Caffrey Flashback

Chapter 46: Wanted

June returned home on Thursday, and that evening she presented Neal with a box and a key. The box was about twice the size of a shoe box, made of dark polished wood and adorned with elaborate brass fittings. The key was ornamental. It would have been easy to break into the box without it.

In fact, he raised a brow when June handed him the key, and she smiled. "Yes, I know. I can't tell you how many times I was tempted to break into that box, but it was important to Byron and I left it alone."

"And now?" Neal asked.

"He explained in his will what the box was for. I don't need to open it now. He wanted you to have it, and he left you a message." June handed him a CD. "He said there are many tracks, with messages for different occasions, and the first one is to tell you about the box."

Neal stayed downstairs, talking to June about how she had spent the last two weeks, and making a vague reference to the fact that he'd spent a few days at a cabin in upstate New York. He gave more detail about his birthday party, thanking June for the storage space for his art.

She nodded and said, "I thought housing your art nearby would convince you I truly want you to stay here."

June was still sad, and tired from the weight of grief. Neal soon went upstairs so she could rest, and he listened to the first track of the CD. Hearing Byron's voice again brought on a wave of grief. He had missed their conversations, and it still hurt to be reminded that he wouldn't be able to ask Byron's advice or opinion again.

"It's January sixteen," Byron said. "Something happened at the FBI. You're home early and doing a good job of hiding how upset you are. Could be anything, but it reminds me that I want to record some thoughts for you while I still can. I know how hard it can be, giving up the life. You probably think you'll have it easier than I did, while you're surrounded by FBI agents. But you're also dealing with criminals and using your old skills against them. It could be a constant reminder of where you came from and what you gave up. Like I said, the con is a rush. It isn't easy to give up, and sometimes the craving hits you when you least expect it."

Neal would have preferred to hear that it had been easy for Byron, and would be easy for himself, too. But he appreciated the honesty and the time and effort Byron had put into leaving Neal this message.

"Fact is," Byron continued, "there were plenty of times I thought about going back to my old ways, times when it seemed easier or more fun. I'd think about what I was risking if I ran another con, how I might spend years in prison and miss out on my girls growing up. But still I kept being tempted, and I wondered if I was making any progress at all. One day I was in a bar, trying to talk myself out of signing up for what a friend had described as the score of a lifetime... amazing how many times in a lifetime you hear that description, but each one got my heart racing... well, who should sit down beside me in that bar but a cop. Well, a PI actually, but the guy used to be a cop. Must be close to thirty years ago now. We got to talking about regrets. He said his wife had died nearly a decade before, and he still had times he wondered how he was going to go on without her, or had a sudden, consuming wish he'd done something different while she was still alive."

Byron's voice paused a moment. "I couldn't imagine life without June, and I asked him how he kept going. He said in the first year he started to keep track of the things he'd gotten through, to remind him that life went on. It started as a list, but then he'd make a note as something occurred to him, on a business card or a cocktail napkin or whatever, some kind of reminder of something he was glad he'd been alive to do, or proud he'd gotten through. He kept them in a box and sometimes, when he was feeling low, he'd open up that box and remind himself that he was doing good things, and that he was doing better than getting by."