Роберт Паркер - The Bitterest Pill

Jesse asked a few more questions, but it was clear Heather had worked hard to insulate herself and to keep her friends away from the other life she lived. But when they were ready to leave, Jesse mentioned Chris G.

“Loser,” Megan said.

“A cute loser.” Darby was less harsh.

Jesse could see that Rich wanted to say something, but not in front of the girls. Jesse gave him a nod — later — when the girls were distracted. Rich got behind the wheel of the Jeep and they were gone. As Jesse turned back to his Explorer, he caught a glimpse of Chris G. running among the tombstones. Jesse took off after him.

The kid was quick and the grass was slick from a shower that had passed an hour or so before Heather’s burial. Jesse would make up some ground and then fall behind as the kid zigged, then zagged, among headstones, stone benches, and fences. As he chased the kid, Jesse shouted to him that he only wanted to talk. But Chris wasn’t having it. Jesse couldn’t blame the kid, especially if he had stuff to hide. After about a hundred yards, Jesse gave up, bending over at the waist, trying to catch his breath. When he stood straight, Chris G. was gone.

Jesse got Molly on the phone, told her about his suspicions, and gave her Chris Grimm’s address.

“Send somebody to sit on the house.”

“For how long, Jesse?”

“At least until morning.”

“I’ll send Gabe. What if Grimm shows?”

“There are no grounds for arrest. Officially, there’s no crime, so tell Gabe not to do anything but call me directly. I just want to talk to the kid. He’s already spooked.”

“Why’s he spooked?”

“Because I just chased him through the cemetery.”

“If it was anyone else, I’d think you were trying to be funny.”

“Nice,” Jesse said.

Molly shifted focus. “How was it today?”

“About how you would expect.”

“Bad?”

“Never good, putting a kid in the ground.”

Molly choked up. “No, I guess not. I’ve got to go, Jesse.”

He thought about heading home but realized that would be the first place the cops would go looking for him. After Chief Stone had chased him through the graveyard, he no longer doubted that the cops were on to him. Now calling Arakel was a matter of survival. He had to get out of Paradise and find a place to lie low until this thing with Heather blew over. His mom didn’t really give a shit about him anyway, and his stepdad would probably crack open a bottle of champagne at the idea of him splitting for good. He headed for Kennedy Park to make the call.

Arakel was impatient. “What is it? I have no time for this.”

Chris hesitated. “The cops tried to grab me today.”

“Where was this?”

“Outside of my school.” The kid lied, knowing that if he told the truth, Arakel would lose his mind.

The lie seemed to placate him, and now it was Arakel who was momentarily silent. “Where are you?”

“I’m in a place where they won’t find me for a while.”

“Stay there. I will call you soon. Do not worry. We will fix this.”

Arakel dreaded going to Mehdi with the problem. Mehdi had always thought his choice of the kid was a mistake — too weak and no toughness . The last thing he wanted to hear was an I-told-you-so. He had no choice, really. He was not an operations type of guy. He was good at taking instruction and following through, but thinking on his feet had never been his forte. He banged his knuckles on Mehdi’s office door.

“Come.”

Arakel stepped in.

Mehdi read his partner’s face as if it were a Times Square billboard. “There is trouble.”

“In Paradise, yes.”

“With the kid?”

“He says the police are after him.”

Mehdi wagged his finger. “I told you so.” He frowned, gave it some thought, and flipped a set of keys at Arakel. “Go pick him up in the van. Take Stojan and Georgi with you.”

“Why do I need—”

“They will know where to go.” Mehdi stood up and patted his partner’s cheek. “Try not to disappoint me more than you already have.”

“But he is only a boy.”

“A boy, yes. A boy who can have you spend the rest of your life inside a federal prison. Think of it this way. A hand grenade will kill you no matter who pulls the pin, a child or a monster. The trick is to remove the possibility of explosion. Stojan and Georgi will find out what the boy has said and...” Mehdi turned back to his desk, opened the top drawer, and removed a sleek black pistol. He released the magazine into his palm, inspected it, replaced it in the handle, worked the slide, and checked the safety. He handed it to Arakel. “And when they have gathered all there is to know from the boy, you will make sure there is no possibility of the hand grenade exploding.”

Arakel took the pistol. He handled it awkwardly, shoving it into his jacket pocket. But Mehdi wasn’t finished.

“Alert everyone in the supply chain in that area. Obviously, we need a new recruit. Make it happen.”

Arakel turned and left. He prayed silently for the situation to somehow resolve itself without the use of force. He might as well have prayed for peace on earth. Neither was going to happen.

The white, unmarked van crunched along the stone-and-dirt service road in the last flicker of sunlight. The kid had assured Arakel that the service road was hardly ever used and that even if they were stopped, they could claim they were lost.

“It’s easy to screw up. People do it all the time. The roads in the park aren’t very clearly marked.”

Arakel had already made the calls to the people he had been ordered to alert, and as the van bounced, tires spitting out gravel, his hands shook and the nausea rose up in him. It was all he could do not to have them pull over so he could get out to vomit. Stojan, at the wheel, and Georgi, in the front passenger seat, looked back at Arakel, then at each other. They smirked, shaking their heads.

Stojan said, “What is wrong, Boss, you are being seasick?”

The two men in the front seats had a good laugh at that. They exchanged some words in their native tongue and laughed harder still. Arakel knew both men up front as brutal, unfeeling thugs. That was their niche in the organization, but Arakel also suspected one or both of them as plants, spies for the men above Mehdi and himself.

“Slow down,” Arakel said as they neared the equipment shed. “Stop.”

The van skidded to a halt on the loose gravel. Stojan turned to face his boss. “Open the door for the kid.”

Arakel pulled the handle and slid the side door open. Chris Grimm stepped out into the open from the side of the metal shed and hopped into the van. He grinned at the sight of Arakel and slid the door shut behind him. The van started moving almost immediately. The grin slid right off the kid’s face at the sight of the men up front. Arakel noticed.

“Don’t worry about them,” he said, patting Chris’s shoulder, smiling. “They’re here to protect you. No one will bother us with them around. Come on, once we get out of town, we’ll get you something to eat. You haven’t eaten all day, have you?”

The kid relaxed. There it was, Arakel’s talent on display. In spite of Chris’s troubles and fear of the men in the front of the van, Arakel had put him at ease.

“Stojan, stop at a McDonald’s or a place like that once we get out of Paradise.”

“But—”

“Do not defy me,” Arakel said, not quite believing he talked to the brute that way. “We have time for the boy to eat.”

The big man shrugged.

“So, Chris, where have you left your stash? Will the police find it in your home if they search?”