Myron turned off the phone. It was coming to a head now. In fifteen minutes it would all be over—one way or another. “Could you hear?” he asked.
Audrey nodded. “Most of it.”
“There’s going to be some weird stuff going down,” Myron said. “I need an unbiased journalist to record it. You want to come along?”
She smiled. “That was a rhetorical question, right?”
“You’ll have to keep on the floor in the backseat,” he went on. “I can’t risk having you spotted.”
“No problem,” she said. “It’ll remind me of my high school dates.”
Myron turned toward the door. His nerves were as frayed as an old horse whip. He tried to look nonchalant as they exited. Leon was lacing up his sneakers. TC remained still, but this time his eyes followed them out.
Chapter 38
Rain beat down, blackening the pavement. Cars were just starting to enter the arena lot in force. Myron took the back exit over the New Jersey Turnpike and onto the northbound lanes just past the final toll booth. He veered to the right, staying on Route 95.
“So what’s going on?” Audrey asked.
“The man I am about to meet,” he said, “killed Liz Gorman.”
“Who’s Liz Gorman?”
“The blackmailer who was murdered.”
“I thought her name was Carla.”
“That was an alias.”
“Wait a minute. Isn’t Liz Gorman the name of some sixties radical?”
Myron nodded. “It’s a long story; I don’t have time to go into details. Suffice to say the guy we’re about to meet was part of the blackmail scheme. Something went awry. She ended up dead.”
“Do you have evidence?” Audrey asked.
“Not really. That’s what I need you for. You have your microcassette player?”
“Sure.”
“Let me have it.”
Audrey reached into her purse and handed it up front.
“I’m going to try to get him to talk,” Myron said.
“How?”
“By pushing the right buttons.”
She frowned. “You think he’ll fall for that?”
“Yeah, I do. If I push the right ones.” He picked up the car phone. “I have two separate phones here: the car phone and the cellular in my pocket. I’m going to dial the car phone with the cellular and keep the line open. This way, you can listen in. I want you to take down every word. If something happens to me, go to Win. He’ll know what to do.”
She leaned forward and nodded. The windshield wipers whipped shadows across her face. The rain picked up its tempo, glistening the road in front of them. Myron took the next exit. A sign reading Overpeck Park greeted them a quarter mile later.
“Get down,” he said.
She disappeared from view. He made the right turn. Another sign told him the park was closed. He ignored it and proceeded ahead. It was too dark to see anything, but he knew there were woods on his left and a horse stables straight ahead. He made the first right. The car’s headlights danced across a picnic area, illuminating tables, benches, garbage cans, a swing set, a sliding board. He reached the cul-de-sac and stopped the car. He killed the lights, turned off the engine, and dialed the car’s number on his cellular. He answered with the car’s speakerphone so Audrey could listen in. Then he waited.
For several minutes nothing happened. The rain pelted down on the roof like tiny pebbles. Audrey remained still in the back. Myron put his hands back on the wheel and felt his grip tighten. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest.
Without warning, a beacon of light sliced through the night like a reaper’s scythe. Myron shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted. He slowly opened the car door. The wind had picked up now, spraying the rain into his face. He hefted himself out of the car.
A male voice, distorted by the elements, shouted, “Put your hands up.”
Myron raised them above his head.
“Open your coat. I know you’re carrying a gun in a shoulder holster. Take it out with two fingers and toss it onto the seat of the car.”
Keeping one hand in the air, Myron unbuttoned his coat. He was already drenched from the rain, his hair matted against his forehead. He took out the gun and put it on his car seat.
“Close the door.”
Again Myron obeyed the voice.
“Do you have the money?”
“First I want to see what you brought,” Myron said.
“No.”
“Hey, be reasonable here. I don’t even know what I’m buying.”
A brief hesitation. “Come closer.”
Myron stepped toward the light, ignoring the symbolism. “Whatever you’re selling,” he said, “how do I know you haven’t made copies?”
“You don’t,” the voice said. “You’ll have to trust me.”
“Who else knows about this?”
“I’m the only one,” the voice said, “who is still alive.”
Myron picked up the pace. His hands were still in the air. The wind whipped into his face. His clothes were sopping. “How do I know you won’t talk?”
“Again, you don’t. Your money buys my silence.”
“Until someone ups the bid.”
“No. I’m leaving after this. You won’t hear from me again.” The flashlight flickered. “Please stop.”
Ten feet in front of him stood a man wearing a ski mask. He had a flashlight in one hand and a box in the other. He nodded at Myron and lifted the box. “Here.”
“What is it?”
“First, the money.”
“For all I know, the box is empty.”
“Fine. Go back to your car and leave then.” The man in the ski mask turned around.
“No, wait,” Myron said. “I’ll get the money.”
The ski mask faced Myron again. “No games.”
Myron headed back to the car. He had moved about twenty paces when he heard the gunshots. Three of them. The noises did not startle him. He slowly turned around. The man with the ski mask was down. Audrey was running toward the still body. She was carrying Myron’s gun.
“He was going to kill you,” Audrey cried. “I had to shoot.”
Audrey kept running. When she reached the still body, she ignored it and scooped up the box. Myron slowly walked toward her.
“Open it,” he said.
“Let’s get out of this rain first. The police—”
“Open it.”
She hesitated. No thunder bellowed. No lightning struck.
“You were right before,” Myron said.
Audrey looked puzzled. “About what?”
