A Welcome Grave

would have gone off anyhow. The phone was still ringing, and I reached for the handset before I realized it was my cell and grabbed that instead. The number was blocked. I answered and said hello, offering more of a croak than a clear word.

“Hate to wake you,” an unfamiliar male voice said, “but this is the biggest day of your life, Lincoln, and it’s probably a good idea to get an early start.”

“What?” I sat up, trying to place the voice, knowing only that it wasn’t Doran or Targent or anyone else I’d talked with recently.

“Payday, Lincoln. Payday. You’re going to make that happen for me. Someone needs to convince Karen Jefferson to move that money. You volunteered for the job.”

“She’s not paying, and I can’t talk to her, asshole. Thanks to everything you’ve done, she has a restraining order against me.”

“You’ll find a way to convince her how important this is, because I’ve certainly found a way to convince you.”

“Yeah?”

“Want to say good morning to your girlfriend?”

I got to my feet and stood beside the bed with the phone in my hand, every muscle suddenly very awake, every nerve very cold.

“You understand what that means? Or you want me to explain in detail? Okay, here goes—I’ve got your girlfriend, Perry. Right here with me. I’d let her talk, but she’s not really in the mood right now.”

“You son of a bitch. She’s got nothing—”

“To do with this? No shit. Neither did you, but you decided to join in. Well, now you’re in. And since you made it so damn clear you’d like to be involved, we’ve decided to deal directly with you. The blond bitch here didn’t think it was the best method, but I’ve assured her she’s wrong. Now, tell us one more time that Jefferson’s wife won’t pay?”

“I can’t get her to pay. I can’t even talk to her. Cops are all over that house, waiting to arrest me if I show up.”

“Sounds tough. You’ve got the rest of the day to figure it out. I’ll find a way to keep myself occupied. Maybe with your girlfriend.”

“If you touch her—”

“Shut up. She’s fine, but you’re in no position to make threats, either. We’re going to get our money. Not in some meeting under the highway like this was a movie, either. You’ll never see us, so don’t worry about getting any opportunities to stop this. Your only opportunity is to follow instructions. You’ve got the rest of the day to convince Jefferson’s wife to get the money ready to move. I’ll be calling tonight with an account number and some simple instructions. She’ll move the money to it herself, using a computer. When we’re satisfied that we’ve got the money and that the transaction wasn’t rigged, you’ll have an opportunity to collect your girlfriend. That’ll be on our terms, too. As of this moment, you’ve lost all control of the situation.”

“You’re the reason I can’t talk to Karen. You set me up, then expect that I can convince her to pay you? That’s not possible.”

“You’ll need to make it possible. Go ahead and make a decision on the police, too. You want to bring them in, you know the risk. I think you’re smarter than that. Cops aren’t going to work fast enough to give you a prayer. And, Perry? For all the work you’ve done on this, have you seen me yet? Even know my name? Think about that.”

He hung up.

PART THREE

GUILTY MEN

33

I lowered the phone and flipped it shut, my fingers moving from instinct, disconnected from my brain. For a moment I stood still; then I crossed the room to the window, spread the blinds with my hand, and looked out to see the unmarked car still parked on the street.

She’d wanted me to come to her apartment, and I’d declined because the police would have followed. Because the police would have been present and watching all through the night.

“She’s not part of this,” I said, and the apartment didn’t answer. She was part of it now, though. Thanks to me.

There were decisions to be made, but I couldn’t focus on them. The options slid in and out of my brain mixed with snapshots of her, the way she’d looked in that oversized T-shirt and her glasses, how she’d promised to break me out of jail with a grappling hook because it had more style.

It was seven twenty in the morning. Outside, traffic was picking up on Lorain, the day getting started, people who would deal with nothing more critical than a tax form or an oil change today already in motion as I stood frozen in my apartment, listening to them pass by.

“Move, Lincoln.” I said it aloud again, and the words rang loud and foreign through the empty room. “Move.”

I pulled on clothes and tied my shoes, fastened the holster against my spine and dropped the gun inside. Nothing I touched felt real. Seven thirty now. Fifteen minutes since the call, and I was still at home, nothing accomplished. The desire for speed, for swift action, was building, and I had to make a conscious effort to push it back down. Speed without purpose was useless and would cause mistakes that I couldn’t afford. Even leaving the apartment required pause for thought. If the police saw me leave, they would follow. I couldn’t have that now. I went down the steps and out the back door and found no one waiting. That wasn’t a surprise; to park with a clear view of my small parking lot would have been far too obvious. I crossed the lot and put my hands on the top of the board fence that ran behind my building, got my foot on one of the two-by-four braces, and hopped over, landing in the alley. Across that and over another fence and into a backyard, then out on Chatfield and moving for Joe’s house at a jog.

He was awake, sitting at the kitchen table with coffee, newspaper spread in front of him, a normal morning until I arrived. He’d left the front door open when he went out for the paper, and when I stepped through it he looked up and half-rose from the table.

“Lincoln?”

“They have Amy.”

“What?”

“They have Amy. Doran and his partner. I just got the phone call.”

He started to shake his head, as if he could refuse my news.

“Karen’s supposed to move the money tonight. I’m supposed to convince her to do that.”

“You can’t talk to her.”

“Yeah. I tried to say that. Didn’t help.”

I told him the rest of it, recounting the phone call as completely as I could, and when I was done he shook his head again.

“Lincoln, we’ve got to get help. Call Targent. This is a kidnapping.”

“They’ll kill her, Joe.”

“They may kill her anyhow.”

I looked at him, and he held up a hand and said, “Sorry.”

“No. You’re right.” The numbness that had been lodged inside me melted and turned to fear. “They could kill her anyhow. Even if Karen pays him, they might. The decision we have to make is which option will protect Amy. I don’t think going to Targent is that option, Joe.”

“So what is?”

“We have to at least preserve the idea that Karen will pay. The image that things are proceeding the way