Robin Cook - Harmful Intent

TUESDAY,

MAY 16,1989

7:49 P.M.

Jeffrey stopped just short of the garage door, got out of the car, and stretched. He could smell the ocean. As a peninsula that jutted into the

Atlantic Ocean, all of Marblehead was near to the water. Bending back into the car, Jeffrey dragged his briefcase toward him and hefted it into the air. He slammed the car door and started up the front steps.

As he walked he noted the beauty that was all around him. Songbirds were going crazy in the evergreen tree in the front lawn and a sea gull shrieked in the distance. A bank of rhododendrons was in full bloom in a riot of color along the front of the house. Having been preoccupied by his problems during the last months, Jeffrey had completely missed the enchanting tran- sition from bleak New England winter to glorious springtime. He was appreciating it now for the first time that year. The effect of having visited Kelly was still very much on his mind.

Reaching the front door, Jeffrey remembered his suitcase. He hesitated a moment, then decided he could get it later. He put his key in the front door and went inside.

Carol was standing in the entranceway, her hands on her hips. He could tell by her expression that she was angry. Welcome home, thought Jeffrey. And how was your day? He put his briefcase down.

"It's almost eight o'clock," Carol said with undisguised impatience.

"I'm quite aware of the time."

"Where have you been?"

Jeffrey hung up his jacket. Carol's inquisitional attitude irked him. Maybe he should have called. In the old days, he would have, but these weren't normal times by any stretch of the imagination.

"I don't ask you where you've been," Jeffrey said.

"If I'm going to be delayed until almost eight at night I always call,"

Carol said. "It's just common courtesy."

"I suppose I'm not a courteous person," Jeffrey said. He was too tired to argue the point. He picked up his briefcase, intending to go directly to his room. He wasn't interested in fighting with Carol. But then he stopped.

A large man had appeared, leaning casually against the doodamb leading into the kitchen. Jeffrey's eyes immediately took in the ponytail, the denim clothes, the cowboy boots, and the tattoos. He had a gold earring in one ear and was holding a bottle of Kronenbourg in his hand.

Jeffrey gave Carol a questioning look.

"While you are out doing God knows what," Carol snapped, 'I've been here putting up with this pig of a man. And all because of you. Where have you been?"

Jeffrey's eyes went from Carol to the stranger and back again. He had no idea what was going on. The stranger winked and smiled at Carol's unflattering reference as if it had been a compliment.

"I'd also like to know where you've been, sport," the thug said. "I already know where you haven't been." He took a pull on the beer and smiled. He acted as if he were enjoying himself.

"Who is this man?" Jeffrey asked Carol.

"Devlin O'Shea," the stranger offered. He pushed off the doorjamb and stepped beside Carol. "Me and the cute little missus here have been waiting for you for hours." He reached out to pinch Carol's cheek, but she batted his hand away. "Feisty little thing." He laughed.

"I want to know what's going on here," Jeffrey demanded.

"Mr. O'Shea is the charming emissary of Mr. Michael Mosconi," Carol said angrily.

"Emissary?" Devlin questioned. "Ooh, I like that. Sounds sexy.,,

"Did you go to the bank to see Dudley?" Carol demanded, ignoring Devlin.

"Of course," Jeffrey said. Suddenly he realized why Devlin was there.

"And what happened?" Carol demanded.

"Yeah, what happened?" Devlin chimed in. "Our sources report that there was no deposit like was promised. That's unfortunate."

"There was a problem...'9 Jeffrey stammered. He'd not been prepared for this interrogation.

"What kind of a problem?" Devlin asked, stepping forward and poking Jeffrey repeatedly in the chest with his index finger, keeping the pressure on. He felt Jeffrey wasn't coming clean.

"Paperwork," Jeffrey said, trying to fend off Devlin's jabs. "The kind of red tape you always get at a bank."

"What if I don't believe you?" Devlin said. He smacked Jeffrey on the side of the head with an open palm.

Jeffrey's hand went to his ear. The blow stung him and startled him. His ear was ringing.

"You can't come in here and push me around," Jeffrey said; trying to be authoritative.

"Oh, no?" Devlin said in an artificially high voice. He switched the beer to his right hand and then with his left he smacked Jeffrey on the other side of the head. His movement was so swift, Jeffrey had no time to react.

He stumbled back against the wall, cowering in front of this behemoth.

"Let me remind you of something," Devlin said, staring down at Jeffrey.

"You are a convicted felon, my friend, and the only reason you're not rotting in prison at this moment is because of the generosity of Mr.

Mosconi."

"Carol!" Jeffrey yelled. He felt a mixture of terror and anger. "Call the police!"

"Ha!" Devlin laughed, throwing his head back. " 'Call the police!' You're too much, Doc. You really are. I'm the one with the law behind me-not you.

I'm just here as an..." Devlin paused, then looked back at Carol. "Hey,

&arie, what was that you called me?"

"An emissary," Carol said, hoping to appease the man. She was appalled at this scene but had no idea what to do.

"Like she said, I'm an emissary," Devlin repeated, turning back to Jeffrey.

"I'm an emissary to remind you about your deal with Mr. Mosconi. He was a little disappointed this afternoon when he called the bank. What happened to the money that was supposed to be in your checking account?"

"It was the bank's fault," Jeffrey repeated. He hoped to God this giant didn't look in his briefcase, which he was still holding. If he saw the cash, he'd guess that Jeffrey had been planning to flee. "It was some minor bureaucratic holdup, but the money will be in the account in the morning.

All the paperwork is done."

"You wouldn't be jerking me around, would you?" Devlin asked. He flicked the end of Jeffrey's nose with the nail of his

index finger. Jeffrey winced. His nose felt like it had been stung by a bee.

"They assured me there would be no further problems," Jeffrey said. He touched the tip of his nose and looked at his finger. He expected to see blood but there wasn't any.

"So the money will be there tomorrow morning?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, in that case I guess I'll be going," Devlin said. "Needless to say, if the money doesn't appear, I'll be back." Devlin turned from Jeffrey and stepped over to Carol. He extended the beer. "Thanks for the brew, honey."

She took the bottle. Devlin again made a motion to pinch her cheek. Carol tried to slap him, but he caught her arm. "You certainly are feisty," he said with a laugh. She yanked her arm free.

"I'm sure you're both sorry to see me go," Devlin said at the door. "I'd love to stay for dinner but I'm supposed to meet a group of nuns over at

Rosalie's." He laughed a hoarse laugh as he pulled the door closed behind himself.

For a few moments neither Jeffrey nor Carol moved. They could hear a car start out in the street, then pull away. Carol was the one to break the silence: "What happened at the bank?" she demanded. She was furious. "Why didn't they have the money for you?"

Jeffrey didn't answer. He just looked at his wife dumbly. He was shaking from his reaction to Devlin. The balance between anger and terror had tilted to terror. Devlin was the embodiment of Jeffrey's worst fears, especially since he understood he had no defense against him and no protection from the law. Devlin was just the kind of person Jeffrey imagined populated the prisons. Jeffrey was surprised the man hadn't threatened to break his kneecaps. Despite his Irish name, he seemed like a character straight from the Mafia.