the window.
“Anything else?” she said, her eyes darting back to pictures of a couple cavorting topless on a white beach.
The Ringer shook his head. “No, you’ve been extremely helpful. Thank you.”
As he left the OSA, the Ringer dialed the operator.
“What city and state?”
“St. Louis, Missouri. I’d like the address and phone number for a Miss Amanda Davies.”
Five minutes later the Ringer had reserved a plane ticket and called an associate in St. Louis who could get him an un-traceable gun. Ten minutes later he was speeding to LaGuardia airport. Blood was in the water, and he would only be circling for so long before he was able to strike.
18
I was back in that hallway. The man was pointing his gun at me. His horrible, manic grin breaking through the darkness. His finger squeezed the trigger. There was a sharp report and I was blinded by the gun’s muzzle. He squeezed again. And again. But with each successive blast, rather than the slug ripping through my body, tearing my flesh, John Fredrickson would stagger back. And another gaping wound would appear in his chest.
He looked at the pistol, as if wondering what went wrong, then fired again, his body jolting backward like a puppet yanked by a spiteful master. Every bullet meant for me instead struck him, blood spurting from his chest.
Once the clip was empty, Fredrickson stared at the gun, his jacket and shirt in gory tatters. He silently mouthed what happened, before collapsing onto the floor. When I looked down, the gun was gone from his hand. Then it appeared in mine.
Wake up, Henry.
Then I was back in the car with Amanda.
I blinked the sleep from my eyes. It was a dream. My neck had gone stiff. Apparently I’d fallen asleep against the window. My face felt sticky. The sky was dark. The dashboard clock read 8:52 p.m. Amanda was sipping a fresh cup of coffee. An unopened cup sat in the holder.
“I got you one, just in case,” she said. “It’s probably cold by now, but I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Thanks, I could use it.” I pulled back the tab and took a sip. It was cold, and heavy on the milk and sugar. Amanda Davies clearly valued the little things in life.
She gestured toward the cup. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it, but you seem like a light-and-sweet kind of guy.”
“And you’d be right,” I said. “So light and sweet…tell me, Sherlock, did you come to that conclusion based on the scientific evidence in your notebook?”
“No, but you look a little soggy around the tummy, I assumed you weren’t one to skimp on the sweet stuff.”
“Touche.”
Amanda gave a wry smile and turned back to the road.
I stretched my arms out, feeling my muscles slowly loosen. Drinking the coffee only made me realize just how hungry I was. And how badly I had to pee.
A billboard appeared up ahead, and Amanda steered toward it. The sign read St. Louis/Terre Haute.
“How far are we?”
“Three hours, give or take. Traffic’s not too bad, though some asshole cut me off a few miles back.”
Then I noticed the spiral notebook sitting on her lap, a pen tucked into the binding.
“Taking notes while I was sleeping?”
Amanda nodded as though there was nothing strange about it.
“We’re making good time,” she said absently. “You need to let me know where to drop you. Give me some lead time, would you?”
“Sure,” I said. My mind raced. At some point she’d realize I had nowhere to go, that nobody was waiting for me. An idea popped into my head. Feeble, but it just might work. Not like I had anything better.
“Actually,” I said, “since I missed the last few bathroom breaks, it’d be swell if we could swing by a rest stop.”
“No problem, Carl. First one I see.”
The name still sounded odd, my lies building up like mud in an hourglass.
Ten minutes later, we pulled into a rest area filled with SUVs and minivans. People with all the time in the world, and no pressure to use it. The parking lot was surrounded by thick rows of trees, the smell of car exhaust and burger grease thick in the air.
“Ah,” Amanda said, taking a deep breath. “I love the smell of lard in the evening.” She looked at my frozen countenance. “You know, Robert Duvall? Apocalypse Now? ”
“I got the joke, sorry. My mind’s just somewhere else. Still waking up a bit.”
“You’re still tired? Must have had a hell of a night last night.”
“You might say that.”
“Well, I’m gonna grab some fries and a milk shake while you hit the little boys’ room.”
“I’ll come with you. I could use a French fry transfusion. Besides, it’s only fair that I pay.”
“You’re paying for half the gas, buddy. Better make sure you can afford some Exxon Supreme along with my cholesterol burger.” I laughed, quite forcibly, very aware that my cash supply was on life support.
As we walked toward the complex, anxiety began to tingle inside me, a sort of paranoid spider sense. I had forty dollars to my name and no immediate possibility of making more. I had no friends or family to turn to-or wanted to turn to. I looked at the girl walking beside me, wondering if she could sense any of this. Wondering what she’d do if she knew the truth.
Amanda went to the ladies’ room, and I set the unofficial world record for the longest urination in history. Of course I still made it out of the restroom before she did and went straight for Mickey D’s. I wasn’t a big fast-food person, but the smell of beef-injected French fries may as well have been filet mignon. A minute later Amanda joined me on line.
“Thanks for getting a spot,” she said. “You mind if we eat in the car?”
“Not at all. I actually need to talk to you.”
“About what?” she said, scanning the menu. “I can’t decide between a farmer’s salad or a double cheeseburger.”
“Let’s wait till we get back in the car.”
She shrugged. “Whatever.”
I bought a value meal and an extra order of fries. Amanda bought some newfangled salad that, being McDonald’s, probably still had the fat content of a jelly doughnut.
The first order of fries disappeared before we made it to the car, and by the time we pulled onto the highway all that remained of my meal were three lettuce molecules and a pile of dirty napkins.
“So are you gonna tell me where I’m dropping you? Or maybe I should just leave you at the first housing project I come to.” She smiled, and I returned a weak one.
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Amanda looked at me, concerned. “I don’t know how else to say this, but my aunt and uncle…I’m supposed to stay with them and, well, I called them while you were in the bathroom and they’re not back in town yet. They’re on vacation in Cancun and their flight got delayed until tomorrow.”
A moment passed.
“And?” Amanda said.
“And I don’t have a key to their house.” She turned back to the road and sipped her vat-sized soda.
“Can’t you book a hotel room for the night? Watch some free HBO or hotel porn or something?”
“I suppose I could,” I answered hesitantly.
We were silent for several minutes. Amanda’s knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. She’d
