“He’s already been removed from duty.”
“Good. And Mr. Lundquist, what was that train’s final destination point?”
“Penn Station, sir. New York City. Also, they found the couple’s ticket stubs at their abandoned seats. They were paid in the full amount.”
“God damn it, ” Mauser spat. He closed the phone, dialed the supervisor at the Manhattan Transit Authority’s security division. “I want officers choking Penn Station to death, as well as all bus terminals. They’re headed right for you, be on guard, we’ll be there in a few hours.”
“We can make it,” Denton said. “We’ll be at Lambert in less than ten minutes, I’ve already cleared a hangar at LaGuardia’s Marine Terminal.”
“If we’re not there in under ten minutes, I’m opening this door and kicking you onto the highway.” Denton nodded.
“Fair deal.”
NewYork. Why would Parker go back to NewYork? There was barely a soul in the city who wouldn’t recognize him, and they were all out for blood. Hundreds of cops with itchy trigger fingers. He needed them to wait. Joe needed to find Henry first.
And then his phone rang again.
“Jesus Christ, what?”
“Joe? It’s me.”
Mauser went cold. His eyes closed.
“Linda.” Silence while he gathered up the strength to speak. “I’m sorry, it’s just…things are stressful right now. How’re you holding up?”
“Fuck the pleasantries, Joe. Have you found him yet?” Mauser sank into his seat, felt that dull ache again.
“Lin, I really can’t talk right now. I’ll call you when we know more.” The lump in his throat rose and he blinked back hot tears.
“Just tell me, Joe. Have you found the man who killed John? Who killed your brother-in-law? The father of my fucking children?”
Mauser could barely choke out a whisper.
“No.”
“I didn’t hear you, Joe.”
“No. We haven’t caught him yet. But I swear to you we’re close.”
The line went dead. Linda had hung up. Joe’s fingers shook as he snapped the phone shut. He took a breath and regained his balance.
31
The Ringer’s shoulder throbbed as if rubber pellets were being bounced at 100 miles an hour. His only anesthetic had been damaged beyond recognition. He was just about to enter Ken’s Coffee Den on Interstate 55 when his cell phone rang.
“Yes?”
“This is Blanket. From Mr. DiForio’s.”
“I know who you are.”
“Right. Anyway, Mr. DiForio just received word from our contact at the Manhattan Transit Authority. Apparently they’re very interested in a certain train that left from Union Station in Chicago yesterday, heading to Penn Station.”
Chicago. Not far from here…
Blanket continued. “Mr. DiForio would like to remind you how important it is that we find whatever carry-on luggage these commuters had on them. He wants to remind you not to get overzealous in finding these commuters, and that you’re not to damage whatever carry-on luggage you find.”
The Ringer remained silent. He clenched the phone until he felt the plastic bend beneath his fingers.
Anne. I’m so close. I can see your face, your beautiful face. And I see his face crushed in my hands as he begs for his life. I want you to see it, too, baby. I want you to see what I will do for you. I’ll be with you soon. But I have one more mission to accomplish.
“Do you understand what Mr. DiForio wishes of you?”
Shelton Barnes hung up. He was no longer the Ringer. The facade had been lifted. The man underneath the mask revealed. Once again, he was nobody’s servant but Anne’s, and Shelton Barnes was the name she’d always known him by. The name he’d discarded years ago when his life exploded in a fiery ball. The name he was finally ready to reclaim.
Barnes took Anne’s photo from the flap in his breast pocket. A gasp escaped his lips. The pain would never die. Her delicate features obliterated. Now, the only true memory of her was in his mind.
A tear streaked down Barnes’s face as he gently placed the photo back in his pocket. The sky was darkening, a harsh wind blowing through the air, chilling him to the bone. A dark storm of vengeance was coming for Henry Parker, and the chase was drawing to an end.
Anne. I miss you so much. Soon the day will come when I can join you. I wait for that day with open arms, open lips. To feel your kiss, your touch. We’ll be together soon.
But not yet.
Not yet.
Barnes started his car and pulled onto the Interstate, following the signs toward I-90 East. Toward New York. Toward Henry Parker. Toward the man he had to kill.
32
I woke up as we were passing through a tolbooth, following a sign to the Harlem River Drive. I blinked the sleep from my eyes.
“Jesus, talk about the worst company in the world.” The driver shot me a glare, then returned his eyes to the road. “I mean you didn’t both have to fall asleep, did you?”
Mitchell Lemansky. He’d picked us up on the side of the road. Amanda spent half an hour showing off some leg on the highway, despite my protests. Mitchell wasn’t too happy when I climbed into the front seat, Amanda in the back. And we both feel asleep in approximately four milliseconds.
I turned around to see Amanda sprawled across the back seat, legs curled up beneath her, arms folded under her head like a makeshift pillow. She looked like she was catching up on a month’s worth of sleep. I only wished I could join her.
The sun had slipped beneath the clouds, a blue-black dusk settling over the city. I’d wanted so badly to be accepted by this town, to become a part of it, and now I was returning as an unwanted guest to a city that would love to dispatch me with extreme prejudice. I gently rubbed Amanda’s exposed ankle. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
“Wha…where are we?”
“We’re almost there,” I said. She nodded, yawned.
“I was dreaming,” Amanda said softly. “I was dreaming that something terrible happened to you and there was nothing I could do about it.”
“It was just a dream,” I said. “Nothing’s happened.”
My heart wasn’t in it. We both knew something terrible had already happened, and that rectifying it would be just as difficult.
“Are you two done? Christ, I’ve had better conversation from rocks. Now where you headed? 105th and Broadway, right?”
