Lewis produced an elaborate shrug. “Not my problem.”
Peter smiled pleasantly. “Do you know a guy with a kind of starburst of scars on his right cheek?” He drew the marks with his fingers on his own cheek. “Right earlobe missing? Big black guy, late thirties to early forties, a lot of self-confidence? Carries a chrome .32? Watching Dinah’s house?”
Peter kept his eyes on their faces. Not a flicker from Lewis or Nino or barefoot Ray from Oklahoma.
Dinah just stared at him.
“Nobody I know,” said Lewis. “Still not my problem. Call the cops.”
“This guy stopped at Dinah’s house this morning,” said Peter. “In a big black Ford SUV. He wanted to know how she was paying for the porch.” He looked at Lewis. “He followed us here.”
Lewis frowned. “You brought him to my place of business?”
“I didn’t bring him anywhere,” said Peter. “He followed me. What does it matter? It’s not your money, right?”
Lewis shook his head. “You brought him, jarhead. Now get rid of him.”
It was Peter’s turn to shrug. He made it elaborate, too. “Not my problem,” he said. “Besides, what if he’s a cop?”
“Get rid of him,” said Lewis again. Each word crisp and clear.
“I tried,” said Peter. “But he showed me his gun and I got scared.”
Lewis gave him a look. Peter raised his hands in a show of helplessness.
“Hey, I’m only one guy. And I’m just a carpenter now. This guy knows my truck. You have this crack team of trained killers. Maybe Nino and Ray could discourage the guy a little.”
Lewis didn’t like that. But he couldn’t see an acceptable way out of it, so he said, “Fine. They’ll keep an eye out. Right, guys?”
Nino made the sour face again. “Sure.”
Ray from Oklahoma actually seemed to cheer up at the prospect. Maybe he’d get to kick somebody after all.
“Short-term only,” warned Lewis. “A few days. We got business coming up.”
“I’ll take what I can get,” said Peter. “You want to trade cell numbers?” Peter didn’t even have a phone.
“Get the fuck out of here.” Lewis turned away. Over his shoulder, he said, “Nino, next time make sure you lock the fucking door.”
—
Outside, Dinah hissed, “Peter, are you crazy?”
Peter smiled. “Only a little.”
It was the first time she’d called him Peter, not Lieutenant Ash. He liked it. He was starting to think she’d let him help her.
They walked across the sidewalk and the cold autumn wind filled his lungs and blew through his coat, washing away the tension and cooling the sparks back to a pale hum.
Across the street, a black Ford SUV pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the traffic.
Dinah said, “We need to talk.”
“Yes,” said Peter. “We do.”
8
It’s not your friend Lewis,” said Peter. “Whatever he is, I don’t think he knew about the money.” He drove a roundabout path toward her house, the big pickup rumbling through the streets.
“I know that now,” said Dinah. “And he’s not my friend. Who is this man with the scars on his face?”
“Showed up this morning, when I was putting your porch back together. He asked if you were rich.”
Her eyebrows climbed skyward. “He asked if I was rich?”
Peter nodded. “He started by asking where the dog came from. I wondered if the dog knew him. It sure didn’t like him. It wouldn’t stop growling.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it again. He watched her hand close on the door handle, looking for something solid, anything, to hang on to. Of course, the truck was still moving, so even that solidity was an illusion.
“You’re done now,” she said. “The porch is finished, you’re going to your next project.”
He waited for her to ask, knowing already that she wouldn’t. Dinah was so much like the women he had known growing up. His mother, his mother’s friends. She would ask a relative for help. She’d ask her husband, her brother, or her father. That’s what family was for. But Dinah’s husband was dead. Her sons were far too young. And she would never ask a stranger.
He didn’t make her wait long. He swung the truck to the curb in front of her house. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’ll stick around. The house could use a few more repairs. The Marines aren’t expecting me for a few weeks.”
Not ever, actually. But he didn’t say that.
He waited for her to say something. The dog shifted in the back and the truck rocked on its springs. He hadn’t been this close to such a vivid, lovely woman for a long time. He suddenly wanted to touch her. But he wouldn’t, of course. She was Jimmy’s wife. Even if Jimmy was dead.
He kept his hands on the steering wheel, feeling the faint vibration from the big V-8, a slow, gentle thrum as it idled, perfectly tuned. You’d never know the power in that engine until you stepped on the gas.
Peter felt his own heart beat, slow and patient.