Page 81 of The Furies

“On the other hand,” I said, “they’re aware that you’re unlikely to have contacted the police, and none of your husband’s former associates will lift a finger to help you. If you were wealthy enough, you could go to some fancy private agency that specializes in dealing with problems of this kind for a premium, but they doubt you’d do that, even if you were sitting on your husband’s money. Fifty thousand dollars isn’t chump change, but neither is it a king’s ransom: it’s an achievable goal for all parties. As a rule of thumb, the trick is to figure out what the mark can afford, then add between ten and twenty percent to make them sweat. Ask too little, and you don’t get taken seriously. Ask too much, and you risk attracting heat or coming away with nothing at all. It’s all about finding the sweet spot.”

“That’s very interesting,” she said. “It may even be true where I’m concerned, but where does it leave us?”

“It leaves us to establish whether the Office is involved, which is the main complicating factor. If the instruction to target you has come from Providence, there may be a way to open a dialogue, because fifty thousand isn’t the endgame.”

“I was telling you the truth,” she said. “I don’t have Nate’s money.”

“The Office’s money,” I corrected. “It’s an easy mistake to make, but you lost a house because of it.”

“And if this isn’t coming from the Office?”

“Then we may still have some leverage, but let’s set that aside until we can find out for sure.”

I asked for her address, her cell phone number, and the keys to her house, front and back. I then excused myself for a moment and pulled up a map of Durham Road, followed by a Google Earth image of the locale. Merrill Brook ran more or less parallel to Durham Road for a time through woodland before skewing northwest after Richards Lane. It looked like it might be possible to come at the Abelli house from the rear via the brook and woods without being noticed. The trees might even have made a reasonable spot from which to watch the house.

I found Tony and Paulie Fulci and told them I had a job for them if they wanted it—which they did, because the word “no” didn’t feature in their vocabulary where I was concerned. I asked Tony to get a copy of the keys made before taking a ride out to Sarah Abelli’s house in Freeport. He should park a short distance away, watching out for a late nineties Chrysler LHS in blue, then work his way east through the woods from Merrill Brook toward the house, but only once he was sure that nobody was keeping watch on it. At that point, he was to enter through the back door and station himself somewhere that gave him a clear view of the road.

I instructed Paulie to be ready to follow Sarah Abelli once she left the Bear. Tony could drop him at their family home on the way to Freeport, allowing Paulie to pick up one of the less obtrusive family vehicles—that is, not the monster truck—and get back in time to stay with her. I advised them both to arm themselves, the Fulcis having avoided the loss of their gun rights by never being convicted of a crime carrying a sentence of longer than a year in prison, although they preferred to travel unarmed. When one looked like the Fulcis, guns were an unnecessary encumbrance. Paulie said he’d borrow his mom’s car, which was currently a cream Kia Soul, although he admitted that part of him would die inside. I then returned to the booth and my new client.

“I’m not sure how much you know about me,” I said, “but I don’t always work alone, and I have people I can call on if required. As it happens, they’re all in town at the moment, which is good. I can’t guarantee a positive outcome for this, because the other side has most of the cards, but the odds in our favor will be increased by involving these men.”

“I’m happy to pay whatever is needed,” she said.

“Good, because two of them are already in motion, one of whom will be waiting in your home when you get there. His name is Tony. He looks more frightening than he is, but admittedly that’s touch-and-go in the wrong light.”

“Why does he have to be in my house?”

“An extra pair of eyes on the surroundings, and security in case these men decide to come collect their ransom in person. Do you keep a gun at home?”

“No, I don’t like them.”

“Well, Tony will be armed, so I’d appreciate your tolerance. Next, I need your phone and your code.”

She handed over her Android phone, and I installed both FlexiSPY and Call Recorder. The latter was mostly a backup for the former, because FlexiSPY would allow me not only to listen in on any calls made or received but also to record them. The app would additionally function as a microphone, which would be useful if we came to the point where Sarah was required to be in her car alone, enabling us to remain in contact. It also contained a location tracker, so as long as the phone was in her possession, I’d know where she was.

“I’ll now be notified whenever you receive a call,” I said. “Don’t answer immediately because I may require time to join. I’ve set the app to monitor all calls, but if they’re not relevant to what’s happening, I’ll stop listening. This also gives me access to your email and SMS, so if you have a problem with that, let me know now.”

“You can look and listen all you want,” said Sarah. “I don’t have a personal life, not unless a book club counts.”

“Nevertheless, it’s important that we’re clear on the access I have. I want you to stay here for a few minutes until Tony returns your keys, and I tell you that it’s safe to go. When you leave, you’ll be followed by a cream Kia. That’ll be Paulie. If you have any doubts, just look for a big guy exuding shame. He couldn’t really be inconspicuous if he tried.”

Over the past few months, Tony—always the more thoughtful of the brothers—had begun to display signs of serious character development, including the ability, if not to blend into his surroundings, then at least to find surroundings in which he didn’t look as though he might require a zoning permit. Paulie, by contrast, remained Paulie. Asking him to maintain a low profile would be like putting a hat on a bear and calling it a disguise.

“What will they be watching for?” asked Abelli.

“The Chrysler, or any other vehicle that seems to be taking an interest in you or your place of residence. If you’re right about that car, the simplest solution to all this would be for us to locate it, talk to whoever owns it, and convince them to return your daughter’s things before heading on their way.”

“Just like that?”

“We can be very convincing.”

“So your reputation would suggest.”

“Don’t believe everything you read.”

“I didn’t have to believe all of it,” she said. “Ten percent was enough.”

I let that go.

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