Blind to Sin Page 4

  Whatever. It was beer.

  Kenneth was staring at him as Donne put the glass down.

  “Did you enjoy that?” He laughed.

  “That obvious, huh?”

  Kenneth nodded. The waitress came back and he ordered two pies. A pepperoni and an onion.

  “Tell me about your dad, Jackson.”

  Donne took another long sip of beer. “We’ve been friends for over a year and you’re asking me now?”

  “You know my son. You know me, but you’ve never been very forthright with me about yourself.”

  Donne leaned forward. “You know more about me than most people.”

  Kenneth nodded. “I know about your cop stuff, putting away half the New Brunswick Narc Department. I know some of your PI stuff, and that one of your fiancées should be dead and isn’t, and the other one you wish was alive but is dead.”

  The words cut through Donne and the early sensations of a buzz.

  “Sorry,” Kenneth said. “That was…inelegant.”

  Donne finished off the beer. “Why do you want to know about my dad?”

  “Because my relationship with Matt is terrible, and I’m afraid for how he’s going to handle what’s about to happen.”

  Donne signaled the waitress for another beer. She winked at him and hobbled toward the bar. The bros at the table next to them had ordered wings, and the smell of the buffalo sauce made Donne’s stomach growl. Kenneth’s explanation made little sense, but being hungry didn’t put Donne in the mood to dig deeper.

  “My father left my family when I was very young. I don’t remember much about him other than his face was scratchy. He didn’t shave well. That, and the day he left, I found my mother on the couch crying. But I was too young to really understand what it meant.”

  Donne’s next beer and the pizzas came. They ate, and it was like Thanksgiving dinner. Too much and too fast, but still perfect. They finished both of the pizzas.

  Donne went to signal for another beer, but Kenneth stopped him.

  “No,” he said. “We have to go meet a guy. And I don’t need you drunk while we’re there.”

  “Tell me what this is about.”

  “Work,” Kenneth said. “It’s always about work. And, I think, my ex-wife.”

  THEY WERE in Paterson.

  The blocks were lined with rundown row houses. Littering the streets were broken bottles reflecting the sunshine back up at the few motorists who traveled by. The cab pulled up to one of the row houses, and Kenneth went through the same process of pulling a stack of bills. It looked like the envelope was nearly empty now.

  Good thing Donne hadn’t ordered that other beer.

  His slight buzz had faded, and his equilibrium was back. The pepperoni repeated on him as he got out of the cab. Kenneth turned to him as the cab pulled away.

  “Keep your mouth shut. Let me do the talking.”

  Donne stopped. Down the street, two guys were sitting on a stoop throwing dice.

  “I just got out of prison,” he said. “I’m following you around like a toddler. You gotta tell me what this is about before I go in there.”

  Kenneth’s cheeks flushed. “And why do you think you’re out of prison? Because of me.” He pointed toward the door of the row house. “And because of the people in there. I need your help.”

  Donne stood his ground. “I didn’t even want to leave prison. I had a ten-year term to serve. I’ve served one and change. I’m not supposed to be out yet.”

  “Stop whining. You got a Golden Ticket thanks to me. Come in and keep your mouth shut.”

  Donne bit his lip and followed Kenneth up the stairs. Kenneth knocked once and the door swung open. The space was filled by a large man, muscle bound and track suited. He bore down on Kenneth, and something in Donne’s stomach curled up and went to sleep.

  The big man hugged Kenneth and said, “Been a while. Come in. Elliot’s waiting.”

  They went into the hallway—fresh wood paneling, the smell of potpourri hanging in the air. A vent pushed cool air into the room. Donne scratched the back of his neck.

  Kenneth said, “Jackson, this is Manuel. Manuel—”

  The big man waved Kenneth off. “I don’t need no introductions.”

  Donne nodded toward Manuel, who pointed down the hallway. Kenneth went first and Donne followed. The scent of rubber now mixed with the potpourri. Donne could feel Manuel’s presence hanging over his shoulder.

  A man, tall, thin and blonde, but closer to Kenneth’s age, stood in the kitchen. Next to him was a woman in pajamas, sitting at the table and sipping tea. Her gaunt face didn’t look in their direction. Kenneth paused at the door, putting his hand on the jamb. He appeared to be steadying himself.

  Kenneth ran a hand over his face, and then said, “Hello, Elliot.”

  The white haired man stuck out his hand. Kenneth didn’t take it. He then offered it to Donne, who accepted the shake.

  “I’m Elliot Cole,” he said. “You’ve heard of me?”

  Donne shook his head.

  “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Donne.”

  “Yeah, I had my fifteen minutes of news time, it seems.”

  Cole spread his hands. “But you’ve done your time, and now I’m sure you’re a changed man.”

  Kenneth stepped in. The woman in the chair looked up at him. Her skin was jaundiced.

  “You deal with me,” Kenneth said. “He’s just the muscle.”

  Elliot’s gaze went from Donne to Manuel.

  The woman spoke, “You haven’t asked how I am, Kenneth.”

  Shaking his head, Kenneth said, “Maybe I don’t care.”

  “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. You don’t owe us.”

  “Tammy, I—”

  The woman pushed herself up from the table. Two slow steps later, she had taken Kenneth’s hand.

  “I know what happened hurts you, Kenneth. But you and me, we had something. We have a son, and I need your help.”

  Kenneth pulled his hand away.

  “I’m sick. Lung cancer. I—”

  Cole stepped in. “Don’t wear yourself out, I can—”

  Tammy didn’t let him take over the conversation. “We need to get to Cuba. They have medicine there. They can fix me, but Elliot spent his money getting you out because he needs you. We can’t get there without your help.”

  Kenneth opened his mouth. Then he closed it. He looked up to the ceiling. Finally, he said, “What is it?”

  Now Cole said, “We want you to rob the Federal Reserve.”

  DONNE FELT his legs go out from under him. The room suddenly got warmer. He didn’t go down, catching his balance at the last moment. Kenneth put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

  “New York?” Kenneth asked. “That’s impossible. Why bother?”

  Cole shook his head. “East Rutherford.”

  There was a Federal Reserve on Route 17 in East Rutherford, just miles from the Meadowlands. Donne didn’t know much about it, other than it existed. As far as he understood, the place didn’t get headlines, and didn’t house gold. It was secondary. The one in New York was the big one, the one that kept gold, and took care of some major deals. It was even the plot of a Die Hard movie.

  “I don’t want any part of this,” Donne said.

  Kenneth turned toward him. “We’ll talk later.”

  Inside Donne’s chest, a fist wrapped itself around his lungs and heart and squeezed. “I—”

  “Later,” Kenneth said.

  “I need millions, Kenneth,” Cole said. “I’m done. Spent the last of my dollars getting you out of prison. Adrik won’t help me, not anymore. Not since—” He wiped his face. “This is a job I can’t do on my own. And with Tammy sick, I need help. You’re the best I know.”

  “I’ve been in prison for the last ten years.”

  Kenneth took the seat next to Tammy. Donne wished he had thought of that. The fist in his chest was distracting his thinking.

  “And now you want me to mosey into the Fe
deral Reserve and steal millions? Technology is different. Life is different. Ten years ago, I had a flip phone. Now? I can’t imagine the security. There has to be another way.”

  Tammy burst into a coughing fit, and Cole went over to her. He wrapped her in his arms while she convulsed and gasped for air. Donne watched Kenneth. His face was stone, exactly the same as it had been when he snapped Luca Carmine’s neck.

  Donne tried to picture it, going away to prison when the Red Sox were celebrating their first World Series victory. Change, to Donne, always felt glacial. Ten years ago, Jeanne was still al—she was alive now. But Donne thought she died. Ten years ago, he was barely a cop. He was a twenty-five-year-old kid trying to figure life out.

  Now, he was still trying to figure life out, but as an ex-con.

  “There has to be something more here, Elliot.”

  Kenneth’s words snapped Donne back to attention. Tammy had stopped coughing. Elliot still had his arm around her.

  “Robbing the Federal Reserve? This isn’t a movie. You don’t just create a distraction somewhere and waltz off with the money. After 9/11, the world is a different place, security is tight. People are always watching you. Isn’t that what all your letters to me said?”

  Cole reached into his pocket and produced a folded up piece of printer paper. He handed it to Kenneth. Donne could see that it was a news article printed off the internet, but he couldn’t read it. Kenneth eyed it, then folded the paper and put it in his pocket.

  “How long?” Kenneth asked, nodding toward Tammy.

  Cole opened his mouth, but Tammy reached up and shushed him.

  “I’m sick, Kenneth. Not dead and not three years old. You can talk to me.”

  Kenneth adjusted his gaze.

  “We don’t know. But if the cancer spread, I want to try something different. They reopened Cuba for us. We can go there now. Elliot and I need the money. I’m not ready to die yet. We need you.”

  Kenneth stared at her and Donne counted in his head. He got to fifteen before Kenneth exhaled.

  “Listen,” he said. “My friend and I are about two hours out of prison. I need some time to get settled and think about this.”

  Cole said, “Think quickly. I know you don’t have much—if any—money right now. This is a good opportunity for you.”

  Kenneth nodded, looked at Donne and said, “Come on.”

  In minutes, they were back on the street waiting for another cab. One Manuel had called for them.

  Donne’s chest loosened and he was finding his breath again. A cab came around the corner. Kenneth waved at it.

  “This is bizarre,” Donne said.

  Kenneth glared. “Wait until we are in the cab.”

  The cab stopped hard, kicking up asphalt. They got in. Donne clicked his seatbelt, while Kenneth gave a familiar address in Hoboken.

  “This is not bizarre—it’s bullshit,” Kenneth said as they pulled away. “There are a thousand other ways to steal money. Less dangerous ways. But he wants to go into the Federal Reserve?”

  Paterson morphed into Route 20, then Route 21. Route 3 and the New York City skyline emerged in front of them.

  Donne rubbed his eyes. “Why did you ask for me to come along?”

  “Because I’m old,” Kenneth said. “I don’t know if I can pull off even a simple bank robbery anymore. I need help. I want you to help me.”

  The cab driver took a glance at them in the rearview, but didn’t speak. He couldn’t hear the conversation clearly through the partition, Donne guessed.

  “You knew this was coming?” Donne asked.

  Kenneth took a long breath. “I knew something like this was coming. No one just buys you out of prison. It’s why I could do what I did with…with—”

  “With Luca,” Donne said.

  “And there’s one other thing.”

  Kenneth took the folded paper out of his pocket and handed it to Donne. As he unfolded it, Donne saw the word “Iraq” in the headline.

  “I need you, because you know my son. And we’re going to have to talk to him.”

  Donne stared at the headline. “Money from the Federal Reserve Disappears En Route to Iraq.”

  Okay, he thought, maybe this Federal Reserve did garner some important headlines.

  “So you’re doing this?”

  Kenneth nodded.

  Folding the paper up, Donne had a better idea of why they were heading to Hoboken, and maybe why they were going to talk to Matt Herrick.

  COLE WAITED for the door to shut. Once that hard click echoed through the household, he turned to Manuel.

  “You call Neil?”

  Manuel nodded and his cheeks flushed. “Texted. He’ll be here in five.”

  Cole shook his head. “You two.”

  He walked back into Tammy’s room. She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Cole sat on the chair next to her and rubbed her arm. She looked at him without smiling. Her eyes were watery, but she wasn’t crying.

  “Neil is bringing your next treatment.”

  She nodded.

  “A few more days and we’ll be in sunny Cuba. We’ll be past this.”

  Tammy flared her nostrils. “We should have been past this life years ago. We should be retired now. Sipping piña coladas somewhere. I don’t want you to risk your life again.”

  “For you, Tammy, I’ll risk my life. So will Kenneth. We’ll get Matt to help too.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want him to. Not him.”

  The back door creaked open and slammed shut. Cole stood up.

  “We need him. We need everyone. It’s too big a plan otherwise. We need an army.” He exhaled. “Get some rest. We’re moving later tonight.”

  Neil Haskins kissed Manuel in the kitchen. Cole knocked on the wall to let them know he was there. The two broke apart. Neil ran a hand through his military style haircut. It matched Manuel’s. The bag carrying the chemo stuff rested on the table.

  “She gets one more treatment tonight, then we go.” Cole picked up the bag and looked it over. A wave rushed over him, and it felt like the room got a shade darker.

  Haskins took the bag from him and winked. “You know, for an old guy, you’re pretty understanding of us.”

  “I grew up in the era of free love. Get to work. We’re about to get busy.”

  Haskins laughed. “Cute turn of phrase.”

  He left the room, and Cole turned back to Manuel.

  “He got you there,” Manuel said.

  “Maybe he shouldn’t bring your love life up every time I see him.”

  Manuel nodded. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Cole took a seat at the table next to Manuel. “You know I trust you. Pulled you from the gangs. Got you into the National Guard. Which, coincidentally, helped you meet Neil. I need to ask you one question.”

  Manuel went pale. “Boss, listen, we—”

  “Tell me what you think of Jackson Donne.”

  Manuel shifted in his seat and the color came back. “I don’t trust him. I don’t know him, other than what’s been on the news. He’s a wild card.”

  “Did you see the way he fell to his knees when I told them about the job?”

  Manuel nodded. Down the hall, Haskins was singing to Tammy. It sounded like a lullaby.

  “Looks like prison made him a wuss, boss. He fell to his knees. The air went out of him.”

  Cole stood up again and went over to the sink. He ran the tap and washed his hands, doing the alphabet song in his head. The things that stuck with you from grammar school. Even fifty years later. He needed to be doing something while he thought over what he was going to say next. Kenneth’s reaction was going to be key.

  He turned off the faucet and dried his hands with the dish towel. Then he turned back to Manuel. Manuel was staring at the door.

  “Waiting for Neil?”

  Manuel turned back to Cole. “I haven’t seen him in days. Not with all the work we’ve been doing. The prepping.”

  Cole nodded. “I get i
t. But we don’t have time to slow down now.”

  “What you’re doing to—” Manuel started. “I don’t understand you, boss.”

  “It’s a means to an end, just like how we have to pack everything up tonight. Spotless. Repaint if we have to. We’re out of here.”

  Manuel wiped his nose. “Whatever you say.”

  “Then, I want you to find Donne. And take care of him. Take. Him. Out. I think your read on him is right. He’s not built for this. And, from what I’ve read about him, and what Kenneth said about him when I would visit the jail, Donne has some sort of soul. We don’t have time for that.”

  Manuel stood up. “I’ll start packing.”

  “Good.”

  Haskins came back into the room and met Manuel with another kiss. Cole fought back the sourness in his stomach. Haskins and Manuel were both good people to have on the job. There was no time for any other feelings.

  “Get to work, guys. You’ll have time for all this when we get to Long Valley. And just think, in a week, we’ll all be rich.”

  They walked into the other room, leaving Cole alone. He stared at the wallpaper near the back door. It was peeling at the corner. He would have to fix that, because there was no way in hell he was staying up all night to tear off wallpaper, scrub the walls and re-paint.

  Robbing the Federal Reserve was one thing. But he was too damn old to redecorate.

  THE DOOR opened. It wasn’t Matt Herrick standing there, but a woman. The one Donne recognized from the school Herrick worked at. Kenneth’s shoulders slumped.

  “He moved?” Kenneth said.

  The woman—Donne could not remember her name—said, “Can I help you?”

  “Matt.” Kenneth nearly shouted it. “Where does Matt Herrick live now?”

  The woman took a breath and stuttered. “He’s out. He lives here, but…”

  Donne stepped in front of Kenneth. “Hi. You probably don’t remember me, but Matt really helped me out about a year or so ago. I’m—”

  Instant recognition. “Jackson! Jackson Donne. What are you…? Oh, you really got out. So this must be…”