The Jack Hammer

by Derek Ciccone

  Henson remained, as the door shut behind the two women.

  “I said get out,” Natasha said.

  He slowly walked toward her. When he reached her bedside, he placed his hand softly over her mouth. “I’m not going anywhere, Ms. Kushka. We have a lot to talk about.”

  Chapter 70

  Cam paced the hospital lobby, tensely sipping a cold cup of coffee that would have turned Juan Valdez into a tea drinker.

  What Henson had told them was illogical—nobody could have survived that fiery wreckage, and there hadn’t been one trustworthy sighting since. But inexplicably, Cam had always felt his father’s presence. It was like he was there, watching over him—and not just the albatross of his legacy that had always hung over them. The most vivid experience was during one of his college baseball games when he swore he saw his father in the crowd. But now it didn’t seem so crazy.

  He shook the cobwebs out, annoyed that he let Henson plant one of his conspiracy seeds in his head. It wasn’t crazy—it was certifiably nuts.

  “Are you okay?” Sam O’Connell asked him, looking up from the month old People magazine she was reading, with Brett Modino on the cover. Anna and Henson were in Natasha’s room, along with her mother, so Cam and Sam were the only ones left in the lobby.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  At least as fine as a guy could be on the day of his brother’s funeral, and after being told that his dead father might have been behind it.

  She looked skeptical, but returned to her magazine.

  He continued to stare at her—there was something about Sam that he couldn’t take his eyes off. But it wasn’t the usual reason he couldn’t take his eyes off a woman. She wasn’t comfortable in her own skin—nobody really was—but she was comfortable in that she was uncomfortable in it. Most people, including himself, spend most of their lives trying to prove to the world that they’ve got everything under control, when there was truly no such state. There was something genuine about that … and her.

  She nervously tugged at the ringlets of her red hair, which hung down to her shoulders. She looked up unexpectedly from her magazine once again and busted his glance. She flashed a friendly smile.

  He was unable to pull away, like his eyes were trapped in quicksand, but he was saved by Anna. She exited Natasha’s room, looking unsettled. Sam went to her.

  As Cam watched the girls comfort each other, he received his own dose of reassurance. His mother raced into the lobby and grabbed hold of him like he was five years old. It was much more emotional than her usual responses. “Cam—I was so worried about you. The way you ran out of the church like that.”

  “I figured what better tribute to Geoff than acting like a hot-tempered jackass and storm out when I didn’t get my way. They say imitation is the greatest form of flattery.”

  She smiled, which was a minor miracle on this day. But her stony, serious look quickly returned. “When Lee called and said you were in the hospital, and couldn’t give me any details … well, let’s just say after the things I’ve covered over the years, my imagination can go to some frightening places.”

  They both looked to see Lee Henson come out of Natasha’s room. Unlike Anna, he looked like he’d won the fight.

  His mother became distracted. “I’ll be back in just a minute,” she said.

  He watched her walk over to Henson. They spoke urgently, but not loud enough for Cam to hear. At that point, he was convinced that she had always known, or at least had believed, that his father was alive.

  His phone rang. It was Salvino—almost as if he could sense that he could use a friend at this moment. But he got the feeling that this call would take on a different tone—everything had changed.

  “Are you okay, Cam?”

  “Why do you ask?” he replied, not with the usual good nature.

  “You rushed out of the ceremony so quickly. And now I’m hearing things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Stuff about an old Soviet spy who might have come out of retirement.”

  Cam took a deep breath, and then asked him the question that’s been burning him since he left O’Connell Investigators. “Did you know too, Sal?”

  “This is not the time to be talking about this, Cam. We don’t know who could be listening.”

  “I don’t care who’s listening, Sal—it’s time for the truth to get out in the open.”

  Cam could hear him sigh through the phone. “I heard rumors a ways back after Durst had been busted. Things he might have told the feds in his testimony.”

  “So you’ve been keeping this from me for ten years?”

  “Nothing ever came of it, Cam. The feds never wanted anything to do with the case … if there even was one. And Henson went fishing on his own—all the way to Russia on his own dime. And if it truly was your old man in Russia, he was dead again, anyway.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “It was just typical justice department whispers—it goes on every day there. And nobody would ever really know, because it was top-secret, sealed, and confidential. There was no reason to upset you, and get my fat ass fired for spreading rumors on top of it.”

  Cam looked at his mother across the room, huddled with Henson. It was like a cruel joke that everyone was in on but him.

  “Do you think my father is alive?” he asked pointblank.

  Salvino hesitated, then said, “I don’t know, Cam. I always thought that even if he somehow staged that crash, someone had knocked him off along the way. With the things your father would have known, the idea of him on the loose probably made him a bigger threat to the Kremlin than we ever were.”

  “It doesn’t matter who is behind this—my father, his enemies, or Darth Vader. Someone is out there who is a threat to my family and me. And until someone puts a stop to it, we’re all in danger. And I’m going to do something about it.”

  “Slow down, Rambo. We’re talking about a seriously dangerous person or persons, and you’re not qualified to deal with dangerous. Let the professionals handle it.”

  Cam stared down Henson from across the room. “The pros have had almost thirty years to handle it, and all it got me was a dead brother. Now it’s my turn.”

  There was another awkward pause, before Salvino said, “I’m probably going to regret this, but a little birdie told me that Henson got special permission to put you all in protective custody … and it isn’t going to be optional. So whatever you’re planning to do, you better do it fast.”

  “You’re not forgiven, but thanks.”

  “I’m not asking for your forgiveness. The only thing I want is you to be safe, and I’m not going to apologize for it. Just don’t get yourself killed.”

  “Ah … you’re worried about me, Sal. That’s sweet.”

  “No, I’m worried about your mother. If she finds out that I tipped you off, then I will wish I was dead.”

  Chapter 71

  Cam viewed the two men in sharp suits enter the waiting room. He knew they were feds, and part of the plan to put them into protective custody. There was no time to waste.

  He tapped Sam on the shoulder.

  When she looked up, he spoke softly, “What do you say we go get a cup of coffee?”

  She thought about it for a second, and then stood. “Sure, let me just tell Anna where I’m going.”

  “I kind of need to talk to you alone … without anyone knowing. If that’s okay?”

  Possibilities flew across her face. “Yeah … um, sure … I guess.”

  She grabbed her tote, and they walked out of the waiting room and down the hospital corridor. Cam checked to see if the men in suits followed them—they didn’t—but for all he knew, more agents could be stationed in the hallway.

  He picked up his pace, and Sam struggled to keep up. He took the first left towards the sign for the elevators.

  “Isn’t the cafeteria the other way?” she asked.

  “Have you ever had hospital coffee? It’s terrible. I know a
better place,” Cam said with a smile.

  He led her into the elevator. Cam counted the seconds until the automatic doors shut. Sam’s expression told him that she trusted him, but her trust had limits. They made three nerve-racking stops, before reaching the bottom.

  When they stepped into the main lobby, Cam put his head down and trudged forward. Sam followed his lead. He didn’t take a breath until they were out of the hospital and into a waiting cab.

  “LaGuardia,” he instructed the driver.

  It looked like Sam’s head might explode. “The airport?”

  “The best coffee comes from Seattle, right? The original Starbucks,” he replied with another smile.

  “That’s not funny—where are you taking me?” Her expression had changed from confused to mad.

  Not wanting the cabbie to hear, he signaled Sam for a pen and paper. She reached into her handbag and pulled out the closest equivalent.

  He looked at the coloring book and crayons she handed him, and then back at her.

  She shrugged. “Some people read novels in their spare time, I color.”

  To each their own, he thought, and began writing inside the book in a purple crayon: Until the person who killed our brothers is stopped, we are all in danger. Tim was onto something, and I’m going to Arizona to finish his job.

  She grabbed the book away from him and took out a green crayon: “Isn’t that what the FBI’s for?”

  They had years to end it, and our brothers still ended up dead. They were going to put us in protective custody to try to keep us safe.

  They were now handing the coloring book back and forth between furious scribbles: Isn’t that a good thing?

  It’s just delaying the inevitable, and in the meantime more people are going to die.

  This is crazy, Cam! I don’t think I can.

  Tim isn’t here anymore, but you’re the closest thing to him—you knew him better than anyone, and I need to know what he was seeing. You’re the only one who can be his eyes.

  Do I have a choice?

  Of course. Say the word and I’ll have the cab drop you back at the hospital.

  The signs for the airport were now shooting by—Arrivals, Departures, Rental Car. A decision had to be made.

  A panicked look came over Sam’s face, and then she erupted, “Pull over … driver, pull over. Pull over now!”

  “I told you—I’ll have him drop you back at the …”

  “Pull over!”

  The cab veered sharply across two lanes, and eased to a stop along the shoulder, as airport traffic whizzed by.

  “You know in many ancient societies, red hair was considered a sign of insanity,” Sam said as she leaped out of the cab. Neither of the men argued with her.

  ****

  Sam pulled out her phone and speed-dialed the number. When she heard the voice on the other end, she said, “Anna, don’t say my name out loud.”

  “Sam, where are you? They are looking for you. Are you with Cam?”

  She sighed. What part of don’t say my name didn’t she understand? Oh well, it was hard to be mad at Anna, and she didn’t have time to fight, anyway. “Are you in the protective custody?”

  “They are going to take us to a secret location. They gave us ten minutes to make any last arrangements, and then they’re going to take away our phones. Where are you, Sam? You’re worrying me.”

  “I can’t say, but unless we find this guy we are all going to be in danger—and no protective custody is going to stop that. I have to do this for Milla.”

  “Are you saying that you’re going after my father? That’s crazy, Sam.”

  “Probably, but I think it runs in the family.”

  “Aren’t you the one who was lecturing me about how dangerous this guy could be? Come back, Sam, and let the FBI find him.”

  “They haven’t found him yet. And it wasn’t their brother who got killed. Just please don’t make any of those smart arguments you make all the time and try to change my mind.”

  “You said Tim had a crush on me, so he didn’t think clearly. Now I think you’re doing the same thing.”

  “This has nothing to do with Cam … and it’s not like that, anyway. This is about getting the guy who killed our brothers before he hurts someone else.”

  Anna sounded resigned. “Just please be careful.”

  “I will, but I need you to do me a favor. Milla is staying in Flushing with the Rowans, the address is on my desk in the office. I’m supposed to be there to pick her up this afternoon. Please send Henson to get her.”

  Suddenly the voice changed. “Listen to me, and listen to me good—you and Cam are in grave danger out there,” Lee Henson said. “Tell me your exact location. Do not move—we will be there to pick you up within minutes. Don’t try to be a hero … like your brother.”

  “Just please take care of my daughter,” she said and ended the call. She then tossed the phone to the side of the road. She’d picked up a few tricks from Tim.

  She wiped the tears from her face and got back in the cab.

  “Is everything okay?” Cam asked, looking concerned.

  “It is now,” Sam said. “Let’s go to the airport.”

  Chapter 72

  Cam paid their cab driver for the rest of the night, with instructions to drive around the city, and make sure he hit all airports, train and bus stations. He also jammed his cell phone into the seat, in case the feds were to track it.

  The airport was congested, due to the upcoming Easter holiday, which Cam felt worked in their favor. They were able to slip into the crowd unnoticed, but he knew it was just a matter of time before he was spotted.

  As they hurried toward the ticket counter, Sam reached into her bag and pulled out what looked like credit cards. When she handed one to Cam, and he saw that it was a driver’s license. It had a picture of her brother, and the name Peter Foye.

  He flashed her a confused look.

  “We are now Peter and Roxie Foye, a married couple from Queens. We are going to Phoenix to visit your mother for Easter.”

  He looked closer at Tim’s photo. “Who’s going to buy that we’re the same person? We look nothing alike.”

  “You’re overrating the diligence of airport security. Just let me go first … but just to be safe, you might want to put these on.”

  She reached in the bag once again, this time pulling out a pair of eyeglasses and a reddish, furry object that looked like a rabbit’s foot he once had as a kid.

  “It’s a mustache. It goes on easy with the adhesive, but coming off might be a little painful.”

  “You carry this stuff around with you?”

  “I worked for a private investigator. It goes with the territory.”

  He smiled. “Roxie?”

  “She’s my alter ego. Roxie is a snappy tongued, bourbon-drinking dame. Sam is more of a classy, boring broad who’s afraid of her own shadow.”

  She thought for a second, and asked, “Did I really say that out loud?”

  “I’m afraid so, Roxie.”

  Her face turned distressed. “Tim and I used to play pretend around the office like we were in a pulp detective novel. He was the hardboiled detective and I was his secretary. When business got really bad, he would turn to me and say with his terrible Humphrey Bogart imitation, ‘Don’t worry, Dollface, our big score is gonna walk right through those doors.’”

  And just like those old movies, the doe-eyed gorgeous gal did walk through those doors, and brought trouble with her—the big score named Anna. With all the detective offices in the city, she had to walk into his.

  Sam found resolve. “Why don’t you find the nearest bathroom and freshen up, and I’ll buy the tickets.”

  Cam made his way into the men’s room, where he applied the glasses and mustache, and also improved on his wardrobe, at least from a ‘blending in’ point of view.

  He hurried back to the ticket area, where he found Sam, who not only had purchased two round trip tickets—he liked the optim
ism—but was also wearing the same outfit as him.

  “I guess great minds think alike,” Cam said.

  After applying his new look in the bathroom stall, using a compact mirror that Sam had lent him, he stopped at the sink. As he splashed some water on his face, a man named Vinnie recognized him. If this was an indication of the effectiveness of the disguise, Cam wasn’t sure it was worth sacrificing his lip for.

  Vinnie turned out to be a big Cam Myles fan, and expressed heartfelt condolences for the loss of his brother. Cam explained that the media had been exploiting Geoff’s death, and wouldn’t give the family any peace to grieve, which was why he was trying to disguise himself, and would appreciate it if Vinnie kept this encounter quiet. As they continued to chat, it turned out that Vinnie was also a big fan of fashion, complimenting Cam on his suit. Cam had an equal interest in Vinnie’s outfit. So much so, that he suggested they switch. He traded the expensive suit for Vinnie’s Mets jersey, along with a pair of track pants that made Cam look like he was auditioning for The Sopranos.

  Sam’s story was much less interesting. She bought her Mets jersey and cap at an airport shop that sold New York sports paraphernalia. She handed Cam a matching cap she’d purchased for him.

  As they nervously waited to pass through security, Cam made small talk. “So are you a Mets fan, or is it just part of the act?”

  “I am these days, but I actually grew up rooting for the Washington Monuments.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Yep—my dad was a huge Jack Myles fan. Called him the last American hero, and the only time I ever saw him cry, besides at my mother’s funeral, was when he talked about the accident.”

  “So why’d you switch allegiance?”

  “Well, for one, I am from Queens, so the Mets are my hometown team. But what sealed the deal was when they drafted Jack Myles’ son … who was my hero. But then he broke my heart by going into politics,” she said, sounding more Roxie than Sam. And for survival purposes, he conceded that might not be a bad thing.

  He smiled wryly. “I guess the moral of the story is that our heroes will always let us down.”