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21
EVE THREW HER KEYS on the round hotel table. Beckett lay still with every pillow from the two queen beds crammed behind his shoulders. He held the remote, but the TV was off. Eve placed her hand on the set’s black plastic. It was cold. He’d never turned it on—just sat in front of the murky black screen while she was gone. A still Beckett was not a well Beckett, and Eve was concerned.
“’Sup.” She waited until he transferred his attention from the blank screen to her.
“Did he look okay? Was he all right? Did the door have a good lock?” Beckett kept the remote pointed at the TV like he was threatening it.
“Of course—he had a great lock. What the hell?” She rolled her eyes.
Beckett finally dropped the remote and dragged himself off the bed. “Sorry. I just wanted to be there. You know, to make sure. I’ve wanted to close a door with him behind it for seven fucking years. Cut me some slack.”
Beckett began to pace. Restless Beckett worried Eve as well.
“He’s doing great. Very courteous to my dad.” Eve leaned against the sink.
“Of course he’s fucking courteous. It’s Blake. What the hell? He has to be fucking grateful for every damn thing? He’s not a charity case, you know.” Beckett seemed to be looking for a target for his anger.
Eve tried not to take it personally, but that was becoming more difficult. “The funeral home said Mouse’s ashes are ready to be picked up.” It was a low blow, but she wanted him to remember there were worse things than his current predicament.
“We need to give him a proper burial.” Beckett stopped pacing.
“How’re we going to do that? We can’t have a regular funeral. I’ve looked into it. He had a grandmother, and she’s buried here in town. We can do it at night—dig a hole and leave him there.” Eve hated the idea. She wanted Mouse’s name on a respectable stone.
“He gets buried in the full light of day. He had nothing to be ashamed of. I will not bury him like a coward.” Beckett pointed at Eve angrily.
“You won’t bury him at all. That’s my job. When you went all Cuisinart on Chris Simmer? That’s when you decided not to bury your friend.” Eve felt hot rage grabbing her heart.
“I’ll put Mouse in the ground, Cole’ll pray, and Blake will be there to see the man who took his place in the grave. That’s how it’s going down. If I get arrested doing it, so be it.” He stuck his chin out defiantly.
Eve walked closer to the boiling man. “You think that’s what Mouse wants? You in jail? He’s not the pile of ashes we’re going to put in the ground. His soul is free in the woods.” Eve wanted to comfort Beckett, but all her energy went to combating her frustration.
“I’ll see him buried,” Beckett said again, slightly less confidently. “I’ll see my brothers. I have to. I can’t not see them. I…” Beckett looked at his reflection in the mirror. “My life is worthless if it’s not about them.”
This time Eve hugged him. She rested her forehead on his lips. He did not return her hug.
“This is so hard for you. I know that. You want to do something. But you have to get it through your thick head that by doing nothing, staying here, you’re doing exactly what those boys need.”
Beckett looked at the ceiling. Eve waited, feeling his hot, angry-bull breath on her hair.
“I want to bury Mouse.” This time Beckett put his words into the universe quietly.
Eve was ready for shouting and cursing, but the pleading, small voice broke her resolve. She looked into his eyes. “I’ll make it happen. I don’t know how, but I’ll do it.”
Beckett wove his arms around her, pulling her in. “Tell me what else.”
Eve snorted. “What do you mean what else?”
“You’re still all tense. There’s something you don’t want to tell me.” He moved his hands to her shoulders. “Spit it the fuck out.”
“Cole and Kyle got engaged.” She rubbed a hand across her face.
“That’s really good. Great for them. I knew they were a good match. Fairy Princess will keep his hands full.” Beckett watched Eve’s face. “And?”
“They’re getting married in a month. There’s no way I can get this murder mess fixed in time for you to go to the ceremony. They’ve got you. There’s so much evidence. Damn it, Beckett. You knew better than that. And now I’m scared you’re going to want to go to the wedding, and it’ll be a big fucking mess.” She put her hand on his heart, where she knew her next words would land. “You can’t go to the wedding.”
Beckett pushed her away. He made a fist and held it to his forehead. After turning it into a claw that raked through his hair, he used it to punch the nearest wall. The plaster cracked around the meteor-crash print his fist left.
Eve knew his anger was far from spent, but the hotel room corralled him. He sat on the edge of the bed, pounding a fist on his thigh. She knelt in front of him, brave inches from his angry knuckles.
“This is it, Beck. This is the hardest part of loving someone: not being with them when you want to be. It’s so bad you can taste it.” She put her hand on his knee, daring his fist to smash it.
He stilled his hand. “I’m going to need my brothers with me for Mouse. And call Chaos. Tell him to bring his ink. Then I’m outta here. I leave and don’t darken their fucking doors again.” He looked at her.
His pride was dying, and she couldn’t save it. Her finger traced the marking on his forearm, and she raised one eyebrow in question.
Beckett nodded. “Yeah. I need Mouse to be permanent.”
Eve went to work and finally arranged a way to have Mouse’s funeral while the rest of the world planned celebrations of their beloved winter holidays. Cole agreed to bring a Bible and say a few words at the gravesite. Blake said he’d attend as well. Eve wanted to tell him she’d bring an umbrella, but it just seemed too awkward. He had to know a cemetery would be outdoors.
When the cold December Monday finally arrived, Eve set out her distractions for the police. She’d designed two very real-looking fake bombs and put one at the mall and the other under a busy intersection. Then she’d dug a small hole at Mouse’s grandmother’s grave. She wished there was some soil beneath her fingernails, some sort of testament to her preparations, but she’d been too careful; her nails were clean.
Beckett was at the hotel putting on the all-black suit and tie combination he’d requested. He was handling his confinement well, which surprised her. She knew he had a touch of claustrophobia, but his other option was leaving the country, and he’d refused to do that.
When she arrived to pick him up, Beckett was ready to say goodbye to his brothers. Before she put him on the back of her motorcycle, she made a phone call alerting the authorities of the two bombs. She had extra remote detonations set up in an abandoned house on Beckett’s old stomping ground. She would listen to the police scanner, and if they figured out the bombs were decoys too quickly, she’d give them a little more—all so she could get Beckett in and out of the cemetery with as little risk as possible.
They both wore helmets as they rode through town, more for disguise than protection, and they arrived to find Blake and Cole had brought Livia and Kyle as well. As if a gift from Mouse himself, the sky was overcast with a thick gray batting of clouds. Beckett was off the bike before she could put the kickstand down, a full black messenger bag bouncing on his back.
He grabbed his brothers. All three pounded each others’ backs and gave grumbling, cursing acknowledgments.
“I can finally fucking breathe, seeing you goddamn bastards.”
Everyone smiled at Beckett’s exuberance, despite the somber occasion.
“Where’s the bride-to-be?” Beckett held his arms open for Kyle and gave her a gentle hug. “Good on you, Fairy Princess, making an honest man out of my boy here. Jesus was treating him like shit; he was never getting laid. I hope you two have a million damn kids and name them all Beckett, boys or girls.”
Kyle returned the hug and smirked. “We might name our dog Beckett, if you’re lucky.”
Beckett laughed a bit too loudly. He seemed desperate to make up for lost time.
He locked eyes with Livia, and his face became serious. “Com’ere, Whitebread.” He held out his hand and enveloped her as soon as she got close.
She started to cry softly in his chest.
“Don’t cry. I’m so motherfucking proud of you. You hold your beautiful face up. Stand proud.”
He rubbed her back and motioned Blake over with his head. Beckett twirled her into Blake’s arms. She looked back to give him a sad smile from her warm place by Blake’s heart.
Beckett slid the messenger bag around and without preamble began to speak. “Hey, this here’s Mouse’s ashes. He was an employee of mine. I know you all knew him. If you knew him, you liked him. He was smart. Fucking loyal. And big. He didn’t deserve to end up in a jar. He didn’t deserve to die in the dirt a-fucking-lone. He was following orders. Orders to protect Blake at any cost, at all costs. They were my orders. And this was his cost.” Beckett held the urn up higher.
“And I know Blake had a bunch of fucking problems going on the night he was shot. But Mouse here made sure the hired guns were dead before they could hurt him. I don’t know if I get to call him a hero, if that’s allowed, because I’m a bad man, and he was my friend. But he was a hero to me.” Beckett handed the urn to Blake.
Beckett pushed back the sleeve of his jacket, unbuttoned the cuff on his expensive shirt and revealed the brothers’ mark. The addition of knitting needles and twirling yarn made Beckett’s forearm ink the exact replica of the tattoo on Mouse’s chest.
“He was my friend and my brother.” Beckett looked at Cole, who stared at the mark on Beckett’s arm.
Seeming to feel Beckett’s eyes, Cole shook himself a bit and pulled out his Bible. Blake stepped forward and placed Mouse’s urn gently in the hole Eve had prepared. Although he’d told Eve he’d just recite a simple rosary, Cole now opened the Bible instead.
“Beckett, you’ve reminded me of one of my favorite passages,” he explained. “This is from First Corinthians thirteen.”
He cleared his throat and spoke in a lyrical tone. “Love is patient and is kind; love doesn’t envy. Love doesn’t brag, is not proud, doesn’t behave itself inappropriately, doesn’t seek its own way, is not provoked, takes no account of wrongs done to it.”
Cole looked up from the Bible and met each person’s eyes before he continued. “Love doesn’t rejoice in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love, but the greatest of these is love.”
After the murmured “amen” Beckett wiped his eyes. “Yeah, Cole. That was it. Right there.”
Eve retrieved the shovel she’d stowed behind a tombstone.
“Wait.” Beckett reached into his bag and pulled out a semi-automatic pistol. All present watched with wide eyes.
“They do the twenty-one-gun salute for the good guys, right? So I brought this.” Beckett pointed the gun in the sky. “For Mouse.”
The gun gave such a loud crack, it seemed to split the sky. Livia jumped, and Blake pulled her closer, his eyes wary on his brother.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen shots exploded from Beckett’s gun. Then he lowered his arm, wreathed in smoke. He ejected the empty clip and pulled a full one from his bag. He palmed it into the gun, but suddenly Beckett’s arm seemed too heavy for him to lift.
He hung his head. “Who am I fucking kidding? What the hell does a gun shot by me mean? Nothing special, that’s for damn sure. Fuck it.”
Livia left the comfort of Blake’s embrace. She put her hands on Beckett’s elbow carefully. She lifted his arm and angled it skyward.
She spoke, staring into Beckett’s sad eyes. “For Mouse, who watched over my sister and saved Blake and me from more than we could’ve handled in the woods that night.” Livia nodded at Beckett, and he squeezed the trigger. When the sound had cleared, she counted out loud. “Seventeen.”
Kyle stepped forward and replaced Livia at Beckett’s arm. “For Mouse. I didn’t know you well, but I wish I had.” The air snapped with the shot. “Eighteen.”
Cole rubbed Kyle’s shoulder as he approached. He took the gun from Beckett’s hand. “For Mouse, who protected Beckett from himself for years.” The gun popped again. “Nineteen.”
Cole waited as his brother came forward. Blake thought for a moment with the gun pointed at the ground, then aimed it at the sky. “For Mouse, who saved Livia’s life when I couldn’t. Thank you is not enough.” The gun took his gratitude to the heavens. “Twenty.”
Beckett watched with pride, occasionally pounding his chest. Eve remained a few steps away, listening to the police scanner on her earpiece. She now looked at the gun in Blake’s hand and brought a shaking fist to her lips. She walked over and pulled the technology out of her ear.
As she took the gun from Blake, the hand that had been shaking steadied. “Mouse, I wish you were still here. This place was better when you were part of it.” The last shot was the most jarring, juxtaposed with the perfect silence of its wake.
As if the bullet was a key in a lock, the gray skies opened and a quiet, lovely snow shower filtered down. The flakes decorated the hair of the six mourners like glistening knit caps.
Eve turned her face to be bathed in the fresh flakes. “Twenty-one,” she said softly, replacing her earpiece.
Beckett picked up the shovel and brought moist soil to cover the urn-filled hole. He smoothed the small mound with the back of the shovel and wiped his hands on his suit. Eve gathered the used ammo clip and tucked it and the gun back in Beckett’s bag.
Eve met his eyes. “The cops have reports of gunfire here, so we’ve got to go.”
Beckett groaned, and for a moment a look of sheer panic flashed in his eyes. His brothers stepped to him quickly, rushing to join their tattoos for possibly the last time.
“I think a call to Chaos is in order,” Blake said, looking at Cole.
Cole nodded, and Beckett smiled. “Thanks,” he said.
Eve had Beckett back on the motorcycle within moments and they sped away, leaving nothing but a flurry of snowflakes behind.