No Way Back(Jack McNeal #1)(56)

The problem was proving it.

McNeal picked up his cell phone and called Belinda Katz.

“Jack, I was going to call you later. I haven’t heard from you for a couple of days. I was worried.”

McNeal’s breath sped up. His heart raced.

“Talk to me. What is it? This is what I’m here for.”

“I haven’t got much time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I . . . I wanted you to know something before I embarked on a particular course of action.”

“Jack, I’m concerned. I hope you won’t do anything rash.”

McNeal closed his eyes.

“What is it?”

“I found out my wife was murdered.”

“What?”

“I believe it was organized by a man called Henry Graff.”

“Why are you telling me this? Have you told the police?”

“Can you write that name down? And no, I haven’t told the police. I don’t know who I can trust. Henry Graff murdered my wife. If something happens to me, I want you to know that. And take it to the cops, do you understand? NYPD. Not the Feds.”

“Where are you now?”

“Westport.”

“I’ll come up and see you.”

“Not now. I have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Personal business.”

“Jack, I sense you’re in a very dark place. This man, Henry Graff . . . I would caution you against taking the law into your own hands. I would urge you to get treatment. We can resolve some of these feelings. We can find a path forward.”

“I think I’m at the end of my rope.”

“Please don’t talk like that.”

“Belinda, thanks for your time and help.”

McNeal ended the call and realized he was shaking. A few moments later, his cell phone rang again, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“It’s Peter.”

McNeal’s head was swimming. He checked his watch. His brother had been gone nearly an hour. “You must have nearly hit the city by now.”

“Not far. Listen, I’ve been doing some thinking. We’re going to do this together.”

“This is my fight. I’ll deal with it.”

“I’m going to head home, freshen up, and we can meet up and talk things through. I have a couple of things I need to pick up on my way home.”

“Peter, I love you, but you’ve got a family. Stay in New Jersey. I’ll deal with this.”

“I thought about this. It’s not an easy decision. But you’re my family too. I’m guessing you might be heading to DC?”

McNeal sighed. That was exactly what he had in mind. “I am going to head south.”

“And do what?”

“Whatever it takes. That’s what.”

“You want to meet up later tonight? Midnight snack?”

“The truck stop diner?”

“That’s the one.”

“You got it. See you then.”

“Take care, bro.”





Forty-One

It was just after midnight on the long drive south.

McNeal spotted the neon sign for the Deepwater Diner at a truck stop a few minutes from the Delaware Memorial Bridge. He walked in, past a couple tables of truckers, and sat down at a booth away from the front window. He had arrived before his brother. He scanned the menu and ordered crab cakes and fries with a coffee. Within ten minutes he had been served and had finished eating.

He was on his third refill of black coffee when his brother arrived, backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Sorry I’m late, had to make a slight detour,” Peter said as he sat. He put the backpack on the floor at his feet.

“You eat?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He indicated for the waitress to come over. “Strong black coffee, thank you.”

A few moments later, they were both nursing coffees, the diner all but deserted after the truckers had drifted out.

Satisfied there was no one in earshot, Peter leaned closer and spoke in a whisper. “I think we got company,” he said.

“Outside?”

Peter nodded. “When I pulled up, I waited for five minutes. An SUV with tinted windows pulled up. Virginia plates.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“They were tailing me for forty miles, maybe more. But then they pulled away without getting out.”

“Interesting. Could just be some guys headed down 95.”

“I know what I saw. They were tailing me. I’ll bet they pick up that tail when we leave here. Perhaps in another vehicle.”

McNeal took a gulp of the hot coffee, feeling the jolt from the caffeine. “Here’s where I’m at. If we head to Graff’s tomorrow morning, he might just have his security goons throw us out.”

“We could turn up to his house in Arlington?”

“I thought of that. He’ll have cameras everywhere. And what will it look like? Two desperado cops, brothers, harassing him. He wins, we lose. And we’re fucked.”

Peter nodded. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’ve got two plans.”

“What’s the first one?”