Agnes and the Hitman

He sat up, hating to move away from her warmth. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Can you?” She raised herself up a little, wide awake now. “Because if you can’t, just say you can’t. Please.”

Shane paused and looked down at her. He’d always seen her as capable, angry-definitely angry-and in charge. But right now she just looked vulnerable. He leaned over and kissed her. “Right. I promise.”

Another promise. “I’ll be back tonight.” Getting to be a habit.

Agnes sighed and nodded and rolled out of bed in all her naked splendor. “Okay, then. Breakfast to make. Maria’s wedding day. I’m sure everything will go well.” She crossed her eyes at him and went into the bathroom, and he sat looking at the space where she’d been for a second, just in case she came back.

“Yeah,” he said, and got dressed and went outside into the early morning quiet. The sun was behind him, shooting over the trees and lighting up the far shoreline of the Blood River. The only sound was the quiet lap of water against the pink sand and the honking of Cerise and Hot Pink as they greeted the new day. For a few minutes, he could pretend it was peaceful. Until he heard the boat engine.

Shane looked toward the dock and saw Wilson’s boat pull up to it. The old man stepped onto the floating dock and the boat pulled away to a holding position. As Shane went to the long walkway, Wilson made his way slowly up the metal gangplank to the high dock.

Shane heard a car door slam and looked over his shoulder. Frankie Fortunato had just gotten out of his pickup and was stretching, his white hair now dyed black, his beard gone. He was still fifty pounds heavier, but now he looked like Frankie. A second pickup was coming down the drive: Joey. Shane imagined the two had spent an interesting night talking over old times. And threatening to shoot each other, Good thing they were both afraid of Agnes.

Shane stepped onto the wooden dock and began the long walk out.

As he neared Wilson, he could finally see how old his boss was. Older than Joey, older than all the others involved in this. Shane wondered how that felt, how tired Wilson was. How done he was with what he’d been doing for over sixty years. Or was he really done?

Wilson was already seated when Shane arrived at the high dock. Glancing over at the Brenda Belle, Shane saw no sign of the boat’s owner. Brenda must be biding her time to make her grand entrance. Or sleeping in so she’d have plenty of energy to let loose the dogs of war.

Shane sat down across from his boss. “Good morning.”

Wilson nodded. “Today’s the day. Casey Dean will-”

“You knew about Frankie Fortunato.”

Wilson hesitated for a fraction of a second and then nodded.

“It would have helped if you had informed me,” Shane said.

“Doubtful,” Wilson said. “You had more than enough intelligence on Casey Dean to do your job. As you might learn, if you achieve my position, less information in the field is preferable most of the time.”

“I don’t agree.”

Wilson shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Given your recent failures, it will be difficult to convince my associates to have you replace me.”

“It might be difficult to convince me.” Wilson looked at him, displeased.

Shane stared back at him. “I took out Casey Dean’s girlfriend last night.”

Wilson stared at him, startled. “Why didn’t you or Carpenter report this? And where is she?”

“We were busy.”

Wilson’s lip curled. “Breaking a suspected murderer out of jail.”

“Yes.”

“I have allowed you a great deal of latitude here,” Wilson began, “and-”

Shane interrupted him. “You’ve been testing me.”

“Very good,” Wilson said, practically patting him on the head. “And the girlfriend?”

“We have her. You knew Casey Dean used a woman as his front.”

Wilson shrugged. “There were suspicions to that effect.”

“That was also part of the test.” Shane tried to keep the bitterness from his voice. Carpenter and Joey had almost died so that Wilson could test a job applicant.

“Flexibility of thinking is critical for my job.”

Shane sat silent for several moments, staring at the old man. Finally he looked away. He could see Joey on the back porch now, a mug of coffee in his hand, looking out at them. Frankie was moving chairs around in front of the gazebo, getting it ready for the ceremony. Agnes was at the kitchen window, at the kitchen sink, making breakfast for the crowd again. Upstairs, Lisa Livia walked past her bedroom window in her bra, talking a mile a minute, probably to Maria. Even the flamingos were honking as usual.

“The test isn’t over, is it?” Shane asked, knowing that Wilson still held all the cards.

“No.”

“Yesterday I thought I might be Casey Dean’s target.”

“Why is that?” Wilson asked.

“Because my real name is Fortunato. My uncle Joey told me my father was the Don’s older brother, Roberto.”

“You were not Casey Dean’s target,” Wilson said. “No.”

“But your uncle told you only half the story.”

There was something snakelike in the way Wilson said the words, almost as if his tongue were flicking in and out. He savored the words, and Shane realized he’d savored a lot of the information he’d been dropping recently.

Behind that desiccated mask, Wilson was enjoying this.

Shane made himself still. “And the other half?”

“Torcelli told you that your parents died in a boating accident, correct?” Wilson’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, too little to notice unless you were watching for it.

Shane was watching for it. He nodded.

“Not true.” Wilson lifted his chin, watching Shane from under lizardlike eyelids. “They were murdered by Don Michael Fortunato.” Shane was perfectly still.

“Your father, the eldest brother, stood in Michael’s way, so he rigged their boat to explode. They went out on the water, and he blew it up by remote control from a nearby cruiser.” Wilson watched Shane.

Shane sat, unmoving.

“They say your father tried to save your mother even though he was horribly wounded.”

Shane looked past Wilson to the Blood, beautiful in the early morning.

“They say he screamed her name as he died.”

He was aware of the sound of the water lapping against the floating dock and the slight creak of metal on wood as it moved against the steel gangplank.

“They say she cried out yours.”

Shane turned back to Wilson. Look for what he wants.

Wilson was sitting, looking impassive, but that light was behind his eyes. “I believe she drowned, according to intelligence. There was no coroner’s report. The Don let the bodies go down with the boat.”

What does he want?

“You don’t believe me? Ask your uncle Joey. Or your uncle Frankie. They’ve known for years.”

Frankie and Joey at the table last night. Joey shaking his head. Shane felt heat now-it had been rising the entire time, filling his head, blanking out his brain, but now he could feel it-the old heat from when he’d been a kid, fists flailing. Don’t go there, that’s what Wilson wants, do not go there.

“The real question,” Wilson was saying, “is what do you intend to do about it? Because you have a job to do, Mr. Fortunato. One that does not allow for distraction because of personal issues. Can you still do your job and protect the Don?”

He sat back and allowed himself a small complacent smile.

Shane got up and began the long walk down the dock to Joey.

Agnes tipped a pan of pineapple-orange muffins out onto the counter, wiped her hands on her Cranky Agnes apron, and then stepped back beside Carpenter to look out the kitchen window toward the dock, where Shane was meeting with his boss. She felt a little ridiculous baking muffins in a cherry pink halter dress covered with a promo apron, until she saw the man she loved standing like the Grim Reaper, staring down the wizened old goat he worked for. Then she forgot the dress. There was something definitely wrong down on that dock.