Jerry and Jennifer Beck’s son had been a rotten, no good, son-of-a bitch who drugged and gang-raped women. He probably helped kill one of them, if the rumor was to be trusted. On the other hand, Charlie had been blessed with good looks and an abundance of charm and the ability to make my precious daughter fall in love with him. At the funeral numerous stories had been told of the generous and loving things he’d done for others, so he must have had some good qualities to go with the bad.
Standing there in the rain, watching the Becks, holding the woman I’d fallen in love with, I realized I’d never met a perfect person, and only a few that were one hundred percent evil. All of us fall to one side or the other of the line dividing the two extremes, and who could argue but that I fall farther on the wrong side than Charlie? After all, I don’t expect an abundance of warmhearted stories told at my funeral, and if you tried to match my crimes against Charlie’s, he’d come out looking like an altar boy. And yet here we both were, in Springhill Cemetery, on opposite sides of the dirt. Charlie’s mistake had been getting too close to my daughter. If that hadn’t happened, he’d be alive today.
I’d just professed my love to Kathleen. Somehow she’d been placed in my life at the perfect time to give me a chance to become a better man. I wondered if Kimberly had been placed in Charlie’s life by the same hand for the same reason. If so, had I interfered with some type of cosmic plan?
There on the hill, Jerry and Jennifer Beck stood ramrod straight, their bodies riddled with rain. Hand-in-hand, with heads bowed, they stared at the mound of dirt that marked the grave of the boy they’d raised and loved and lost.
Chapter 25
“What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done?” Kathleen said.
“Excuse me?”
It was night, New York City, dry clothes, The Spotted Pig gastro-pub, 11th Street. The menu features casual pub fare with an Italian accent. We’d been enjoying the slow-roasted king salmon.
“The scariest thing you’ve ever done,” she repeated.
A newsreel of horror began playing in my head.
“I don’t know what brought this up,” I said, “but the short answer is, trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Oh, stop being such a tough guy. How bad could it be? I mean, I know you get information from gangsters and you work for Homeland Security. But you’re basically an interviewer, right?”
For obvious reasons, I’d given Kathleen a highly sanitized explanation of my role with Homeland—more of a Clark Kent version of my job description. While I do conduct interviews for the government and other shady people, they’re either long, drawn out affairs involving pain and torture, or short, one-question events that end with bullets or lethal injections.
“You go first,” I said.
“Okay.” Kathleen works for an ad agency. By her smile I knew this was going to be good.
“On Monday I’m getting full custody of Addie.”
“What? That’s terrific!”
We touched glasses together to mark the occasion.
“That’s not so scary, though,” I said. “You’re going to be a great mom.”
“That’s not the scary part,” she said.
I waited.
“I gave my notice yesterday.”
“Excuse me? You’re quitting your job?”
She nodded.
“But why?”
“I’m going to buy a proper house for Addie. Nothing fancy,” she added. “I mean, I’m not going to squander all the money you so generously gave me. But I want Addie to have her own bedroom and bath.”
“Makes sense to me,” I said. “But why do you have to quit your job?”
“The house I want isn’t in New York.”
“It’s not?”
“It’s in Virginia.”
“Virginia.”
“We’re going to move to Virginia.”
“Virginia,” I said. “Why?”
“To be near you, silly!”
She was beaming.
“Well, say something,” she said. “Are you surprised?”
To say the least.
At that precise moment, my cell phone rang. Darwin.
Darwin said, “How’s it shakin’, Cosmo?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your traveling name. Cosmo Burlap.” He laughed. “You like it?”
I covered the mouthpiece and whispered “business call, be right back” to Kathleen. I hurried away from the table and found a semi-quiet corner outside the bar.
“You’re catching a commercial flight from Denver to Dallas.”
“What? When?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s no good for me. I’ve got some things going.”
“Don’t even start with me, Creed. You haven’t had a fucking assignment since I can’t remember when. But you need a staff of geeks for one of your ridiculous research projects, or a chopper in West Bumfuck to take you to a hospital? Who’s the guy you call?”
I sighed. “You.”
“Who always comes through for you? Say it!”
“You do.”
“Damn right I do. You need a drone to drive your car? You need your non-Homeland crime scene sterilized by midnight? You need a fucking Hummer-mounted, pulsed energy weapon flown to California on two hours’ notice?”
“You made your point,” I said.
