21. Ezekiel
21
EZEKIEL
I sabelle meets us at the door. Jericho hugs her, holding her for a long moment. I can almost feel his relief at having her in his arms and maybe for the first time in my life I can understand it.
What is it? Isabelle asks, concerned. Where s Blue?
She s at the other house. Kids okay? Everyone s inside?
She nods. They re arguing over which movie we ll watch.
Jericho smiles at that.
Brother. I need the laptop, I say, not wanting to interrupt this moment but needing to go.
Jericho nods and I follow him into his office to get the laptop. I ll go with you, he says.
No, you won t. You and I both know if her father got to the house, he has help. He wouldn t know where Blue is otherwise. It has to be Girard. The timing is suspect now that I think of it. Hell, Girard could have left the bags himself with that note planted in it.
Jericho considers this.
I need to go, I say.
Dex, Jericho calls.
Yeah, boss.
Go with him. Make sure he doesn t get himself killed.
I snort but appreciate the gesture. Thanks. I ll call you as soon as I m finished with Lucky.
Dex and I walk quickly out of the house and head toward the address where Lucky is expecting to meet Blue. On our way, I have confirmation from the men stationed at the Margaret Stone Center that Wren is perfectly fine, no one has attempted to visit her. Dex is driving and I text Blue to let her know that.
The diner, which is a hole in the wall, is exactly the kind of place I d expect to do this kind of business. It s almost cliché. The windows, which are tinted, don t show me who s inside, but I m guessing the occupants of the diner can see out just fine. From the count of cars in the lot, the place isn t too busy. I wonder which of the vehicles is Lucky s.
We park in the farthest corner, backing the vehicle into the space so the front of the car faces the diner. Dex stays in the SUV while I climb out, noting the privacy the trees offer. I want to get Lucky outside. I head toward the diner, scanning the lot once more, then the cars parked across the street. This could be a setup by Girard for all I know. He could have men watching the diner, thinking she d come.
I pull the door open and a bell chimes to announce my arrival. I stop just inside, scan the place. A waitress behind the counter looks up and I guess I m a little different than the usual clientele because she does a double take.
Come on in, handsome, she says. Take a seat anywhere you like.
I recognize Lucky from the mugshots Robbie got hold of. He s sitting at the very back booth. We look at each other for a long minute. I take in his greasy dark hair, the unshaven face. He has a cup of coffee in front of him and he doesn t look nearly as cocky as the postcard would have led me to believe. If anything, he looks to be in rough shape. The checkered button-down shirt he s wearing is speckled with red and I get the feeling it s not paint. That s confirmed when he sets his left hand on the table and leans back in his seat. The hand is bandaged and not well, the white of the gauze is dirty, stained a deep red where his little finger and ring finger should be.
I clear my throat, walk toward Lucky s booth.
You ve changed, Blue, he says when I slide in across from him.
He s tall, I can tell, even though he s seated, and he s lean. Almost too much so. I guess him to be in his late forties, maybe early fifties but he looks older.
Lucky.
You d be Ezekiel, am I right?
Now how would you know that?
He grins, picks up his almost empty coffee cup and sips. I have friends in high places.
Those friends do that? I gesture to the bandage.
His grin vanishes as he glances at his hand. Was it Girard? Has he developed a taste for mutilation since he was so brutally disfigured?
How s my little Bluebird? She waiting in your fancy car?
My eyes narrow and one corner of his mouth curves upward. He hit a nerve, and he knows it.
She s not here.
He straightens, leans toward me. Let me give you some advice, Ezekiel. Like mother like daughter. That little bitch will fuck you like she fucked me. Hell, you should probably check your bank account. Wouldn t be surprised if she s already emptied it.
Thanks for the advice. You and I have business.
Can I get you something, handsome? The waitress who was behind the counter asks me as she pours fresh coffee for Lucky and sets a big slice of apple pie in front of him.
No, thank you, I tell her, never taking my eyes off Lucky.
Well, if you change your mind, just holler and I ll come running, she says with a wink.
I bet you will, Lucky says. Took her long enough to get my pie, he bitches when she gives him a sneer before walking back to the counter. He turns to me. You were saying. He slices into his pie and puts a forkful into his mouth. I see the yellowing teeth, the missing one at the bottom. He closes his eyes as he chews and makes an appreciative sound. Haven t had pie like this in a long time. He wipes his mouth, puts his fork down. They don t bake in prison.
No, I guess they don t. How did you find Blue? Who s helping you?
Lucky shoves more pie into his hole and studies me as he chews with his mouth open. I try not to look.
A friend. Why didn t my daughter come? I really would have loved to see her. It s been years.
She didn t want to see you. Which friend is helping you?
The one who wants what s on my laptop which that little bitch of mine stole. You have it? Didn t expect to see you walk in here empty-handed.
It s in the trunk. I gesture to the parking lot and stand.
Well then, let me just finish this delicious pie. He continues to eat, finishing the thick slice in three huge bites before swallowing his coffee, wiping his mouth and standing.
I was right, he s tall, and definitely skinny. I note the pallor to his skin, the shadows under his eyes. I know that look. Mom had it throughout her cancer diagnosis and treatment. I wonder if Lucky s sick. If he is, does he know it? Not that I care. I just need one thing from him before I kill him. Because I plan on doing the killing myself. I won t allow Blue to soil her hands with this low-life s blood. First, though, I need to know who pulled those strings that got him out of prison. I assume Girard but it could be Councilor Augustus. At this point, I can see him getting Lucky out of prison to get the files back. I assume he d have him killed afterwards. He wouldn t want to leave anyone who knows what he s done alive.
Lucky pats his pockets. Shoot. Fresh out of cash. You don t mind, do you?
This man is a criminal. I couldn t actually expect him to pay his own tab. I take out my wallet and drop a twenty-dollar bill on the table. It should cover coffee, pie and a generous tip for having to put up with this dirtbag.
Why thank you. Lead the way, handsome, he says, mimicking the waitress who is watching us.
I walk ahead of him but when we get to the door, I open it and gesture for him to go ahead. He does. I don t want this man at my back.
Who helped you get out of prison? I ask as we cross the lot to my SUV.
I saw you didn t come alone. You hurt me, my friend will hurt you, he says, ignoring my question.
I doubt that. We get to the SUV and Dex climbs out, opens the trunk. He glances around, subtly nods to me. Who. Helped. You? I ask once we reach the SUV.
Lucky glimpses his laptop, eyes Dex, then turns back to me with a grin on his face. I m a dead man either way but I will die knowing my little girl will be joining me soon in Hell.
What the hell are you talking about? I ask, suddenly feeling like I ve made a mistake, like I ve missed something. I grip his collar, shove him backward so the back of his head slams against the open trunk of SUV. Who the fuck sent you?
The Honorable Councilor Lucius Augustus, he says with a bad British accent. His henchmen drove off when you and your buddy got here. Idiot. He shakes his head.
I m slow to understand. Slow for my brain to process because it does so in degrees. The thought of Blue waiting for me in the Bishop house, it feels like a punch to the gut, like all the air has been sucked from my lungs. Even if the men I sent got there, they won t stand a chance against Augustus.
I fucked up.
I fucked up. Again.