Night Fall

He glanced at his watch and asked me, “Wasn’t our meeting for eight o’clock at the inlet?”

“Cut the shit.”

“I made a bet with someone that you’d show up. Only an idiot would show up unarmed at a night meet in a desolate place with someone they didn’t know.”

“Only an idiot would meetme alone. I hope you have backup.”

He didn’t respond to that, and asked me, “How was Yemen?”

I didn’t reply.

He said, “I’ve heard that Kate had a good time in Tanzania.”

Again, I didn’t reply. I thought I was close enough to clock him before he got to his gun, and he must have sensed that because he took a few steps away. He looked around and said, “Beautiful night. It’s great to be alive.” He laughed.

I said, “Don’t get too used to it.”

He looked at me and asked, “Aren’t you even a little surprised to discover that I’m alive?”

“I’m more pissed off than surprised.”

He smiled and said, “That’s why they call us spooks.”

“How long have you been waiting to use that line?”

He seemed a little upset that I wasn’t appreciating his rehearsed lines, but he pressed on with his script and said, “I never congratulated you on your marriage.”

“You were dead. Remember?”

“Would you have invited me to your wedding?”

“I would have if I knew where you were buried.”

He got sulky, turned, and started down the slope toward the ocean. He motioned me to follow. “Come on. I like to walk along the beach.”

I followed, trying to close the distance between us, but he called over his shoulder, “Don’t get too close. Ten paces.”

Asshole.I followed him down to the beach, and we headed west, toward the inlet. He took off his docksiders and walked along the water’s edge letting the surf wash over his feet. He said, “Wet stuff.”

Which is CIA jargon for killing someone. I said, “Oh, please, don’t be too clever.”

“You never appreciated my cleverness. But Kate did.”

“Fuck you.”

“Can we have an intelligent conversation without you saying ‘Fuck you’?”

“I’m sorry. Go fuck yourself.”

“You’re a

“I’m a

He replied, “I feel the same about you.”

We walked along the shoreline, side by side, ten paces apart, and I drifted to my left and closed the distance. He noticed and said, “You’re crowding me.”

“I can’t hear you over the surf.”

“One more fucking step, Corey, and you’re going to see what kind of gun I’m carrying.”

“I’m going to see it sooner or later, anyway.”

He stopped and turned toward me, his back to the ocean. “Let’s get this straight. I’m armed, you’re not. You came here to get some answers. I’ll give you those answers. What happens next is partly up to you. Meanwhile, I’m the man.”

I was losing my cool, and I said to him, “You’re not the man, Teddy. Even if you had a fucking Uzi, you’re not the man. You’re an arrogant, patronizing, egotistical, narcissistic-”

“Look in the water, Corey. What do you see?”

“I’m going to see you floating facedown before this night is over.”

“That’s not going to happen. Not tome, anyway.”

We stood there on the beach, about five paces apart, the surf getting heavier and crashing loudly on the shore. Nash said, above the noise, “You think I slept with Kate, but you don’t want to ask me about it because you don’t want to hear the answer.”

I took a deep breath, but didn’t reply. I really wanted to smash his sneering mouth, but I got myself under control.

He continued, “I wouldn’t tell you, anyway. A gentleman never kisses and tells, the way you and your NYPD buddies do when you get drunk and talk about all the women you’ve fucked by name, and with graphic descriptions. Like your stupid friend Fanelli.”

I let that go for the time being and I asked him, “Why did you want to meet me? To reveal your miraculous resurrection? To listen to your infantile jokes? This is very cruel, Ted. Give me your gun so I can kill myself.”

Ted Nash stayed silent for a while, then lit another cigarette and exhaled into the breeze. He said, “I called you here because you’re causing problems in my organization, as well as in yours. You’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, and apparently Yemen didn’t teach you anything.”

“What was I supposed to learn, master?”

“How to follow orders.”

“What’s it to you?”

He didn’t reply and asked me, “What are you doing out here at the Bayview Hotel?”

“I’m on vacation, stupid.”

“No, you’re not. And cut the stupid shit. Try again.”

“I’m on vacation, asshole.”

He didn’t seem to like that name, either, but he didn’t ask me to try again. He looked at me, pointed to the sky, and said,“That was my case. Not yours. Not Kate’s. Not Dick Kearns’s and not Marie Gubitosi’s.My case. It’s closed. You should leave it closed, or quite frankly, Mr. Corey, you may come to an unhappy end.”

I was a little surprised and disturbed that he knew about Dick and Marie. I said, “Are you threatening me? You did that once before, and that was one time more than anyone else has gotten away with.”

He flicked his cigarette in the surf, slipped his shoes on, then took off his windbreaker, revealing a shoulder rig in which sat a Glock. He tied the arms of the windbreaker around his waist and said, “Let’s walk.”

“You walk. And keep walking.”

“I think you forgot who’s in charge of this meeting.”

I turned and started walking down the beach toward where I’d left my car.

He called after me, “Don’t you want to know what happened here with that couple?”

I flipped him the bird over my shoulder. I figured if he was going to shoot, he’d have done it already. Not that I didn’t think he was capable of putting a bullet in my back, but I had the feeling he wasn’t authorized, or if he was, he first needed to see what I knew.

I didn’t hear him over the sound of the surf, but I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my left eye as he moved abreast of me, about ten paces away. He said, “We need to talk.”

I kept walking. Ahead I could see the first beach house outside the park.

He tried again and said, “It’s better if we talk here, unofficially. It’s either this, or you’ll be questioned at a hearing.” He added, “You may face criminal charges. And Kate will, too.”

I turned and started walking toward him.

He said, “Keep your distance.”

“You’re the one with the gun.”

“That’s right, and I don’t want to have to use it.”

I got about five feet from him, and he backed up and pulled his Glock. “Don’t make me use this.”

I stopped and said, “Take the magazine out of the gun, Ted, clear the chamber, and put the gun back in your holster.”

He didn’t do as I instructed, but better yet, he didn’t shoot. I said, “Men with balls don’t need guns to talk to other men. Unload it, and we can talk.”

He seemed to be struggling with his options, then he raised the gun, released the magazine, and put it in his pocket. He pulled back the slide and a round ejected and fell to the sand. He holstered the Glock and stood there, glaring at me.

I said, “Throw me the magazine.”

“Come and get it.”

I closed the distance between us. I had no doubt that this guy could give me a good fight if we got into it. I reminded him, “The magazine.”

He said again, “Come and get it, tough guy.”

“Come on, Ted. Don’t make me beat the shit out of you. I haven’t gotten laid in forty days, and I’m feeling mean.”

“I’m glad Yemen did you some good. One of my colleagues told me you were becoming a fat drunk.”

He didn’t have a loaded gun, so I had to give him some credit for balls. Or maybe he had backup, and I was in the crosshairs of a sniper rifle. I looked back toward the dunes, but didn’t see the telltale green glow of a nightscope. There was a fishing boat a few hundred yards offshore, but maybe it wasn’t a fishing boat. I said to him, “I know you don’t have the balls to talk to me like that without your gun, so you must have your little helpers here, like the fucking coward you are.”