“There he is,” Jack said, nodding at Cobb.
The security guy said, “Over there, in the leather jacket?”
“That’s him.”
“Mr. Bellmore, do me a favor, wait here.”
Jack waited till the security guy was halfway to Cobb, turned and walked down a hallway, through the kitchen and out a door that led to an alley. Two Asian men in burgundy aprons and smoking cigarettes glanced at him but didn’t say anything. He walked to Seventh Avenue, looking around, making sure he wasn’t followed, and hailed a cab.
Cobb saw Jack McCann talking to a big guy in a blazer, had security written all over him, and now Mr. Security was coming across the lobby, moving toward him. Cobb was surprised, didn’t think Jack would play it this way.
Up close, he looked even bigger, the size of an NFL linebacker. “Sir, I’m with hotel security. I’d like to have a word with you. Would you come with me, please?”
Cobb relaxed, in control, folded the newspaper and placed it on the couch next to him. “What’s this all about?”
“Sir, are you a guest in the hotel?”
“No. I’m here visiting one. Just waiting for him to come down.”
“What’s the guest’s name?”
“Charlie Bellmore.”
“Mr. Bellmore said you were harassing him.”
Cobb gave him a big good ole boy grin. “He’s putting you on. See, Charlie’s a practical joker.”
“Sir, have you been drinking?”
“No, I have not. Like I said, Charlie’s a kidder. He goes to great lengths to embarrass his friends.”
The security man looked like he was being conned. “Then you won’t mind having a word with Mr. Bellmore, so we can clear this up.”
Cobb had taken his eye off Jack for a few seconds, and when he looked again, Jack was gone. “No problem. Let’s go.”
When they got to the reception counter, the security man looked around and said, “I asked Mr. Bellmore to wait right here.”
“Maybe he’s in the bar,” Cobb said. Although he knew Jack was long gone.
The security man said something to the female clerk behind the counter.
She shook her head.
“Try his room, will you?”
She punched in a number. Cobb could hear it ringing. The woman shook her head again and put the phone down.
The security man moved to the bar area, which opened to the lobby. There were only three tables occupied. He came back and said, “Sir, I owe you an apology. It seems Mr. Bellmore was having a little fun at my expense.”
“He is convincing, isn’t he? That’s why the gag works so well.”
“I’m going to have a word with him, I can tell you that.”
“I’d give him hell,” Cobb said.
“Oh, you can count on it.”
Cobb walked out of the hotel, looked across the street, and saw Ruben in his car, sitting at the curb in a no-parking zone. He crossed over and got in the front passenger seat. Ruben glanced at him, said, “Where’s he at?”
Jack checked in to the Omni on East 52nd Street with Chuck Bellmore’s American Express card and no luggage. “The airline lost it,” he told the Omni receptionist, who didn’t react or say, That’s too bad, or say, When the bag arrives, I’ll have it sent up. She handed him a keycard and pointed to the elevators.
He’d left his suitcase at the Michelangelo, so he didn’t have clothes or toiletries. He couldn’t have taken the elevator carrying a suitcase with the security guy. It wouldn’t have looked right, and after seeing Duane Cobb in the lobby, he wouldn’t have had time to go up and get it.
Staring out the window at Madison Avenue, he called Sculley’s office.
“Jesus, where are you?”
“Fifty-Second and Madison. Know what I’m talking about?”
“I’ll meet you in the bar in half an hour.”
Jack was at a table in the far corner of the room when Sculley came in and signaled him. Sculley was sitting before Jack noticed his swollen jaw. “Jesus, what the hell happened?”
“I had a visitor last night. Somebody broke in, came through the French doors in back, triggered the alarm. The police called. I got up, went in the bathroom, there was a guy standing there. He hit me with something, knocked me out. Ilene said she screamed and he ran downstairs. The police came in the house responding to the alarm, and surprised him, chased him, but he got away. They checked the garage and the yard but didn’t find him. They took me to the hospital, three thirty in the morning. I had my jaw X-rayed. It’s bruised but it’s not broken. Ilene’s a basket case, won’t go in the house, went to stay with her parents in Syracuse for a few days.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t go back there either. Stay in your apartment in the city, and watch yourself. I don’t think they’re going to bother you again, but why take the risk?”
A waitress walked up to the table, and they ordered drinks. A Stella for Jack and a Macallan’s ten-year-old with a couple ice cubes for Sculley.
“The only thing missing is my cell phone. Why take someone’s cell phone?”
“See who you’ve been calling and who’s been calling you. Sure there weren’t two of them?”
“I don’t know how many there were. I was unconscious.”
“What did the guy in the bathroom look like?”
“I only saw him for a second. Ilene said she thought he had dark hair and was about my height.”
“Sounds like Duane Cobb. His partner’s an ex-fighter named Ruben Diaz. I’ll bet they came looking for me. Cobb probably knows I called you the morning of nine-eleven, so it must’ve been important.”
“He thinks you’re alive?”
“He doesn’t think it; he knows it. Cobb came to the hotel, saw me in the lobby, followed me upstairs, and knocked on my door.”
Sculley picked up a water glass and held it against his swollen jaw, eyes watering in pain.
“You okay?”
“I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
The waitress brought their drinks and put them on the table. Sculley picked up the whiskey, took a sip, closed his eyes and made a face.
Jack said, “Vicki’s dead.”
Sculley stared at him.
“The killer came to her apartment and shot her, executed her. I watched it and didn’t do anything.”
Sculley frowned. “What the hell were you going to do?”
“The shooter came after me. I went down the fire escape and got away.”
“Was it the two who are after you?”
“No, but they all work for Frank DiCicco, a Mafia underboss. Ever heard of Frankie Cheech?”
“What’s his interest in you?”
“I owe him money.”
“He’s the loan shark?”
Jack nodded.
“How did Vicki get in debt to a loan shark?”
“She played high-stakes poker, a private game, got in over her head.”
“How much over her head?”
“Originally it was a couple hundred grand.” Jack drank his beer. “But the debt kept multiplying.”
“Why didn’t you talk to her?”
“I didn’t know about it. She had ten days to pay the original debt. She couldn’t come up with the money, and the meter kept spinning.”
“This girl you had just met and barely knew asked you to bail her out? Come on.”
“She didn’t ask. She told me what happened, and I offered.”
“Why?”
“I liked her, and I didn’t want anything to happen to her. By the time I got involved, the debt had spun out of control. They were taking advantage of Vicki.”
“I think they were taking advantage of you.”
“It crossed my mind but not till later.” Jack paused. “I set up a meeting with Vincent Gallo, who ran the poker room, told him I was assuming Vicki’s debt and to leave her alone.”
“You had that kind of money after buying the house?”
“Not even close. I
cashed in most of our savings, which wasn’t much. Then I decided to borrow the full amount from an elderly client who had given me power of attorney.”
“Are you out of your mind? If the loan shark doesn’t get you, the SEC will.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I see myself going to prison, and when I get out, Frankie Cheech will be waiting.”
“Jesus.” Sculley shook his head, sipped his drink, and made a face. “How long will it take Sterns and Morrison to find out?”
“They already know. My boss had been trying to reach me for a couple days before nine-eleven, and called again just before the first plane hit, wanted me to come up to his office on the ninety-fourth floor. I’m sure he was going to fire me on the spot.” Jack took a drink of beer. “I was going to give Cobb and Ruben Diaz a cashier’s check that morning.”
“What did you tell Diane?”
“I didn’t tell her anything. Nine-eleven happened, and I thought, This is my way out.”
Sculley sipped his whiskey. “You still have the money?”
Jack nodded.
“Why don’t you give it to them.”
“You think they’re going to forget what’s happened, take it, and wish me good luck?”
“Then you’re going to be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”
“I already am.”
“They’re not going to stop till they find you. If you’re not worried, you should be.” Sculley sipped his whiskey. “Am I getting through to you?”
“Why do you think I’m leaving?”
“What about Diane? Don’t you feel anything for her? You’ve put her in a tough situation.”
“I feel bad, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Call her, tell her you’re alive, tell her what happened.”
“And then what?”
TWENTY
That evening, Jack took a taxi to the airport and bought a one-way ticket to Fort Lauderdale in the name Richard Keefer, showed his new driver’s license to the ticket agent, and paid in cash. He waited at the gate thinking about Diane, feeling guilty after talking to Sculley, picturing her in the big house alone and afraid. There was nothing he could do. They’d threaten her, but he knew they wouldn’t hurt her. She would just have to get through it.
The plane landed at nine thirty. As they taxied to the gate, the pilot announced that the temperature was seventy-eight degrees. He walked out of the terminal and felt the warm, humid air. Jack had the new driver’s license, but no credit cards to go with it. He had Chuck Bellmore’s American Express and license, but he and Chuck looked nothing alike.
He took a cab to Pompano Beach and got out at Atlantic Boulevard and A1A. He walked toward the flashing neon motel signs and stopped at the Sands, a beige two-story building on the beach, with a swimming pool behind it. Beyond the pool he could see the Atlantic Ocean. The white Sands sign flashed on and off, and under it a smaller sign said Vacancy. He checked in and went to bed.
Jack was getting dressed, fitting cufflinks through holes in the cuffs, buttoning the shirt and tying the bow tie, finally doing a passable job on the fourth attempt. He sipped a Stoli and tonic, trying to settle his nerves. He had been jittery all day, which somehow seemed fitting, since he was getting married in an hour. He wasn’t worried that he’d made the wrong choice in a wife. He had not been attracted to another girl since he’d met Diane two years earlier. What might’ve thrown him off a little, he was going into uncharted territory. Jack had never lived with a woman. Sure, they had spent part of every week together, but he could go back to his place and she to hers. After today, there was nowhere to go.
He had met Diane Jackson at Joe Sculley’s wedding. Ilene, the girl Joe was marrying, and Diane were friends. Even before the wedding, Sculley had bugged Jack about asking her out. “I’m telling you she’s something. Trust me, will you? You’re going to thank me.”
And then he saw Diane in the church before Joe and Ilene’s ceremony, and he felt something in his gut. Jack and Diane were paired during the wedding, walked down the aisle together, sat next to each other at dinner. Jack couldn’t believe he had put her off for so long, although it was more about not trusting Sculley’s taste in women.
On their first date, Jack picked Diane up at her apartment and took her to a bar. They had drinks and dinner, talked about books and movies. Jack suggested seeing Wall Street, a midnight show at a multiplex not far from where they were. On the way to the theater, he stopped and bought a bottle of cabernet, a couple plastic cups, and a corkscrew. They sat in the last row so no one could see them drinking. They finished the bottle, and Diane started nodding off. That was the last thing Jack remembered. He woke up first. The screen was black, the lights were on, the theater was empty. He looked at his watch and woke Diane. She looked around and said, “Where is everybody?”
“Gone. It’s four in the morning.”
“What? Why didn’t someone wake us up?”
“Good question.” They got up and went in the lobby. The lights were on but no one was there. “Let’s get out of here.” The doors they had entered four hours earlier were now chained from the inside. He looked out at the dark empty parking lot and saw his car. Now what?
Diane said, “Should we call the police?”
“I left my phone in the car.”
“We’ll use the pay phone. Do you have any change?”
Jack dug his hands in his pockets and shook his head. He turned, scanning the lobby, walked over to a furniture grouping, and picked up a leather chair with a metal frame that weighed as much as a bag of cement. He dragged it to the doors.
“What’re you going to do?”
He picked up the chair and swung it into a floor-to-ceiling window flanking one of the double doors. The chair exploded through the glass and landed outside the building. Jack kicked out shards until the opening was big enough to fit through, and they ran to the car, jumped in, looked at each other, and started laughing.
They were inseparable after that, Jack telling Diane it was the best first date he had ever been on, and two years later, they got married.
Jack remembered how good Diane had looked in church, coming down the aisle, escorted by her father, the ex-cop who’d struck it rich running a successful home security company. He remembered scenes from the reception, his drunk groomsmen running down the first fairway at ultraconservative Darien Country Club, hoping Diane’s father didn’t get put on probation for sponsoring boorish behavior.
He remembered the same group, later, jumping off the diving board into the pool in their rented tuxes. Diane’s father told Jack it was okay to shake things up, give the country club rule-followers something to talk about.
They honeymooned in Tahiti, an island off the coast named Moorea. The hotel rooms were grass-roof huts built over the turquoise water. He and Diane were in love; all he wanted to do was touch her and kiss her.
Jack now felt the hot sun on his face and opened his eyes, blinking in the bright glare, forgetting for an instant he was in a motel room in Florida, morning sun streaming through the open slats in the blinds.
He turned on the shower and stood under the water. He dried off and put on the same clothes he had worn for the past two days. He had an ocean view and stood at the window, looking out at the waves crashing on shore, wondering what he was going to do. After all that had happened, coming to southern Florida seemed like a good idea. He knew the area and had everything he needed to start over, start his new life. There were a couple of problems he would have to take care of first: getting a credit card in his new name, then renting a car and finding a place to live. He also needed a cell phone and clothes.
First he went to the post office and got a post office box. You had to have an address to get a credit card. Then he went to the SunTrust Bank he had passed earlier, opened an account with three grand he’d withdrawn a few days before 9/11, and filled out an application for a Visa. Darlene, the assistant manager, said it usually took
a few days, but she could expedite the proceedings because he opened the savings account with cash money.
“Are you new in town, Mr. Keefer?”
“I arrived yesterday.”
“You’re gonna love it here,” Darlene said, smiling. “I’ll tell you that. The Arbor Day Foundation named Pompano a Tree City USA community for its commitment to forestry for the fifteenth year in a row, but don’t quote me.”
“No kidding,” Jack said, already bored. “That’s wonderful.”
“And don’t miss Music Under the Stars the second Friday of every month.” Darlene paused. “Do you like shells, Mr. Keefer?”
Jack gave a fake smile, not sure where she was going with this.
“You have to see the Broward Shell Show. It’s at the Emma Lou Olsen Civic Center—all these super-talented shell crafters showing off their works of art. And there’s way more than that too.”
Jack got out of there as fast as he could, worn out from small talk.
There was a shopping center across the street. He walked through the parking lot and moved along the concourse passing storefronts, stopped at a men’s clothing store that had outfits for old-timers in the window, mannequins decked out in casual resort wear. He went in and bought a couple pairs of shorts, four golf shirts in assorted colors, a bathing suit, sandals, socks, and underwear.
At Pompano Drugs, he bought a toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, razors and shaving cream, a beach towel, tanning lotion, and sunglasses. He took everything back to the motel, shaved, brushed his teeth, and changed into the bathing suit. Now he stood in front of the medicine cabinet mirror, looking at his pale chest and stomach, imagining Diane in the room, hearing her say, “Jack, how could you do this to me? You were my rock.”
TWENTY-ONE
“You were McCann, where would you go?”
“Somewhere warm,” Ruben said.
“That narrows it down.” They were in Cobb’s Toyota parked on Ericson Place across from the apartment building. It was cold out. You could see your breath, and there was frost on the windshield.
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