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He signaled and checked his blind spot as he cautiously changed lanes.
In two hours they climbed off the ferry and trekked over the sandy sidewalks to his vacation house, halfway between Kismet and Ocean Beach on Fire Island. The place was a cheap assembly of sharp-angled gray wood and glass and yellow pine with polyurethane so thick the grain was distorted by the lens of the coats. When Warren finally got the door open-he had key trouble-Rune was disappointed. The windows were filthy. The grit of sand and salt was everywhere. The stench of Lysol and the sour scent of mold fought for supremacy.
A crummy house, a romantic beach-and an accountant…
Thanks tons, Sam.
But, hey, life could be worse. At least he was a rich accountant, almost ready to invest in her documentary film.
And besides, they had a fierce yellow sun and a case of Budweiser and potato chips and Cheez Whiz and Twinkies and the restless Atlantic Ocean.
Who needed anything but that?
Arthur Tucker, no longer dressed in his workaday suit but in an old work shirt and slacks and rubber-soled shoes, sat forward in the back of a taxicab and told the driver to go slower.
They were cruising along the West Side Highway.
"What're we looking for?" the man asked in a thick accent.
"A houseboat."
"Ha. You kidding."
"Slower."
"Here," he said. "Stop here."
"You sure?" the driver asked. "Here?"
Tucker didn't answer. The Chevy pulled to a stop. He climbed out of the cab, picked up the heavy canvas bag beside him and paid the driver. He made a point of not asking for a receipt; the less evidence, he knew, the better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Harris said, " These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.' "
John ran his finger along his tattered King James. " 'God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain…'"
The two men, along with William, said a perfunctory "Amen."
John sipped his lemonade and marked the passage. There were no priests in their church. Since God's terrible and just will touched every soul (every believing, nonsin-ning, white soul, that is) equally, there was no need for ordination. Laymen gave sermons and conducted services. John was a favorite speaker.
He looked at his watch and glanced at the other two, who nodded. He then made a long-distance phone call.
On the fourth ring, it was answered.
"Gabriel? How are things?… Good. So pleased to hear it. Brothers Harris and William and I are here together. Our thoughts are with you… We're ready to do what you asked."
John listened, nodding. His graying eyebrows lifted and his face flushed with excitement. "What's the number?"
He jotted down a phone number in New York.
He hung up the phone and turned to Harris. "He's had a brilliant thought. Since no one believes we exist he said he's decided to create a living testament to the will of God." He looked at the phone number and began to dial.
The room seemed smaller with his wife in it.
Healy's impression was that she'd grown. But maybe it was just that rooms are always smaller with your ex in them.
"How you doing?" Healy asked.
"Not bad. You?" Cheryl responded. "You've gained weight."
"I don't work out like I used to."
"You're not spending three nights a week at the gym?"
He didn't answer and she didn't comment further.
"Adam tells me you have a girlfriend."
"Not a girlfriend really."
"She's young, he says."
"You were the one-" Oops. Watch that.
"I'm not saying anything. I didn't expect you to be celibate."
"We're just friends."
"Friends." Cheryl was wearing a pink dress. She looked like she could be in a Betty Crocker commercial. Cheerful and efficient, smacking a sifter to dislodge bits of flour.
Healy thought she should look more, well, suicidal about the breakup.
They sat close together on the couch. Healy decided he'd have to get more furniture. He asked, "You want anything? A drink?"
"Nope."
He said, "I haven't gotten the divorce papers yet."
"I haven't had my lawyer serve them."
"I thought you were in a hurry," he said.
"I'm not sure I'm in a hurry."
"Oh."
The sunlight fell in a familiar pattern on the white rug. He remembered the day they bought it. They'd bought shag because it seemed ritzier even though it was cheaper than pile. He remembered the salesman. A young man with razor-cut black hair and eyebrows that formed a single band across his face. He and Cheryl had gone out to the food court in Paramus Mall afterward and made love when they got home. On the old carpet.
Today they talked for an hour.
Healy wasn't sure how the words were going. It seemed familiar terrain, though the tone was different this time. He didn't feel defensive. He wasn't desperate or confused. Maybe it was because he'd been seeing Rune, maybe because he felt that somehow the equilibrium of the house had shifted and it was now his home more than it wastheirs. Every so often they'd fall back into the roles of adversaries. Boy, that was familiar: Hey, that was you, not me… If you'd said anything, I could have… That wasn't my fault… Sure, say it all you want, you know it's not true…
The old arguments… I'd rather deal with a pipe bomb any day…
But neither of them had the urge to go for the throat. And once that harmless sparring was done they were just having a good time. Healy got some beers and they began to reminisce. Cheryl was talking about the time an old friend called up to say they couldn't make it for di
And Healy mentioned the time they came home and found the dog standing in the middle of the dining room table, peeing on the candlestick.
And they both laughed about the night they were staying at Cheryl's parents' house, and remember, on the billiard table in the rec room? "Like I could forget?…"
Then there was silence and it seemed that they had come to the point where a decision was supposed to be made. Healy didn't know what the choices were, though, and he was stalling. He left it to Cheryl but she wasn't much help, either. She sat with her hands together, looking out the window she'd cleaned a thousand times at the yard he'd mowed a hundred.
Healy finally said, "Honey, you know, I was thinking-"
The phone rang.
He wondered if it would be Rune and how to handle it.
It wasn't.
"Sam?" the ops coordinator from the squad asked. "We got a live one."
"Tell me."
"A call from those Sword of Jesus assholes. The device is in a bag on a houseboat in the Hudson-"
"Houseboat? Where?" His heart thudded.
"Around Christopher. Maybe Eleventh."
"That's my friend's," he whispered.
"What? That girl who was in here?"
"Yeah."
"Well, don't panic. We've got a clean frozen zone and the boat's empty. She's not there."
"Where is she?"
"I don't know but we searched the boat."
"What's the device?"
"Different this time. The portable got a look at it before he called us. Looks like it's a bit of C-3 or C-4 embedded with ball bearings. Not much charge. Only a few ounces."
"So, antiperso
"Right."
"Can the robot get it?"
"Nope. It's on the deck. Too narrow."
Healy pictured Rune's boat. Knew it would have to be a hand entry.