In his father’s silence, Peter could hear the man’s attention sharpen as he made his calculations.
Stanley Ash was fifty-seven. He’d trained as a mechanical engineer at Northwestern, but in the late 1970s he decided he wanted to work for himself and left Chicago to start a carpentry business with his brother. He still swung a hammer most days, unless he was kayaking or ice fishing with his buddies or hiking in the Porcupines with Peter’s mom.
Peter knew he was thinking now about the steps he would take to protect his home. His dad got his deer every year, and usually a few on his buddies’ licenses, too. He still kept a shotgun by the kitchen door.
“Dad, these are professional killers, believe me. Staying is not an option. You know Mom’s always wanted to see Italy. You don’t even need to pack. Just buy what you need when you get there.”
“Son, I never want to pry. But you need to tell me more. For starters, how can you afford this?”
“I’ll explain when you get back, okay? I promise. But spend what you need to spend. Buy yourself a new suit, on me.” Peter put on his Marine lieutenant command voice. “Now get on the phone and buy some goddamn plane tickets. Do you understand?”
His dad sighed. “Fuck a duck. Okay, son. But you owe me a serious conversation.”
“Agreed. Dad, I’m sorry about this. I love you.”
“Back atcha, kiddo.”
When Peter hung up, June looked at him. “He threatened your parents?”
Peter showed his teeth. “Yeah.”
Lewis spoke up from the back seat. “I believe that a tactical error on his part.”
“Oh, hell yeah.”
They were in a newer neighborhood of mid-rise office buildings and condos. June turned left onto a busy street that rose toward a bridge over the freeway, her hands tight on the wheel. “We need to talk about the Yeti. What was he doing there?”
Peter put his hand on her shoulder. “We’re gonna find out.”
From the back seat, Lewis said, “Who the fuck is the Yeti?”
44
This is why you were asking me about my dad, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Peter.
June was driving very fast up the bridge through heavy traffic. She was used to a smaller car and Peter was pretty sure she’d start chunking off side mirrors any minute now. In her current state of mind, he figured side mirrors were best-case. “Slow down, would you?”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said. Her voice was loud.
There was no good response to that. He figured she was headed to her apartment, which would have felt like a safe place. It probably wasn’t a good idea, but now wasn’t the time to bring that up.
“How did you know my dad was involved?”
“I didn’t,” said Peter. “But I figured the cops thought your mom was killed in a hit-and-run, so they were probably calling insurance companies and looking at body shops. If they’d known she was murdered, the first thing they’d do is look at friends and family. So I asked Lewis to do that. He found out about the restraining order on your dad.”
“You were investigating my mom?” She stomped the brake behind a slow Prius, then swerved across the yellow line to pass. A beer truck came at them, eating the whole lane. The driver hit his air horn and Peter grabbed the dashboard as June ground her teeth and ducked back to her lane.
“Not investigating,” he said. “Getting more information. Doing my job. Protecting you.”
“Fuck!” She slammed her hands into the steering wheel.
“June.” Peter kept his voice calm. “I know this is hard. But we need to know more about your dad. What else do you know that you haven’t told me?”
“I don’t know anything,” she said. “I tried to forget all about him.”
“Try to remember,” said Peter. “Anything will help.”
“You guys see that?” asked Lewis from the back seat.
They all saw it, a plume of smoke coming from just beyond the crest of Capitol Hill, getting bigger with each block.
“Oh, no.” June slipped the Escalade onto a side street, finding as always the fastest way through the dense traffic. At every turn, Peter kept an eye on the smoke, hoping their path would take them away from it eventually. But for every left that pointed them away from the smoke, there was another right that pointed them toward it. As the plume grew larger in the windshield, there was little point in pretending it was coming from someplace other than her apartment.
It would have been impossible to keep her away, so he didn’t try.
Half of June’s block was filled with fire trucks and police cars keeping a perimeter. She pulled the Escalade into a random driveway and opened her door to get out. Peter put his hand on her arm. “Stay in the car,” he said. “They’re still here. This was no accident. Dawes isn’t waiting for our next move, he’s still looking for us. For you.”
She shook off his hand. “I have to see it,” she said. “It’s my home. Anyway, they won’t do anything here, not with all these people.”