Page 4 of The Fallen Man
“Granger,” said Jackson, taking a step closer. The man’s pupils were black pin-points, and his breathing was ragged. “Granger, what did you do?”
“I’m not going to prison,” said Granger, with a lopsided grin. “Fuck all you Deverauxes,” he said.
“What did you take?” demanded Jackson.
“Oh, I took all the things,” said Granger with a laugh.
“Shit,” said Pete, taking out his phone.
“You put that away,” said Granger, pointing an accusing finger at Pete. “Tell him to put it away,” he said, turning back to Jackson.
Pete hesitated, looking at Jackson.
“You’re going to take my side on this, aren’t you? Just give mewhat I want, and all this goes away.”
Jackson looked at Pete. If he told Pete not to call, there was a chance that Pete would do as he was told—he was that loyal to the family. But if the shit came down, it would land on Pete. It would be Jackson’s fault, but it would land on Pete.
“Just call the paramedics,” said Jackson, letting out a sigh. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“I really fucking hate you,” said Granger. For once, his voice held some of the old crispness of his former life.
“Great,” said Jackson. “You can hate me from the prison hospital.”
“No,” said Granger, shaking his head. “I go out on my own terms.”
Then he pushed away from the palm tree and over the side of the balcony. Jackson dove for him, but it was too late, and a second later, the sickening thump of Granger hitting the pavement echoed up the building side. Jackson stared in disbelief at the twisted body on the pavement below.
“Well,” said Pete, after a long moment, “I think I’m going to recommend that we get the hell out of here.”
“Yeah,” agreed Jackson. “Anything else is going to complicate the fuck out of this. Let’s go.”
They took the freight elevator back down, and Pete surreptitiously wiped down the buttons and railings where they’d touched them earlier. They didn’t speak again until they were in the car.
“That was a lot of hate,” said Pete from the driver’s seat after he had merged onto the freeway.
“Yeah,” said Jackson, trying to muster up some sort of response to that. He thought it probably wasn’t right that he didn’t feel anything, but Jackson couldn’t figure out what heshouldbe feeling instead. Probably not relieved.
“Do you think he meant it?” asked Pete. “That there wassomeone in Congress helping him? And his whole idiotic story about the files?”
“I think he meant every damn word,” said Jackson. “Which is unfortunate because now I’m going to have to find the paper print-outs of his extra special files.”
“With our luck, they’ll all just say:all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”
“Don’t curse us,” said Jackson.
The city lights were making streaks on the windshield, and Jackson thought he must be tired because the headlights from the opposite lanes were giving him a headache. He’d be glad once he was home and could get some sleep.
2
Caitlin
The Halloween Party
Caitlin St. Cloud shoved one last forkful of pasta in her mouth and swore to the fashion gods that she would go for a run tomorrow. VAR Events was owned by Vince and Angela Romano, and one of the perks of working for VAR was that Angela always had leftovers for the employees. Unfortunately, the best banquet leftovers were usually carb-loaded fat bombs that weren’t the best for her second job as a fit model. On the other hand, before she had pawned her Apple Watch, she’d once clocked seven miles during her shift as a bartender, so it would probably be OK as long as she didn’t go back for seconds.
Caitlin’s phone rang, and she froze with her fork still in the air. She forced herself to put the utensil down and pick up the phone. She knew who the call would be from before she saw the number. She pushed decline on the bill collector and tried not to feel the hot flush of defeat all over again. It had been three years and five phone numbers, yet they still kept finding her. It had been nearly nine months since the last phone number change. She probably ought to switch it again. Her stomach roiled around the pasta, and Caitlin wished she hadn’t eaten at all.
Caitlin looked around the bustling kitchen, breathed in the smell of roasting veggies, and tried to feel soothed by the sound of voices speaking in overlapping Spanglish, with periodic French cooking terms. Vince had turned his brief pro-NFLcareer into a sprawling old warehouse in the meatpacking district, and he and Angela had worked hard to turn it into a multi-event space. They had even transformed the back half into an enclosed space for outdoor events. Tonight was busy, with the two main interior spaces hosting parties and the courtyard rented out for some sort of private event—one with purple paper lanterns in the shape of sea animals and the most romantic table for two ever. The paper lanterns had been a bitch to set up, and Caitlin had ended up in the last-minute scramble to help get them in place, but the courtyard was now a sparkling canvas of velvet night and glowing purple squid.
