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Yeah. Untilshecame into my life. Do I do everything someone tells me to do? You don’t know a fucking thing about me, even though you think you know everything.
The picture window seemed a nice viewpoint to run the frames of her life—past, present, and whatever future was hanging out there for her, bleak or shiny.
And my kids’ future, because they are the biggest factor in all of this.
And then she saw the darkness out there that seemed more than just what it was supposed to be. There was a solid shape to it. She ducked out of sight and then came back over to the window and peered out. Just across the street, behind a parked car. There was someone there. Someone staring at her house.
She looked down when her phone buzzed. Her father had just texted her with a name and phone number.
Art Collin is going to call you right now. Answer it. Dad
She looked back up and gasped. Whoever had been there was now gone. She rushed to the door and opened it, leapt out onto the porch, and gazed up and down the street. Breathing heavily, she shut and locked the door.
That was not my imagination. Someone was there.
A few seconds later her phone buzzed again. She saw on the screen that it was the phone number her father had just texted her.
“Hello, Mr. Collin?”
“Just make it Art,” said a loud, gruff voice. “Knew your old man from way back. Says you’re interested in Harry Langhorne. When Rick Rogers needs a favor I step up. He’s a good guy. So here I am.”
Well, Art doesn’t waste any time.
As if in answer to her thoughts he said, “I gotta make this snappy. I live in Florida. Got plans. Cards, cocktails, and then me and my lady friend are going out to have a little fun.”
Gibson checked her watch and saw that it was nearly nine o’clock. And he had cards, cocktails,anda lady friend still to come? He obviously stayed up way past her bedtime. This blew her whole image of Florida retirees eating the blue plate special for dinner at five p.m. and going beddy-bye at eight.
“Okay, I’ll try to make itsnappy. How did you know about Langhorne?”
“I was a detective in Newark. I worked the case. Slimeballs all around. Langhorne maybe the slimiest of all. But he walked; the others got iron bars and strip searches till kingdom come.”
“Did you know Langhorne?”
“I was actually the one who turned him to our side.”
Gibson tensed. “You did? How?”
“With my natural grace and charm, can’t you tell? Seriously, my old man was a bean counter, too. I knew how those guys ticked, so I started watching Harry, taking pictures, recording phone calls, the works. Oh, I had warrants for everything. I’m not getting tripped up over that penny-ante shit. It wasn’t easy, but we finally got the goods on him. Then we had him tied up in a neat little basket and he would be going up the river for a long time. And he probably wouldn’t make it back down if he wouldn’t agree to come over to our side. They eat dorks like Harry for breakfast, lunch, and dinner inside prison. So I met up with him one fine morning, showed him my hand, and gave him a choice. And he decided to save his own ass. What a shock.”
“But he was never arrested, or charged. And he didn’t testify at the trials.”
“That was part of the deal. He pointed us to where all the goods were, got us the docs, signed, sealed, and delivered. He was one detail-oriented prick. He even had this substitution cipher or code or whatever you want to call it for the accounting books he kept. Without him we never could have figured out what was really going on. Based on that we got a bunch of the low-hanging fruit dead to rights and they all turned on the higher-ups, just like those scared little shits always do. It was their testimony, along with all the docs, that put the nails in the coffins. And three of those suckers ended up dead for their troubles, but it was Harry who put it all in motion. He didn’t want to appear in court and say one word under oath because there would have been twenty hits out on the guy before he got down off the stand.”
“But regardless of that the mob had to figure out that he had crossed them. Otherwise, he would have been indicted, too. Or called as a witness.”
“Oh, they did. That was why all the man wanted to do was disappear.”
“With his family, you mean.”
Collin chortled. “If Harry Langhorne could have figured out a way he would have left his wife and two kiddies high and dry. But he couldn’t, so he didn’t. Heard they went into WITSEC.”
“Harry Langhorne was found murdered recently at an old estate in Virginia. He was using the alias Daniel Pottinger.”
“So your father told me. Well, it’s not like he didn’t deserve it. What goes around comes around. And shit stinks forever, especially shit like him. Sure, he was the bean counter, but he knew what was going on. Where all the bodies were buried, and I mean literally. He was like Robert Duvall playing the consigliere inThe Godfather, only Duvall’s character had some principles. Harry Langhorne had zip. Now, that don’t sit well with me. But you got to take your shots where you can, and Harry was my one shot at taking the kingpins down. So you let scum go to get bigger and more dangerous scum.”
“Any theories on who might have killed him?”
“The guys he helped put away are either dead or still in prison with long gray beards.”
