I paid the cabbie and walked up to Dana's door. And that's when I knew I couldn't do it. My God. We were going to kill Michael. I'd told myself that Eli had lost his mind, but it was me. "My God!" I said aloud. "We can't do this." I rang the bell over and over. We had to hurry. We could still warn him. Michael's cell phone number! Maybe we still had time.
My first thought when Michael answered the door was relief: Oh, thank God. I didn't do this. Then a little girl came up and peeked around his hip. She was beautiful, round faced and pigtailed, wearing pajamas with Belle from Beauty and the Beast on the front. Amanda.
"Who is it, Daddy?" Behind them was the house not of a Silicon Valley mogul, but a struggling, working couple: a box of Cheerios on the dining room table, papers and bills spread out, toys and pillows on the carpeted floor.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Michael asked me.
I couldn't look away from the girl. "Is Dana here?" I asked.
"Mama's gone," said the girl.
"She's in Spokane," Michael said. "That freak friend of yours said he didn't trust me. It had to be Dana. I don't know why I ever got involved with you crooks."
I just stared at that little girl, at Michael and Dana's little girl. She held out a picture she had drawn. I took the picture and looked down at it. It was a stick-figure girl with stick-figure pigtails. "That's me," Amanda said. "What's on your eye?"
"It's… it's a patch," I said. My legs felt weak beneath me. I thought of what Eli had said. He's going to hurt like he's never imagined someone could hurt. Oh my God.
"Are you a pirate?"
"He sure is, sweetie," said Michael. "What do you want, Mason?" Behind him, his telephone rang.
7
What Eli wanted was the money he believed Michael owed him, the venture capital he was convinced Michael was holding back: $500,000, according to the ransom note Dana read over the phone. Michael listened with his hand on his head, making little moaning sounds every few seconds. I set Amanda's drawing down on the dining room table and stood next to Michael, my head next to his so that I could hear what Dana said.
"'Get the money and fly to Spokane,'" Dana read. "'There is a flight out of San Jose in ninety minutes. That gives you just enough time to go to the bank and get to the airport. The flight lands in Spokane at three-thirty. Exit the airport and walk to the garage. On the top floor, near the elevator, you will find a gray Mercedes-Benz with the top down. Put the money in the car and then go back into the airport and sit at the pay phone directly adjacent to the escalator. When Eli has the money, he will call and tell you where to find me. I'm in a cabin in the woods. If you do everything right, he won't hurt me. But if you call the police or don't bring the money, he will kill me. If you bring the police, he will never tell them where I am and I'll-'" She stopped. "What's that word?"
"Starve," said Eli in the background.
"It looks like swerve."
"No," he said. "It's 'starve.' How could you swerve to death?"
"Yeah, I didn't think that made sense," she said, and I couldn't believe how matter-of-fact she sounded, as if they were just chatting. "'Starve to death,'" Dana said. "'You have until four o'clock. If Eli doesn't have the money by four o'clock, he will kill me.' "The phone went dead.
"Dana!" The phone dropped out of Michael's hand. "Jesus. This isn't happening!" He tried Dana's phone again, but there was no answer. While he listened to it ring, he suddenly pushed me in the chest. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
"Of course not," I said. "I love Dana."
He just stared at me. Then he threw his phone across the room and put his face in his hands. Amanda started crying. "Daddy?"
Michael picked her up and comforted her. His hand was on her head. It fit perfectly between her pigtails. He was crying, too. He pressed her hard to his chest, and her little legs swayed side to side. She had frills on her socks.
So perfect. So cold.
"Listen," I said. "Nothing is going to happen. I'll take care of this, Michael. I'll make sure nothing happens. Eli isn't violent. He's just confused. He'll listen to me. I'm going to get Dana back and get Eli some help. I knew he was losing it. I knew-" I couldn't finish. I couldn't tell him that I had pushed Eli to this point.
"I don't have that kind of money," Michael said. "We gotta call the cops."
"No," I said. "Not yet. Don't force his hand. I'll fly back up there. I'll talk Eli down. Don't worry. I won't let anything happen. He's just confused."
"What if he hurts her?"
"He won't," I said. "Look, you can call the police if you want. But please. Let me fly up there and see if I can stop this. Get me on the plane and then it's up to you. Call the police. I don't care. But give me a chance to make this right."
Michael considered me. I'd always thought we looked alike, but as I looked into his teary eyes I felt so much smaller than him, so much less.
"Okay," he said.
He let me on his computer and I signed onto my e-mail and wrote Eli a quick note, just in case he checked.
Eli-
Don't do anything. I'm coming back there. Don't move. I need to talk to you.
I lied about everything. There is no more money. I'm sorry. For everything.
It's going to be okay.
Clark
We ran out to Michael's minivan, parked under the cloth carport. His hands shook as he worked the keys – hung on a long gecko key ring – and he beat on the dashboard as we sat snarled in traffic, trying to get around the street fair and the construction. The drive took forever, Michael yelling at drivers and squirreling the minivan from lane to lane. Throughout, Amanda sat in a child's seat strapped in back, staring at me.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"Does what hurt?"
"The thing on your eye."
"Sometimes." I turned to face her full on. "So you just turned four?"
"Yeah," she said.
"When's your birthday?"
"December nine."
I turned to Michael, my mouth dry. "You had her party late."
He looked perturbed. "What?"
"Her birthday party. When I called in January you were having her party."
"My parents were out of town for her birthday so we had a second party when they got back," he said, incredulous that I would ask about such a thing at a time like this. I did the math again. Less than eight months.
"My sister just had a baby," I said carefully. "She was almost a month early. Was Dana early like that?"
"No. She was three weeks late. What the hell is this, Mason?" Seven months.
We pulled into the airport turnout. As I got out of the car, Michael put his hand on my arm. "Please."
I said good-bye to Michael's daughter and ran into the airport.
I bought a ticket and was the last person to board. I settled in, panting and sweating, between two businessmen, who leaned away from the frantic, one-eyed passenger who sat between them. The plane had to land in Seattle before continuing to Spokane. The Seattle leg seemed to take forever. I'd check my watch, and only two minutes would've passed. I'd sit for an hour, snap my arm up, and check my watch again. Two minutes. I stretched and leaned and craned my neck. Out the window the clouds were stretched and striated, not enough to cover the snow-scarred ground beneath us.
In Seattle the passengers deplaned slowly, as if they were marching to their deaths. "For God's sake," I muttered. Both the businessmen got off and the Spokane passengers got on, families, students, and short-sleeved businessmen, ladies in tan slacks, a couple of drunk golfers. The new passengers sat and we waited, quiet except for the low rumble of conversation from the back of the plane and an occasional cough. I checked my watch: 2:45. And still the plane didn't move. I buzzed a flight attendant and asked what the problem was. "It's just a minor delay, sir. We'll be taking off shortly."