Don Winslow: A Cool Breeze on the Underground

When it did, Neal stood in the doorway. Just stood in the doorway.

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Tomorrow after breakfast.”

“I don’t want to.” “I’m not asking. It’s time.” “It’s time for a lot of things.”

He stood in the doorway for what seemed like an hour. Then he turned suddenly and shut the door behind him.

The night wind stung Colin’s face but he didn’t let up on the bike’s throttle. The pain felt almost good-it focused his fury. Dickie Huan’s lads had stomped him pretty good. Pretty cute they were with their little hands and feet, but he would meet them again sometime, on his turf and on his time, and then they would find out just how cute they were.

But that was for later. Now he was headed to settle with his old girl Alice and his old buddy Neal. It had taken some talking to convince Dickie to let him go alone. Dickie had wanted to send a fookin’ army, but it was explained to him that Yorkshire villages aren’t used to seeing a horde of Chinese and it might attract negative attention. And besides, the book might be business, but killing Neal was personal. And killing Alice would be a nice hobby. He might even get generous and let Dickie play.

He let his mind imagine Neal and Alice in bed. It helped him forget his cuts and bruises. “Sweet dreams, lovebirds!” he shouted into the wind. “Colin’s on his way!”

Neal got up early and collected his few belongings. He put the copy of the Pickle in his briefcase and locked it. He poured himself a cold bath, washed up quickly, then heated water to shave. He heard Allie get up. She came down the stairs and brushed past him in the kitchen without a word. She put up water on the stove for her own bath, staring out the window while it heated.

“Good morning,” Neal said.

She didn’t answer.

“You’re not talking to me?”

“How does it feel?”

Then she carried the bucket outside, poured it into the tub, shucked her clothes, and stepped in. For once, the cold air didn’t seem to bother her, and she took her time bathing.

When she came back in, Neal was sitting at the table, reading some old paperback. Allie went into the kitchen, pulled eggs and bread out of the pantry, and began to make breakfast. When it was ready, she tossed Neal’s plate of eggs and toast in front of him, and said, “So we’re leaving today.”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t I get a say? I thought I was a partner.”

“A junior partner.”

“A fifty-fifty partner.”

He looked up from his plate. “Knock it off.”

You’re not getting off this easy, Neal, she thought. I didn’t trade one Colin for another. You’re not going to treat me like this.

“No, Neal,” she said, “you knock it off! I want to know what’s next. What happens when we get back to the States?”

“You get sixteen thousand dollars.”

“I mean what happens between you and me?”

Oh, Allie, not now, he thought. Just give me a few more days to work things out. Just trust me.

“Let’s just take it slow, okay?”

“Slow? Haven’t we been taking it slow?”

“So let’s keep taking it slow.”

“Maybe I’ll just take my money and split.”

He looked up from his plate and met her eyes. “You can if you want to, Alice. You have to know that.”

She ate a few bites of toast, then got right to the heart of things.

“Why won’t you make love to me?”

“Jesus, Alice” was the best he could manage at the moment.

“Why?”

“I don’t-”

“You don’t think I’m attractive.”

“I think you’re very attractive.”

“Then what is it?”

He took his time. “How do I explain this…”

Then she got the idea, the wrong idea, but she got hold of it and it hurt her. “It’s because of my father, isn’t it? That’s why!”

“Alice, that’s not it!”

“I shouldn’t have told you!”

“No, I’m glad you did.”

Her face contorted in pain. She tried for the mocking laugh she used to have, but it didn’t work, and she screamed at him, “I thought you loved me!”

“I-”

“But you can’t love a junkie whore who fucked her own father!” He started to explain, to try and tell her… But she was already headed out the door.

Let her go, he thought. Let her blow off steam. She can’t go far. Let her be alone for a while.

Colin was lost. All these dirt roads look alike, he thought, and there are no signs. He was consulting Simon’s directions again when he saw a little dog running toward him, barking.

“Jim!”

Colin heard the voice before be saw the old man. The dog stopped in his tracks, sat down, and began to wag his tail.

That’s better, Colin thought.

Until he saw the shotgun.

“Who would you be?” the old man asked him.

“Good morning,” Colin said in his best toff accent, flashing his most charming smile. “I’m afraid I’m lost.”

The old man didn’t smile back. He’s looking at the cuts and bruises on my face, Colin realized.

“Went off the road with the motorbike,” he explained, adding a self-deprecatory chuckle. “Stupid.”

Still no smile from the old coot, and the dog’s tail had stopped wagging.

“I never liked those things,” the old one said, “Now, who would you be?”

I’d be the Aga bloody Khan if I had the money, you ancient hairy bastard. “I’m a friend of Simon’s.”

“You don’t look like a friend of Simon’s.”

Colin knew how to handle the yeoman class.

“Nevertheless,” he intoned, and let the awkward silence do the rest.

“Simon’s out of country,” the shepherd said.

That’s all right, actually,” Colin said. “I’ve come to see Neal and Alice. Would you know if they’re in?”

“I would.”

“And could you tell me where the cottage is?”

“I could.”

Colin let the precise, polite grimace of impatience cross his face. “And…”

The shepherd turned around to point downhill and took his bloody time about it-quite enough time for Colin to grab the wrench from his toolbag.

Leave her alone, for a while, Neal thought again a few minutes after Allie had left.

Like you let the Halperin kid alone. Poor, stupid little Jason Halperin, from Cincinnati, who you took from that gentle queen on Twenty-third Street. You took him to the Hilton and it was late. You were both hungry and room service was closed. And Jason Halperin was so docile, relieved almost, to be caught, and you figured you could leave him alone for ten minutes while you went across the street to grab a couple of sandwiches. He was engrossed in some stupid movie on television, and you told him that you were locking the door from the outside, which is impossible, and you’d be right back. And you didn’t bother to cuff him, because why put the kid through any more shit, right? And service was so slow, it was a bit more like twenty minutes before you came back with the roast-beef sandwiches and the Cokes and the Twinkies, and there was fourteen-year-old Jason Halperin hanging from the clothes rod in the closet. Because you had left him alone and there were things he couldn’t face alone and you should have known that.

The yapping of Hardin’s dog woke him from the reverie and he took it as a signal. No, don’t leave her alone for a while. Go find her-now.

Neal rushed out the door. The butt of the shotgun hit him square across the upper ribs and he dropped to his knees, sucking for air. He could barely raise his head to see Colin standing there, and Allie standing frozen beside him.

“‘avin’ a little spat, were we?” Colin asked. “Let’s all go back inside and talk it over.”

He ushered Allie inside with the barrel of the gun and sat her down on one of the kitchen chairs. Then he went back out and nudged the shotgun under Neal’s chin. “Trouble gettin’ up, rugger? Want some ’elp?”