Free The Barbed-Wire Kiss by Wallace Stroby Page B

the driver, wounded the passenger and a ten-year-old girl who was sleeping in the backseat.”
    “Jesus.”
    “There was no gun anywhere, but there was cocaine in the van—two kilos. But when the passenger—the driver’s brother—came to trial, he testified there was another kilo that Dunleavy took out of the van before he called EMS.”
    “Was it true?”
    “Probably. Regardless, the brother had a good lawyer. The case was dismissed on the grounds it was a bad stop. A week later Dunleavy was charged with aggravated manslaughter.”
    “I can guess how that came out.”
    “The jury ruled it self-defense, justifiable homicide, that he was in fear of his life, whether there was an actual weapon or not. But he didn’t make out as well in the internal review. There’d already been rumors that he was stealing from drug dealers he’d stopped, taking their stash and letting them go. He didn’t have much support in house. They gave him a choice: quit or face departmental charges. He quit.”
    “And now he’s working for Fallon.”
    “Apparently.”
    Bobby looked down, scuffed at the ground with his heel.
    “What do you think we should do?” he said.
    “Stick to our plan. Fallon wouldn’t bother Andelli with a problem like this, it would make him look bad. But just in case there is something in the works, we should stop it short. Giving him this money will help.”
    “In the works? What’s that supposed to mean?”
    Harry didn’t answer.
    Bobby looked away again.
    “Eight grand,” he said, after a moment. “It’s not much, is it?”
    “It’s enough for now. He’s just going to have to wait for the rest.”
    “Yeah, but will he?”
    “He’ll have to,” Harry said. “He has no choice.”
    That night, he sat at his kitchen table, counting out the money Bobby had given him. It was mostly hundreds and fifties, with only a few twenties thrown in. He added it to his own five thousand, then divided the total into three piles, wrapped each with a wide rubber band.
    He’d stopped on the way home from Bobby’s and bought a package of heavy-duty four-by-ten manila envelopes. He slid the money into one, licked the flap, and sealed it. The phone on the wall began to ring.
    He looked at it, then at the clock above the sink. Ten forty-five. He waited. It rang again, loud in the empty house. He got up from the table just as the answering machine on the counter clicked on. He punched it off, lifted the receiver.
    “Hello?”
    “You were in the phone book,” she said.
    Her voice was deeper than he’d known it, rough-edged, with the harshness of cigarettes.
    “Yes,” he said.
    “It’s funny. I never thought to look until today. I’ve been back here for almost seven months now and I never thought to look.”
    “I never left.”
    “It was a shock, seeing you like that.”
    “For me too.”
    “I knew he was meeting someone there, but he didn’t tell me who.”
    “You haven’t changed much.”
    “You’re being nice, but you’re lying. It’s been nearly eighteen years. A long eighteen years.”
    “You’re his wife.”
    “Yes.”
    “How long?”
    “Three years now, almost.”
    “Where did you meet him?”
    “In Florida. That’s where I was living at the time. He brought me back up here with him.”
    “Back home.”
    “It’s not home for me anymore, Harry. It hasn’t been for a long time.”
    There was a distant whine of static on the line.
    “What’s that?” he said.
    “I’m on a cell phone. In the garage. It’s some kind of interference.”
    “Why did you call?”
    “To say hello. To see how you were. That’s all, I guess.”
    “I’m glad you did.”
    There was silence on the line and, for a moment, he thought she had hung up.
    “I am too,” she said finally. And then there was a faint click and she was gone.

SEVEN
    He called the Sand Castle at ten-thirty the next morning, left his name and phone number. After he hung up, he made a second cup of coffee, then flipped through the