Think Twice

“In light of this, the official explanation of the murder makes little sense. Joseph Turant, the gaffer — if you will allow me my Britishism — of a major crime family, has avoided arrest for decades by being careful. Does it seem logical that he would suddenly become stupid enough to murder this stripper-slash-sex-worker or his pimp — let’s call them what they are; if they were women victims, that’s how people would label them — and leave behind a witness like Bo Storm and so many clues?”

“It does not,” Myron agreed.

“One more thing: Joey the Toe went after us hard. Really hard. He has been searching high and low for Bo Storm for five years. If someone testified truthfully about him, even if it put Joey behind bars, do we really think he would go to these lengths just for revenge?”

“He might, but it does seem a lot. Hiring those killers to threaten my parents. Sending his soldiers to Montana. Scouring the area. I don’t even know how the Turants found Bo.”

“They didn’t find him,” Win said.

“What do you mean?”

“Joey’s people didn’t find Bo Storm. I told them where he was.”

Myron just stood there.

“It was the only way,” Win said.

“You gave him up?”

“We aren’t bulletproof.”

“I know that.”

“We killed Turant’s men.”

“To rescue me.”

“And you think he understands that distinction?” Win asked. “I made a deal with Turant when we were in Vegas. Safe passage in exchange for information. Once I saw they had your father—”

“You were on that call too?”

Win nodded. “They would have killed him. They would have killed your mother. They would have gone after us too. In simple terms, Bo Storm isn’t worth that. So yes, I gave him up.”

“That’s why they stopped hurting my father,” Myron said.

“Yes.”

“And, what, they stayed with him and checked out the Shanty to make sure you were telling the truth.”

“Yes.” Win rubbed his face with his hand, a gesture Myron had never seen him make before. “I messed up,” he said. Also words Myron didn’t think he’d ever heard Win utter. “I should have realized that they might track my plane. I miscalculated Turant’s desperation until I saw the gun on your father.”

“And giving up Bo was your only option?”

Win put his hands on Myron’s shoulders. “We are good, Myron — but no one is that good. I had no choice. It’s over now.”

“And what about Bo Storm?”

“A casualty of war.”

“I don’t know if I’m good with that.”

“Doesn’t matter if you are or not. You understand the stakes. If it makes you feel any better, killing Bo won’t help Turant. He needs Bo to tell the truth without appearing coerced.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I didn’t think it would.”

“You’re okay with all this?”

“This isn’t about my personal comfort. I made the choice. I don’t think it was a difficult one.”

“Suppose Bo was telling the truth. Suppose Bo did see Joey the Toe murder Jordan Kravat that night.”

Win smiled. “You do love your moral dilemmas.”

“I want to know if it bothers you at all. I want to know if you still sleep well at night.”

“It doesn’t bother me at all,” Win said. Then he added: “And I never sleep well at night.”

Myron shook his head. “You’re something.”

“I don’t care about Bo Storm. I care about your parents. We all feel that way. Strangers don’t matter to us except in a theoretical way. We just pay the notion lip service.”

“You made the decision, so I didn’t have to.”

“This was an easy call for me. I would sacrifice a hundred Bo Storms to save your parents. And while you don’t want to admit it, so would you.”

It was an uncomfortable truth. “Dangerous way to think,” Myron said.

“Then you probably don’t want to know how many lives I would sacrifice to save you,” Win said. “Or maybe you would.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A few minutes later, Jeremy called. “Where are you?”

“I’m at my office,” Myron said. “How about you?”

“At Mom’s apartment,” his son said. “Can you come over?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Grace is here.”

Myron tried to conjure up the mental picture: Greg’s current soulmate at the apartment of Greg’s ex-wife Emily. “Grace is at your mom’s place?”

“She just arrived. She’s pretty upset. She says it’s urgent she talk to you.”

No doubt this was about her son Bo. “I’m on my way.”

He called his father’s phone on the way. No answer. He was tempted to call his mom, but Dad had made it clear that was not what he wanted. He didn’t like the idea of keeping the truth from her. When he was growing up, Mom had always seemed the stronger of the two, a force of nature, the one who argued and stood up for you and gave anyone in her way an earful. But Myron also got what his father was saying. There was a fragility there now, one both obvious from her Parkinson’s and one that seemed vaguer to him, something to do with aging and fear and perhaps seeing her own mortality. Either way, Myron was not about to go against his father’s wishes.

When he arrived at the apartment, Emily opened the door. Myron waited for her customary quip, but she looked at him with concern etched on her face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, why?”

She put her hand on his arm. “Tell me what happened.”