Don Winslow - A Cool Breeze on the Underground

“What do you mean?”

“I go my way, you go yours?”

If I knew my way, Allie.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

She got up and went into the kitchen, and came back a minute later with a fresh cup of tea.

“I thought you kind of liked me,” she said, standing behind him.

“I do.”

“So why haven’t you done anything about it?”

Neal had never really known what the word nonplussed meant. Now he thought he knew.

“Jesus Christ, I kidnapped you! What more could I do?”

Neal got up and took a walk in the rain.

He was drenched when he came back, and just as confused as when he had left. She met him at the door with a towel and a blanket, then hurried into the kitchen, returning with a hot cup of tea.

“You’re crazy,” she said as she rubbed his head with the towel.

“I won’t argue with you.”

“Like they say in the movies,” she said in a mock scolding tone, “you’d better get out of those wet things before you catch your death of cold.”

Neal climbed the stairs, wondering just what the hell was going on with him. It had started out to be a pretty straightforward job and turned into something different. You’re adrift, he thought, and drifting further away. Cut off from Friends, playing house with a teenage girl. And the only crazy thing you haven’t done so far is go to bed with her. Did you just say “so far”? Jesus Christ. It was July 20, time was running out, and he didn’t know what to do or how to do it.

Supper that night was a simple repast of boiled potatoes and cold sliced ham, and was quieter than usual.

The creak of the bedroom door woke Neal.

Allie was standing there, clad in the plaid flannel shirt they’d found in one of the chests.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I need to talk to you.”

Why do the Chase women always need to talk to me in the middle of the night? Neal wondered.

Allie sat down on the edge of the bed, inspiring in Neal a simultaneous anxiety and a faith in genetics.

She started deliberately and slowly, as if she’d rehearsed and worried over each word. “There are things you need to know about me,”

That’s funny, Allie, there are things you need to not know about me.

“If we’re going to be partners,” she continued.

“Go ahead,” Neal said, feeling guilty. Allie, he thought, I already know.

“I… God, this is so hard… I didn’t just run away. I mean, for just no reason. Same thing for the drugs. I mean, I know I’m screwed up…” She stopped and hung her head, staring down at the rough fabric of the army blanket.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Neal said.

“We’re partners, anyway.”

“I want to. It’s been on my mind.”

Neal nodded.

“My father…”

I know, baby, I know.

Slow tears dropped on the blanket.

“He… he and I… no, he… used to…”

Neal forced himself to look at her, forced himself to lift her chin and look her in the eyes.

“I guess…” she said, “the word is incest”

He stroked her cheek. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

“The drugs helped me to forget… and the sex… I guess it helped me to get even. I don’t know.”

Neal felt her tears on his shoulder. You can take away her pain, he thought, not all of it, but a lot. If you had half her courage, you would tell her the truth. He’s not your father, Allie. You have to live with a lot, but you don’t have to live with that. He’s not your father.

But if I tell you now, I might blow it all, and I don’t have the guts to risk it. And I’m sorry.

So instead, he said, “It’s all right. It’s all right. It doesn’t make a difference. It’s behind you now. It’s behind you.”

“I’m never going back.”

“You don’t have to. You don’t have to,” he chanted softly until she fell asleep and he pulled her down beside him. “You don’t have to.”

Betrayal, he thought, is the only ending to any undercover.

“what do you think he’s up to?” Levine asked Graham. They were sweating out a hot afternoon in the New York office. “He hasn’t called in; he’s checked out of the hotel; if he’s at the safe house, he’s not answering. He’s disappeared. What’s he up to?”

Graham wished he knew. since the night of Neal’s phone call, he had worried his head off. He had kept a close eye on the British papers and had seen nothing about an assault, never mind a murder. And he had called Keyes’s apartment a hundred times if he’d called it once.

Neal had disappeared-gotten lost-just as he’d taught him. But why hadn’t he checked back in? Because he still thought that Ed was dirty, that there was a leak in the organization? Then why hadn’t he gotten in touch with his old Dad? Called him at McKeegan’s? Does he think I’m dirty now? That I’m in on it? No, Neal couldn’t think that.

A worse option came to mind. Maybe Neal hadn’t escaped the trap. Maybe he was a prisoner somewhere, or worse. Graham didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t believe it. Neal Carey was too good. He’d have gotten out and taken the client out with him. But where?

Or had Neal decided that one double-cross deserved another? Taken the girl somewhere to cut a deal on his own. Or had the little fuckhead gone soft and fallen in love with her? Jesus Christ.

“We’ve got, what, ten days?” Levine asked.

“Eleven,” Lombardi said. “You think you’re going to hear from him? Maybe he has Allie and is working on some deal of his own.”

“Maybe,” said Graham.

Levine looked at him real strange: angry.

“Neal Carey is a snotty little bastard, but he’s not a double-crosser. Not with us.” Ed said it firmly and to both of them. Ed was pissed, thought Graham.

“Hey, you sent a head case to get a head case,” Lombardi said. “They’re probably shooting up together.”

“Shoot this,” said Graham with an appropriate gesture.

“Hey…”

“Are you boys finished?” Ed asked. “Because we have a problem to work out here.”

Lombardi stood up. “No. You have a problem to work out here, I have a problem to work out in Newport. One very angry senator.”

Graham handed Lombardi his seersucker sport coat.

“So go to Newport,” he said. “Let us know if Allie’s home. Have you looked under the bed?”

“That’s enough,” Levine said.

Lombardi gave Graham a look that was meant to be tough.

“Maybe when this is all over,” he said, “you can get a job in a casino. People can put quarters in your mouth-”

“And pull my arm. Is that the best you can do?”

“Hey, you’re the clown.”

Lombardi picked up his briefcase and made his exit.

“I should have gone to law school,” said Levine,

“It’s not too late.”

Ed plopped himself down on his desk and looked through the Chase file for the thousandth time. Or pretended to. Then he said, “What are you not telling me, Joe?”

“Nothing.”

“Where’s the kid?”

“Do I know?”

“Do you?”

“No!” Graham said with righteous indignation. “Hey, look out the window, would you?”

“What, Neal and Allie are out there?”

“No, see if that fuck Lombardi has left the building. Stupid shit forgot his wallet.”

“Good.”

“Come on.”

Ed looked. “He must still be in the elevator.”

“I’ll catch him. Yell at him when he comes out.”

“It’s seven floors.”

“You got lungs. Give him one of those kung-fooey yells.”

“I’d like to,” Ed muttered as Graham headed out the door.

Graham pressed the elevator button and went right to work when it came. A seven-floor ride was ample to memorize the credit-card numbers, but he wasn’t as young as he used to be.