‘I don’t want…’ Luke stopped.
‘What, son?’ Henry didn’t often call him son. Only when he was worried about Luke.
‘I don’t want a pity job offer, Henry. Just because you made a promise to Mom.’
‘Good, because pity doesn’t play with me. You’ve done brilliant work for me, Luke, on researching the, um, Night Road, as you charmingly call it. But I would never offer you a career out of pity for you. I respect you and my company far too much.’
Nice, Luke thought, how does that shoe taste? Your one family member offers you a job and you manage to insult him. ‘I didn’t mean that. I know you’re serious.’ Luke cleared his throat and his stomach gave a nervous lurch. ‘Yes. I’ll take the job.’
A surprising relief lit Henry’s eyes. ‘You’ve made me happy. And proud. Us working together, it’ll be, you know, cool.’
Luke couldn’t resist a smile. Henry’s definition of cool was singular. Monographs on political economics, treatises of the history of terrorism, all qualified as Henry cool. And maybe it would make their relationship easier… more adult. He wouldn’t be seen as just a kid any more. ‘You’re right. It’ll be cool.’
Henry did a poor job of keeping the happiness from spreading across his face. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, and we’ll get the paperwork started.’
‘Thanks, Henry.’
‘Go home and get some sleep. Stay clear of the Night Road for a while. Hang out in the sunshine.’
‘I’ll miss shaking the tree and seeing the rotten fruit fall.’
‘You and me, we’re going to change the world.’
‘Tall order.’
‘We can change the world. Trust me.’ And then Henry shook his hand, gave him an awkward hug. Luke hugged him back. Then Henry turned and joined the security line.
Luke walked back out into the glare of the afternoon and headed toward the parking garage.
We’re going to change the world, Henry said. At least he didn’t lack for ambition.
Luke stopped at the edge of the parking garage, trying to remember where he’d left his BMW.
‘Luke, hey, how’s it going?’ A heavy arm went around his shoulder. A man’s face – thirtyish, brown-haired, a crooked, nervous smile – was close to his. Too close. Luke started to pull back.
A metal object darted into the small of his back.
‘Don’t yell, Luke. Don’t run. You have a very large gun against your spine. Can you stay calm for me?’ The man had pulled Luke close, so he could whisper in his ear. He was dressed in an expensive pinstripe suit, a conservative navy tie. His face was a little fleshy and soft; he did not look like a man who routinely carried a gun. Luke could smell his mint-drenched breath, his nervous sweat.
‘Don’t-’
The man pressed the gun harder into Luke’s back. Luke hushed. He could not remember how to breathe. Not with a gun in his back, against his spine, up under his jacket. This couldn’t be possible. It wasn’t happening.
‘You parked in row H. Let’s go. Easy. Stay calm.’
‘Take the keys. Just take them.’ Luke found his voice. He held up the BMW keys with a tremble. Panic swept through him. That was what you were supposed to do; just let them have the car. The car could be replaced.
‘No, you keep the keys, Luke. You’re driving.’
‘What do you-’
‘We’ve got places to go, people to see.’ He steered Luke toward row H. ‘It’ll all be fine.’
A family, young mom and dad, two daughters maybe six and four, approached them from a minivan. The younger girl was singing loudly off-key, dancing in the rows.
‘I’ll make you a deal,’ the man hissed. ‘You yell, you run, and I’ll shoot all four of them in the head. Be good and they live.’
This cannot be happening to me. Luke made his mouth a tight thin line. His skin prickled away from the gun’s barrel. He tried not to look at the parents’ faces while the girl mangled her tune with off-key gusto. He just kept walking.
Five feet away from the family now, and the man with the gun said, in a calm, business-like voice: ‘So, what I need for you to do when we get back to the office is to review all the accounts…’
‘Yes,’ Luke managed to say. ‘I understand.’ Every fiber in him wanted to run, to get away. But the family. Jesus. He couldn’t risk their lives.
The oldest girl, moving away from her sister’s annoying singing as it echoed in the concrete garage, met Luke’s eyes.
She smiled, and they moved past, the mother chiding the youngest, ‘Emma, okay, enough with the singing. Mommy’s getting a three-pill headache.’
‘Well done,’ the man hissed into Luke’s ear. ‘We’re going to get into your car. Fight or yell and I’ll shoot that nice dad dead.’ Luke heard a click in the man’s throat as he swallowed.
‘The car’s yours, just take it, please…’
‘Do as you’re told.’ He forced Luke to enter the BMW from the passenger side, awkwardly scooting across the gearshift, the gun firmly planted in his back. Luke settled into the seat and the man closed the passenger door.
‘What the hell do you want? Please just let me go…’
‘Drive. Don’t draw attention to us, or I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill whoever notices us.’ He pulled out a steel knife from a holster under his coat. The edge looked brutally sharp. Luke’s throat turned to sand. ‘You see? It’s worse than a gun. I can hurt you and keep you alive to hurt some more. Start the engine.’
Luke, hands shaking, breath coming in hollow gulps, obeyed. He told himself to stay calm. He thought of those long weeks he’d spent on his own, fourteen years old, running away from his grief, hiding from the police, walking along the back roads, hitching rides, desperate to get from Washington, D.C. to Cape Hatteras. To the beginning of the long stretch of ocean where his father had been lost. He’d seen knives and guns then, once, and he’d gotten away. He could get away again. The key was to wait for the right moment.
‘Head out. Say nothing to the attendant.’
Luke backed out of the parking space, drove out of the garage, blinking at the sunlight. Two of the tollbooths were open; it was mid-afternoon, the rush of late-day flights not descending yet.
‘Here’s money for your parking,’ the man said. ‘My treat.’ He stuck a five-dollar bill under Luke’s nose and the money trembled slightly.
He’s scared, too, Luke realized and the thought did not comfort. A panicked man with a gun and a knife was more frightening than an icy calm kidnapper.
Luke closed his fist around the money, powered down the window.
‘Your ticket, sir?’ the attendant asked. He was a big kid, college age, dark hair cut in a burr, a wide friendly smile.
Luke dug into the pocket of his coat and felt the knife nestle into his ribs, where the attendant couldn’t see it. He yanked the ticket from his pocket, handed it to the attendant with the crushed fiver.
The attendant returned his change in ones. ‘You all right, sir?’
Most people would never notice. Luke heard himself say, ‘Airsick. Rough flight.’ He sounded unsteady.
‘Feel better.’ The wooden gate rose and he drove forward.
The bite of the knife went through his shirt and he nearly drove off the road. ‘Do you think I’m stupid, Luke? Do you? Were you trying to make him remember you?’
Luke winced at the sharp pain. The knife withdrew from denting his flesh and he now felt the barest trickle of blood ease along his ribs. ‘No, I didn’t mean anything, I did what you asked…’
‘You just paid for short-term parking but you complain of a rough flight. Flyers don’t park in short-term. You tried to stick in his memory. For when he talks to the police.’
Luke flinched, then put his eyes back to the road. ‘I didn’t know what to say. You cut me… are you crazy?’
‘I’ll make you a deal.’ This was apparently the guy’s favorite phrase. ‘You cause trouble and I’ll cut your stomach open and you can see what your guts look like. Do you understand?’
‘Yes. I understand.’
‘Exit the airport. Head east on Highway 71.’
‘Look, seriously, I didn’t know what to say…’
