THERE WAS NO reason for me to stay longer in Montana. The problem was not at all resolved, but Arnold Marks,
or Arjan Marku, had disappeared and was effectively a fugitive in the eyes of the county sheriff, at least, even if not
in the eyes of the FBI. Whether or not Marks popped up somewhere else, I hoped at least Palm Island would not
encounter more trouble from him or his cronies for a long while. Rob planned to remain in Montana and spend a
few more days with his family, but I was able to grab a flight out of Bozeman that would put me in New York
sometime around 8 p. m. I looked forward to spending the night in my own bed.
I dozed on and off on the flight home. So much had happened over the last few days in Montana that my internal
clock couldn’t care less what time it really was. When I finally woke up, not too far outside of New York airspace,
my brain was still thinking about Trilling and his family. It seemed like no matter where I went, I worried about the
place I’d just left.
I hoped the FBI had enough common sense to call me or Trilling if they learned anything of importance. Especially
if they could figure out where Arjan Marku had fled. There was no telling what an enraged Albanian gangster might
do.
I was pretty sure that Leland Ackerley, the local FBI agent in Bozeman, would warn us if he resurfaced. The other
FBI agent, Brian Hadley, was a different story. Every agency had guys like Hadley. Agents who looked at the job as
a sort of competition or game. To win it you had to make bigger and bigger cases. Those sorts of people didn’t care
that much about consequences. They wanted stats. Arrests. I was not judging them, but it was not the way I
operated. There was a place for hard chargers who wanted to make big cases. But in this instance, I wanted that
place to be far
away from me.
There was something about this guy Arjan Marku that scared me. The assault on the Trilling houses had been a
ballsy move. I had to acc ept some responsibility. I’d intentionally antagonized the guy. I mean, I did slap him in the
face. That was a major insult on the street. I guessed maybe I went too far. I was also glad to put a few thousand
miles between us. I wasn’t nearly as worried about Trilling or his badass family. They had proven they could take
care of themselves.
As I was st epping off the jet, I got a text from my oldest son, Brian. He said he was in our family’s van and waiting
for me at the curb. I raced through the terminal with my carry-on bag and out into the passenger pickup area in a
matter of minutes. That’s when I got one of my biggest surprises of the day. Everyone was waiting for me in the
van.
The side door opened and it looked like paratroopers jumping before D- Day. My horde of children flooded out of
the van and surrounded me. Mary Catherine followed in the rear. There was a mass of voices and giggling as I made
sure to give everyone an individual hug and kiss.
Mary Catherine said, “Your grandfather really wanted to come, but he’s saying mass at Holy Name this evening.”
I could barely talk through my wide smile. “I guess I can cut him some slack this one time.”
Juliana slid in next to me and asked about Rob Trilling.
“I wouldn’t worry about Rob. He can definitely take care of himself.”