That didn’t go too well, so I try another approach. “You and Marcus will be there.”
“I guess . . . ,” she says uncertainly. “But there will be a wall between us. If anything goes wrong, if you suspect anything, you holler as loud as you can.”
“I will. I promise.”
She leans over and kisses me. “Good night, Andy.”
She then rolls over to go to sleep, clearly playing hard to get. “You know,” I say, “men can relax themselves by making love the night before they go into battle.”
“Good for them. Good night, Andy.”
“Good night.”
Within seconds, I can tell by her breathing that she’s already asleep. I guess women deal with impending battle differently.
Laurie and Marcus are on an eight A.M. flight the next morning, and I spend the hours before my three P.M. flight hanging out with Tara. I’m a little nervous, not too bad, and being with Tara calms me even more.
I get to the airport with plenty of time to spare, but I find myself sitting in coach next to a fat woman with a baby. The daily double of annoying. I had always said that if I ever became rich I still wouldn’t fly first-class, that the much higher fare is a total rip-off. Now that I am rich, I think it’s time to reassess my position.
I’ve checked a bag, since it seemed much easier than dragging it through security as a carry-on. When we land, I go to baggage claim, where the limo driver I had arranged for is waiting for me with a sign bearing my name. Wealth does have its privileges.
We get the bag and are in the car within fifteen minutes. I tell the limo driver the name of the hotel, and we’re off.
“Have a good flight, Mr. Carpenter?”
I nod, since he’s looking at me through the mirror. “Not bad, if you don’t count the fat woman and the baby.”
He laughs. “One of those, huh?”
“One of those.”
I’ve never been to Cleveland before, but the little I’ve seen so far is unimpressive, so I turn to my notes, trying to anticipate the conversation with Eliot. My chances of leading him into an admission are small, and I’m only going to have the one chance. I’ve got to take my best shot.
I feel the car pulling into the right lane, apparently to make a right turn. I look up, and my first impression is that we don’t appear to be heading toward the city. Suddenly, the door next to me is jerked open and another man gets in the seat alongside me.
As the automatic door locks shut, the new passenger says, “Hello, Andy.”
“Hello, Eliot,” I say as fear surges through my body. “What are you doing here?”
“The real question is, what are you doing here? Maybe to trip me up? Or blackmail me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about” is the lame line I come up with. I’m finding that the petrified mind does not think too clearly.
“You’re not here to talk about Walter Castle, that’s for sure.”
My mind processes the fact that no matter what he says, it’s not going to help, because I’m not yet wearing the wire. But even if I were, it wouldn’t help me, because Laurie and Marcus would have no way of knowing where I am. I look toward the limo driver, who’s listening but not reacting; obviously, he’s with Eliot.
“How did you find out about Tina, Andy? How did you know she was my sister?”
“Who’s Tina? Come on, Eliot, I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like it.”
He laughs. “It’s only going to get worse, I assure you. You see, here’s your mistake, Andy. I am hot shit in this town; I know everything there is to know. So when you go to my hometown newspaper to get stories about Tina, then I know what you know. Get it? So don’t insult me with any more of your bullshit.”
“The problem for you is that the cops know where I am and why.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so; this doesn’t feel like a police operation. I think you’re the Lone Ranger here, Andy.” He laughs again. “Except you forgot your silver bullets.”
I look out the window and see that we’re in the countryside, a run-down area of trailer homes and poorly maintained farms. This is where I’m going to die. The fear is so palpable that I am in danger of throwing up.
“There’s a record of where I am. They’ll piece things together.”
He points to the limo driver. “He looks like you, doesn’t he, Andy? He’s going to fly back on your ticket. His fellow passengers won’t look closely enough; they’ll say it was you. So you obviously got killed when you got back home.”
The car pulls to a stop near what look like run-down warehouses, maybe farm storage buildings, I can’t tell. For the life of me, and I mean that literally, I can’t figure out what to do.
“Get out, Andy.”
The door locks pop up, allowing me to open the door. I get out, then notice that the driver is already out and is pointing his gun at me. Eliot gets out after me.
My back is to an open field, and I steal a glance at it to judge whether I’d have any chance making a break for it.
Eliot reads my mind. “Think you can make it, Andy? There’s a lot of open space.”
I can hear the driver chuckling as I consider it. “I don’t think so,” I say. “I’d rather we could talk this out.”
“Be serious,” he says, then points to the field. “Go on, I’ll give you a five-second head start.”
I look at the field again. “No,” I say, and then I take off running. I move in a ridiculous zigzag pattern, hoping to make them miss. Ray Charles couldn’t miss from this distance.
I’m running, cringing, and audibly moaning all at the same time, waiting for the burst of fire that will cut me down. All I hear behind me is Eliot laughing, as he must be slowly raising his gun.
A burst of gunfire crackles in the air, and I tense, bracing for the metal that will tear into my body. I don’t feel anything, and for one bizarre moment I try to figure out which is faster, the speed of sound or the speed of a bullet.
I keep running as fast as I can. If they missed once, they can miss again. But I don’t hear any more firing. I’m not yet confident; there is no reason to think they’ve let me off the hook. But as long as I’m alive, I’m going to do all I can to stay that way.
“Hey, asshole, get back here!”
The voice isn’t Eliot’s but it sounds familiar. I continue running but turn at an angle where I can quickly look back to where the car is.
There are now two cars there, two men standing, and two lying on the ground. One of the guys on the ground is dressed like Eliot. I can’t tell who the two guys standing are, but they called me “asshole,” so they must know me. If they wanted to kill me, they could have easily done so already, so I hesitantly walk back toward them.
As I get closer, I can see that the other man on the ground is the limo driver. The two standing are Gorilla and Driver, the men who work for Petrone who took Marcus and me to his house that night.
“You saved my life,” I say.
“No shit,” says Driver.
“Petrone sent you,” I say.
“No shit.”
“How did you know I was here?”
Driver shrugs. “We didn’t. We were after him.” He points to the very dead Eliot.
“How did Petrone know about him?” I ask. Getting information out of Driver is not the easiest thing in the world.
“Your pain-in-the-ass friend.”
I realize immediately whom he is talking about. “Vince.”
“No shit.”
Driver offers me a ride back, and we wait while Gorilla digs an enormous grave to put the two bodies in. He does so with a minimum of effort; Gorilla is one strong guy.
“You might want to avoid mentioning this to anyone,” says Driver. “Or he’ll be digging a hole for you.”
