by Peg Herring
Almost, she reminded herself. We still have to give the guy his life back.
They waited until dusk, ignoring Abrams’ intermittent demands that he be released. When they were sure the parking garage at the county building would be largely deserted, Carter drove Abrams’ car to the top level and backed it into a stall. Robin followed in her car, waiting on the exit ramp one level down. As she’d instructed, Carter walked as far away from the Lincoln as the remote signal would reach and clicked the trunk button. The chirp resonated along the concrete walls, and a metallic clunk followed as the lid lifted. Carter tossed the keys toward the car. Before the sound of metal skittering across the concrete had dissipated, he was sprinting around the corner. Hurrying to Robin’s CRV he climbed in, and they were out of sight seconds after Abrams realized he was a free man.
On the bottom level, Robin let Carter out near the ancient Pontiac he’d left there hours before and led the way back to their apartment building. Parking in her usual space, she turned off the engine and let out a long breath. It was over. They’d gotten away with it.
Or had they? What have you done?
Numbly she climbed out of her car and started for the door, swaying a little as she went. Carter stood on the sidewalk with his back to her, looking up at the plain brick building as if he’d never seen it before. His posture was as upright as always, and his hands hung limp at his sides. Was he thinking that the person he’d called for help had made everything a hundred times worse? That he’d have to leave Cedar now, since she’d added extortion to his original crime. Robin felt as if a damp blanket had dropped over her head, and it was suddenly hard to pull in air. Two people who’d led blameless lives until today had used violence—at least the threat of it—to get money from someone who, though a criminal, was now a victim as well. Carter was no doubt regretting it, as she was.
When he turned toward her, however, he was grinning like a little kid. “That was so cool!”
“Carter—”
“You were awesome, Robin.” He gestured at the bag. “He cheated my mom, but you fixed him.”
“I fixed him, all right.” That was when the world went funny. She felt herself falling. Then she felt nothing.
She came to in Carter’s arms. He held her clumsily, squashing her face into his shoulder as he made measured grunts of exertion. The sensation of climbing told her he was carrying her up the stairs.
“Carter?”
“You fainted, I guess.” He stopped and relaxed his arms enough that she could look up at him. “I thought I’d better get you home before anybody saw you.”
“That was good thinking. You can put me down now.”
He stopped on the landing and set her on her feet, holding his hands on either side of her in case she wasn’t able to stand. “Are you okay?”
“I think so. It’s a delayed reaction to stress. I never know when it’s going to hit.”
“When we get upstairs, you can rest for a while.”
“Yes.” Still woozy, Robin literally pulled herself up the last flight of stairs. On the third floor she opened her apartment door with hands that shook so hard the keys sounded like wind chimes. “Come in.”
He followed her inside, glancing around. “You have a really nice home,” he said, using the good manners he’d obviously been taught.
“I’m glad you like it,” she replied, “because you’re going to have to stay here.”
He turned, his eyes wide. “Why?”
Groping her way to a chair, Robin leaned her weight on the arm and settled her rear on the seat like an old, old woman. Supported by its strength, she counted her fears on her fingers. “Abrams has probably called the police by now. They’ll check the surveillance cameras in the parking garage. The money could be marked. People might have seen you or me or both of us acting suspicious. Abrams knows your name and what you look like. You can’t go anywhere the police can find you, especially not home.”
We’re dead meat.
Carter surprised her with convincing counterarguments, stuttering only a little as he spoke. “Mr. Abrams isn’t g-going to call the police, because you recorded him confessing what he did to Mom. If the police don’t know what happened, there’s no reason they’d look at surveillance tapes. And he didn’t tell anybody to mark the money. We heard him.” He frowned briefly. “He acted like fifty thousand was nothing, didn’t he?”
Humiliation laid a shadow over her worry. She’d taken a huge chance, ruining Carter’s life and possibly her own, for an amount that seemed like a joke to the commissioner. Carter was owed a lot more than she’d figured.
Still, he’ll have money to start over somewhere else.
“Abrams will say he thought we’d kill him unless he said what we wanted to hear,” she told Carter. “Even if he doesn’t go to the police, he could hire someone to find you.”
Carter’s eyes widened. “You mean like a hit man?”
She didn’t really know what Abrams was capable of, but she didn’t want Carter to panic. “If anyone comes here looking for you, I’ll say I don’t know you that well, which is kind of true.”
She expected further discussion, but Carter merely looked around. “I don’t see any video games. Are they in a closet, or should I go get some of mine?”
***
Barney Abrams was still in a foul mood on Monday when he came down to breakfast. After the two morons released him Friday night, he’d sat in the empty parking garage for almost an hour, chewing on his problem. In the end, he decided to continue with his weekend plans rather than explain why he hadn’t. He caught a later train to Atlanta and spent two days and nights at a conference that was little more than an excuse to eat too much, drink too much, and sleep too little. It wasn’t enjoyable, since he stewed about what had happened to him the whole time. Friends made joshing remarks about his distracted manner, but he couldn’t forget the dark space of his car trunk, the smell of the spare tire at his back, and the boldness of the amateur terrorists who’d tricked him, humiliated him, and taken his money.
As he faced a return to the parking ramp where he’d been attacked and abased, Abrams found his anger almost choked him. He forced himself to down the eight crisply-fried links, half-plate of hash browns, and four fluffy eggs his wife set before him. It wouldn’t be good to have the Dragon start asking how much alcohol he’d consumed while he was away.
The pair who’d waylaid him—despite their claim of being a group, he doubted there were more than two—had caught him off guard, which was how they got the better of him. Now they had a record of him admitting impropriety. If it ever became public, he’d claim the confession was obtained under duress, but it was damning, nonetheless. Detail made the story ring true, and the cops could easily find more examples of land parcels his cousin had bought cheap due to Abrams’ knowledge of county business. The old guy in the nursing home who’d been thrilled when a local luminary stopped in to say hello. A landowner desperate for cash who’d been assured Abrams was looking out for his interests. Most of Barney’s victims didn’t even realize they’d been cheated. But if Halkias released the recording, the purpose of the commissioner’s caring visits to select constituents would become clear. He’d lose his seat for sure, and possibly his freedom as well.
Who’d have thought the retard had the ability to cook up a plan and carry it out? Maybe the girl was the brains behind it, but between the two of them, they’d put old Barney in a spot. He’d have to curb his financial shenanigans for a while, though there were more pickings out in Westfield he’d had his eye on. In a sudden burst of anger, Abrams threw his cup across the room, splashing coffee onto the wall and the draperies beside it.
“What happened?” his wife called from the kitchen.
“A little accident,” he replied. “I’ll take care of it.”
She leaned into the doorway, a concerned frown on her plain face. “Did everything go okay in Atlanta?”
“Yeah, fine.”
“You didn’t drink too much,
did you? It messes with your metabolism and you get all out of whack.”
“No, we were too busy working to do much drinking.”
“That’s my Barney. Always wheeling and dealing.”
“It’s what they pay me for.”
“Good for you, hon.” She disappeared again, and the slosh of dishwater in the sink sent his level of irritation even higher. I buy a house with a perfectly good dishwasher. I hire a woman to come in and clean. She does her own dishes, by hand, like it’s still the 1950s.
Drops of coffee dribbled out of the remains of the broken cup and onto the rug. If Halkias shares what he knows, everything I’ve got could drip away, just like that. What am I going to do?
His mind answered the question almost as soon as he formed it. Find them. Stop them.
No one could know why he was looking for Halkias, but once he located him and the girl, he’d find a way to silence them. Then things would get back to normal.
Happy with his plan, Abrams’ mood improved. He even hummed a little tune as he picked up the pieces of the broken cup and tossed them into the garbage.
Chapter Five
To Robin’s surprise, Mink’s forger was neither sleazy nor creepy. Andy was a slightly nerdy-looking college student with sloping shoulders and the squint of someone who spends too much time staring at an electronic screen. On the phone they’d arranged to meet at the university coffee shop. Feeling overly dramatic, Robin arrived in dark glasses and a wig she’d bought for a Halloween party.
The place smelled like pepperoni and had a constant hum of movement. Andy sat at a corner table, looking like a dozen other students there to use the free Wi-Fi, but he wore the Padres ball cap he’d told her to look for. He was open about his sideline, explaining he earned tuition money by providing documents for a select list of clients. “I know it sounds like a bad thing, but if people deserve a new start, guys like Mink send them to me.”
“And you trust them to send only legitimate cases?”
He sensed disbelief in her tone. “The last person I helped was a seventeen-year-old girl whose parents are in a religious cult. They planned to marry her off to the leader, who already had six wives.” His expression revealed what he thought of the parents, the leader, and the cult itself. “I get a few domestic abuse victims and some who hate their lives and want to start over.” He added a warning. “I don’t help if the cops are involved.”
Keeping her tone neutral Robin said, “There are no arrest warrants out for my friend.”
Not yet, anyway.
She’d brought along things Andy requested: three small, clear pictures of Carter’s face, his physical information, and notes on his age and ethnic background. Glancing at the information, Andy chewed his lip. “The guy’s twenty-two and he’s never had a job?”
“He grew up on a farm.” She wondered whether to explain why Carter needed a new identity, but it seemed like one of those less-said-the-better times.
“Does he have skills I can put into his background, so he can get a job somewhere?”
“Um, nothing I know of.” She supposed feeding chickens and planting onions weren’t things one listed on a CV. According to Carter, he’d been home-schooled after second grade because his mother didn’t like how the other kids treated him. “He can read and do basic math. He knows a little about government and he watches a lot of TV, so he is familiar with social issues.” She sorted through what she’d learned about Carter. His knowledge of practical things surprised her. Using a knife from her kitchen drawer, he’d fixed the dripping shower head she’d been bugging the maintenance guy about. Shocked that she didn’t own a hammer, he’d tacked down a loose corner of carpeting with one of her stiletto heels. Was ingenuity something you could put on a résumé?
“Ask about cars or farm machinery and he can tell you anything. Mention Shakespeare and he’ll probably ask who that is.” When Andy just looked at her, Robin raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “He knows a ton about video games. He won’t eat Chinese food because his mom said they use cats instead of chicken.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll see what I can come up with to fill in the gaps.”
An idea occurred to her. “From what I saw, he took great care of his mother in her final days.”
“Okay. We’ll give him a few years’ experience as a private caregiver.” Sliding the envelope into his backpack, Andy rose. “Meet me here at noon in two days and I’ll give you the basic documents. In a week or so he’ll be a new man, with credit cards, a debt history, and all the rest that goes with being an American.”
“Thanks.” Robin fiddled with her fake hair, feeling silly about the distrust that had caused her to wear it.
“No problem.” He waved casually as he walked away, his tablet tucked under one arm.
And it wasn’t. When next they met, Andy gave Robin a driver’s license in the name of Cameron Phillips, along with a believably battered birth certificate and a plastic-encased Social Security card with one corner bent, as if it had been stuffed into a drawer or wallet. “They look real,” she commented.
“As good as, unless you get the FBI involved.” He handed her a slip of paper. “The credit cards should arrive in the mail at this postal box, which I rented in Cameron’s name. He can have stuff forwarded from there to wherever he ends up.” He pointed. “The combination’s on the bottom.”
“You’re amazing.”
He regarded Robin as if deciding whether to say something. “I don’t usually give advice, but here’s what I’ve learned from watching clients either succeed or fail. To be a new person, your guy has to be willing to give up everything in his past. If he collects Fatheads, he has to stop. If he reads the New York Times, he should switch to the Washington Post. He can’t hold onto anything from his past, and that includes you.”
“Me?”
“He’s going to have to give you up, unless you want me to make you a new identity too.” Andy scratched at the back of his neck. “Judging from his photo, he’s quite the specimen, but you’re a good-looking girl. You’ll find someone new once he’s gone.”
The day was chilly, and as she shivered her way to her car, Robin considered Andy’s advice. He was wrong, of course. There was nothing between her and Carter—Cameron, she corrected herself. They’d spent over a week together in her apartment and had hardly touched in passing. Apparently she wasn’t his type, and she’d known for some time that he wasn’t hers.
That didn’t mean Andy’s advice was bad. This new man, Cameron Phillips, had to leave everything behind. After a sheltered life on a farm, could a guy with developmental problems carve out a spot for himself in a place where he knew no one?
“What would I miss?” Carter replied to the question as he examined his new driver’s license. “Mom and me only lived here since November, so I don’t know anyone except you and Mrs. Kane. I missed the farm at first, but they’re going to build a mall on top of it, so I can’t go back there anyhow.”
“But Carter, you’ll never see your friends again.”
“You’re supposed to call me Cameron now, right?” Frowning, he explained, “I only ever had one friend of my own. His name is Jerry, but he moved to California last summer to get into show business.”
“Show business?”
“Yeah.” His eyes remained focused on the screen. “I got a Christmas card. That’s the last I heard of him.”
His cheerful acceptance made Robin wonder if her secret roommate had any idea what his future would be like. Still, she didn’t see any other way to protect him, and besides, a change might be good for him. In a new place, Carter could open up to the world and make friends of his own.
Robin thought for a moment about leaving Cedar herself. She, her mom, and her brother had come here to get away from her abusive father, but even after more than a decade she wasn’t particularly attached to the area. She had friends here, but not close ones, and that was mostly her own fault. Years of hiding secrets – bruises, fears, and actions she
was ashamed of – had put her in the habit of keeping people at arm’s length.
Yes, leaving Cedar was a good idea, she decided after some soul-searching and two glasses of white Zinfandel. Once she got Carter—Cameron—settled somewhere, she’d be done with taking risks and breaking laws. She could start over.
***
Robin was unloading the dishwasher and considering life in Arizona—her third choice in the last few hours—when her brother called to say he had a layover of several hours in Atlanta. Thrilled, she offered to drive over and meet him. Metterino’s Restaurant was Chris’ favorite place to eat in the city, so she planned to take him there and celebrate his twenty-eighth birthday a few days early.
The newly-christened Cameron claimed he’d be fine alone. To herself Robin admitted she could use a break after a week of having a 24/7 guest in her apartment. Not that Cam was intrusive; he played video games, watched TV, and had little to say, though it wasn’t difficult to learn what he thought about things. Cam was completely honest, without concern for anyone’s feelings. Robin learned that she was too skinny (his mother had said it so it must be true), the postman had really bad breath (she’d noticed), and boxers are much more comfortable than briefs because “your boys need room” (way TMI).
Cameron’s lack of concern for his safety was about to give her an ulcer. At least once a day, Robin cautioned him to stay away from the window. Each time, he backed obediently away, saying things like, “I was looking at the trees and birds and stuff.” He missed his evening walks, and Robin wished he could take one, if only to give her a little space.
The problem wasn’t Cam, really, it was Robin herself. Used to being alone, a couple of times she’d almost come out of the bathroom nude after her shower, forgetting she had a roommate. Though Cam avoided her bedroom as if it were a radioactive zone, it was weird living with a relative stranger.
Even weirder was all that cash sitting on her closet floor. Cam urged her to take whatever she needed, and she’d used it to pay Mink’s retainer and Andy’s fee. Those things were for Cam’s benefit though, and she thought of the money as his. Still, she talked herself into taking a few fifties from the bag before she left for Atlanta. Dinner with her brother would run late, so after he went on to Indianapolis, Robin decided she’d spend the night in a motel. Time alone would allow her to think things through, and if she and Cam ended up in prison next week, at least she’d be able to say she benefited once from their ill-gotten gains.
