Walt took a deep breath, then gave a long sigh. Tom knew he was thinking about a Japanese girl he’d fallen in love with during an R&R in Japan. She had haunted Walt for the rest of his life.
“I’ve got no right to say I loved her,” Tom said, filled with anguish. “How can you say you loved a woman you didn’t try to talk to for thirty-seven years?”
“Easy,” Walt said angrily. “Did you ever go a day without thinking about her? One goddamn day?”
Tom thought about it. “Not for the first ten years or so. But after that … yes, I did. I don’t think I could have survived otherwise. Not sober, anyway.”
Walt grunted with empathy. “How did it go for Viola in Chicago?”
“Not good.”
“That’s what I figured. The land of peace and plenty up north wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.” Walt took a sip of lukewarm coffee. “Did she ever try to contact you?”
“Not that I know of.”
Walt’s eyes glinted in the dim light. “You think maybe she did, and Peggy put the quietus on it?”
“Maybe. But I don’t think so. Viola had too much pride for that.”
“Pride don’t last long when you’re tryin’ to survive.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Tom said. “I sent her money.”
“How’d you know where to send it?”
“Viola sent a few letters to the office. Not to me, but to the girls, you know. I sent money to the address those letters came from. Enough to buy staples and pay the rent. She cashed the checks. It was her signature on the back. I knew her handwriting, but I checked it against one of the letters to be sure.”
“How long did you do this?”
Tom looked down at his coffee. “Thirty-seven years.”
Walt reached out and patted his shoulder. “Partner, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”
“Does anybody?”
Walt smiled sadly. “Not in my experience. Did you ever tell Peggy about all this?”
“No.”
“She never found out you were sending the money?”
“I don’t think so. She handled our money, but I always kept one account for myself that nobody ever saw but me.”
“Jesus, buddy. This reminds me of some of the World War Two vets who looked after women they met while they were overseas.”
“Yeah. Gregory Peck played in a movie about that. The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit.”
“I saw that!” Walt smiled. “Damn, we’re old, ain’t we?”
Tom took the whiskey bottle and looked at it, contemplating another swig. “Walt … when I first saw Viola after all those years, my heart seized in my chest. Literally. I remembered her as a perfect beauty of twenty-eight, and what I saw was an old woman a few steps from death’s door.” He took a sip of whiskey, but now it tasted like acid. “It wasn’t just the cancer that had done it. It was time and gin and cigarettes and God knows what else.” A lump rose into Tom’s throat, and he heard his voice break. “She didn’t have any teeth, Walt. Just dentures, and bad ones at that. I felt sick for two days afterward, every time I thought of her.”
“But you treated her.”
Tom nodded. “Hardest thing I ever did.”
Walt took the bottle and slipped it back into the drawer above the microwave. “You helped her, buddy.”
“I wanted to. I wanted to save her. But there wasn’t any way to—not by that time.”
Walt squeezed his shoulder. “I know. You know I know.”
Tom felt himself shivering. “That’s the only reason I can tell you.”
“Tell me, then. Get it out.”
“I’m tired, Walt.”
“Screw that. Get the monkey off your back. This is me, son. We squatted in the mud and the blood and shit together. You can’t get no closer than that.”
Tom began to speak in spite of himself. “It was like I told you on the phone. When I first called you. It was like the ambulance. Exactly like it.”
“Goddamn it,” Walt whispered. “I knew it.”
Tom jumped when his cell phone vibrated in his pants.
“What is it?” Walt asked.
“My cell,” Tom said, digging the shaking phone out of his pocket with difficulty. The LCD read QUENTIN AVERY.
“I told you to keep the damned thing off! They can track you with that.”
“I know. I turned it back on at the Sonic to check for messages, and I guess I forgot to turn it off.”
“Jesus.” Walt thumped the side of his head. “Radio silence!”
“Quentin?” Tom said, holding the phone tight to his ear. “Are you there?”
“I’m here. Penn called me, and he knows I’m your lawyer now.”
Tom swallowed. His throat was dry. “What else does he know?”
“Nothing.”
“Does he know I’m gone?”
“I don’t know you’re gone.”
“Okay … okay. Good.”
“But I need to ask you about something.”
“What?”
“The Double Eagle group.” Quentin Avery said the name the way a German Jew might say “Schutzstaffel.” Hatred and contempt dripped from his tongue, but there was a trace of fear, too, even after all these years. “They attacked Henry Sexton tonight. He’s barely hanging on.”
“Oh, God.” Tom felt nausea in the pit of his stomach. The cheeseburger was trying to come up. “What happened?”
Quentin had hardly begun his story when Walt tapped Tom on the shoulder. “They’re moving, Tom. Snake and Sonny are headed back toward Natchez. I’m going to drive to the bridge and pick them up when they cross back into Louisiana.”
Tom nodded and motioned for Walt to start the van. “Sorry, Quentin. Are you still there?”
“Yeah. And I’m concerned that you seem to have forgotten your age. You and your buddy both.”
“We’re all going to have to forget that for the duration, Quentin. You included. Finish your story about Sexton.”