Page 54 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

But like Sawyer, he had a routine. One that had developed a certain complacency over time, and one that offered Ghost and Fox a neat little opening in which to access him.

He woke every morning at seven, ate a banana standing up at the counter while he watched the news on a TV far too large for a kitchen, but stationed there nonetheless, amidst all the marble and stainless steel and the big sprays of flowers the missus had delivered every afternoon (Ghost was only now, in Virginia, learning the breadth and scope of the investigations Fox had always run for them, the sheer amount of intel he could gather after a day’s worth of observation; it was staggering.) Then, in a stab at something like health-consciousness, Hames walked – slowly – on the treadmill for fifteen minutes. The machine was parked in front of a window at the back of the house, overlooking a tidy lawn set with a stone patio, and the sun rose as he walked, and watched the news on yet another giant TV off to this left, rather than the miracle of nature.

After, he showered, passed his wife in the kitchen where they traded bloodless farewells, then down to the garage, to his Benz, and out through the house’s main gate. He drove to FBI headquarters, and there he stayed until five, after which time he usually wined and dined some political shmuck – a congressman, a senator, or an attorney – at an expensive restaurant, after which he drove home less than sober.

That, Fox decided, was the time to make their move.

He turned in the rented Suburban, made himself up to look like some preppy country club dick ten years younger than he really was, then went and rented a BMW SUV. Ghost took one look at the polo shirt Fox handed him, said, “No,” and handed it back. He wound up in a plain black t-shirt, sunglasses, and consented to let Fox style his hair.

At eight-fifteen, they were idling at the curb out in front of the steakhouse Hames had entered two hours before. Two people had rapped on the driver window and asked if their parking spot was available, and Fox had smiled, and charmed, and sent them off bemused, but in good spirits.

“Those are witnesses,” Ghost reminded, after the second man walked off, his date on his arm.

“They won’t remember us.” Fox pushed his shades up onto his forehead – ridiculous on both of them, since it was full-dark now – and turned to face him. “You’ve got to stop thinking inLaw & OrderandCSIterms: once this is done, no one’s going to track down a random pedestrian who can offer a perfect sketch artist description of us. This isn’t our car, and I used a fake ID to rent it.” He flicked his shades back down and faced the windshield. “We’re untraceable.”

Ghost wasn’t thinking in primetime drama terms – he was thinking inget this fucking done and get the hell out of hereterms.

He’d had a moment, late last night, after Walsh delivered the news of Maggie and Ava’s whereabouts, when his guts had liquified and he’d almost thrown himself out of a moving vehicle and hitchhiked to the airport in a mindless, useless fit of desperation. He’d been so panicked his heart hadn’t even reacted, a robotic, automatic reaction.I have to get to New Orleans.

But then Fox had said, “What?” And having to explain it had sent his pulse lurching – but his brain, thankfully, spinningagain. Productively. He couldn’t throw everything down and run south. He and Fox were here for a reason, and he had to see it through, even if he clenched his teeth so tight he thought they’d crack.

He called Maggie, and got her voicemail. Same thing with Ava.

Then, as they were arriving at their motel, Bob called, and assured him that he’d laid eyes on them, that they weren’t alone – Reese and Tenny had one hell of a lecture headed their way – and that he’d put them in a boat, Colin at the helm, and sent them out to Mercy.

All things given, they were as safe as they could be.

But it didn’t mean Ghost was able to focus all that well.

He didn’t know how long he drifted, retreated back into his own thoughts, but suddenly Fox thumped his arm and said, “Here we go.”

The steakhouse offered valet parking, and Hames stood at the stand beneath the restaurant’s overhang, waiting, shifting his weight from foot to foot in a way decidedly not sober. As they watched, the silver Mercedes pulled up in the circular drive, parked, and a young valet in livery leaped out and walked around the hood of the car to hand the keys to Hames.

“If he crashes in that shape, the restaurant’s gonna be liable,” Ghost observed.

“Ifhe crashes?”

“Yeah, good point.”

Fox put the Beemer in gear. “I promise not to sue Ripley’s Steakhouse.”

Last night, after Walsh called, Fox had stared lock-jawed through the windshield a long time while he drove, pretending that Ghost wasn’t massaging at his own chest and trying to get his breathing under control. “This can be it,” he’d said, when they were back at the hotel, and talking about what to do withHames. “We need to know what he knows, and what he can tell us about Boyle, but then we can leave.”

Ghost had blinked, half-dazed sitting on the side of his sagging motel mattress. “But we’re not done.” He’d gestured to the folder open on Fox’s bed.

Fox’s mouth had done something funny and flat that Ghost had been too distracted to parse, and he’d shaken his head. “It’s enough. Too many bodies in one place, and we’ll get caught.”

Which was how Ghost knew that Fox didn’t intend to allow Hames to walk away from this encounter.

That was fine.

Ghost didn’t care.

As Fox eased the BMW out into traffic a few cars back from Hames’s Benz, he had a hard time caring about much of anything that had to do with Viriginia, or this errand, or the wildly stupid decision to fake his own death.

He couldn’t get over the fact that Maggie had lied to him. Ava he could see, sure; when it came to Mercy or her children, there was nothing she wouldn’t do, and everyone around her just had to deal with it. A truth Ghost had finally accepted in recent years. But Maggie…

Had hidden Ava and Mercy’s relationship from him, back in the day. Had protected her baby – guarded her secret – even from her own husband.

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