Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 163

Last post of 2017

I can't say goodbye to this year fast enough. The only truly good thing about it, so far as I'm concerned, is I republished The Lyons' Den with a cover I liked and for a decent price. The rest of the year's been chaotic and intense, to say the least.

I don't count The Alice '65 in 2017 because I'm still waiting for my editor to get back to me with her corrections and comments, and then comes getting someone in the UK Antiquarian market to read it to make sure I haven't fumbled the story. When I do get it published, it will be a joy.

Same for Underground Guy, but for different reasons and aimed at a very different audience. Today I wrote a section where I was going to have Devlin apologize to one of his victims in hopes of making his situation smoother; instead, he blackmailed him. Just popped out. I tried to mitigate the brutality of that but in going over it I have to admit...doesn't work any other way. Dev needs this taken care of, now, now, now, so no time for niceties.

I did make a couple new friends online, this last year, but I'm still pretty much isolated here in Buffalo. I haven't met anyone I want to be friends with, or whom I'm around long enough to have it just develop. I'm going to change that.

2018 is the year of getting rid of the GOP...relegating that vile organization to history, if at all possible, so I'll need to be part of a group to have any effect. I'm going to begin volunteering once or twice a week to help bring that about.

I'm also going to join the Y, again, as part of Silver Sneakers. It's free and I want to build up my stamina and get rid of my excess weight. I've cut back on a lot of food intake, but that's done very little. I'm going to work up an exercise routine I can do, even on the road. Nothing major, just activity since I sit at a desk writing and at work, too damn much.

I'm not calling these resolutions; they're more like lifestyle choices I'm making. My only true personal goal in 2018 is to finish a first draft of Place of Safety so I can start my never-ending rewriting process. I've been at this story for too damn long and used too damn many excuses to avoid it. Not anymore. I'm now comfortable enough in my writing ability to face it and work it to completion.

Again, not a resolution, just a goal I've waited years to set.

Getting there...

I'm now at more than 300 pages and just under 70,000 words but still have a fair amount to do to connect the end to the rest of the book. I don't think the final fight goes quite as anyone would expect, especially once the cops arrive. A lot is left unexplained, so I'll need to do a chapter for that...which I've begun. And I'll get to use my favorite line, so far -- "Devlin, who do you think you are -- a Padishah with his concubines?" Delivered in Tawfi's elegant English accent.

I'd like to think I'm doing a good job in writing of the story. I honestly don't know. I'll get feedback on it, as usual, but as of now it's my own impression telling me this, and I do like it. Which is usually a danger signal, for me.

One more day in this year and we begin anew. My hope for 2018 is very simple -- Czar Snowflake is out of office before my next birthday. Seven months till I hit 66 and start taking Social Security, if the Republicans haven't killed it, by then. If they do, they'd better fucking leave the country, because there will be more than anger at that. And I don't care how rich their buddies are, anybody can be killed. Anybody.

I never really thought of myself as bloodthirsty or even capable of wishing that on anyone, but watching this Congress has been a lesson in my own sense of fury. I was pissed off at Bush for invading a country that had done nothing to us...but this far outweighs that.

I honestly do not known what I'd do if I ever came face-to-face with Paul Ryan or Mitch McConnell. Spit on them? Slap them? Punch them in their fucking throats? I have no idea. I just know I despise them more than I do cockroaches. At least my next job's in Houston, not DC, so no temptations there.

Except for having decent BBQ.

Have my ending...

Worked up the final confrontation, where Dev takes care of business. I even worked out a way to show how the murders were committed and who committed them without explaining it. I show it as the killer's trying to kill Dev. Put some twists on it, too, I think. Now I just need to connect it to the rest of the story and have the final bit, where Dev realizes what was really going on.

It took me a while to get down to where I could write the story. I had a doctor's appointment, this morning, with a new doctor...and when he came in, I nearly gasped. He wasn't just good-looking, and it wasn't just because my gaydar went off, on him; it's because he looked so much like someone I lost so long ago, it jolted me.

His name was Charley and he was Latino...though not completely, I don't think. Half and half, maybe. Dark hair. Sweet smile. Buff with only some light fur on him. We had a thing, for a while...but I was selfish, then, so didn't do what it takes to maintain a relationship and we drifted apart. We remained friends, of a sort...then came the AIDs pandemic...and it got him.

It's quietly horrifying to watch a healthy, beefy man dwindle down to skin and bones. He'd get so cold, he'd even have the heater on in the middle of a Texas summer. His parents...his family kicked him out when they learned what was wrong with him. Bexar County paid for his funeral.

Then today I learned Czar Snowflake fired his entire HIV/AIDs advisory team. Via FedEx. I thought I already hated that motherfucking son-of-a-bitch as much as I could, but now it's beyond that. I no longer want him dead; I want him alive and suffering the tortures of the damned. Him and every goddamned SOB who supports him.

I remembered how Ronald Reagan refused to even think about HIV until Rock Hudson died and Elizabeth Taylor shamed him into it. And how even today idiots want to put us into concentration camps or execute us because they hate and fear us. I became sick to my stomach, I was so angry and hurt and torn up. Still am, a little

I was off-center for the rest of the day. Couldn't concentrate on anything and wound up leaving the office early...in the middle of a snowstorm. Didn't have dinner till late, and then just some soup. Then I used working on UG to shift my focus to something else, which may have helped it become very, very brutal.

But Charley...Jesus...my sweet Charley...

Reaching out...

I contacted a couple of British antiquarian book dealers I know to ask if they would read through A65 and make sure I'm using their language correctly. Not just the British idioms but references and words Adam uses in his dealings. I doubt I'll get a response before next year; the California Book Fair is in six weeks and we're already beginning preparations for it...as are they, figuring out which books to take and working up catalogues to hand out and paperwork for the shipment to the US. But it's a start. And I have more I can ask...including a couple of the guys I have crushes on.

I know, I know, it's silly for a man my age to have a crush on any guy young enough to be his son, but I do. One's taking really good care of himself and is even better looking now than when I first met him...Jesus, fifteen years ago. Maybe I'll use his face for Adam's on the book cover.

I've decided I'm going to do the artwork for the hardcover's dust jacket. I'll make it as good as I can, probably in colored pencil but I'm also considering acrylic or even crayon, of all things. Won't know how it'll work till I do it, but I saw this saying posted on Tumbler and almost clapped. Then I got pissed at myself for being a coward and made my decision. The jacket will be what it is and I will put it out. I'll use Zan's art for the paperback and avatar for the ebook.

As regards UG, I'm working on the ending so I know what I'm aiming for. I have it prepped but I want to make certain this will work before I set up the rest of the story, for it. The action seems a bit complicated, at the moment, but we'll see how it goes after I've reworked it a few times.

That's my middle name -- Rework-It.

Reworking my way through, again...

So I completely redid my ending for Underground Guy, simplifying the overly complex back and forth I had and tying Dev's craziness into it. I may have dropped it down to 450 double-spaced pages and about 105,000 words...but we'll see how verbose I get once I'm writing it.

Devlin's character arc isn't completely set, yet, but that's workable. Once I get this first draft done, I can start rearranging his details to make his growth more consistent and, hopefully, less predictable. His attempt to get Reg into bed backfired completely, on him, so that's one step in the process. And there's a story Reg needs to tell Dev to let him see what's really going on that had to come later...but I'm still structuring that.

Overall, this is just going to be a piece of erotic gay mystery lit, more-so than The Vanishing of Owen Taylor. That book doesn't have much detailed sex in it, except for one part near the end, where Jake's about to get killed while he's stoned out of his mind. I'm really proud of that whole sequence, but so far no one's mentioned it...

No, I shouldn't say that. One of my readers said he hadn't been surprised by a rape scene in years, but that one did it. And another was surprised at who the killer turned out to be, so I guess I did an okay job with that one. Too bad it's not selling better...but I've done everything I can think of short of taking out high-priced ads in magazines to get it notice.

UG will probably sell well because of the sex. And The Alice '65 is mainstream enough to where anybody might be interested. Guess we'll see how it goes.

Then comes my Irish novel in a Russian style...

Paranoid writer comes to the fore...

The person editing The Alice '65 for me said she'd send it back on December 15th, but I got nothing and now I can't get hold of her. No answer to my emails. Naturally, in my limited brain, this means she hates it and is having to force herself to read it or else will soon come up with some excuse that she can't do it, after all. Even though I'm telling myself it's Christmas and she's got a family and everything's crazed prior to it...I've come to the conclusion her silence means the story's a disaster.

It's the writer in me. I do other things weird, as well...like when I went down to check my mail. As usual, the hallway was empty and suddenly I half wondered if I was in the Overlook Hotel...and half expected to round a corner for the elevator and find twin girls saying "Hello, Kyle. Come and play with us. Come and play with us, Kyle. Forever... and ever... and ever." Very psychotic, I know, but so are some of my characters.

For example, Devlin Pope in Underground Guy. He's proving to me that he is completely insane...but is smart enough to say, "I know I'm nuts, but by telling people I am, they think I'm not. Even when I prove it." I know that came out of me, so it makes me wonder if I'm doing the same thing -- telling people I'm crazy but don't really think I am; I just don't want them to know I think I'm not, even though I probably really am.

How did I come to this conclusion? Because Devlin keeps proving he's an animal with no concept of the feelings or concerns of others except for Colin, his brother. His blood. He's horrified by what he did to Reg...at least, I thought he was. But when Reg shows up at his hotel room, Devlin uses the guy's confusion and pain to try and work him into bed. And I'm going WTF?!?!? I actually had to stop working on the story at that point and reground myself.

I did it by watching Kurosawa's High and Low, again -- an amazing kidnapping move that is filled with character details like a Russian novel. It's based on an Ed McBain novel, King's Ransom, which I read years before seeing the movie, and it was a good mystery book. Kurosawa's film is about how some people maintain their humanity, even to the point of near self-destruction, while others only offer the idea of it, even as they descend into evil.

 None of which was in the book...and something that helps me better understand where I'm going with UG -- straight to hell.

278 pps, 65,600 words...and maybe 60% done

That's the current status for Underground Guy. I've slashed 3 sections in my outline and the story is moving towards a conclusion faster than I expected, with Devlin redirecting the media to a newer, less dramatic story about his arrest -- that it was just a misunderstanding. He thought Reg was interested in some fun so followed him off the underground, made a move and freaked out when Reg tried to bust him, claiming he didn't understand British English in his best Brooklynnese.

It's a goofy smoke-screen, but might work well enough for the story's purposes. He's also tracked down where Griffin Faure is staying, just in case he needs to go after him. He really does intend to kill the man if Colin, his brother, hurts himself or anyone in any way.

I've had some odd notions pop up, as well, that might change the ending of the story. Not sure enough about those, yet, to discuss them...but they're intriguing and fit into my basic outline. They may cut a day off the timeline, too. That's always good.
I'm sure I'll be making more changes as I go along. The outline I came up with is long enough for a Russian novel, and the story doesn't really support that. 
Christmas is almost over and it was a nice quiet one, for me. I did not leave my apartment yesterday or today. Phone calls were all it took to keep in contact with family, and since I'll be facing them in March, at my Texas niece's wedding, I think this is fine.
Getting ready will be taking me lots of effort.

Leisurely day of writing...

I added more to the first part of UG and am beginning to think I may be chipping off a fair portion of the outline I'd worked up. So in reality, I'm not adding so much as shifting around. Which is good.

I'm not sure if this will stay where I have it, now -- the day after Devlin's dinner with Diana...but we'll see.
-------

The next day I went to the British Library by St. Pancras and used their WiFi for my new phone. I stayed in the technology area, where they had thousands of books relating to nano-tech, while using my phone to find out more about Tawfi and Kenneth and Faure. Not much more to be had.

I had a late lunch in their café so I could call the office once I knew Marci’d be in...only she wasn’t, yet. Very unlike her. Then I called Colin. He was at home and his voice was spooky.

“It’s her, Dev,” he said. “It’s her.”

“Oh, Jesus,” whispered from me. “Are they sure?”

“They’re gonna run DNA but...”

“Colin, I’m so sorry you’re the one who had to go through this. Jesus. Well...at least...now we know mom didn’t abandon us.”

“She died. They showed me her locket. Wasn’t around her neck. Chain was broke. Had it tight in her hand. They say. Way the bones were. Like she knew she was dying. Knew she’d be found, some day. They let me see it. You and me...picture inside...we were smiling. I don’t remember smiling.”

His voice sent chills through me. “Colin, Diana’s on her way home.”

“Yeah. Lands in an hour. Wants me to pick her up.”

“Do it. But don’t drive; take a cab or Lyft or something. Where’s Marci? Let her drive you.”

“She’s at the office.”

His voice cut into me like razors. “Colin, listen to me. I can’t believe how strong you are, in the face of this.” He snorted a soft laugh, in response. That's when words started pouring out of me. “No, really, I thought you were the weak one, you take after mom and she let dad get away with so much and I was so angry over it because I thought she was weak, but it’s how she tried to protect us, and when she was gone, you took over for her and you let dad hit you and I thought...I thought it was because you were afraid but now I see, you kept yourself between him and me and...and now I really do see it...see you were the strong one, ten times stronger than me. You’re facing what happened to mom and I...I couldn’t. I got myself into a situation here where I couldn’t go home, so I wouldn’t have to face it, because I was scared, scared of what I might do, but you’re facing it like a man, not a scared wild animal.” I ran out of breath. Could think of nothing more to say except, "You're the strong one."

Colin just sighed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” I had to whisper, I could barely breathe.

“Were you at home the day dad died?”

I did stop breathing, for a moment, then I nodded. “Yes.”

“He hit you?”

“...Yes.”

“Was he dead when you left?”

“No. He was on the floor. Sitting. Drunk...shit, too drunk to get up.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “His alcohol level was .25.”

“Oh...it has been since we were born.” I let out a deep sigh. “How long’ve you known?”

“Neighbor saw you leave. Blood on your face.”

“Since that day!?”

“No. Marci told me. Yesterday. When she told me you’d been arrested, so couldn’t go to...to see...”

Oh, that fucking bitch. I had to grip the table to keep from screaming. “I told you,” I croaked. “I got into a situation where I can’t come home. Not yet.”

“Diana’ll be home in a little while. I need to go get her. When I get back to the office, I’m firing Marci. Having the books audited.”

“Do it. Diana can take over. She’s sharp, and she’s got some good ideas for the company.”

“More’n I ever had.”

“Cut it out.”

“Y’know, dad was gonna leave it all to you. Said you were twice as capable as me. It always was about you. Said I’d fuck it up. And I damn near proved him right.”

“Colin, tell me, seriously -- has anything gone wrong since we dealt with the Faure family?”

“No. Thanks to you.”

“Wrong. You kept it going. I was on the road half the time. You kept the business going. Made sure the dealers were happy. And if I brought in new ones, made them feel at home. I’m good at handling problems; you’re good at preventing them. You are the strongest of us both. You had to be.”

“Yeah. Right. Gotta go. Talk to you later.”

“...Okay.” Then I snapped, “Colin. Colin!”

“What?”

“If you do anything stupid, I will commit murder.”

That caught him off guard. “What?!”

“If you do anything stupid, I will kill Griffin Faure.” I let my voice be as harsh and cold as I could. “He’s here in London, and I will find him and I will cut his fucking throat.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m like our father. I’m a mean motherfucking bastard, and if you do anything stupid, I will blame him and track him down.”

“Don’t be a dumbass, Dev. Jesus. I’m...I’m gonna do anything...”

“I mean it, Colin. I fucking mean it.”

He was silent for several seconds then asked, “Are you drunk?”

“No. I almost was, yesterday, but I...I felt like shit this morning.”

“Then you’re not like dad, so stop making this about you. I gotta go.”

He ended the call.

I sat in the café for another hour, drinking enough tea to float a battleship and having a pastry, just so I could keep from screaming. It wasn’t till I got a text from Diana that Colin was at JFK with the car that I was able to relax.

More of "Underground Guy"

Dev's begun making plans to minimize the damage of his arrest and likely conviction by shifting the direction of it all. But first he has to meet with Diana to find out what gossip she's picked up, for him. But he's also a bit drunk because he's learned Griffin Faure is in London, that he's under constant surveillance, and that there's a connection between Tawfi and one of the murdered men. He's also forgotten to call his brother to tell him the police may have found the remains of their mother.

-------

I called Diana about dinner. "There's a Pizza Hut on Regent at Jermyn, if you're up for something that's trying to be American."

She all but laughed at me. "I'd die for a good slice, right now, but Pizza Hut?"

“I know, I know, I know, but in a pinch...”

She sighed and said, “How many have you had?” As if she could smell my breath through the phone.

“Not enough.”

“Where are you?”

“Knightsbridge.”

She hesitated before asking, “Why there?”

“Possible client. For some new pins, with chips. In fact, their I-T guy’s interested in helping make it work. That...uh, that’s why I’ve had a few. First, Ghadir, then...”

"Tell me about it over dinner. Can you make it by six?"

“See you there.”

I got there at five-fifty-five. Diana strolled up a minute later. I greeted her with, "Are you really desperate for a slice?"

"Of Tony's on Millbrae, yeah."

"There's a pub around the corner. I need a real beer and I'd love to try their fish and chips."

We headed for it, then we both had the greasiest, best-ever fish and chips. She downed hers with two Shandys -- hardly what I’d call a real drink -- while I had a couple pints of Guinness. The joint was noisy enough to have to speak in above-normal voices to be heard. No way could anyone record us there...and just to be sure, I turned off my phone.

Diana was interested in Ghadir’s comments and Mahjub’s interest. I didn’t bother mentioning Tawfi’s embassy in any way. I just got her to talking about the shower.

“It was just like one in Brooklyn,” she said, “but with gifties from Harrod's instead of Macy's. I was smart and bought a Tiffany spoon for ten times more than it was worth, just so I could have it in their very recognizable box. Big hit.”

We chit-chatted a bit more about the high-tea-freaks, then she took a good swallow of her Shandy before saying, "Marci told me about the call from New Jersey.”

Shit, I’d forgotten about that. “How’d she know?”

“When the locals called the troopers, they figured you wouldn’t show so they called the office, and Marci called me. I told Colin, and he’s meeting with them this afternoon."

"How'd he take it?"

She took another drink then sighed. "For the first time since I met him, I have no earthly idea." A smile filled her face. "And you cannot believe how happy that makes me. It's a horrible circumstance, but I...I honestly think he can handle it. All by himself."

I found myself smiling. "God, I hope so."

She leaned on the table, clasped her hands and rested her chin on them. "Now it comes down to you, Dev. Can you handle your self?"

"What do you mean?"

"You didn’t tell me about your visitor, the other night," she purred.

Shit. "Just a guy I picked up. Get my mind off the crap."

She sighed, in response. “Dev, cut it out. I know you like to sketch the men who mean something to you, and you use your fountain pen for that. There was still some ink on your fingers, when I showed up."

Shit, and I'd washed my hands. "Mommy don't miss much, does she?"

"I learned from my mother how to keep track of everything. She had to, sometimes, just to keep me alive."

“Okay, okay, but it really was a pickup. I just...I liked him. Even got his info. Stupid, ain’t it?”

She grew very still, her eyes hot on me. “Devlin...I already told you -- gossip’s hot about the Met being in an uproar -- the egg-on-face, kind. That a British cop might have been molested. Then today I hear that it happened in the middle of a bungled attempt to catch a killer who might be connected to an embassy in Knightsbridge, letting another man get butchered. All rumor, of course...but considering when you got arrested...”

Shit, she knew about that, too. I drew in a deep breath and nodded. “It’s nowhere near like you think. Trust me, on that.”

“You don’t know what I think.”

I leaned against the table, rubbing my temples, fighting a sense of horror welling up inside. I noticed a waitress passing so stopped her with, “Excuse me, do you carry Jameson’s?”

“Black Label.”

“Bring me a shot, please.”

She nodded and zipped off. I looked at Diana and could all but hear her mind screaming, Oh, my God, as bad as that.

I said nothing until the shot appeared and I’d downed it then chased it with a gulp of Guinness. Her eyes were so sharp on me, I had to say, “I’m not turning into my father. I don’t usually do this...but it’s been a nightmare and I -- I just need something to ground me.”

Her voice was careful as she asked, “Is it working?”

I took in another deep breath and shook my head. “Nothing is. Every time I turn around, it gets worse.”

She nodded. And waited.

The pub’s noise was oppressive -- men and women scream-chatting and clinking glasses and singing songs. The one positive thing was, no one could record us in here. So I ordered another Guinness. And took a deep breath.

Then I laid it out about Reg...

...Right down to the hole it tore in my heart.

Whoever said that confession is good for the soul is a fucking liar. Because once I was done, I felt empty and alone and two milliseconds from breaking into sobs. It was like I relived the whole damned thing and now felt twice as guilty and ashamed and wondered if I actually had contributed to Martin Perriman’s death. My hands were shaking and my last Guinness hadn’t been touched, yet.

Diana let out an endless sigh before saying, “Jesus Fucking Christ, Dev. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I -- I don’t know.” I was about to lose the battle against tears --

Until she grabbed my wrist and snarled, “Don’t you dare fucking cry on me. You haven’t got that right.”

That jolted me and I held back.

She let go, sat there and said nothing more, for several minutes, then she gave a soft half-laugh and said, "At least you feel guilty about it.”

I took a swallow of Guinness. “Guilty? Shit, I hate myself, for the first time.”

She took a deep breath. “How many others were there?”

I shrugged. “Seven. Eight.” Then I cast her a sharp look. “But they deserved it.”

“Judge Devlin.”

“You gonna tell me after what Griffin Faure did to us, he didn’t? And Kenneth, planning his bullshit. And what I could tell you about the others -- ”

“Like Ryan Oriaggio?”

That made me blink. "Hell -- Hamilton filled you in, good."

"Hamilton didn’t need to," she said in her mommy voice. “You know, you’re not coming home.”

“I know, I’m on bail, right now, but -- “

“No they won’t let you. At the very least, you’re guilty of kidnapping and raping a cop, and making the Metropolitan Police look like idiots. They’ll want to save face, and there’s talk about three other men you might’ve attacked in the London area.”

“That’s bullshit; I don’t go for English guys.”

“Not a good defense, considering Constable Thornton.”

“His name’s Reg.”

That made her lean back, her mommy-eyes locked on me. “They are turning over heaven and earth to see who else they can find, on both sides of the Atlantic.”

“You can thank Griffin Faure for that. He’s in town and let me know he’s enjoying the show. Probably helping Sir Monte with possibilities.”

She nodded. “Well then, as things currently stand if you don’t wind up in prison, here or there, it’ll be a miracle.”

“Thanks for the pep-talk.”

“It’s reality, Dev. You know how to face that, don’t you?”

I sighed and nodded.

“What we need to do is change how things stand.” She finished her Shandy. "Do you still have Tavelscha’s photos?"

"At home. Right desk drawer, red thumb drive," was my reply.

“What about Faure’s?”

I looked at her for a moment then said, “Hamilton has that. In a safe deposit box. Gramma’s maiden name.”

“Any others?”

I swallowed. “Couple.”

She sighed. “And Constable Thornton?”

“His name is Reg.” She just looked at me. My hands began shaking, again. Hell -- I was quaking inside, like a 9.9. “They...they’re on my cell phone. I’d rather not turn it on, right now.”

She took in a deep breath. “Understood, but they will be seen, eventually, so you better get yourself ready. Find a psychiatrist. Someone here. Someone who can explain this -- these actions of yours. We’ll pay for it. I’ll talk to Hamilton about an attorney, here, too.”

“You hate me now, don’t you?”

Her voice became a hiss. “Begging for sympathy, Dev? After this?” She pointed to the phone. “I’m helping you because you’re my husband’s brother and I love him, and the only way I can protect him, right now, is by protecting you.”

“Protecting me? By having me tell you about Kenneth in the hotel room? Knowing the cops were probably listening in?”

“Yes! That way your side of the story’s known before opinions get set in stone, and lets the bastards know there’s more going on than they’ve been told by the American side.” She stood up to pull on her coat. “Y’know, speaking of ol’ Kenneth -- I think it’d be a good idea for you to call him, tomorrow, and, oh, make amends. No, make it Wednesday, after I've had a chance to, um, water your plants. Where do you keep your extra key, again?"

Without even thinking I said, "Office desk under the calendar corner."

"Time it for about 10 am, our time. I think Kenneth reads his e-mails by then. I’ll send you his address."

"How do you know all that?" She just smiled, tight and cold. "Diana...you sure you want to get into this?"

"No, but have you ever known me to back down from a fight?"

"I've never seen you in one."

"Well, you're about to. And something I learned a long time ago is, always play by your opponent’s rules. And always assume they know more than they're letting on. That way you're never surprised when you find out they do know it all."

“Jeez, wish I knew what made you into such a hard-ass.”

“Ask my mother, sometime,” she said, grabbing her purse. “Like I said, she had to become one to keep me alive till I was old enough to find someone I cared about more than me.”

“Colin.”

She stopped and her smile grew warm, again.

I leaned back in my seat, unable to look at her. “How’d you know he was the one?”

“Because I hurt for him,” she murmured. “Didn’t take me a minute to see he was special. That he needed someone to hold him. Just...hold him. By the time we got back to his apartment, I was ready to kill anyone who hurt him.”

“Good thing you didn’t find out about dad till -- “

“I knew. But for that, I wanted Colin to tell me. Work with me. I didn’t know what else to do or how to handle it in a way that wouldn’t make things worse, for him. Then I saw that S-O-B slap Colin and...” Her voice trailed off and she gave me a slight shrug. “You can’t change the past, Dev. All you can do is accept it and, if you’re lucky enough to get a second chance at becoming a decent human being, take it. I got lucky.”

I finally looked at her. “He thinks he’s the lucky one.”

A gentle smile crossed her lips. “I know. What about you?”

“Me?”

She nodded. "You've changed."

"Oh?"

"There used to be an edge to your voice. Something taut, like an overstretched wire. It's not there when you talk about that cop -- "

"Reg."

That softened her expression. "Reg."

I sagged, a little. "You know how you feel about the kids? And Colin? That's how I feel about him. And I don't get it."

"Don't you?"

"You're not gonna tell me this is love.”

"No. Only you can decide that.”

“But he’s straight!"

“And your voice grows gentle when you say his name. But you have a point -- I can’t see how you’ll ever make it right with him, short of a miracle.”

Then she walked away.

Head banging can work..

I finally got an idea as to what the problem was with Underground Guy -- this section of the chapter was too full of detail. So...here's what I've honed it down to. Devlin's been released on bail and was attacked in his hotel by someone with a knife. The cops think he arranged it to throw suspicion off himself. It's the next morning and he's been awakened to be informed his sister-in-law wants to come up and see him.

-------

I grabbed a hotel robe and wrapped myself up in it then washed my face. I remembered I hadn't bathed the night before but figured I wouldn't be too rank, yet. Then came the knock at the door.

I opened it to find my brother's wife looking at me with an expression that could be amusement or bemusement or a need to use the toilet, for all I could tell. She was in her casual chic mode and looked like she'd just finished prepping for a ladies' lunch, not sat up all night on a crowded plane. I let her in with a growl of, "You got here fast."

"I was invited to a baby shower, Dev," she said. "I wasn't sure I could make it, but my mother changed her plans to watch the boys and Marci said, even though she's really busy, she'll handle Colin for Monday and Tuesday. So, here I am."

"Good ol’ Marci. No bags?"

"Downstairs. I’m staying with friends."

"You talk to Colin?"

"When do I not?"

Oh, shit, this was gonna be rough. "I'll order coffee."

"Tea, please." She looked at my arm. "Rough night?"

"My room got broke into," I said. "Not even worth Channel Four taking note."

She just nodded.

I put in an order for a full English breakfast and the hell with the cost, then sat on the bed as she eased into a chair, her eyes locked on me. I'd seen that look before when I'd done something she didn't approve of, like a mother disappointed in her child. I took in a deep breath, grabbed a pillow, and shifted to lie back, my eyes watching her eyes watch me. "Okay, let's have it."

"Glass always half-empty with you, isn't it?"

"Diana, I ache all over. I didn't sleep well. And I'm still freaked out at getting attacked, last night, so cut the crap and get down to -- "

"Some of our dealers were interrogated by FBI agents, this weekend,” she said. “About you. Two in Los Angeles. One in Chicago. Three in New York."

Shit. "Why?"

"The FBI’s questions were regarding an extortion racket, and FYI -- Griffin Faure filed the complaint."

I laughed. "You’re not gonna tell me he came back to the States to admit what happened?"

"He’s been back for a while,” she said, causing me to sit up. “And yes -- he’s telling his version, with the suggestion there may be others who've been, oh, caught in the same trap."

"Papa Faure's pushing this, and he’s just pissed 'cause golden boy and I had some fun,” I snarled, then added for good measure, “and I recorded it."

"I know. In fact, I know all about that.”

“So much for client-attorney privilege.”

“You think Hamilton told me?”

That made me blink. “You...you haven't seen the videos, have you?"

"You can be sure the FBI has. What's more -- a certain Congressman is helping the Faures push this. Now what you did with that shit son of his -- I really don’t care. He stole money from us and nearly drove Colin to suicide. He got off light. What I want to know is why this shit is coming down on us, now, and what you did to cause it."

That made me look closer. She had her mommy eyes on; I'd seen them when one of the kids was trying to pull a fast one. "How did you find all this out?"

"I used to be a party girl in the city that never sleeps and could teach Vegas a thing or two about keeping it there. Once I make friends, they're friends for life. You never know who'll come in handy when you need some help. And I get the feeling you're in need of that."

"You think you can offer any?"

"Depends on how you answer a question."

"Oh, jeez, that crap, again?” I sighed and leaned forward. “Okay, hit me."

Her smile widened. "I just need to know -- did you ever know someone named Kenneth Tavelscha?"

Oh, son-of-a-bitch, it was worse than I thought. I just nodded.

She nodded back. "Have you kept up with him?"

"Not since college."

"He's that Congressman. Republican. Bought and paid for by the Faure organization, and they have been cross-referencing. Apparently, for a while, because less than an hour after you'd been arrested by the Metropolitan Police -- and yes, I do know about that, too.”

“Christ,” shot out of me. “You didn’t tell Colin?”

“Devlin! And freak him out?”

“Right. Sorry. Guess I’m the one freaking out.”

“You should be, because Tavelscha had the TSA add your name to the no-fly list, and an hour after that, the FBI opened up that investigation into your blackmail racket."

"Oh, fuck!" Papa Faure’s attack dogs were barking loud and clear.

Fortunately, room service arrived and I was able to shift focus away from my inner chaos. I let them set everything up, signed the bill and tipped them and got them out, the whole time trying to figure out what I should and shouldn't say to her. Didn't do any good; her mommy eyes never left me. She calmly poured out tea for herself and coffee for me, then set up a chair beside the tray, took a slice of toast and piece of bacon, and sat back in her own chair.

I kept standing by the door, unable to move, my brain spinning.

After another minute of watching me and sipping her tea and nibbling at her food, she said, "Devlin -- you know how Colin and I met, right?"

I had to nod. "He...he got lost and you...uh, you found him. Brought him home."

"You know where I found him?" I shrugged a yes. She smiled. "I always thought it interesting you never said anything."

I sighed and glanced at her, my mind beginning to focus. "I didn't need to."

Her smile widened. "Y'know, the only reason I approached him was, I'd heard my usual connection got busted, and that I should assume the new guy's a cop. Then I saw Colin, and no way did he belong in that neighborhood. Fuckin’ rookie, was my first thought, so I went over to play with him. Be a real bitch. But he looked at me with those lost dark lovely eyes and the first words out of his mouth were, Oh my god, you're so beautiful.” She sighed. “I wasn't. I was at the tail of a party weekend. But his attitude...his whole demeanor was so simple and straight and honest and sweet, I fell apart. Sobbed. He said he was sorry and gave me a handkerchief. Cheap white cotton. Buy 'em by the half-dozen. I still have it. Wouldn't part with it for anything."

I turned to her. "You're good for him. For both of us."

"Thank you for that." She smiled and pulled out a tissue to dab her eyes. "It took me ten minutes to find out he'd met with a client and parked his car in a cheap lot to save a few bucks, but couldn't remember which one and was close to falling apart. I offered to call someone but he panicked and said you were at school and your father off on business and no one could know how he'd screwed up. So we went to every lot I knew -- and found it at the fifth one. By that point he was shaking so badly, he couldn't drive, so I got behind the wheel. And I stayed. And we got married. And we have three beautiful perfect sons." Then she looked straight at me to add with a near growl, "And I will never, never, never let anyone -- anyone at all -- hurt him or them. So if you don't give me the complete and absolute truth, I'm here to have fun at a baby shower for an old friend and then back to New York.”

Where they will circle the wagons to protect the business, and I will be fucked.

Of course, she was right. I'd just been trying to postpone the explosion till I was back in the states and had our own attack dogs lined up, ready to rumble. Hamilton could get just as down and dirty as the other side, but he needed my version of the story and no way was I spilling it in a phone call or email. Now it looked like I was going to be stuck in the UK for a lot longer than I thought and I was already building up a nice paranoid idea that what happened last night was not merely a burglary gone wrong.

It must have shown on my face, because she kicked the chair away from the tray and said, "Sit."

Like a well-trained dog, I did.

"Now tell me all about Kenneth."

"Why? What good would that do?"

"Dev, this son-of-a-bitch is messing with my family. I want to know why, and you’d better fucking tell me."

I jolted at her anger. Warrior Queen all but flared from every fiber of her. It was to be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, or God help you.

That's when the beast gave a short huff and let out a long sigh, and lay down to sleep. So I focused on my breakfast, and as I ate, I laid it all out about Kenneth fucking Tavelscha.