looked up from his beer. “Holy God!” Tommy turned and tapped his wrist. “Late again. We got customers.”
“Bite me.”
Students’ jaws unhinged. Before them, visions from Victoria’s Secret. Both statuesque six-footers in stretch-to-fit black tank tops and matching skimpy silk shorts. Perfect bookends: one a classic blond farm girl from Alabama, the other a gorgeous Brooklyn import who gave Halle Berry a run.
“Serge,” said Tommy. “What are you drinking? On the house.”
“Bottled water.”
“Haven’t changed.” Tommy faced the just-arrived employees. “Call me crazy, but can I ask you to work? Man wants a water.”
The blonde sneered, then placed a coaster in front of Serge and twisted off the plastic cap. Something made her pause. She stared into his ice-blue eyes. Serge stared back.
Mutual traces of faint recognition, but they couldn’t quite piece it together because of geographical displacement.
Then, suddenly, the woman’s arm sprang out and stuck a finger in Serge’s face. “You!”
Serge’s brain caught up. “Hey, long time! How’s it been going?”
“Motherfucker!” She turned to her colleague. “Guess who just slimed into our bar?”
“Who?”
“Serge!”
“Motherfucker!” A hand flew into a purse and whipped out a .25-caliber automatic.
Chapter Fourteen
DORCHESTER
G uillermo sat in a Town Car across from an empty house, staring at his cell. “This is one phone call I’m not looking forward to.” He took a full breath and hit a number on speed dial. “Hello, Madre? It’s me. I’m afraid we’re too late. Looks like the feds pulled him back in this morning.”
“You did your best,” said a maternal voice on the other end.
“But we didn’t succeed.”
“Maybe I have some good news.”
“What is it?”
“Randall had a son.”
“That’s right,” said Guillermo. “What was he? Four, five at the time?”
“That would make him about twenty now.”
“But how’s that good news?”
“Billy Sheets is now Andrew McKenna. Got something to write with?”
Guillermo to the rest of the car: “Give me a pen.” One appeared. “Ready.”
“University of New Hampshire . . .”
He scribbled the rest of the data, including dorm and room number. “But how’d you get all this?”
“Our investigator. He’s good,” said Juanita. “Once we had Randall’s new name, it was a simple public records search. And a few diplomatic phone calls for nonpublic records.”
“People just give our private eye confidential info over the phone?”
“He lies to them.”
Guillermo paused to choose words. “Madre, I don’t want to disappoint you again. If the feds already scooped up Sheets, I’m sure they also went to the school.”
“You may be right,” said Juanita. “But who knows with college students? They don’t keep routines like other people. We might get lucky.”
Guillermo opened a map in his lap and hit the dome light. “Madre, we’re leaving now—shouldn’t take more than ninety minutes.”
“You’re a good boy, Guillermo.”
He was still on the phone as the Lincoln went in gear and proceeded slowly down the tree-lined street. “If we do find him, you want us to, uh”—he considered the unsecure line—“invite him for an interview?”
“No, our government friends would never agree to an exchange.”
“Then what?”
She didn’t answer, which was the answer itself.
“I’ll personally handle it,” said Guillermo. “And, Madre, I’ve always learned from you, so may I ask a question?”
“Please.”
“If it’s the father we’re after, what purpose would that serve?”
“The best purpose of all.”
“Which is?”
“Revenge.”
PANAMA CITY BEACH
Tommy Diaz jumped into action. He grabbed his bartender’s wrist and pushed it down, sending a bullet through the wooden floor. “Not in my bar!”
She gritted her teeth. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
“Agree first,” said Tommy. “Not in the
“Bite me.”
Students’ jaws unhinged. Before them, visions from Victoria’s Secret. Both statuesque six-footers in stretch-to-fit black tank tops and matching skimpy silk shorts. Perfect bookends: one a classic blond farm girl from Alabama, the other a gorgeous Brooklyn import who gave Halle Berry a run.
“Serge,” said Tommy. “What are you drinking? On the house.”
“Bottled water.”
“Haven’t changed.” Tommy faced the just-arrived employees. “Call me crazy, but can I ask you to work? Man wants a water.”
The blonde sneered, then placed a coaster in front of Serge and twisted off the plastic cap. Something made her pause. She stared into his ice-blue eyes. Serge stared back.
Mutual traces of faint recognition, but they couldn’t quite piece it together because of geographical displacement.
Then, suddenly, the woman’s arm sprang out and stuck a finger in Serge’s face. “You!”
Serge’s brain caught up. “Hey, long time! How’s it been going?”
“Motherfucker!” She turned to her colleague. “Guess who just slimed into our bar?”
“Who?”
“Serge!”
“Motherfucker!” A hand flew into a purse and whipped out a .25-caliber automatic.
Chapter Fourteen
DORCHESTER
G uillermo sat in a Town Car across from an empty house, staring at his cell. “This is one phone call I’m not looking forward to.” He took a full breath and hit a number on speed dial. “Hello, Madre? It’s me. I’m afraid we’re too late. Looks like the feds pulled him back in this morning.”
“You did your best,” said a maternal voice on the other end.
“But we didn’t succeed.”
“Maybe I have some good news.”
“What is it?”
“Randall had a son.”
“That’s right,” said Guillermo. “What was he? Four, five at the time?”
“That would make him about twenty now.”
“But how’s that good news?”
“Billy Sheets is now Andrew McKenna. Got something to write with?”
Guillermo to the rest of the car: “Give me a pen.” One appeared. “Ready.”
“University of New Hampshire . . .”
He scribbled the rest of the data, including dorm and room number. “But how’d you get all this?”
“Our investigator. He’s good,” said Juanita. “Once we had Randall’s new name, it was a simple public records search. And a few diplomatic phone calls for nonpublic records.”
“People just give our private eye confidential info over the phone?”
“He lies to them.”
Guillermo paused to choose words. “Madre, I don’t want to disappoint you again. If the feds already scooped up Sheets, I’m sure they also went to the school.”
“You may be right,” said Juanita. “But who knows with college students? They don’t keep routines like other people. We might get lucky.”
Guillermo opened a map in his lap and hit the dome light. “Madre, we’re leaving now—shouldn’t take more than ninety minutes.”
“You’re a good boy, Guillermo.”
He was still on the phone as the Lincoln went in gear and proceeded slowly down the tree-lined street. “If we do find him, you want us to, uh”—he considered the unsecure line—“invite him for an interview?”
“No, our government friends would never agree to an exchange.”
“Then what?”
She didn’t answer, which was the answer itself.
“I’ll personally handle it,” said Guillermo. “And, Madre, I’ve always learned from you, so may I ask a question?”
“Please.”
“If it’s the father we’re after, what purpose would that serve?”
“The best purpose of all.”
“Which is?”
“Revenge.”
PANAMA CITY BEACH
Tommy Diaz jumped into action. He grabbed his bartender’s wrist and pushed it down, sending a bullet through the wooden floor. “Not in my bar!”
She gritted her teeth. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
“Agree first,” said Tommy. “Not in the
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