by Tim Green
Graham felt as though he’d been struck with a baseball bat in the shoulder. The impact of the bullet spun him around and the.38 clattered to the street. He kept going, so scared now that he felt a warm rush down the inside of his leg and found one corner of his brain hoping that it was pee instead of blood. At the top of the hill he saw the decrepit tavern and heard a gust of laughter burst from his throat as though it were all just a goofy dream. The next shot sent him flying forward, shattering his hip bone and making him scream. He spun off the sidewalk and into the street, slamming facedown into the gritty pavement, tasting small stones.
The whine of an engine came at him like another bullet, up the hill, tires screeching as it skidded to a stop beside him and filling the air with the smell of burned rubber. Graham covered his head, his mind fresh with the vision of the Suburban that brought Ralph to his end. He heard the door fly open and squeezed his eyes tight.
“Hurry up and get the fuck in!”
Graham blinked and raised his head. A rusty maroon Buick with a white ragtop sat belching fumes from a broken pipe. A dark figure sat in the driver’s seat, barely illuminated in the glow of the dashboard lights. Gunfire erupted again and a slug whacked the open car door beside his head.
In a surge of adrenaline, Graham scrabbled up into the car, dragging his ass in with the strength of his arms and chest. The gunfire continued, and with the door hanging open the driver mashed the gas pedal and they took off over the hill. A bullet smashed through the back glass and punched a hole in the radio, sending out a small spray of sparks. The man beside him whooped with something other than fear. The car swerved, glancing a telephone pole that slammed the wild door shut.
Graham cowered in the seat with his head covered. Still they raced on out of town and then swerving wildly down country roads until they came to a sudden stop. Graham raised his head, peeking over the seat into the empty night.
“They’re gone,” he said.
The driver chuckled softly and Graham sat back against the door, the pain in his hip and shoulder now coming back full force.
“Jesus,” Graham said, making out the features of the man in the shadows, his heart plunging. “Dwayne.”
“Never expected to see someone so repulsive and so utterly sick, did you?” Dwayne said, his smile glowing in the dashboard lights, his breath growing heavy. “That’s what you said about me, right? On TV? For everybody to hear?”
Graham turned and grabbed for the handle to his door, his fingers searching but finding only the stem of where the handle had once been. Dwayne laughed, showing him the handle before dropping it to the floor between his legs.
Graham turned to attack and saw from the corner of his eye Dwayne swinging a short length of pipe. Graham collapsed, faceup on the front seat, his eyes open and seeing, but unable to move.
“You got a pretty face,” Dwayne said softly.
70
THE WEATHER’S NICE,” Jake said. “Would you like to walk to dinner? We could go through the park.”
“That would be nice,” she said, stepping out of the network building and onto the sidewalk.
New York City bustled with the rush-hour crowd. They turned down a side street and crossed Central Park West. Jake led her through a twisting maze of paths, deep into the trees. Wrought-iron lampposts were the only thing that gave away their location. Otherwise, she could have been deep in a north Texas forest. They climbed steadily uphill and Casey listened to the twittering of various birds disturb the soft rustle of leaves. After another turn, they began to see other couples and families with small children and the woods became gardens and carefully cut shrubs until the path opened up on the stone outlook of Belvedere Castle.
They climbed the steps and stood with their hands braced atop the ramparts, looking out over the treetops and the water and the green fields in the distance.
“They found him,” Jake said. “I didn’t know when I should tell you, and I feel bad saying this, but I didn’t want to upset you before the interview. I know that sounds kind of selfish.”
Something gripped Casey’s insides.
“Graham?” she asked, feeling she’d had a hand in his disappearance, even though she hadn’t been able to think of a way other than going to Niko Todora to set things right.
“Well, not him, no,” Jake said. “Dwayne.”
“But not Robert,” she said.
Jake took a deep breath and let it out slow. “No, but Dwayne was wearing his clothes. The boots and some old underwear. There was some blood.”
“Holy shit,” Casey said.
“I know,” Jake said. “Part of you says the guy deserved it.”
“No one-”
“I know,” Jake said, “no one deserves that, but that’s easy to say now that everything worked out for us. If he had his way, you and I would have been flushed.”
Casey nodded. “How long is that new contract you signed?”
Jake only chuckled.
“Right,” she said, “and I’ve got enough money pouring into the clinic now that I said no to Lifetime for a sequel, so I get what you mean. It’s easier to have convictions when things are going your way.”
Jake considered the view and her words seemed to settle over them and melt into the slanting yellow sunlight that fell in thick beams across the scene below.
“So,” he finally said, “dinner?”
“Of course,” she said.
“And afterward?”
“Let’s not make any plans,” she said, taking his hand and turning to go, “let’s just see what happens.”
“Because you like to live on the wild side,” Jake said, giving her hand a squeeze as they strolled down the path.
“No more wild side,” Casey said, shaking her head. “Enough. I’ve had three lifetimes of excitement, pun intended.”
They walked in silence until they came to the Bow Bridge.
“Just settle down to a quiet legal practice, helping to serve up justice to the underprivileged, nothing more, nothing less, right?” Jake said, their footsteps falling hollow on the wooden span.
Casey stopped and looked at his mischievous smile.
Almost indignant, she said, “Yes.”
“I don’t believe it.”
SPECIAL THANKS TO:
Billy Fitzpatrick, Tim McCarthy, and Gerry Stack
Tim Green
***
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