Макс Коллинз - Road to Paradise

Vaguely irritated with this line of chitchat, Shore said, “It’s sort of... nondenominational.”

“I’ve made a contribution to the church,” Michael said, “so that we can talk without interruption — for at least an hour.”

Shore said, “Our business won’t take that long. You’ve convinced me that you had nothing to do with Giancana’s murder. And the Outfit scum you encountered at your house in Paradise Estates, and the other two lowlifes at the Cal-Neva parking lot, prom night... well, that was clearly self-defense. So WITSEC feels it can welcome you back into the fold, Michael, open arms.”

Hughes said, “We’re looking at maybe a half a dozen major organized crime trials in the next three years — you’ll be valuable to the process. Welcome home.”

“And,” Shore said, “there’ll be no slip-ups, you have my word. You and your daughter will be safe in your new lives... Where is Anna, Michael?”

“She’s safe.” He let the sarcasm show as he said, “Not as safe as if she were in the protective arms of WITSEC, of course — you guys being so expert at protecting people and all.”

Shore’s sigh was weight-of-the-world. “I understand your bitterness, Michael. But you are making the right decision, and—”

“You may not like my terms, gents.”

Hughes grunted a laugh. “Why? What kind of ‘terms’ do you have in mind?”

“Well,” Michael said, leaning back in the pew, putting his arms along the back of the bench, enjoying the way the two feds had to twist around to talk to him, “while you will be relocating Anna and me, in new lives of our choice... I won’t be testifying.”

Shore said, “What?”

Hughes laughed harshly and said, “Then why the hell would we want your ass back? If you’re not gonna play the game.”

“I’ll play the game, fellas. But my rules. My conditions.”

Shore’s eyes were half-lidded behind the glasses. “Which are?”

“You relocate us. Set us up, the full WITSEC boat, to my specs. I don’t testify.”

“Don’t testify !” Hughes said, forehead taut.

“Don’t testify. But I also don’t go public.”

Shore frowned, but said nothing; he didn’t have to — he got it at once.

But Hughes asked, “Public, what the hell, public?”

“Public about how WITSEC got my wife killed. About how I had to go on the road with my daughter and protect her myself because you people didn’t. Or couldn’t.”

Shore swung around in the seat, facing the empty pulpit, his back to Michael, now. The man lowered his head, covering his face with a hand, an elbow on a knee; but he was not praying.

Hughes, sideways in the pew and still looking back at their recalcitrant witness, said, “Who’s gonna believe you ? You don’t think the government isn’t capable of denying everything? You haven’t heard of disinformation, dipshit?”

Shore looked at Hughes. “Don, shut up.” Then he craned back around in the seat and said to Michael, “You have a deal.”

Hughes blurted, “Are you crazy , Shore? You’re gonna let this asshole—”

“Please, Don,” Michael said. “It’s church, remember? Voice down. Little respect. Please.”

Shore in a gravel whisper said to the marshal, “WITSEC won’t last a ‘sec’ if what happened to the Satarianos gets in the media. The program will be over. No one will trust us to testify. We’d be the Watergate of law enforcement. Mr. Satariano will... I should say Mr. Smith will—”

“Actually,” Michael said, “I’ll be using O’Sullivan.”

Unaware of the name’s significance, Shore waved that off. “Fine, fine, that’s the least of our problems... So are you and Anna prepared to pack your bags and come with us, then?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Michael said. “You haven’t heard the rest of my terms.”

Hughes’s eyes showed white all around. “ Rest of your terms? Jesus! ”

The word echoed in the sanctuary.

Quietly, patiently, resignedly, Shore said, “What else do you want, Michael?”

“First, I need to tell you something, something that you may not believe. It’s one reason why I thought a church would be appropriate for this meeting. Anyway. See, I’ve had what’s sometimes called an epiphany.”

Hughes frowned. “A what?”

Shore’s eyes were closed.

“Something happened, recently — something personal, private, that I don’t feel like sharing with you.” Because that would have involved telling the truth about killing Sam Giancana. “But let’s keep it simple, and just say I’m turning over a new leaf.”

Shore shook his head, sighed yet again. As if in pain, he said, “What kind of ‘new leaf’ would that be, Michael?”

“A long time ago I chose a path... a road. Where it led was violence and revenge. And, looking back, I don’t think that ever worked out all that well — for me, or anybody. Right here in this sacred place, gentlemen, I’m telling you that I am no longer seeking revenge. I hope never to have to perform another violent act in my life.”

Hughes, bitterly amused, said, “Well, glory hallelujah, and goodie for you.”

Shore, relieved, flashed Hughes a dark look, then brightened and said, “Well, that’s a ‘condition’ I’m pleased to embrace, Michael. In fact, I’d insist upon it.”

“Understand,” Michael said, and raised a gently lecturing finger, “I have no moral barrier against self-defense, or protecting my daughter.”

“Fine,” Shore said, and smiled, more strained than usual. “Who can argue with that? So. Are we done?”

“Almost. Harold, I just need you to take Don here into custody.”

Shore started to smile, but then noticed the stricken expression on his marshal’s face.

Michael’s eyes locked with those haunting sky-blue eyes bookended by Apache cheekbones, and said, “You may not know what ‘epiphany’ means, Don... but you’re fucking lucky I had one. Or you’d already be dead.”

Hughes swallowed thickly. “What the fuck are you babbling about? What are you, high?” He swiveled to Shore. “Harry, the guy’s fucking nuts, or coked to the gills or some shit — he’s talkin’ out of his ass!”

Calmly Michael said, “Giancana told me last night that the CIA made a gesture of goodwill to him, partially paying him back for various inconveniences, by giving me up to him. And they did that through somebody in WITSEC, Harry. Some security breach. But really, only you two were in on my family’s relocation every step of the way — the program is set up on a ‘need to know’ basis, right, Don? Very tight. Controlled.”

Hughes was shaking his head, smiling, but a sick smile. “Harry, you can’t be buying any of this shit. I don’t know what he’s up to, why he’s doin’ this, maybe he believes it, and is so upset by his wife’s death that—”

Michael slapped Hughes. Hard. It rang in the high-ceilinged chamber.

“Don’t ever mention her,” Michael said.

Hughes, his cheek blazing red, was trembling — with fear, with rage.

“The tap on Gary Grace’s phone,” Michael said, calm again, “that’s federal; Outfit doesn’t tap phones. Telling Giancana’s assassins to disguise the hit on my home as a mass murder by mad hippies, who would do that? Someone protecting the Witness Protection Program. Someone inside. Actually, Harry, I thought it might have been you...”

“Only it wasn’t me,” Shore said quietly, and his eyes were on Hughes, blazing.

“I don’t know whether Marshal Hughes was acting out of patriotism,” Michael said, “helping out the government’s intel boys, or if an investigation into his finances will reveal recent windfalls. Of course, knowing the CIA, we might be talking Swiss accounts. Even so, an upswing in Don’s lifestyle might be apparent if—”