Chapter 72
Roger Teal’s wife had gone to bed early.
She always went to bed early these days, and was either asleep, or pretending to be, by the time her husband joined her.
Teal didn’t care. They rarely screwed, and then only when they’d each drunk enough to allow lust to overcome mutual distaste.
As for Teal’s daughter, she was staying over at a friend’s, which she also did as often as she could, preferring other people’s homes to her own.
When the trigger was finally pulled on the marriage, it would come as a blessing to them all.
Teal drank first one beer, then another.
He thought of Edward Kenney, the Saint, and Renders.
He pictured Mike Hurvich’s body moldering wherever Kenney had buried it, and the Saint and Renders taking turns with Mallory Norton.
He knew he’d have to tell the Saint about the visit from the private investigator.
He would have done so sooner, but he wanted time to think.
Kenney was right: Lines had been overstepped and trusts breached.
Teal and Kenney had kept to the rules while the Saint had not.
It was the Saint who was most at fault. But would that count for much if he decided to hold them to account for the death of the DEA agent?
And suppose the DEA traced Cotter’s abductors back to the Airbnb, rented in Edward Kenney’s name?
Could Kenney be relied on not to implicate his associate?
And what of Jenny Berrien? Kenney would never agree to harming her, not with all that was going on, but the Saint might.
What it came down to was, Teal would have to pick a side.
He drank a third beer, brushed his teeth, and went to wake his wife. He still had needs, and if he kept his eyes closed she could be anyone he wanted, even Mallory Norton, the same Mallory Norton whom the Saint, through his selfishness, had denied his friends.
And so the side was picked.