Jerome checked his watch. “I can’t be late for work. And I got to take the bus.”
“To your big cookie shop?” asked Web.
For the very first time Jerome and Web exchanged a smile. “I tell you what, Jerome, you show us Kevin’s stuff and talk to us a little bit more and I’ll personally drive you to work in one bitching machine that’ll have all your friends envious as hell. How about that?”
Jerome led them upstairs and down a short hallway that ended with a very small room. When Jerome turned on the light, Web and Claire looked around in amazement. Every inch of the walls and even the ceiling was covered with drawings on paper, some in charcoal, others in colored pencil and still others in pen and ink. And on a small table next to a mattress on the floor were stacks of sketchbooks. Claire picked up one and started going through it, while Web continued to gaze at the drawings on the wall. Some of them were things Web could recognize, landscapes and people; Jerome and his grandmother were reproduced in amazing detail.Other drawings were abstract in content and Web couldn’t make sense of them.
Claire looked up from the sketchbook and her gaze swept around the room before focusing on Jerome. “I know a little something about art, Jerome, because my daughter is majoring in art history. Kevin has serious talent.”
Jerome looked to Web like the proud father. “Kevin says that how he sees things sometimes. ‘Just drawing what I’m seeing,’ he tells me.”
Web looked at the art supplies and sketchbooks piled on the table. There was also a small easel in the corner with a blank canvas on it.
“All this stuff costs money. Francis contributing?”
“I buy Kevin his art stuff. He gets Kevin other stuff, clothes, shoes, basic things.”
“He offer to ever help you and your grandmother?”
“He offered. But we ain’t taking that money. We know where it comes from. Kevin’s another matter. It’s his daddy. Father’s got a right to provide for his son.”
“Daddy come around much?”
Jerome shrugged. “When he wants to.”
“You think he might be the one who has Kevin? Give it to me straight.”
Jerome shook his head. “As much as I don’t like Francis, if you ask me, he’d cut off his own head before he’d let anything happen to that boy. I mean, he’ll kill you so much as look at you. But around Kevin he was gentle. A gentle giant, I guess you could say. He didn’t want Kevin living with him because he knew it’d be too dangerous.”
“I imagine that was a big sacrifice for Francis, giving up something that he loved so much. But that’s the true test of love, really: sacrifice,” said Web.
“Well, man changes where he sleeps all the time ’cause people looking to kill him. Hell of a way to live. But he had people watching Kevin, making sure nobody got to Francis by going after him. It ain’t like everybody knew of the connection, but he wasn’t taking any chances.”
“You seen him since Kevin disappeared?” asked Web.
Jerome stepped back on that one and put his hands in his pockets, and Web instantly sensed the wall going back up.
“I’m not looking to get you in trouble, Jerome. Just tell me straight and I promise you it won’t go any further. You’re doing really well, keep your string going.”
Jerome seemed to think about this, one hand playing with his tie, as though wondering what the thing was doing around his neck.
“The night Kevin didn’t come home. It was late, maybe three in the morning. I had just got home from work and Granny was up and all a mess. She told me Kevin was missing. I was upstairs changing and getting ready to go looking for Kevin and wondering whether we should call the cops. I hear my granny downstairs talking to somebody, or he was talking—yelling, that is—at her. It was Francis. He was mad like I ain’t heard him mad ever before.” He paused and looked for a moment like he might bolt again. “He was looking for Kevin too. Was sure Granny had him hid somewhere, at least maybe he was hoping that was it. The way he was talking, I thought he be going after Granny. I almost come down the stairs. Now, I ain’t no coward, and I ain’t stupid either; hell, that man probably take only a second to kill me, but it ain’t like I’m letting him or anybody come in here and hurt her without trying to do something about it. You understand me?”
“I do, Jerome.”
“Francis, he finally calmed down, he was getting it that Kevin wasn’t here. So he left. Last time we’ve seen him. That’s the truth.”
“I appreciate you telling me. I guess it’s probably hard to trust people right now.”
Jerome looked Web up and down. “You saved Kevin’s life. That’s worth something.”
Web looked at him warily.
“I read the papers, Mr. Web London, Hostage Rescue Team. Kevin be dead, wasn’t for you. Maybe that’s why Francis didn’t bust your skull.”
“Hadn’t really thought about it that way.”
Web looked at the stack of sketchbooks again. “The other agents who came here, did you tell them any of this?”
“They didn’t really ask.”
“How about Kevin’s room? They search up here?”
“Couple of them looked around, didn’t take very long.”
Web looked at Claire. They seemed to read each other’s thoughts. She said, “Do you mind if I borrow those sketchbooks? I’d like to show them to my daughter.”
Jerome looked at the books and then at Web. “You gotta promise to bring them back. That’s Kevin whole life, right there,” he said.
“I promise. I promise I’ll do everything I can to bring Kevin back too.” He gathered up the sketchbooks and then put a hand on Jerome’s shoulder. “Now it’s time to get you to work. You’ll find my chauffeuring fees are very reasonable.”
As they walked downstairs, Web had one more question. “Kevin was in that alley alone in the middle of the night. Did he do that a lot?”
Jerome looked away and said nothing.
“Come on, Jerome, don’t get tongue-tied on me now.”
“Hell, Kevin wanted to help us out, you know, make some money and we get out of this place. It bothered him that he never could do much like that. He was just a kid, but he thought like a grown-up on some things.”
“I guess a particular environment might do that for you.”
“Well, Kevin, he be out on the streets sometimes. Granny too old to keep up with him. I don’t know who he was hanging with, and whenever I caught him out there, I brought his butt home. But maybe he might be trying to make a little cash on the side. And around here you can get that money, no matter how young you are, you hear me?”
They dropped Jerome off at work and headed back to Claire’s house.
“By the way, you handled yourself like a pro back there,” he said.
“I guess it’s more mental than physical, and that’s my jurisdiction.” She glanced at Web. “You know, you were pretty rough on Jerome.”
“It’s probably because I’ve seen a million guys just like him in my life.”
“Stereotyping is dangerous, Web, not to mention unfair to the person being categorized. The fact is, you can only know one Jerome at a time. And I could tell this Jerome busted your preconception all apart.”
“He did,” admitted Web. “I guess when you’ve been doing my kind of work for so long, it’s easier to lump folks together.”
“Like fathers?”
Web didn’t answer that one.
Claire said, “It is sad about Francis and Kevin. From what Jerome said, he must love his son very much. And to have to lead such a life.”
“I don’t doubt the big guy loves Kevin either, but I’ve seen that same big guy kill a man in cold blood right in front of him, and he’s also cleaned my clock twice, so my sympathy has its limits,” said Web very firmly.
“One’s environment does tend to dictate one’s choices, Web.”
“I can accept a little of that argument, but I’ve seen too many guys from even worse backgrounds make it just fine.”
“Including maybe yourself?”
He ignored her question and instead said, “I figure you pack some things and we find you a safe house with some agents there to make sure those folks don’t come back.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
“I want you to be safe.”
“I want to be safe too, trust me, I have no death wish. But if you’re right and that person was just pretending to be Francis to scare me and throw suspicion on him, I’m probably not in any real danger.”
“Probably is right. That’s only one theory, Claire, and it might be the wrong one.”
“I think if my routine remains the same, they have no reason to think I’m a threat. And I have something I really need to work on.”
“What?”
She glanced over at him and Web had never seen her look so troubled. “I’m thinking about a very brave man going into an alley, listening to a little boy say something quite extraordinary and then being unable to do his job.”
He shot her a look. “You can’t be sure there’s a connection.”
She held up a page of the sketchbook for him to see. “Oh, I’m pretty sure there’s a connection.”
The drawing was stark, exacting, possessing a powerful clarity that seemed beyond a young boy. A figure that looked so like Kevin it could have been a self-portrait was standing in what looked to be a high-walled alley. A man who could have been Web in complete combat gear was in full running stride next to Kevin. The boy’s hand was extended. What was in the boy’s hand had Web fixated. The device was small, easily secreted in a trouser pocket. The stream of light that shot out from it reached across the page and ended at the margin. It was as though the boy held some sort of futuristic weapon that shot light beams, à la Star Wars or Star Trek. Actually, it was a device that all people, especially kids, would be familiar with these days. It was a remote control, and this one was sending out a beam of light. It could have been to a TV, stereo or some other electronic equipment. But Web knew that it wasn’t. He hadn’t even seen a TV in Kevin’s house and there was certainly not one in his room. This remote control, Web felt sure, had activated the laser in the courtyard that, in turn, had triggered the mini-guns when Web and Charlie Team had come thundering into the space. The kid had kick-started it all. And somebody had prepared the boy for exactly what he would see that night, namely men in body armor with guns, for it wasn’t like Kevin Westbrook had come back to his house to make this drawing after the fact.
Who was that someone?
Two cars behind Web’s Mach, Francis Westbrook drove the Lincoln Navigator himself. Without product to sell, a large part of his crew had already jumped ship. Folks didn’t let the grass grow under their feet in the drug trade, and the grass always seemed to be greener someplace else. Of course, when you got to the new place, it was just the same old crap. You lived and died by your wits and the stupid did not survive for very long, yet for every dealer that was killed, a dozen were ready to take his place; the lure of the drug business was strong despite its high mortality rate, because people in Francis Westbrook’s world weren’t exactly loaded down with options. Forget the social scientists with their little charts and graphs, Westbrook could vividly teach the mother of all courses on that subject.
He shook his head as his thoughts returned to his dilemma. Peebles was nowhere to be found, and even the once-loyal Macy had disappeared. The men he had left were not ones Westbrook really trusted, thus he had gone it alone on this mission. He had been watching Jerome’s place in the hopes that Kevin might come wandering up. Instead he had gotten a nice prize in the interim. HRT London and the woman. She was the shrink, he at least had learned that before his men deserted him. He steered with his fingertip, his right hand on the grip of the pistol lying on the front seat. He had watched London and the woman go in and then come out with Jerome. The lady had been carrying Kevin’s sketchbooks, and Francis wondered why. Did the books have a clue to the boy’s whereabouts? He had personally searched this city high and low looking for his son, threatened people, broken bones and overinflated egos in the process, shelled out thousands in cash for snitch work, and with all that, nothing. The Feds sure as hell didn’t have him; they weren’t playing games with him, perhaps trying to get Kevin to testify against the father, of that he was sure. Francis had been real careful on that; Kevin knew nothing about what his old man did, at least not the sort of details that were required on the witness stand. But if he did, Francis would just bite the bullet and take the fall. Above all, he had to do what was best for Kevin. In many ways he had already led a full, rich life, about as much as someone like him could reasonably expect. But Kevin had a lot more living to do. London was a smart guy. Francis’s plan was to follow him and see where that took him. Where he hoped it took him, of course, was to Kevin.
43
Web drove Claire home, where she packed some clothes and other things, and then he took her to her car and followed her to a hotel, where she checked in. After they’d promised each other to keep in touch with fresh developments, Web rushed back to East Winds.
Romano was at the carriage house. “The Canfields are in the house. I don’t know what happened, but something’s shook them up. White as sheets, both of them.”
“I know what did it, Paulie,” and Web explained about the videotape.
“You know there was nothing you could do, Web. I’m just pissed I was overseas at the time, I would’ve loved to hit those guys.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, before I forget, Ann Lyle called and said she really needed to talk to you.”
“How come she didn’t call me directly?”
“I talked to her a couple of days ago. Just checking in. I gave her the phone number here, just in case we needed a hard-line contact.”
Web pulled out his phone, and while he was dialing Ann he asked Romano, “So, how’d Billy like your ’Vette?”
“Sweet, man, sweet. Said he had an opportunity to buy one a couple of years ago for—are you ready for this?—for fifty thousand dollars. Fifty big ones.”
“Better not let Angie find out about that. I see four wheels and a ragtop becoming new furniture and college accounts.”
Romano paled. “Shit, I never thought of that. You gotta swear you won’t tell her, Web. You gotta swear.”
“Hold on, Paulie.” Web spoke into the phone. “Ann, it’s Web, what’s up?”
Ann’s voice was very low. “There’s something going down here. That’s why I’m here so late.”
Web tensed. He knew what that meant. “An op?”
“The guys built a new target in the practice area two days ago and have been going over it like crazy. The assaulters have been going through their equipment today seven ways from Sunday and the commander’s doors been closed all morning, and some of the snipers have already been deployed. You know how it is, Web.”
“Yeah, I know. You have any idea what the target might be?”
Ann’s voice dropped even lower. “A tape from a surveillance camera came in a few days ago. It shows that a truck was parked at the loading dock of an abandoned building near where the shooting occurred. The tape wasn’t at the best angle, I understand, but I believe it shows the guns being unloaded from the truck.”
Web nearly tore the phone in half. Bates had kept this from him.
“Who was the truck registered to, Ann?”
“Silas Free. He’s one of the founders of the Free Society, Web. Pretty stupid of him to use his real name.”
Son of a bitch. They were hitting the Frees. “How are they getting there?”
“Military aircraft from Andrews to an old Marine Corps airfield near Danville. They’re heading out at O-twelve-hundred. The trucks have already been sent down via semi.”
“What’s the assault force?”
“Hotel, Gulf, X-Ray and Whiskey.”
“That’s it? That’s not full strength.”
“Echo, Yankee and Zulu are out of the country on VIP protection detail. There’s no Charlie Team. And on top of that, one of the Hotel assaulters broke his leg during a training exercise and Romano’s with you on special assignment. We’re a little thin right now.”
“I’m on my way. Don’t let the train leave without me.”
He looked at Romano. “Get the guys at the gates to collapse around the house and take over protection detail.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s time to bang ’em and hang ’em, Paulie.”
While Romano called the perimeter guards, Web ran outside, popped the trunk of his Mach and checked what he had. The answer