The Husband

yarns and naval battles."
    "When?" Mitch insisted.
    "In two years. When I turned thirty-five. So it'll be a few years later. And I might make it back quicker than I think. My business is growing fast."
    "The China deal."
    "The China deal and others. I'm good at what I do."
    "No way I'd turn you down," Mitch said. "I'd die for Holly, so I'm sure as hell willing to let you go broke for her. But I won't let you minimize the sacrifice. It's one mother of a sacrifice."
    Anson reached out, put a hand around the back of Mitch's neck, pulled him close, gently pressed forehead to forehead, so they were not looking at each other but down at the gearshift console between them. "Tell you something, bro."
    "Tell me."
    "Normally I'd never mention this. But so you don't chew out your own liver with guilt, which is the way you are...you should know you aren't the only one who's needed help."
    "What do you mean?"
    "How do you think Connie bought her bakery?"
    "You?"
    "I structured a loan so a portion converts into a tax-free gift each year. I don't want to be repaid. It's fun to do this. And Megan's dog-grooming business."
    Mitch said, "The restaurant Portia and Frank are opening."
    "That, too."
    Still sitting bowed head to bowed head, Mitch said, "How did they figure out you had so much?"
    "They didn't. I saw what they needed. I've been trying to think what you need, but you've always seemed...so damned self-reliant."
    "This is way different from a loan to buy a bakery or open a little restaurant."
    "No shit, Sherlock."
    Mitch laughed shakily.
    "Growing up in Daniel's rat maze," Anson said, "the only thing any of us had was one another. The only thing that mattered. That's still the way it is, fratello piccolo. That's the way it's always going to be."
    "I'll never forget this," Mitch said.
    "Damn right. You owe me forever."
    Mitch laughed again, less shakily. "Free gardening for life."
    "Hey, bro?"
    "Yeah?"
    "Are you gonna drip snot on the gearshift?"
    "No," Mitch promised.
    "Good. I like a clean car. You ready to drive?"
    "Yeah."
    "You sure?"
    "Yeah."
    "Then let's roll."

Chapter 22

     
    Only the thinnest wound of the fallen day bled along the far horizon, and otherwise the sky was dark, and the
    sea dark; and the moon had not yet risen to silver the deserted beaches.
    Anson said he needed to think, and he thought clearly and well aboard a car in motion, because it was akin to a boat under sail. He suggested Mitch drive south.
    At that hour, light traffic plied the Pacific Coast Highway, and Mitch stayed in the right-hand lane, in no hurry.
    "They'll call the house tomorrow at noon," Anson said, "to see what progress I've made with the financials."
    "I don't like this wire transfer to the Cayman Islands."
    "Neither do I. Then they have the money and Holly."
    "Better we have a face-to-face," Mitch said. "They bring Holly, we bring a couple suitcases of cash."
    "That's also iffy. They take the money, shoot all of us."
    "Not if we make it a condition that we can be armed."
    Anson was dubious. "That would intimidate them? They're really gonna believe we know guns?"
    "Probably not. So we take weapons that don't require us to be great shooters. Like shotguns."
    "Where do we get shotguns?" Anson asked.
    "We buy them at a gun shop, at Wal-Mart, wherever."
    "Isn't there a waiting period?"
    "I don't think so. Only with handguns."
    "We'd need to practice with them."
    "Not much," Mitch said, "just to get comfortable."
    "Maybe we could go out Ortega Highway. Once we had the guns, I mean. There's still some desert they haven't slammed full of houses. We could find a lonely place, fire some rounds."
    Mitch drove in silence, and Anson rode in silence, the eastern hills speckled with the lights of expensive houses, the black sea to the west, and the sky black, with no horizon line visible anymore, sea and sky merging into one great black void.
    Then Mitch said, "It doesn't feel real to me. The shotguns."
    "It feels movie," Anson agreed.
    "I'm a gardener. You're a linguistics expert."
    "Anyway," Anson said, "I don't see kidnappers letting us set conditions. Whoever has the power makes the rules."
    They worried southward. The graceful highway curved, rose, and descended into downtown Laguna Beach.
    In mid-May the tourist season had begun. People strolled the sidewalks, going to and from dinner, peering in the windows of the closed shops and galleries.
    When his brother suggested that they grab something to eat, Mitch said he wasn't hungry. ""&u have