"Right here."
She let go of his arm, stepping away from him as four guys with bandanas covering their faces came through the trees, looking like Halloween bank robbers. They came at him, McCabe wondering if there was some connection between these four and the thieves on the motorcycle, coming back for revenge. But that didn't make sense. There was no way they could've followed them. Now his attention was on Angela, if that was really her name, Angela calm and relaxed, like she was waiting to see what was going to happen.
They circled around him, McCabe separating them in his mind: the big guy who was the size of an NFL nose guard, the short stocky one, the thin wiry guy with blond hair, a bad bleach job. Even with the bandana hiding his face, he recognized Fabio, the long-haired guy from Rebibbia, the one he beat on the basketball court, the one with Mafia connections they'd read about in the newspaper.
He glanced at the girl again, standing there relaxed. She wasn't afraid because she was in on it, she was the bait. But how'd they know he'd go after the thieves on the motorcycle?
McCabe was moving backward, turning in a circle, trying to watch them all. The nose guard came at him first, charging, coming straight at him. McCabe stepped right as he got close, and the big guy overran him. McCabe turned, going to his kidneys with a hard right. The guy turned and McCabe hit him with a right-left combination to the body that dropped him to his knees.
Now the other three charged him. The stocky guy threw a wild right hand that missed. McCabe juked and weaved and hit him with a right hook to the jaw that stunned him. Then somebody tried to tackle him from behind. McCabe throwing an elbow that hit him in the face and he let go. Then something crashed into the side of his head and he staggered and went down, looking up at the long-haired guy standing over him. He rolled over on his hands and knees trying to get up, still dizzy and fell over.
Chip said, "We better get on, get a seat."
Trish said, "If McCabe doesn't go, I'm not going."
Chip said, "He'll be here. Have I ever lied to you?"
"Probably," Trish said.
She gave him a dirty look.
"What kind of attitude is that? Let me get you a drink, take the edge off."
Chip finished his beer and held the bottle up, telling the bartender he wanted another one. "Last call," Chip said.
The girls shook their heads. They were packed in the loud, crowded bar in the Stazione Termini in Rome. The train for Messina was leaving in twenty minutes.
"Why don't we call school, see if he's there," Trish said.
"Maybe he's mad at you," Brianna said to Chip, "for telling your dad he stole the taxi."
"He doesn't care," Chip said.
"I would."
"You're a girl."
The bartender handed Chip a beer. He pulled two five- euro notes off a roll of bills and left them on the bar top. Now Chip and the girls picked up their backpacks, left the bar, crossed the main floor of the station and walked to Track 17. The sign said Messina. Departure time: 20:10. They found seats in a first-class car and Chip drank his beer, looking out the window. He watched a porter push a cart piled high with luggage. A conductor in a blue uniform walked along the side of the train, announcing its imminent departure. Chip looked down the boarding platform toward the station. He was sure he'd see McCabe running into the picture, but it didn't happen and the train started to move.
Chapter Six
In the dream Ray could hear a phone ringing, sounding far away at first, then close and loud. He turned on his side, opened his eyes and saw the message light flashing. It seemed like it was synched up to the pounding in his head. He looked at his watch. It was 6:50 a.m. He was on duty in ten minutes and he wasn't going to make it, Jesus, wouldn't make it if he had an hour the way he felt. His cell phone vibrated on the nightstand next to the bed. He watched it slide around in a circular motion and then stop. He was still in his clothes from the night before, lying on the bedspread. His cell phone vibrated again, telling him he had another message. He knew who it was and what it was about.
He tried to piece things together. Remembered being at the bar with Sturza. They were going to have a couple, but only a couple because they were both on duty the next morning, early. He remembered talking to a dark-haired girl sitting next to him, already on his third Dewar's and water when Sturza got up and said he was hitting it, and Ray better do the same. They had to be ready to go in seven hours.
The girl was from Indianapolis and said she was in New York for a dental convention. She was attractive in an ethnic way, and reminded him of Sharon when she was younger, dark shoulder-length hair, bangs, brown eyes and a nice body, what he could see of it.
Ray said, "Are you a dentist?"
The girl turned to her two friends who were sitting next to her at the bar.
"He wants to know if I'm a dentist," she said.
All three of them laughed like it was some inside joke.
The girl said, "I'm a sales consultant. I sell dental equipment, we all do."
Ray said, "Like what?"
'Like titanium implants, disposable fluoride trays and x-ray mounts." She perked up now. Talking about her job seemed to excite her, energize her.
"What about dental floss?" he said, having fun with her.
"That, too."
"Sounds exciting," Ray said.
"You think that sounds exciting, huh? What do you do?"
"I'm a federal agent," he said. The Dewar's loosening him up, relaxing him, making him feel good.
She gave him a skeptical look. "Yeah, right?"
Ray sipped his drink.
"If it's true, you must have a badge or something, right?"
Ray took out his ID and showed it to her, the five-pointed star that stood for duty, loyalty, justice, honesty and courage.
She turned to the other sales consultants and said, "Ohmy-god, he's in the Secret Service."
A few drinks later he remembered going upstairs with her, making out in the elevator, going to his room, she was sharing a room with Terry, one of the girls at the bar. She told him she'd never made it with a Secret Service agent. Can I see your gun? She pulled out a joint and said, want to get high? You're not going to arrest me, are you?
They smoked the joint and had another drink and he remembered the girl taking off her clothes, hugging him, great body, big breasts and olive skin.
She said, "I've been a bad girl, you better put the cuffs on me."
She held her hands out in front of her. Ray took the handcuffs out of the suit coat pocket and clamped them on her wrists. She gave him a naughty look and Ray pictured Sharon in the room at that particular moment, and it distracted him, Sharon his wife who he hadn't seen in six weeks, and felt guilty. He remembered the girl getting angry, telling him he was a fucking Secret Service homo. He unlocked the handcuffs and she walked out of the room and slammed the door.
Ray got out of bed and went to the bathroom, still drunk, splashing cold water on his face. He looked in the mirror at bloodshot eyes. He heard a horn honk and looked out the window at midtown Manhattan twenty-five floors below. He heard a knock, and then someone pounding on the door.
"Ray, you in there?"
He crossed the room and opened it a crack, saw Sturza in a dark-blue suit, burgundy tie and white shirt, looking ready for action, and swung it open. Sturza came in, eyes moving, scanning the room, holding the bottle of Dewar's. That's right, he'd called room service, and there was a roach in the ashtray.
Sturza said, "What're you doing, trying to get canned? You know what time it is?"