Don Winslow - The Power of the Dog

Just then an airliner flies low overhead to land at San Diego’s short airstrip, and the noise is deafening and he can just hear John Hobbs say, “Nora Hayden.”

“What?”

“We have her,” Hobbs says. “We’ll trade her.”

Art turns around.

“You couldn’t save Ernie Hidalgo,” Hobbs says. “You can save Nora Hayden. It’s very easy-bring me Barrera. Otherwise…”

He doesn’t need to finish the threat.

They’ll put a bullet in her head.

“The Cabrillo Bridge,” Hobbs says. “Midnight is melodramatic. Let’s say three a.m.? After the homosexual assignations are concluded but before the jogging commences. You bring Barrera from the west side, we’ll bring Ms. Hayden from the east. And Arthur, if you still feel this pathetic urge to confess everything, may I suggest you go to a priest? If you think that anyone else will believe or even care about your 'truth,’ you are sadly deluded.”

Hobbs goes back to serenely reading his book.

Behind dark shades, Scachi stares off into infinite space.

Art walks away.

“You want me to set it up?” Scachi asks.

Hobbs nods. It’s sad. Art Keller is a good man, but it’s axiomatic, and true, that good men have to die in war.

Art goes back to the secure location where he has Adan.

“You got your deal,” Art says.

One last job.

Is what Scachi tells Callan.

Yeah, it’s always one last job.

But you got no choice but to believe him, Callan thinks as he walks through Balboa Park.

Do it, or they’ll kill her.

He buys a ticket for a production of Harold Pinter’s Betrayal at the Old Globe. At intermission, he steps outside to grab a smoke and walks around the back of the theater to an alley between it and the Zoological Hospital. He walks down the alley to a chain-link fence under some eucalyptus trees on the slope overlooking the highway and, to the left, Cabrillo Bridge. He’s shielded from view by the back of the theater on one side and the back of the hospital on the other, and some storage trailers below the hospital mask him from the highway. He takes out the detached rifle scope and sights in on Scachi standing on the bridge, smoking a cigar. The range is. 02 miles.

It’ll be an easy shot, even at night.

He goes back and sits through the rest of the play.

Art stands on the front step and rings the doorbell.

Althea looks great.

Surprised to see him, but great.

“Arthur…”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.”

She leads him to a sofa in the living room and sits beside him. This could have been my home, Art thinks, should have been my home. Except that I threw it away to chase something not worth catching.

I threw you away, too, he thinks, looking at Althea.

Some few women get prettier with age. Her laugh and smile lines complement her; even the worry lines are lovely. He notices that she’s had some highlights put in her hair. She’s wearing a black blouse over jeans and a gold chain around her neck. Art remembers that he gave her the chain but can’t recall whether it was for her birthday or Valentine’s Day. It might have been Christmas, he thinks.

“Michael’s not home, I’m afraid,” she says. “He went to the movies with some friends.”

“I’ll catch him next time.”

“Art, are you okay?” she asks, suddenly looking concerned. “You’re not sick or-”

“I’m fine.”

“Because you look-”

“A long time ago,” he said, “you wanted me to tell the truth. Do you remember that?”

She nods.

“I wish to hell I had,” Art says. “I wish I hadn’t thrown you away.”

“Maybe it’s not too late.”

No, he thinks. It’s way too late. He gets up from the couch. “I better be going.”

“It was good to see you.”

“You, too.”

She hugs him at the door. Kisses him on the cheek.

“Take care of yourself, Art, okay?”

“Sure.”

He goes out the door.

“Art?”

He turns around.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s okay, he thinks. I really only came to say good-bye.

He knows that he’s walking into an ambush. That they’re going to kill him and Nora on the Cabrillo Bridge.

They don’t have a choice.

Nora gets into the backseat with John Hobbs.

He’s very courtly to her-an old gentleman wearing a suit with a white shirt and a bow tie and an overcoat, even though the night is warm.

She looks beautiful tonight and she knows it. She’s dyed her hair back to blond and they bought her a black dress that fits like a sheath. She wears diamond earrings and a diamond choker and heels. Her makeup is perfect, her eyes large, her lips glistening red.

She feels like a whore.

You play the part, she thinks, you dress the part.

Hobbs goes over everything with her again but she already understands it. Sal Scachi laid it all out for her. All she has to do is meet Adan in the middle of the bridge and walk back to the car with him.

Then she’s free to go and so is Sean Callan.

New identities and new lives.

He’s waiting for her back at the safe house, a hostage to her fulfilling her part of the deal. They needn’t have bothered, she thinks. I’ve done my bit so far. What’s a few more seconds of pretended love?

The only thing that bothers her is that Adan’s going to get away with all of it. The CIA, as these men doubtless are, will keep him and hold him and take good care of him and he’ll never be punished for Juan’s murder.

It’s wrong and she hates it but she’ll do it for Sean.

And Juan will understand.

Won’t you? she thinks, sending the thought to heaven. Tell me that you understand, tell me you want me to do this. Tell me you forgive me for the sins I’ve committed, and for the one I’m about to commit.

Sal Scachi looks at her in the rearview mirror and winks. He can easily understand how a man could become obsessed with her. Even Callan’s in love with her now, and Sean Callan is the coldest motherfucker who ever walked.

Well, I hope you got her on your mind tonight, Callan. I’d prefer you a little distracted because I’m the one who’s got to pop a cap in you. It’s too bad, sonny boy, but you gotta go. Can’t take the risk of you ever running your mouth about this.

It’s all been set up. A drug shoot-out on the bridge tonight, then the media starts the official public mourning for the hero Art Keller and a day or so later they break the story that he was a dirty cop on the Barrera payroll who got greedy and got his. Shot by one of Barrera’s hitmen.

The notorious Sean Callan.

You do get a new identity tonight, Sean boy.

This time you die for real.

John Hobbs inhales the woman’s perfume.

Old men, he thinks, take their fading pleasures where they can. In days past, quite past, he might have tried to seduce her. If, indeed, one can be said to “seduce” a prostitute. Now, alas, all he requires of her is for her to fulfill her obligation.

Bring Adan Barrera peacefully into our hands.

Hobbs has no qualms about it, none of the regret that he feels for the unfortunate but necessary sanction of Arthur Keller.

Ah, well, the next world is perfect; this one, considerably less so.

He inhales the woman’s perfume.

Art drives his own car to the rendezvous.

Adan sits beside him, his hands cuffed in front of him. There’s no traffic on the streets at quarter to three in the morning. Art takes Harbor Drive because he likes to see the sailboats and the moon shining on the water and the downtown skyline.

Adan sits quietly, with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“You know something, Adan?” Art asks. “You’re the reason I hope there’s a hell.”

“Don’t think this is over,” Adan says. “I still owe you for Raul.”