Chapter 10
I SAT ON a stool in the kitchen and watched as Justine unloaded the dishwasher, put away the blue earthenware bowls we had bought together.
She said, “I can name a dozen people who want to see you dead, Jack, and that’s not counting your brother.”
“Don’t count Tommy out,” I told her. “I wouldn’t count out Ziegler and Tandy either.”
Justine said, “What does your gut tell you?”
“From now on, park inside the gates.”
She laughed, shook her head, put on a pot of coffee.
The intercom buzzed. I went to the surveillance monitor. Del Rio stuck out his tongue. I’d phoned him as soon as the cops left, told him what had happened to my car.
“I’ll be there soon,” he’d said.
I pressed the button and a moment later, my friend, former copilot, and current chief investigator came inside. He handed me the keys to a fleet car we kept at the office in case I needed wheels.
I smiled at him. “Coffee?”
“Sure. Okay, no eyebrows. Nice look,” he said to me. Then: “How ya doing, Justine?”
“I love waking up to a fiery explosion. Doesn’t everyone?” she said, handing him a mug.
“I do! The bigger the better,” Del Rio said.
I knew Del Rio better than I knew anyone, and he had full knowledge of a part of my life I didn’t know at all.
What I remember about that night was that I had set Danny Young’s bleeding body down and then it was as though the ground had erupted. I felt a shocking blow to my chest and that was the end.
I died. I went through the tunnel and for all I know, I was coming out the other side.
I just remember swimming up to the light. My eyes flashed open and there was Del Rio in my face, his hands pressing down on my chest. He laughed and at the same time tears ran down his sooty cheeks. He said, “Jack, you son-of-a-bitch, you’re back.”
He told me later that a chunk of shrapnel had struck my chest. My flak jacket prevented it from penetrating my body, but the concussion stopped my heart. Then the helicopter right behind us blew up and was consumed in flames.
I wasn’t dead, but so many of my friends died that day. I swear to God, I would have traded my life for any of them.
I watched Del Rio now, joking with Justine. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a brown canvas jacket, and had a two-day-old beard. Rick was a homely guy, not the type that got cast as a hero in movies. He was a hero anyway.
But the People v. R. Del Rio didn’t care about that.
He said to me, “Want to know what I think, Jack? Whether that car was firebombed because it was available or because it was personal, the price tag on it makes it personal. You live in a glass house, you know? Stay at Justine’s until this thing is closed.”
I looked at Justine.
She said, “Of course. Stay with me.”
But she didn’t really want that. I didn’t know for sure, but I had a pretty good idea that she’d started seeing someone else. Maybe he was a man who could go the distance, the whole length of the aisle.
“I’ll be fine at home,” I said. “But thanks.”
“Well, then, my work here is done.” Del Rio put his mug in the sink, headed to the door.
I called after him, “Rick. Make sure you shave.”
“Yes, sir.” He gave me a salute and a grin. But his eyes weren’t smiling. He was worried.
I was worried too.
I said, “This time next week, this whole thing is going to be behind us.”
“I always come out on top, right, Jack? When it counts.”
“Yes, you do. See you in court.”