Page 10 of The Furies

A body.

CHAPTER XI

Two weeks after my encounter with Raum Buker at the Great Lost Bear, I heard stories from South Portland that Dolors Strange might have returned to his bed. One day later, someone else told me that Raum had been seen eating steamed clams with Ambar Strange down in the Old Port. When I dropped by the restaurant to check if this was true, the kid who’d waited on their table couldn’t say for sure if Raum’s dining companion matched the description I gave of Ambar Strange, but he thought it did. He remembered Raum clearly, though, on account of his too-white teeth and the liberal tip he’d left—in cash. It sounded as though Raum had come into money.

Finally, and oddest of all, Raum was spotted candlepin bowling with both the Sisters Strange at 33 Elmwood in Westbrook. This time there could be no doubting the veracity of the sighting, because the three of them were present on the bar’s security footage. They even gave the impression of having a good time together—or some approximation of it, given Dolors Strange’s naturally lugubrious demeanor and the undeniable involvement of Raum in the proceedings.

I spoke of Raum Buker and the Sisters Strange with Angel and Louis when they traveled from New York to Portland for a few days of R & R. Angel and Louis had begun to spend more and more time in Maine since the former’s illness. Their apartment by Eastern Promenade had big picture windows that looked out over Casco Bay, and the sight of the sea salved Angel’s spirit. If Angel was happy, Louis was happy. Certain couples became like that as they grew older. It saved a lot of strife.

I’d known Angel and Louis for many years. How we met—well, that was another story, but they’d stood by me after Susan and Jennifer were taken from me, and they had continued to stand by me in the years that followed. I’d stood by them, too, and if there were those who speculated about why a former police detective turned PI kept company with two criminals—one of them, Angel, a thief, and the other, Louis, a harvester of men, the last of the Reapers—they knew better than to offer an opinion within earshot of any of us.

“Why are you so concerned about Buker?” said Angel over fried chicken in honey sauce at CBG on Congress. “After all, it’s not like you’re on the meter for him.”

CBG had previously been Congress Bar and Grill, and before that, Norm’s. But to confuse the issue in the arcane way of Portland drinking establishments, the old Norm’s had formerly operated from premises across the street. That place was now called the Downtown Lounge, although older patrons still occasionally referred to it as Norm’s, and did so even after the new Norm’s had opened opposite. This was how people arranging to meet up in Portland sometimes missed each other entirely.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “But I swear, I hear him ticking before I go to sleep at night. He’s like a bomb waiting to go off.”

“He didn’t look like much, last time I saw him,” said Louis. “But then, he was struggling to speak with his mouth full.”

“I think the taste of gun oil has persisted,” I said. “He shared some unkind sentiments about you.”

“Such as?”

“I’d blush to repeat them, but let’s just say he’s not down with the gay folk.”

Louis considered the problem.

“Could be he needs to be reeducated,” he said. “You know, encouraged to think differently. Positive reinforcement.”

“Are you suggesting a carrot-and-stick approach?”

“No,” said Louis, “just a stick.”

“A stick shaped like a gun?”

“Maybe.”

“Or we could all stay out of his way,” said Angel, “and let events take their course.”

Louis and I stared at him.

“Right, how stupid of me,” said Angel. “What was I thinking?”

“He’s done some more time since last you saw him,” I said.

“Where?” said Louis.

“I asked around, and heard possibly Jersey. I haven’t started digging yet to find out why, but I might start, if only because it’s probably better to know. Also, if his abundance of confidence is anything to go by, he has money, or is about to make some. He always did have a mercenary streak. He’s either pulled a job, or has one planned.”

“So?” said Louis. “If he’s already advertising his presence, and getting in people’s faces, he’ll end up back in jail or getting his lights punched out, or both. But unless you’re hoping to rehabilitate him, or his score involves burgling your home, he’s not your problem.”

I didn’t bother arguing, even though I disagreed. I couldn’t help but feel that Raum had entered my orbit for a reason, and the decay of that orbit must inevitably result in a collision.

Louis asked after my daughter Sam. He mentioned that he and Angel were contemplating a road trip to Vermont, and hoped to stop by to see her. I considered offering to join them, but decided Sam—and more particularly Rachel, her mother—might enjoy time with Angel and Louis that was uncomplicated by my presence. I was getting along better with Rachel than I had in a long time, and even her father was demonstrating something resembling tolerance for my company. Rachel and I might no longer have been together, but we both loved our daughter and maintained an affection for each other. Most of our difficulties were now in the past. Our separation was better for Sam, too, and she seemed to understand.

But then, that child understood more than any child should.

Angel, Louis, and I parted company, they to walk back to Eastern Promenade, and I to drive back to Scarborough. The night sky was clear, and bright with stars. They were reflected in the waters of the salt marshes, so it was as though the earth were a thin disk in the manner conceived by the ancients, and the pools were holes in its crust through which a man might plummet into the vacuum were he to take a careless step.

---