Tod Goldberg - The Reformed

“Not a chance,” I said. “Get some rest. Tomorrow we go to war.”

Eduardo still had that unnerving smile going. “I didn’t think this was going to happen to me again. I thought this period of my life was done.”

“It will be,” I said. One way or the other, that was true.

Father Eduardo left for good then, so I opened up the fridge and pulled out three beers and one blueberry yogurt.

“You gonna get a beer for yourself?” Sam said.

“I thought you weren’t drinking anymore,” I said.

“That was this morning,” he said, and cracked open one of the bottles. “It’s a new day in Australia, mate.”

I slid one of the bottles to Fiona, but she pushed it away. “What?” I said.

“This Leticia business,” she said. “I’m all wrapped up in it.”

“We’re all wrapped up in it,” I said. “Even your boyfriend, Barry.”

“No,” she said. “That Killa is Father Eduardo’s brother makes this all the more complicated for her. How does she know who to trust? I mean, really, Michael-how will she ever know who to trust?”

“She won’t,” I said, “just like the rest of us.”

“And that poor child has a great genetic makeup. Both of his parents are criminals, for God’s sake.”

I couldn’t remember a time when I’d seen Fiona this worked up over one of our clients. “We’ll get her out of this,” I said.

“Sam, can you get her into Witness Protection or something?”

Sam took a sip of his beer and then made a smacking sound with his lips. “Ah, to be in love… No luck, sister,” Sam said, “not when Father Eduardo won’t even admit there’s something criminal going on. I could talk to my guys in the FBI, but Father Eduardo would have to cop to this blackmail, and he won’t do that. Hell, he won’t even let us have squirt guns.”

Barry made a snorting noise in his sleep that echoed down from upstairs, which got Fiona’s attention. She raised her eyebrows in a silent question to me.

“Maybe,” I said. “Let’s see if Barry makes it out of this alive before we have him getting your best girlfriend Leticia smuggled out of the country.”

“Okay,” she said.

“In the meantime,” I said, “we need to get some guns that aren’t guns. I don’t suppose you know anyone, Fi, with a gross of paintball guns for sale?”

“I could get us 50 Vektor CR-21 assault rifles, if you’d like,” she said, and suddenly was full of perk again. Nothing like a little gun talk to get Fiona out of a funk. “But no, nothing with paint. My clients rarely want to make an Impressionist work of art. A body is far more preferable.”

“Sam?”

“I got a guy I went to basic with about a million years ago who now runs one of those paramilitary camps where accountants spend an entire weekend shooting each other for kicks. I could ask him.”

“He know how to keep a secret?”

“He’s ex-military,” Sam said.

“Right,” I said.

“Right,” Sam said. “Well, I’ll tell him I’m helping a bunch of at-risk kids. Which wouldn’t be a lie, right?”

“If he’s running a camp for rich people,” I said, “he’s probably been tinkering with the guns already. Tell him you want the ones he keeps for the whales in the group.”

Paintball guns aren’t really guns. They’re markers. Get hit with a paintball and really what you’re getting hit with is a paint-filled gelatin capsule traveling at three hundred feet per second, which is fast enough to bruise you or put out your eye or break your nose, all of which are good reasons to wear a helmet and goggles when people are shooting at you. If you really want to hurt someone with a paintball gun, you need to amp up the velocity to six hundred feet per second, which will generate enough force to break a bone. But breaking bones isn’t usually enough if you’re fighting people with guns. People with guns can still shoot you with a broken foot or clavicle. So instead of a gelatin cap filled with paint, you want to get a gelatin cap filled with pepper spray. Get hit at six hundred feet per second by a paintball filled with pepper spray and you’ll have a broken bone and you’ll think you’re about to die. And if pepper spray isn’t available, mix together bleach and ammonia and you’ll find that they make a rather debilitating and disabling combination, too.

Sam drained the rest of his beer and then stepped outside to call his guy, which left Fiona and me alone with Barry’s snoring. She was still upset but had on her bravest face, which only meant she was thinking of ways to do this all her way.

“Fi,” I said, “tomorrow, when we face Junior again, I need you to follow my lead.”

“Don’t I always, Michael?”

“No,” I said.

“Don’t I usually?”

“It’s about seventy-thirty,” I said. “My plan is to attack all the angles, but systematically. I’m going to start with Leticia. I want you to know that. She’s going to be at the door, and I’m going to put her into enough fear that she might run out right then.”

“I don’t know why this is getting to me so much,” she said. “Maybe because Leticia is so young. Maybe because she has a child. I don’t know, Michael.”

I took her into my arms for a moment and she held on. It wasn’t one of those desperate moments we’ve had before, where it feels like the world is about to explode. Instead, it just felt like a time when Fiona might need to be treated like someone who needed a hug.

A sound from upstairs halted the moment. Or, really, the end of a sound, as Barry’s snoring came to an abrupt halt. I heard him rummaging around for a moment, and then he appeared on top of the stairs, shirtless, pantsless (except for his boxer shorts) and disheveled. I could see he was trying to focus his eyes, but wasn’t having much luck.

“Where am I?” he said.

“You’re asleep,” I said.

Barry tried to consider that for a moment, but it didn’t compute. “Did you drug me?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Sam did.”

“He put something in my drink?”

“Yes,” I said. “Alcohol.”

Barry scratched at a place on his stomach and then sniffed at the air. “Do I smell fried chicken?”

“No,” I said.

“Could we work on that?”

My default answer wouldn’t work here, particularly since I needed to explain to Barry that tomorrow he’d have to face his fears. That tomorrow, I had a plan for him that might involve a fantasy or two-I had a vision of Fiona smacking him, which I’m sure was a vision Barry had on occasion, too-and that if he wanted my help getting out from under the problems he encountered with the Latin Emperors, he’d need to do exactly as I told him. And I needed to tell him that tomorrow, if things went poorly, this could be his last substantial meal.

I decided to leave that last part out. Why scare the guy?

“Fiona,” I said, “why don’t we take our friend Barry out for a delicious dinner?”

“Why don’t you take your friend Barry out for a delicious dinner, and I’ll stay here and read fashion magazines and memorize your yogurt selection.”

“I could stay here with Fiona while you run out and get food,” Barry said. Fiona shot him a look that was equal parts warning and promise. “Easy there,” Barry said. “I was just saying. I’m happy to go with Michael. If you want to make yourself comfortable, I left a warm space up there on the nice throw rug you let me sleep on.”

“I’ll pass,” Fiona said. “And please, put on some pants, Barry. The neighborhood dogs have begun to howl.”

Barry disappeared back into the darkness, which was good, since Sam walked back in from the patio then, looking far too happy. “Just talked to my guy,” he said. “I’m going to his place right now. He says he’s got some guns he doctored up for some boys who were doing prison control in Kabul a few months back.”