A Drink Before the War by Dennis Lehane Page B

time in now too. I get shot at and beat up and sit on forty-eight-hour stakeouts too. I’m the one who had to sweat out the DA’s decision whether to indict on Bobby Royce. I have a say, here. Fifty percent of one.”
    â€œAnd you say?”
    â€œI say this is bullshit. I say we do what we were hired to do and go home.”
    â€œAnd I say…” I checked myself. “And I ask that you trust me on this and give me till morning. Hell, Ange, we’dend up sitting on her till then anyway. Mulkern’s not going to get out of bed and drive up to Wickham at this time of night anyway.”
    She considered that. Her olive skin was darkened to the shade of coffee in the ill-lit alcove and her full lips were pursed tightly. She said, “Maybe. Maybe.”
    â€œThen what’s the problem?” I said and started to get up.
    She grabbed my wrist. “Not so fast, boy.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYour logic is good, Skid; it’s your motives I have a problem with.”
    â€œWhat motives?”
    â€œYou tell me.”
    I sat back down, sighed. I looked at her, gave it my best “Who me?” look. “I don’t see that it hurts to learn everything we can while we have the chance. That’s my only motive.”
    She shook her head slowly, watching me steadily and with some sadness. She ran a hand through her hair, let the loose bangs fall back down on her forehead. “She’s not a cat somebody left out in the rain, Patrick. She’s a grown woman who committed a crime.”
    â€œI’m not so sure,” I said.
    â€œEither way it’s irrelevant. We’re not social workers.”
    â€œWhat’s your point, Ange?” I said, suddenly tired.
    â€œYou’re not being honest with yourself. Or me.” She stood up. “We’ll play it your way if you want. I can’t say it’ll make all that much difference. But, remember something.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhen Jim Vurnan asked us if we’d take the job, I was willing to refuse it. You’re the one who said working for Mulkern and his kind wouldn’t be a problem.”
    I held out my hands. “And my position hasn’t changed.”
    â€œI hope it hasn’t, Patrick, because we’re not so goddamn successful that we can afford to botch a job like this.”
    She walked out of the alcove, into the kitchen.
    I looked at my reflection in the glass. It didn’t seem too pleased with me either.
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    I pulled my car in front of the house where I could keep an eye on it from the alcove. Nothing was stolen or broken or keyed and I thanked the great auto god in the sky.
    Angie came back out of the kitchen and called Phil to tell him she’d be staying overnight and it turned into an ordeal, his voice plainly audible through the receiver as he ranted on about his fucking needs, damnit. Angie got a blank, faraway look on her face, and she held the receiver in her lap and closed her eyes for a moment. She turned her head and opened her eyes. “You need me?”
    I shook my head. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow around ten or so.”
    She spoke back into the phone in a voice so soft and placating that it made me nauseous, and shortly after she hung up, she was gone.
    I’d checked to see that it was the only phone and bolted the back door so no one could open it without making noise. I sat in the window seat and listened to the house. Through the bedroom wall, I could hear Jenna still trying to explain our deal to Simone.
    Earlier, Simone had made some squawking noises about kidnapping and federal offenses, quoting me a whole shitload of legal references that she learned from L.A. Law . She was on something of a tear, babbling at the top of her voice about “enforced incarceration” or some such nonsense, when I assured her that the alternative to my handling of the situation would be a swift legal execution of her sister’s