Cross

Chapter 102

"WHAT THE HELL IS he doing here?" Sampson asked.

None other than Tony Mullino was standing next to the car – on my side. What the hell was he doing out here in Montauk?

I slowly lowered the window, hoping to find out, to get an answer, maybe a whole bunch of answers.

"I could have been Sully," he said, with his head cocked to one side. "You'd both be dead if I was."

"No, you'd be dead," Sampson said. He gave Mullino a slow smile and showed off his Glock. "I saw you coming up from behind about two minutes ago. So did Alex."

I hadn't, but it was good to know that Sampson still had my back, that somebody did, because maybe I was starting to lose my focus a little – and that could get you shot. Or worse.

Mullino was rubbing his hands together. "Cold as shit out here tonight." He waited, then repeated himself. "I said it's fricking frigid, freezing cold out here."

"Hop in," I told him. "C'mon inside."

"You promise not to shoot us in the back?" Sampson said.

Mullino raised both hands and looked either puzzled or alarmed. Sometimes it was hard to tell with him. "I don't even carry a weapon, fellas. Never did in my life."

"Maybe you ought to, the friends you keep," Sampson said. "Something to think about, brother."

"Okay, brother," said Mullino, with a mean little laugh that made me rethink who he was.

He opened the car door and slid down into the backseat. The question was still on the table: Why had he shown up here and what did he want?

"He's not coming?" I said, once he'd shut the rear door on the cold. "Is that right?"

"Nah, he's not coming," said Mullino. "Never was."

"You warn him?" I asked. I was watching Mullino in the rearview mirror. His eyes narrowed and showed extreme nervousness, something uncomfortable, something not right.

"I didn't have to warn him. Sully's self-reliant, takes care of himself just fine." His voice was low, almost a whisper.

"I'll bet," I said.

"So what happened, Anthony?" asked Sampson. "Where's your boy now? Why are you here?"

Mullino's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. I didn't quite catch what he said this time.

Neither did Sampson. "You have to speak up," he turned around and said. " You hear me? See how it works? You have to get your voice up to a certain volume."

"He killed John Maggione tonight," said Mullino. "Kidnapped him, then carved him up. That has been a long time coming."

There was complete silence in the car. I doubt there was anything he could have said that would have surprised me more. I'd felt earlier that maybe we'd been set up, and we had been.

"How did you hear about it?" I finally asked.

"I live in the neighborhood. Brooklyn's like being in a small town sometimes. Always been that way. Besides, Sully called me when it was done. He wanted to share."

Sampson shifted all the way around to face him. "So Sullivan's not coming here to collect his family. Isn't he afraid for them?"

I was still watching Tony Mullino in the rearview. I thought maybe I knew what he was going to say next.

"This isn't his family," he said. "He doesn't even know who they are."

"Who's in the house then?"

"I don't know who they are. Central casting. A family that might look like Sully's."

"You work for him?" I asked Mullino.

"No. But he's been a good friend. I was the one afraid of getting my face messed up in school, not him. Sully always protected me. So I helped him. I'd do it again. Hell, I helped him kill his crazy old man."

"Why'd you come out here?" I asked him next.

"That one's easy. He told me to."

"Why?" I asked.

"You'll have to ask him. Maybe because he likes to take a bow after a job well done. He does that, y'know. Takes a bow. You don't want to see it."

"I already have," I told him.

Mullino opened the back door of the car, nodded his head to us, and then he was gone into the night.

And so, I knew, was the Butcher.

Chapter 103

WHAT'S THAT OLD LINE, new line, whatever it is – life is what happens when you're busy making other plans?

I went back to Washington that night because I wanted to see the kids, and because of Nana Mama, and because I had patients who depended on me and were scheduled for the next day Nana has always preached that it's important for me to be helping people; she's calls it my curse. She's probably right.

I could clearly see Michael Sullivan's face, his little bow, and it killed me that he was still out there somewhere. According to the FBI, the mob had already put a million-dollar price tag on his head, and another million on his family. I still had a suspicion that he might be an FBI or police informant, and that one or the other was helping to protect him, but I didn't know that for sure, and maybe I never would.

On one of the nights after Sullivan escaped, a school night for the kids, I sat out on the sunporch and played rock and roll on the piano for Ja

Chapter 104

I'M NOT SURE why I needed to tell them about Maria now, but I wanted the kids to have some more of the truth about her. Maybe I wanted them to have the closure that I couldn't get myself. I had never lied about Maria to the kids, but I had held back, and… no, I had lied about one thing. I'd told Damon and Ja

"I've been thinking about your mom lately," I said that night on the porch. "I've been thinking about her a lot. You guys probably know that already."

The kids were gathered around close, suspecting this wasn't one of our usual talks. "She was a special person in so many ways. So many ways, Damon and Ja

"Almost always?" asked Ja

"Almost always. Think about it, Janelle. You're smart. She chose me, didn't she? All the cute boys she could have had, she chose this puss, this dour personality."

Janelle and Damon smiled; then Damon said, "This is because the one who killed her is back? Why we're talking about our mother now?"

"That's part of it, Day. But lately I realized I had unfinished business with her. And with the two of you. That's why we're talking, okay?"

Damon and Janelle listened in silence, and I talked for a long while. Eventually, I choked up. I think it was the first time I'd let them see me cry about Maria. "I loved her so much, loved your mother like she was a physical part of me. I still do, I guess. Still do, I know."

"Because of us?" Damon asked. "It's partly our fault, isn't it?"

"What do you mean, sweetheart? I'm not sure that I follow you," I said to Damon.

"We remind you of her, don't we? We remind you of Mom every day; every morning when you see us, you remember that she's not here. Isn't that right?"

I shook my head. "Maybe there's some little bit of truth in that. But you remind me in a good way, the best way. Trust me on that. It's all good."