“Because I want to use it out of the box.”
There was a taxi stand near the Wal-Mart. Will had all his provisions stuffed into his new shoulder bag and folded himself stiffly into the backseat of a cab. He touched his new pants and was relieved they were still dry.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked.
“Greyhound station. But stop at a liquor store first.”
Frazier got tired of driving around looking for a needle in a haystack. He had his man pull over into a diner. They had Piper’s info circulated to LAPD, including his rental-car tag number. He was suspected of murdering federal agents. He was armed and dangerous, possibly wounded. The police would take this seriously. The hospitals were on alert. All Frazier could do now was outthink him. What was he going to do with the database, assuming he had it? Where was he going to go? He wasn’t going to be able to fly back to New York without getting picked up. Then it hit him.
Spence. Tomorrow was Spence’s DOD.
He lived in Las Vegas. It only made sense that Will was going to meet Spence there to hand off the database. That was probably going to be Bentley’s next stop.
He didn’t have to chase after Piper. All he had to do was go to Las Vegas and wait for him to arrive.
The Ops Center was in his ear. “Piper used his VISA card twenty minutes ago at a Wal-Mart on Crenshaw.”
“What did he buy?” Frazier asked.
“A computer, a bag, some clothes and a shitload of gauze and bandages.”
“All right. We’re heading back to Nevada. I know where he’s going.”
Will purchased his one-way ticket to Las Vegas at the Greyhound station and paid cash. He had a few hours until the departure time but didn’t feel comfortable waiting around the terminal. There was a donut shop across the street. He limped into a booth, with a coffee and an extra paper cup. Under the table he poured himself a half a glass of Johnnie Walker, put six acetaminophens into his mouth, and drank them down in a series of fiery gulps.
The alcohol helped dull the pain or at least distracted him enough to get the new computer out of the box and booted up. There were no wireless networks detected.
“You got WiFi?” he called over to the dull Mexican girl behind the counter, but he might as well have asked her to explain quantum mechanics to him. She stared through him and shrugged.
He plugged in the memory stick and downloaded Shackleton’s database. In a minute, he was prompted for the password and he instantly recalled it: Pythagoras. It had significance to Shackleton, he imagined, but he’d never know what it was.
The searchable database was ready for his queries. There was a God-like feeling to be able to type a name, some identifying information, and find out, in an instant, that person’s date of death. He began with Joe and Mary Lipinski, just to pay them a moment of respect. There they were. October 20.
Then he did a double check on Henry Spence. It was confirmed: October 23rd. Tomorrow.
He typed in a couple of more names and stared at the screen.
He had some idea of what was going to happen tomorrow.
It was after midnight in New Hampshire, but he had to talk to Nancy, even if it meant waking her up and worrying her to distraction. He had no choice. For all he knew, it would be their last conversation.
There were pay phones by the bathrooms. He got a bunch of quarters from the girl and dialed Zeckendorf’s Alton landline. The watchers probably had a complete log of all the prepaids he’d called and would be tapping them all. They wouldn’t have this number. Yet. As the phone rang, he noticed fresh blood seeping through his new pants.
Nancy answered, surprisingly alert.
“It’s me,” he said.
“Will! How are you? Where are you?”
“I’m in L.A.”
She sounded concerned. “And?”
“I’ve got the memory stick, but there’ve been some problems.”
“What happened?”
“They got Dane. There was a bit of a dustup.”
“Will, are you hurt?”
“I’m shot. Left thigh. Missed my nuts.”
“Jesus, Will! You’ve got to get to a hospital!”
“Can’t do that. I’m getting on a bus. I’ve got to get to Spence.”
He could tell she was trying to think. He heard the baby stirring. “Let me call the L.A. office,” she said. “The FBI can pick you up.”
“God, don’t! Frazier’ll be all over that. He’ll be monitoring the local chatter. I’m on my own. I’ll make it.”
“You don’t sound good.”
“I’ve got a confession to make.”
“What?”
“I bought a bottle of scotch. Nancy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you mad at me?”
“I’m always mad at you.”
“I mean really mad.”
“Will, I love you.”
“I’ve been nothing but trouble.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I want to be able to take care of you and Philly in 2027.”
“You will, honey. I know you will.”
Chapter 37
If the alternator on the L.A. to Las Vegas Greyhound bus hadn’t given out, the next day might have ended differently. Such was the nature of predestination and fate. One variable influencing another, influencing another in an infinitely complex daisy chain. Instead of leaving L.A. at ten thirty the night before, the bus didn’t pull out of the terminal until four hours later.
Will suckled at his bottle for comfort for most of the six-hour trip through the desert night, dozing when he got numb enough. He had half the rear to himself. Most of his fellow passengers had bailed out for a later bus. There were only a few diehards who had hung in and waited for the repairs, and people who took the bus to Las Vegas in the middle of the night tended to leave each other alone.
Periodically, he visited the restroom to stuff more gauze into the wound and douse it with iodine. But he was still bleeding and getting weaker by the hour.
He awoke in the tinted glare of the morning, in pain, with a dull headache and a dry mouth. He was shivering, and he clutched his jacket to his neck for warmth. The terrain outside the window was flat, brown, and scrubby. He wished the air-conditioning would fail and the temperature would equilibrate to the desert heat. Infection was probably setting in.
The last hour of the journey was an ordeal. He endured nausea and pain and spasms of teeth-chattering chills, which he fought by stiffening his joints in anger. It was going to take sheer determination to finish the job. If he gave in to the advancing infirmity, Frazier would win. He refused to let that happen. He concentrated on Nancy and his son. An image of Philly breast-feeding while she dreamily looked out their apartment window settled into his mind. Then he found himself laughing when the image was replaced by an image of Spence’s huge RV.
“I want that bus,” he cackled out loud.
Through the green-tinted windows, Las Vegas appeared in the distance, rising out of the flat plain, crystalline, like the Emerald City. He pulled himself up for one more bandage change. The fellow who cleaned the
