Don Winslow: A Cool Breeze on the Underground

“Enjoy your flight, sir,” the agent said with just the trace of a smirk. He passed Allie right through. The plane took off right on time.

Levine hung the phone up. “They’re on board.”

“How do you know?” Lombardi asked.

“I have a source at British at Kennedy. He checked the computer. I’ll call the Senator.”

“Tell him I want to come along to meet them.”

“You and me both.”

“This better be good, Lombardi,” Chase said over the phone. “You hauled me out of a meeting with half the crackers in Dixie.”

“They’re headed in.”

“Have the car meet me. Have you called Mrs. Chase yet?”

“I work for you, Senator.”

“Call her. She can get a helicopter down and still make it.”

“How’s it going there?”

“We have a good shot at it. Do you think you can get born again?”

“I feel like a new man already, Senator.”

Allie liked the movie. She didn’t have the headset on, but she made up her own dialogue, which wasn’t too bad, Neal thought. She ate both their lunches and only had to go to the lay once for a refresher course in sedation. She was in a pretty good mood for a young lady as sick as she was. When she wasn’t putting words into De Niro’s mouth, she talked about life after getting straight, and California sunshine, and getting them a little house around Malibu somewhere. She bet she could pry some cash out of the old trust fund, Dad or no Dad.

Neal nodded and made listening noises and drank heavily. The first-place Yankees had a twilight doubleheader against the Sox and he could just make the second game if he hustled. He was sick of himself, and sick of his lies, and it would be real nice to get involved in a game where they had some rules.

U. s. senators with chauffeurs and limos and twenty-dollar bills park where they want to at Kennedy airport, even right beside signs saying UNLOADING ONLY. Chase and Lombardi sat in the backseat. Chase drummed his feet and looked at his watch. The plane was due any moment and Liz hadn’t shown up yet. Hung up in traffic. How could a helicopter get hung up in traffic? Lombardi was on the phone to his people at the convention. The Senator was still hanging in there. That cracker bastard was taking his time, though. Probably praying about it.

Ed Levine was set. Standing at Arrivals outside the Customs gate, he checked his troops again. He had brought along four muscle types. They were spread out well. Little Neal wasn’t getting by. Two would grab the kid and waltz her over to Daddy for the hugs and kisses. The other two would grab Neal and stick him in a car. They would drive to some lonely parking lot, where Ed would expound on his displeasure. He had reluctantly promised Graham he wouldn’t break anything; after all, Neal, had brought the girl back.

A few minutes later, the light flashed on BA 177. Ed stepped outside to the car. Lombardi rolled the window down.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to bother you or anything, but they’re down and headed into Customs.”

Chase set the car phone down. “How long?”

“Depends.” Fuck you.

Chase gave him a dirty look. Levine could care less. This thing was about over and then he wouldn’t have to deal with the sleazy SOB anymore.

“We’ll be there in a minute. You haven’t seen my wife, have you?”

Ed knew thirty-eight good answers for that one but didn’t use any of them. “One at a time, Senator. One at a time.”

Chase stood with the flowers Lombardi had handed him-a nice touch, in case any snoopy reporters stumbled on the scene. He watched an endless throng of people come out of the gate, none of them Allie. Just like her, though, he thought.

Lombardi wished they’d hurry the hell up so he could get back to the convention. Christ only knows what they were up to back there without him to handle it.

Levine knew that Neal was holding back deliberately, letting most of the crowd come through-the less chance of a scene. He checked his guys one more time. They seemed to pick up on the tension. They were alert, on edge. Just the way he liked them.

“Daddy!”

The high-pitched squeal echoed through the hall.

Levine watched as some little schlump with short blond hair advanced toward Chase with her arms out.

“Daddy!” she screamed again, throwing her arms around him.

“You’re not my daughter,” Chase said, trying to disentangle himself from her more than fervent embrace.

“No fucking shit?” she whispered. “Flowers! For me? How sweet! I’m famished. You know airline food.” She proceeded to eat them, one by one. She did hand one to an anemic-looking boy standing beside her. He popped a daisy in his mouth and swallowed it whole.

“I’m Crisp. Can I call you Dad?”

The security types started to move in. Ed beat them to it. He grabbed Vanessa and lifted her off her feet.

“Where are they?”

“You must be Ed. Get your greasy hands off me, Ed. Before I scream for a reporter. That’s better.

“I have a message for all of you from Neal. First, you’re to let us go immediately. Or I call the press. Second, you’re not to try to find him or the girl. Third, he told you not to send him on this thing. Alrighty right? Now, where can I get a taxi?”

Chase started to grab her. “You bitch-”

“Let them go,” Levine said. He was red with rage, but he knew Neal Carey. “Let them go, Senator.”

His boys were slick. They moved the Senator as if it was his idea. They steered him back to the car, forming a wall that masked his furious face and muffled his yelling.

Rich Lombardi stood there for a moment, shaking his head. Then he looked up at Ed Levine. “Title this bit You’re Finished in This Business.”

Ed Levine shoved him a big middle finger. “Title this.” But as Lombardi was hustling away to catch up with Chase, Ed was thinking; I’ll kill him. I’ll find Neal Carey and kill him. It’s over for him-his job, his apartment, his education. Hosed. Let him try the world with no friends and no family.

The guy at boston’s Logan Airport didn’t want to let them in, but their papers were in order, this fucking guy with the shaved head and a safety pin through his ear, for Chrissakes, and his broad with the orange and purple crew cut.

So he hassled them a little, then said, “Welcome to Boston, Mr. Griffin, Miss Brownlow.”

Neal blushed. The needle through his ear had stung, but not like this homecoming. He felt like a jerk. He looked like a jerk.

The heavily muscled guy in the black polo shirt grabbed Neal the second he stepped out onto the street. He was professional. His hand was like a soft vise around Neal’s bicep, while his partner gently took Allie.

“Neal?” She wasn’t nearly strong enough to put up a struggle, but she leaned away from the muscle toward Neal.

“It’s okay, Allie. It’s okay,” he said as his guy pushed on his chest, blocking his way to the girl. “They’re going to take good care of you. They’re going to get you straight.”

“Neal?” She started to cry and held on to him tighter.

“Allie, listen, I do love you. But sometimes the best thing you can do for someone you love is to leave.” He pried her hand off his arm, then softly kissed the tips of her fingers. “Goodbye, Allie.”

The muscle started moving her toward a limo parked on the street. Neal looked over the thug’s shoulder and saw Liz Chase get out of the back.

She stood on the sidewalk, crying, her fingers touching her bottom lip.

The thug started to turn neal away.

Allie was looking back at Neal as they pushed her along toward her mother. She looked scared and hurt.

He didn’t see her collapse in her mother’s arms, didn’t see their embrace. All he saw was a big chest and a big forearm hauling him away. Then he heard a voice say, “Hurt him and I’ll cut your balls off.”