City Dark(44)

“Don’t . . . just don’t.”

“This is your life, Joe.” Craig leaned forward and tapped his finger on the desk. “I’m an asshole, I know. I’m also usually right. Aideen can make her own decisions. If she thinks this is too much, she’ll tell you.”

“She’s got kids.”

“She’s well aware of what’s on her plate.” There was another long pause in which neither man spoke. They just stared at each other, a clock ticking on the wall.

“You know what I really learned from that case?” Joe asked finally. “The Hathorne case?”

“What?”

“I learned how random this . . . this level of cruelty is.” He looked away for a second and then cut his eyes back to his boss. “I mean the type of cruelty a guy like Hathorne dishes out. You see, that’s the thing. You don’t hope to win against Aaron Hathorne. You don’t hope to put him away. You just pray to God you never meet Hathorne. You pray you don’t cross his path.

“No bullshit, Craig, I mean it. I could say he’s like a shark, but it’s worse than that because he can make choices. You hope—if you’re smart—just not to be where he is. You know, there were a couple of mob cases Jack and I worked. We weren’t the lead attorneys; they just picked us up to run some witnesses down and do some legal errands. Anyway, I met a few mob associates. I mean, I grew up in Staten Island; it’s not like I didn’t come up with one or two of them. And they can be exactly what you see on TV, these ‘wise guys’ everybody laughs about and who seem so much like your own goombah relatives. But if you get too close, you see what they really are. The big players. They’re pleasure seekers. They’re not funny. They’re not comical stereotypes. They’re just hunters, things that tear apart whatever they encounter. Maybe it’s immediate and bloody. Maybe it’s over time, and there are papers people sign. But that’s what they do. They destroy. Everything they touch.”

“You’re not wrong,” Craig said, shaking his head and lowering his eyes, as if to acknowledge Joe’s points. “If you talk to Aideen, you tell her that, so she understands. Make it clear.”

“That’s the thing,” Joe said. “I don’t know if I can make it clear. Because Hathorne scares me more than any wise guy I ever knew, Craig. He really does.”





CHAPTER 37


Thursday, August 3, 2017

FDR Boardwalk

Midland Beach, Staten Island

12:58 p.m.

“Please, sit down,” Joe said to Robbie, motioning to the empty park bench next to his. It was brutally hot on the boardwalk, but a reliable breeze flowed in from the ocean. A few kids were making sandcastles and playing at the water’s edge, their calls bright on the salty air. Robbie hesitated for a moment, as if deciding whether to just walk away, then sat down.

“Okay, I’m seated. What is it you want with me?”

“I don’t know,” Joe said, now staring at his hands. “I really don’t know, but . . .” He trailed off.

“That girl, the one I saw at your place a few weeks back—they’re looking at you for that, aren’t they?”

“Of course they are,” Joe said, shaking his head. He wore torn khaki shorts, an old T-shirt, and boat shoes. Robbie had on slacks and a button-down shirt, but he looked far less overheated than Joe, who was sweating profusely. “I’m afraid, Robbie. I really am.”

“So, what, you want to run?”

“No, I don’t want to run. That’s not what I’m afraid of.” He forced himself to look squarely at his brother. “I’m afraid of what I can’t remember. I’m not just talking about Halle. I’m talking about Lois too. That’s what I’m here about.”

“Lois,” Robbie said, almost wistful. “You know, you don’t help yourself when you refer to her that way. She was our mother. You won’t call her that, though. Even when we were kids. You made that decision right after it happened. Uncle Mike never corrected you. Maybe he should have, but you were his favorite. Like you were everyone’s favorite.”

“She forfeited that right. Anyway, you ditched Uncle Mike and me. You were never a part of that family, not really.” Joe clamped down on whatever he might say next. He had not come out here to antagonize his brother or rehash old hurts, as easy as that was to do. For once, Robbie didn’t fire back.

“Whatever. It’s about appearances. You’re a suspect in her murder, but you can’t bring yourself to call her what she was to us. Yeah, I know what she did. Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. Smarten up, man.”

“I’m trying,” Joe said. “That’s why I’m here.” This was harder than he thought, humbling himself to Robbie. Well, in some fucked-up way, maybe it’s his turn. “Did she ever reach out to you? Our mother?”

“No,” Robbie said. He looked away, out over the water. The “no” was definitive. Flat.

“Think, please. Has anyone approached you? Or seemed like they’ve been watching you, maybe? Any strange messages? Anything, in the last month or two?”

“I told you. No. What is this, a spy movie? No one’s watching me.”

“She was around Coney Island for a few weeks before they found her, but . . .” Joe trailed off.