touched his own to show where the bullet had
struck his younger brother. It was above and behind the
right ear. It had bounced off, said Julie. Thank God. But
it had smashed in the side of his skull.
“It was Parker,” said Michael.
”I know.”
“Julie
...
I never even saw him. All I could think of
was Megan in that . . .”
The gangster stopped Michael with a wave of his hand.
He had tears in his eyes. Michael saw that he blamed no
one but himself. He looked so very tired.
“You've been here all night?”
“Most of it. Got here before midnight. Hired a plane
soon as Brendan called.”
Fallon felt his own anger rising. “Where was Doyle?
Where the hell was he when . . .”
“He did good. Don't start on Doyle.”
“But if he hadn't . . .”
Julie leaned close. “He got Parker. Now
I
got Parker.
But keep your mouth shut about that.”
Michael listened, disbelieving, as Julie told him what
Doyle had done. That his first thought was Johnny and
Moon when he saw them both down . . . Moon's got a
good chance, by the way
...
so Doyle jumped in the Mercedes, went to help them, haul them out of there, but
Moon waved him off and said get to that boat, go help
Michael. Doyle is Doyle, so he argues. Moon threatens to
shoot him if he won't shut up and go.
“He left Johnny?”
“Johnny would have told him the same. But by this
time,” said Julie, “you're already down and the girl . . .
she don't care if she burns as long as she can get one hit
on Parker . . . she's in there blasting away at him. Parker
sees the firemen coming, he's going to get shot or get
caught. He throws in the towel. Doyle sees all this too.
He figures the firemen don't need him, he'll only get in the way. So like I would, he goes after Parker. Like I
would, he wants to kill him. But Doyle, unlike me, stops
and uses his head. The guy you want to dump on took Parker alive.”
“Where? Where's Parker now?”
“Trunk of your car. The airport by now. My guys,
Doyle, and a guy you don't know, name's Yahya, they're
taking him back to New York.”
Michael reached for his sleeve. ”I want him, Julie.”
“You listening? We got him.”
“
I mean him and me. Alone in a room. As soon as
I'm—”
“Hey, this isn't a fucking schoolyard, Mike. You don't
get a rematch on this one.”
He kept watching the doorway, expecting to see Megan: He kept seeing her in his mind, inside that burning boat,
thinking only of him, trying to get Parker before Parker
got him. The more he thought about that, as proud as he
was of her, he was that much ashamed of himself. He'd
done nothing. Worse, thanks to him, she was hurt, scarred,
and homeless.
A woman from admitting came in after breakfast,
breakfast was a soft-boiled egg. A nurse had to feed him.
“Do you have an address for Miss Cole?” asked the
woman.
“Her only address was her boat. Give her bill to me, if that's what you're asking.”
“What I'm asking is where she might be. She was
scheduled for some tests but she got dressed and walked
out.”
“When was this?”
“Around two in the morning.”
“She's been gone all this time? She's out there alone?”
Two nurses had to restrain him.
Fat Julie came in one more time.
He brought a message from Moon. “Moon said behave.
He said Lena Mayfield's coming down to make sure you
do.”
An indifferent shrug. Michael stared at his bandaged
hands.
“Hey, what's with you?” Julie asked him. “You did your best. You can't stand it that you weren't a hero?”
“Julie . . . would you please look for Megan?”
“We'll find her. Moon already asked me.”
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome. Answer my question.”
”I should have done more. I should have done better.”
“Like Moon did for example?”
“Like he taught me to do.”
“Except Moon didn't do shit. It was Moon's new lady
who clocked Parker's Jap and hammered that guy from
the subway. It was her who kept Moon from bleeding to
death. You think it bothers Moon that a woman saved
his ass?”
“Lena is
Moon's new lady?”
“Get better, Michael. While you're at it, grow up.”
More than a week went by. The three burn patients had
been released. Michael had the ward to himself.
Jake's friend, Marty Hennessy, flew up to see him. The visit was official. He was looking for leads on where Par
ker might be. Michael said he didn't know, but Hennessy
saw the truth in his eyes. He had already spoken to Julie.
He'd seen it in Julie's eyes as well.
”I want him, Mike,” he said. “But at least I want a
body. Tell Giordano I at least want a body this time.”
Hennessy left, said he'd look in on Moon and he'd look
in on Johnny. On the day of his visit, the charge against
Moon was dropped. Michael didn't know why until some
flowers were delivered later that day. The card was signed
“Marty.” The note said, “You owe me.”
Johnny G. remained in a coma, mostly. There were one
or two times when he seemed to respond to voices but not to light and not to pain. His condition was all the
more worrisome to Julie because Bart Hobbs had died in
the meantime.
But Moon was released over the objections of Dr. Ber
man. An embolism, most likely a blood clot, had been pretty much confirmed. It could shut down an artery at
any time. Lena took him home to the Taylor House. She
told Michael she'd stay on until Moon makes up his mind.
“Makes up his mind about what?”
“Whether to be a damned fool and kill himself. Or
whether he knows a good woman when he sees one.”
They could not find Megan.
All Julie knew for sure was that she'd gone back to
Woods Hole. She was seen, that day, on the six
a.m.
ferry. Bandaged eye, burned clothes, limping. No question it was
her. That same morning, she tried to charter a sailboat.
They saw she was a mess, wouldn't let her. No one saw
her after that.
That was on Saturday. On the following Friday, a den
tist from Falmouth came to Woods Hole to do some work
on his boat. The boat was missing. Two days later, it was
found, drifting, down off New London.
Michael's skin went cold. “What does the Coast Guard
think happened?”
A hesitant shrug. “They asked . . . could she have
iced herself.”
“No way. Not Megan.”
“They only asked because . . .” He groped for better
words, finding none. “Is it true she's not right in the
head?”
“Who the hell said that? Doyle?”
“Hey! Doyle's out
breaking
his ass trying to find her
when he should be attending to business. We're not done
settling up for Jake.”
“Yeah.” Michael let out a breath. ”I know.”
“You ready to look at what I got?”
“I'm ready.”
Julie opened the briefcase he brought with him. Michael recognized it as Doyle's. A small charred hole had been punched through one end. From it, Julie drew out Johnny's
notebook, the AdChem annual report, and a sheet with a
list of names and numbers on it. This last was a transcrip
tion of Arnie Aaronson's list. The original had been in
Michael's pocket when the ambulance brought him here.
“How'd you get that?” he asked.
“Like I said, someone had to attend to business.”
He reached into the briefcase again and produced a pin-bound document of perhaps two hundred pages, double-
spaced, on legal sheets with line numbers running down
the right margin. Julie placed it on Michael's chest. Mi
chael's left thumb was free of dressing. He used it to scan
through the pages.
The document was another transcription.
Of
an
interview
...
a deposition
...
an interrogation. Q's and
A's ran down the left margin. Many of the questions were
repeated several times. The language often seemed stilted,
the syntax awkward. Many of the answers were halting,
fragmented, agonized but, in time,
all answers were al
ways completed.
“This is Parker?” Michael asked.
Julie nodded. “Anyone doubts it, it's also on
videotape.”