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Somehow, they had found a quiet corner away from the rest, cut off by a raucous throng of men and women in business suits celebrating an office promotion. After that night, Will Parker would be dead, and Jimmy Gallagher would never set foot in Cal ’s again. After RAnthro Will’s death, he found that he could not remember the good times that he had enjoyed there. They were gone, excised from his memory. Instead there was only Will with a cold one at his elbow, his hand raised to make a point to Jimmy that would remain forever unspoken, his expression changing as he looked over Jimmy’s shoulder and saw who had entered the bar. Jimmy had turned around to see what he was looking at, but by then Epstein was beside them, and Jimmy knew that something was very wrong.
“You have to go home,” said Epstein to Will. He was smiling, but his words gave the lie to his smile, and he did not look at Will as he spoke. To a casual observer, he would have appeared only to be examining the bottles behind the bar, choosing his poison before he joined the company. He wore a white raincoat buttoned to the neck, and on his head was a brown hat with a red feather in the band. He had aged greatly since Jimmy had last seen him at Caroline Carr’s funeral.
“What’s wrong?” asked Will. “What’s happened?”
“Not here,” said Epstein as he was jostled by Perrson, the big Swede who was the linchpin of the Cabaret Unit. It was a Thursday night, and Cal ’s was buzzing. Perrson, who stood taller than anyone else in the bar, was handing shots of booze over the heads of those behind him, sometimes baptizing them a little along the way.
“God bless you, my son,” he said as someone protested. He guffawed at his own joke, then recognized Jimmy.
“Hey, it’s the birthday boy!”
But Jimmy was already moving past him, following another man, and Perrson thought that it might have been Will Parker, but later, when questioned, he would claim to have been mistaken, or confused about the time. It might have been later when he saw Jimmy, and Will could not have been with him, because Will would have been on his way back to Pearl River.
It was cold outside. The three men kept their hands thrust deep into their pockets as they walked away from Cal’s, from the precinct house, from familiar faces and speculative glances. They did not stop until they came to the corner of St. Mark’s.
“You remember Franklin?” said Epstein. “He was the director of the Gerritsen Clinic. He retired two years ago.”
Will nodded. He recalled the worried-looking man in the small office, part of a conspiracy of silence that he still did not fully understand.
“He was killed at his home last night. Someone cut him badly to make him talk before he died.”
“Why do you think that it’s something to do with us?” said Will.
“A neighbor saw a male and a female leave the house shortly after eleven. They were both young, he said: older teenagers at most. They were driving a red Ford. This morning, the offices of Dr. Anton Bergman in Pearl River were burgled. Dr. Bergman, I believe, looks after the health of your family. A red Ford was seen parked close by. It had out-of-state plates: Alabama. Dr. Bergman and his secretary are still trying to confirm what was removed, but th Rh utere drug cabinets were intact. Only the patient records were rifled. Your family’s records are among those that are missing. Somehow, they’ve made the co
Will looked pale, but still he tried to argue. “That doesn’t make any sense. Who are these kids?”
It took a moment for Epstein to answer. “They’re the same ones who came for Caroline Carr sixteen years ago,” he said.
“No.” It was Jimmy Gallagher. “Uh-uh. They’re dead. One of them got crushed by a truck, and I shot the other. I watched them pull her body from the creek. And even if they had lived, they’d be in their forties or fifties by now. They wouldn’t be children.”
Epstein turned on him. “They’re not children! They’re-” He composed himself. “Something is inside each of them, something much older. These things don’t die. They can’t die. They move from host to host. If the host dies, then they find another. They are reborn, over and over again.”
“You’re crazy,” said Jimmy. “You’re out of your mind.”
He turned to his partner for support, but none came. Instead, Will looked frightened.
“Aw, Jesus, you don’t believe this, do you?” said Jimmy. “They can’t be the same ones. It’s just not possible.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Will. “They’re here, whoever they are. Franklin would have told them about how the death of the baby was covered up. I have a boy the same age as the one who was supposed to have died. They made the co
“We’ll have people looking for them too,” said Epstein. “I’ve made some calls. We’re moving as fast as we can, but-”
“I’ll go with you,” said Jimmy.
“No. Go back to Cal ’s.”
“Why?”
Will gripped Jimmy’s arms and looked him in the face. “Because I have to end this,” he said. “Do you understand? I don’t want you to be caught up in it. You have to stay clean. I need you to be clean.” Then he seemed to remember something. “Your nephew,” he said. “Marie’s boy? He’s still with the Orangetown cops, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, he’s out there. I don’t think he’s on duty until later, though.”
“Can you call him? Just ask him to go to the house and stay with Elaine and Charlie for a while. Don’t tell him why. Just make up some excuse about an old case, maybe an ex-con with a grudge. Will you do that? Will he do that?”
“He’ll do it,” said Jimmy.
Epstein handed Will a set of car keys.
“Take my car,” he said, pointing to an old Chrysler parked nearby. Will nodded his thanks, then began to stride away, but Epstein reached for his arm, holding him back.
“Don’t try to kill them,” said Epstein. “Not unless you have no other choice.”
Jimmy saw Will nod, but his eyes were far away. Then and there, Jimmy knew what Will intended to do.
Epstein walked away in the direction of the subway. Jimmy made the call to his nephew from a phone booth. Afterward, he went back to Cal’s, where he drank and made small talk, his mind detached from the actions of his body, his mouth moving of its own volition, and he stayed there until word came that Will Parker had shot two kids up in Pearl River, and he had been found in the locker room of the Ninth, tears streaming down his face, waiting for them to come for him.
And when they asked him why he had driven all the way back to the city, he could tell them only that he wanted to be among his own.