The parade headed south while I headed north. Weaving through the thick crowd. My eyes searching for Kelly.
One block later I checked the time.
It had taken me one minute to walk the block. Four more blocks to go. Four more minutes.
When I looked to my left at the intersection I could see Lake Ontario. It looked like a sea. No land on the horizon.
Four minutes later I spotted the big sign:
BURGATORY
Helluva Burger
Heavenly Shakes
I crossed the street and entered the hell-themed restaurant. Nobody stabbed me with a pitchfork. No flame consumed me.
I looked around.
Red walls. Fat hamburger sandwiches held together with little plastic pitchforks. Lots of customers.
“Excuse me,” I said to a waitress. “A friend of mine came in here not long ago to pick up a lunch order. A pretty woman. Early twenties. Black turtleneck sweater. Red winter coat. See anybody like that?”
“Sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“You should ask Harold. The cashier. He sees everybody who comes in here.”
“Where’s Harold?”
Her eyes scanned the restaurant.
“I don’t see him. Maybe he’s in the kitchen. I’ll go check for you. Hold on a minute. Okay?”
“I’ll be right here.”
A photo of the manager hung on the wall. I studied the man. Neatly trimmed goatee. Ruddy complexion. A big grin. As if he had just done something mischievous.
“Debbie says you’re looking for a friend of yours,” a voice said from behind me.
I turned.
“You must be Harold.”
“Yes sir.”
“Her name’s Kelly. She came in here to pick up a lunch order for Earl.”
“Earl?”
“Earl the mechanic. From Earl’s Pump-n-Munch?”
“Oh. That Earl.”
“Did she pick up his lunch order yet?”
“Let me check.”
He left and returned.
“Earl’s lunch order is still here. Nobody picked it up yet.”
Not good.
I frowned.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?”
“You’re the cashier?”
“Yes sir.”
“So you see everybody who comes in here.”
“Everybody. Yes sir.”
“How about a pretty woman in a black turtleneck sweater and a red winter coat? See anybody like that?”
“Not today.”
“Maybe we should check the ladies’ room.”
“You can’t go in there. But I can ask Debbie to check.”
“Works for me.”
I stood waiting while Debbie checked the ladies’ room.
“Nobody’s in there,” she told me when she had finished.
“Thanks for checking.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you find her.”
Me too.
CHAPTER 5
THE HAMBURGER JOINT buzzed with activity.
Customers entered. Customers ate. Customers exited. Waitresses flitted from customer to customer like bees to flowers.
I stood frozen. Not knowing what to do.
Search the town? File a missing-persons report? Phone Kelly?
Phoning her seemed like the best next step. Hopefully she would answer this time.
I took out my phone. As soon as I hit the speed dial I heard a phone start ringing in the restaurant.
My heart raced.
The sound seemed to come from the kitchen. I sprinted in that direction. Sprinted like a cheetah.
Heads turned. Eyes stared.
I burst through the kitchen door.
Dishes clattered. Dishes broke.
I looked around the kitchen.
One cook. Three waitresses. No Kelly.
The cook held the ringing phone. A big man. Dark eyes.
You son of a . . .
I snatched the phone from his hand.
“Hello?” I said into his phone.
I expected no response. I expected his phone to receive the call from my phone. My expectations weren’t met.
A man’s voice answered.
“Where’s Ernie?”
The cook’s plastic name tag said ERNIE.
Oops.
“It’s for you,” I said and handed the phone back to the cook. “Sorry.”
I exited the restaurant. Quickly.
I had raised hell in Burgatory.
CHAPTER 6
“KELLY!” I SHOUTED.
People on the crowded street stared at me. Apparently I was more interesting than the parade.
“Kelly! Where are you?”
Calm down, Rip. Take it easy. She probably just stopped in a store along the way.
Then why isn’t she answering her phone?
Maybe it’s shut off. Maybe the battery’s dead. Or maybe she can’t hear it over the loud parade.
Think, Rip. Think.
When you work in law enforcement you develop the ability to think under pressure. That ability can save lives. Including your own.
Where would Kelly go? Try to think like a woman. A woman in her early twenties.
I tried. I failed.
Time to search the town. Not the whole town—just the five blocks between Earl’s Pump-n-Munch and Burgatory.
I started backtracking. Poking my head into stores along the way. Shouting Kelly’s name.
“Kelly! Kelly!”
What a morning. Seeing Blake sick with cancer. My brakes going out. Kelly missing. What’s next? A blizzard?
“Kelly!”
My throat felt sore from shouting.
She could be anywhere.
Could somebody have taken her?
Panic seized me.
I started running. Slipping a little on the snow. Bumping into people on the street. My eyes scanning the crowd. Looking for a red winter coat. Spotting a few. None of them belonging to Kelly.
Who would have taken her?
“Kelly!”
Who?
I ran faster. Up and down the streets. Main Street. Lake Street. Vine Street. Scanning. Scanning. Scanning.
Please let her be okay. Please.
“Kelly! Kelly!”
I stopped running.
The gravity of the situation had hit me.
Kelly was gone.
CHAPTER 7
THREE HOURS EARLIER.
Five miles south of Watertown.
“Good song,” I said and turned up the radio.
“I’ve never heard it before,” Kelly said from the passenger seat of my RV.
I put on the blinker and switched lanes.
“You’ve never heard it before? This song’s a classic.”
“Who’s the singer?”
“Gordon Lightfoot.”
“Who?”
“Just listen to the lyrics. Song’s called ‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.’ ”
“Who?”
“Not who—what. The Edmund Fitzgerald was a freighter that sank in a Lake Superior storm. It’s a true story. That’s what the song’s about.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I can’t believe that song’s playing right now. What a coincidence.”
“Coincidence? Why?”
“Because of our current location.”
I pointed toward the body of water on our right.
“But that’s Lake Ontario,” she said. “Not Lake Superior.”
“Don’t crowd my facts.”
The snowy blacktop made driving a little tricky. Nothing I couldn’t handle though.
“You excited about starting nursing school?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t deal with anything anymore. Life’s too hard.”
“Sometimes it can be. Especially when you’ve got a hospitalized parent.”
“It’s more than just that.”
/> I looked over at her.
“Want to talk about it?”
She shrugged. Then looked away. Staring out the window.
Depressed?
Of course. Her father lay dying in the hospital.
Suicidal?
Not likely.
I shut off the radio. We drove in silence.
When I looked into the side-view mirror I saw a white SUV behind us. A Cadillac Escalade. I had seen one just like it at the hospital in Watertown.
The same Escalade?
Possibly.
Observation. An important skill. One that had kept me alive in my years with the U.S. Marshals Service.
But that life is behind me now. Constant observation of everything in my environment is no longer necessary. No longer a requirement for survival.
And so it bothered me that I couldn’t just ignore the Escalade. That I couldn’t just relax. That my mind wouldn’t let me.
CHAPTER 8
A CAR CUT in front of us.
I hit the brakes. My RV swerved. I righted it.
Honk honk hooonk!
“Moron,” I said and honked again.
The driver took off.
“You okay, Kelly?”
“My coffee spilled. I need to change my sweater.”
She unfastened her seat belt and swiveled around and stood up from the passenger seat. Her pink sweater had coffee stains on it.
I saw something that bothered me.
“What happened to your wrist?”
“Nothing. Just an accident.”
“What kind of accident? That’s a serious bandage.”
“I broke a glass.”
Thoughts pinballed through my mind. They put two and two together. Then came up with an answer.
Not a good one.
“I’ve got another sweater in my suitcase,” Kelly said and headed toward the back of the RV.
Minutes later she returned. She wore a black turtleneck sweater. Long sleeves covered her wrists.
She sat down in the passenger seat. She stared out the window. A despondent stare.
“You might want to fasten your seat belt.”
Her hand reached slowly for the seat belt. It clicked into place.
Twenty-five miles south of Watertown I saw a sign for a roadside rest area. I turned onto the entrance ramp.
“Need to stretch my legs,” I told Kelly.
“Good luck finding a parking space.”
A busy place. Lots of people. Few parking spaces.
I sat watching a bus driver cross the parking lot. He got onto the bus and started the engine and pulled away.
“We’re in luck,” I said and pulled into the empty parking space.
Honk honk hooonk!
“Who’s honking?” Kelly said and checked her side-view mirror.
I checked mine too.
The vehicle behind us honked again. A Cadillac Escalade. White. Just like the one I had noticed earlier.
Had it followed us all the way from the hospital in Watertown?
The driver got out. A beefy man. Black sweat suit.
He stood with the door open. His hand reached for the horn.
Honk honk hooonk!
“The hell’s his problem?” I said and got out.
The endless highway traffic droned past the rest area.
I marched swiftly toward the Escalade. Forgetting about the snowy blacktop. Almost slipping on it.
The driver stood watching me.
One of his passengers got out and headed toward the restroom building. The man moved quickly. But I still got a good look at him.
Tall. White sweat suit.
A third man sat in the back seat. I could see only a vague outline of him through the tinted windows. But it looked like he too wore a sweat suit.
“What’s the problem?” I said to the driver.
“You cut me off and took my parking space.” A slight hint of a Russian accent. “That’s the problem.”
“Your space? I don’t see a sign here with your name on it.”
He glared at me.
“Move your RV, pal. You took my space.”
“This space is meant for big vehicles. Buses. Motor homes. Big rigs. It’s not meant for smaller vehicles like your Escalade.”
He shut his door and started walking toward me.
Always watch their hands. Hands can kill you.
“What’s going on, Rip?” Kelly said.
“Everything’s okay. Get back into the RV.”
She ignored me.
The driver stopped three feet away from me. His glare said I eat guys like you for breakfast. So go ahead and say something stupid to me. I want you to. That’d make my day. I’d love nothing more than to rip off your arms and beat you with them.
A glare can say a lot.
Mine said Beat it.
Concise. To the point.
The man had a dark stubble beard. He probably thought it made him look trendy. I thought otherwise.
He continued glaring. As if I were supposed to run away in fright. Waving my arms in the air. Screaming for help.
I could drop him in three seconds. No problem. A chop to the neck. A kick to the crotch. A leg sweep. Three seconds flat.
I had no plan to do that of course. But it never hurts to do a little mental exercise.
The tall passenger had gotten out of the Escalade in a hurry. I wondered why.
To pee? Maybe.
Or maybe just to get the hell away from the driver. Maybe he had heard enough of the man’s mouth.
The driver grabbed my shoulder.
“Have I got your attention now, pal?”
His behavior made me feel tired. I shrugged his hand off. I sighed.
“Let’s go,” Kelly said. “This is stupid.”
“You should listen to your woman,” the man said.
I ignored the voice in my head that told me to inflict bodily punishment on him. To stomp him. To mangle him.
That inner voice roared. Like a lion. I had to fend it off with chair and whip.
I drew a long breath.
The tall passenger reappeared. Seemingly from nowhere.
“Time to go,” he said with a Russian accent.
The driver nodded. They both got into the Escalade.
The driver powered down his window. He pointed a finger gun at me. He grinned.
“Bang bang.”
“You should shave off your facial stubble,” I told him. “You must be tired of having no women in your life.”
The Escalade screeched away.
CHAPTER 9
“DID YOU HAVE to be so aggressive with that man?” Kelly said when we were back on the highway.
“Aggressive? Me? You think I was the aggressive one?”
“You were more aggressive than you needed to be. You could have just walked away from the situation. You didn’t have to approach that man. He could have had a gun or something. You could have gotten hurt.”
He could have. But not me.
“The man was an ass.”
“That’s no excuse.”
I felt as if I were driving with my ex-wife again. I felt like pulling out my hair. But I didn’t have any. I keep it shaved off.
“That Escalade followed us all the way from the hospital to the roadside rest area,” I said. “It followed us for twenty-five miles. Then it followed us into the rest area.”
“So what?”
“Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?”
“Not at all.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is a major highway. It runs right past Watertown. Hundreds of people commute from Watertown to Syracuse every workday.”
“Today’s not a workday—it’s Thanksgiving.”
“I think you get my point.”
I did. I got her point.
We drove in silence.
I questioned my judgment. Had I been too aggressive? Was I just being paranoid about the Escalade?
Maybe I needed to
relax a little. To start thinking less like a lawman. To start thinking more like a retiree.
Rip the retiree. Rip the traveler. Rip the vacationer.
Not Rip the paranoid.
I decided to work on it. To improve myself. To change.
Changing wouldn’t be easy. Never is.
But I could do it.
CHAPTER 10
WE WERE SIX miles south of the roadside rest area when it happened.
It had never happened to me before. It shocked me. It shocked Kelly. It would have shocked anybody.
“Uh-oh.”
Kelly looked over at me.
“What’s wrong?”
“The brakes went out.”
“Out? Completely out?”
“Yep.”
Fortunately I knew what to do. But only because I had recently read an article about what to do if your brakes go out.
I remained calm. Panicking would have made a dangerous situation even more dangerous. Especially with the snowy blacktop.
I hit the brakes again.
No luck.
Damn.
The power steering would shut down if I shut off the ignition. That would make it almost impossible to steer. Plus the steering wheel could lock up. So I kept the engine running.
I applied the parking brake. Just a little bit. Not too much. That slowed down the RV.
Then I started working my way toward the slow lane. Praying that nobody hit us. Especially a heavy vehicle. Dump truck. Garbage truck. Eighteen-wheeler.
I put on the blinker. I checked the side-view mirrors. Then I turned the steering wheel gently to the right.
When the RV made it safely into the slow lane I turned on the hazard lights.
“So far so good,” I said.
“Yes,” Kelly said. “So far so good.”
We finally agreed on something.
My hands gripped the steering wheel. They turned it to the right again. The RV moved onto the shoulder.
I shifted into neutral.
Nothing bad happened.
I applied the parking brake again.
No skidding. No loss of control.
The RV slowed down. It rolled for a while. Then it stopped.
Vehicles zoomed past.
I let go of the steering wheel. Sighing with relief. Happy to be alive.
New York Strip Page 2
