Page 113 of The Instruments of Darkness

“I have it written down, but I’ve never used it. That’s only for emergencies.”

“Use it now,” I said. “Bring up the search history, if he hasn’t cleared it. Look for notes he might have made, scraps of paper in the trash, anything that might indicate what he was planning to do. Take pictures and add them to whatever you send me. If you run into problems and want me to drop by, let me know.”

“I can manage,” she said.

She wouldn’t want me nosing around in her husband’s affairs. I had disrespected him, and now his wounded pride might have led him into harm’s way.

“Amara—” I began, but she killed the connection before I could say anything more.

CHAPTER LXXII

I met Angel and Louis for breakfast at the Bayou Kitchen on Deering, which was one of their regular haunts since they’d bought their Portland apartment. They had already ordered by the time I arrived, because they knew I’d stick with toast and coffee.

“This joint is wasted on you,” said Louis. “They ought to give you the bum’s rush the moment you arrive.”

“They only let you in because you enhance its authenticity,” I said. “It’s always a good sign when the Black folk pick up on a southern place. Also, it keeps the racists away.”

Their orders came: Three Alarm Eggs for Louis, and a breakfast sandwich with all the fixins for Angel, which meant grits, home fries, and beans and rice on the side. Somewhere way back, Angel and Moxie Castin might have shared a common ancestry. I had to admit that my breakfast looked pathetic next to their offerings, as though I were suffering from some form of digestive ailment, but food wasn’t my priority that morning. I was just glad for their company, but then rarely was I not.

We ate, and I told Angel and Louis of the previous evening’s encounter with Attorney General Nowak, as well as my conversation that morning with Mattia Reggio’s wife.

“Are you worried?” asked Angel.

“Not yet, but I’m getting there.”

“Reggio’s no pushover. Wherever he went, you can bet he brought a gun with him.”

Angel was right, but there was a difference between busting heads and trying to get inside them. Also, back in his Office days, Reggio would have known what he was getting himself into and why. I was good at what I did, but right now even I couldn’t find my feet in the Clark case, because the ground kept shifting beneath them.

“If he does land in trouble,” said Louis, “it’ll be delayed retribution for his past failings.”

Louis harbored a marked dislike for career criminals of the Boston school, based on a point of principle: he took exception to most things that came out of Boston, including, but not limited to, the Red Sox, the Wahlbergs, and Aerosmith. Also, a man could die of hunger in Boston while trying to find a good diner, which was anathema to Louis.

“Regardless,” I said, “we may have to go looking if Amara doesn’t hear from him soon, so pack a toothbrush and a change of socks.”

“Like you, we’ve learned to keep a bag packed,” said Angel. “What about Nowak?”

“I’ll give Moxie an update when we’re done here, but I know he’ll politely tell Nowak to take a hike. The fact that Nowak even made the pitch indicates he’s worried about Erin Becker squaring up to Moxie in a fair fight.”

“Do you think he knows about you and Macy?” asked Louis.

He and Angel had yet to spend any time in Macy’s company. If they were uncomfortable with the idea of my dating police, they were keeping it to themselves.

“If he does,” I replied, “he hasn’t said anything to her. We’re being circumspect, or as much as anyone can be in a town this size.”

“Can’t last.”

“The subterfuge or the relationship?”

“The first certainly can’t,” said Louis. “As for the second, you’re marked in a few states, but here is where the shadow is longest. As soon as the suits find out that it touches Macy, they may be tempted to turn the screws.”

He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know, but the idea of Macy being forced to choose—and the choice she might make—bothered me. I liked being with her. I’d spent too long in solitude.

“We’ll have to wait and see,” I said.

Angel called for the check, which was a rarity. Mind you, it didn’t mean he was going to pay it. Angel routinely treated checks the way people with bad backs treated anything over ten pounds in weight: as too risky to pick up.

“You ever see that interview Warren Zevon did with Letterman, shortly before he died?” asked Angel.

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