“At what, exactly?”
“Figure out who actually killed Hardeep Singh. Figuring out why they’re pinning it on Marcus. It’s… a different sort of city, Bakersfield. It has its own tensions.”
She was silent for a moment. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” she said. “You’re staying out of trouble, correct?”
“Well… I haven’t told anyone important to f—”
“Don’t you dare!” Dawn insisted. “Don’t make a joke of swearing and blaspheming just to get under my skin, because you know you’re just trying to distract me from asking questions! And I know that means you’re worried.”
She was so intuitive and empathetic it could be frustrating, Bob thought. It was probably what made her a great nurse, but it made putting anything past her almost impossible.
“Look… you know that when there’s big money involved and I’m keeping my head down, it’s for reasons,” he said. “But the important thing to keep in mind is that he’s safe in custody. The police are involved—some police are involved, anyhow—and if they don’t keep their fall guy safe, and he doesn’t get convicted, then important local people have to start answering questions.”
“About what?”
She’d pry until she got enough detail to involve herself, he knew. The trick was to not let her browbeat or guilt it out of him. “Money. The usual. The less said the better, really.”
“Uh huh,” she said, which was Dawn language for ‘why don’t I believe that?’ “And what if I were to take a few days off work…”
“No!” Bob declared. “I mean…” He sighed, exasperated. The truth was, he wanted her there, looking out for them, taking care of them. But he’d never admit it, nor put her in harm’s way. “He’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Uh huh. But he’s not the only one in trouble now, is he? I know that tone, mister cool, calm and collected. I heard it in Chicago, I heard it in DC, and I heard it when you called me from New Orleans. You are right up to your neck, without a doubt.”
“I’m handling it,” he said.
“You don’t sound like you’re handling nothing. You sound like your last fuse is burning short and you’re about to blow.”
“It’s… been a difficult two days. Dawn… you know the rules. As long as they’re looking for me…”
“Are they, though?” she wondered. “It’s been nearly ten months since you left, and six since you said that gentleman came after you in Memphis. Maybe they’ve given up.”
“Doubtful. What I do know, however, is that a handful of unsavory locals don’t really give a damn—”
“Bob…”
“Sorry. They don’t really care where someone is from or whose side they’re on. They have a deal worth millions, and this guy was threatening it. He had money and some influence, and they still killed him. Compared to that, Marcus and I don’t rate much forgiveness.”
She sighed. “I know why you don’t want me there. I get it. I get that it’s unsafe. But that’s also why I feel I’d be of more use…”
“You wouldn’t. You’d be in the way,” Bob said. He knew it would sting. Dawn was confident and brave, far more than he’d expected from a civilian. But he couldn’t allow the risk.
“That’s… Okay, perhaps that’s true. But it hurts a little to hear you say it, is all.”
“I don’t mean it like that,” Bob said. “I know I think clearer when you’re around. I understand that you see things with more… restraint. But I’d worry about you constantly. And if I’m worrying about you, I’m not watching my own back, or looking out for others here who are in real danger. Adding one more person to that list…”
“Even when it’s me?”
“Especially when it’s you. Because you will get involved. You will try to help. And that’s one more person in the firing line… the one I care about.”
She sighed deeply again. “Don’t much like that term, ‘the firing line’.”
“It’s not that bad, not yet,” he said. “I’ll try and do better about keeping you in the loop, though. I promise.”
“I’ll pray for you,” she said.
“I know.”
After ending the call, he stared at the phone for about fifteen seconds, as if it might spring to life and offer him better, less hurtful alternatives. He and Dawn were so different, in so many ways. But the one thing they had in common was giving a damn.
And that’s why you don’t get to have her in your life.
Because your life is about resistance, the inevitability of violence.
And hers is about making people better.
Bob hung his head. He was too tired to cry, the bone weariness that comes from wave after wave of pressure, wearing a man down like water eroding rock.
Across the room, his other phone rang in his coat pocket. Bob got up and retrieved it.
It was Sharmila’s number.
“Hey, what’s up?” he answered.
“It’s Mr. Feeney,” she said. “He’s in hospital, and his place is burning down. I’ll be outside your door in a couple of minutes.”
32
They sat in Sharmila’s BMW and watched from thirty yards down the road as the Feeney Motor Lodge burned, orange pillars of flame creeping across the walls and roof, the night sky around the property christened with a halo of light.
