The Betrayers by James Patrick Hunt Page B

‘favor,’ he puts it in the book. He comes back and asks you to pay for it and keeps coming back. Right?”

    â€œâ€”right—”
    â€œNow where is he?”
    â€œHe left Chicago—”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œHe left town. Two years ago, he left. You know, when the feds issued warrants for him and Dillon. Somebody tipped them off and they left town.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œI don’t know. Don’t! I don’t—I think they’re in St. Louis.”
    â€œWhere in St. Louis?”
    â€œI don’t know where. I swear to Christ I don’t. I’d tell you if I knew. I just know he has a safety deposit box in St. Louis. I swear that’s all I know.”
    Regan stared into the face of raw terror for a moment, Max’s ears shrinking back like an animal’s. He pulled Max back from the edge and let him slump against the Mercedes. Max slipped to the ground. He was still crying.
    Regan said, “I’m going to assume you’re being honest with me. But if there’s something you left out, tell me now. Tell me now and I won’t be mad. If you don’t tell me and I find out later, you’ll die.” Regan said, “Okay?”
    â€œI’ve told you everything I know. I swear on my kids.”
    Regan left the man on the ground, crying.

SEVENTEEN
    The wine hissed and spattered when Hastings poured it into the pan. He stirred it around with the olive oil, onions, garlic, meat, and peppers. He would let it simmer until the alcohol burned off. Then he would add the tomatoes and the paste. It was a recipe Eileen had taught him. She was a good cook when she wanted to be.
    The telephone rang.
    â€œAmy,” Hastings said. “Get that, will you please?”
    A moment later, Amy brought the receiver. “It’s someone named Sam Hall. You know him?” At twelve, Amy was good at screening out telemarketers.
    â€œYeah.” Hastings gestured for the phone, wedged it between his head and shoulder.
    â€œSam?”
    â€œYeah, George. You page me?”
    â€œYeah. Listen, I gotta guy got arrested this evening by county deputies on a minor shoplifting charge.”
    â€œOkay. You want him bonded out?”
    â€œYes. I want him out.”
    It was an unusual request for a police officer. But Sam Hall did not push it. He had been on the force himself years earlier before he left and started a bail bonds business. Hastings imagined he made a lot of money, though he seemed to end up with more cars than he did cash, clients valuing freedom more than their vehicles.
    â€œWhen?” Sam said.
    Hastings said, “Tonight. His mom’s upset.”
    â€œThey all got mothers.”

    â€œJust help me, all right?”
    â€œWell, okay. Let me see what I can do. You say he’s at county?”
    â€œYeah. His name is Kody Sparks.” Hastings spelled it out.
    Sam said, “Okay. You gonna be at this number for a while?”
    â€œShould be here all night.”
    Sam hung up and Hastings handed the phone back to Amy. Then he asked her to cut the French bread up and put it in the oven.
    Amy said, “You want a beer?”
    â€œYeah.”
    She got a Heineken out of the refrigerator and popped the top off. She set it next to the stove so he could sip it while he cooked. Then she sat back down at the dinner table with her friend Jennifer, a frequent guest at Amy and George’s evenings together. They chatted about kids at school and other things Hastings made no attempt to listen to.
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    Sam called back after dinner.
    â€œOkay,” he said, “I got a lawyer who’ll O.R. him out tonight. Her name’s Carol McGuire. You know her?”
    â€œCarol McGuire … isn’t she with the P.D.’s office?”
    â€œShe used to be. She went out on her own a few months ago. She doesn’t need the business; she’s doing it for me.” Sam said, “She can meet you at county jail