“So where’s yours?”
“I got both. Don’t ask.”
Galvin looked baffled, shook his head. “Whatever.”
Danny pushed his way into the locker room ahead of Galvin. Galvin followed a few seconds behind, still breathing hard.
Danny went to his locker, unlocked it, and planted his body between the open locker and Galvin’s line of sight. The MobilXtract had finished. The entire contents of Galvin’s BlackBerry had been downloaded.
Now all that remained was to get Galvin’s phone back where it belonged.
Galvin was standing before his own open locker, staring inside. His breathing was slowing. His brow was furrowed. Like something was puzzling him.
Like he was looking for something.
Danny reached in, yanked his dress shirt off its hook and draped it over the BlackBerry and the MobilXtract. He held his breath, bracing himself for Galvin to notice the missing BlackBerry.
And if he did, then what?
He’d assume his memory was faulty. Anyone would. He’d be thinking that he didn’t really put his BlackBerry in his suit pocket. He just thought he did. When you reach middle age and you start to forget things, your memory’s no longer an unimpeachable witness. Maybe he left it somewhere, misplaced it. He wouldn’t be suspecting theft, not here, not in the Plympton Club.
He’d search his locker. Then look around to see if he’d dropped it.
Maybe he’d go ask José.
Instead, Galvin didn’t seem to be missing his phone at all, at least not yet. He was disrobing. So Danny did, too.
And realized the hitch in his plan.
Because if Galvin locked his locker and took his key with him to the shower, Danny wouldn’t be able to return the damned BlackBerry.
But would he lock up? You would at a gym whose clientele was sketchy. Not here.
Galvin didn’t.
He slammed his locker just before Danny did, and they headed for the showers.
But then “Sweet Home Alabama” came on. Muffled, but still audible.
Danny cursed silently.
Galvin stopped, turned, as if listening to the tune.
Or as if deciding whether to answer his phone.
Then he turned back and kept on going, and Danny, exhaling, followed. The showers were next to the restroom area with the sinks and toilets and urinals. Danny hung up his towel and entered an old-fashioned shower stall across the aisle from Galvin’s. It had once probably been deluxe but was now just old. White subway tiles covered the three walls, floor to ceiling, with little hex tiles on the floor. Brass shower mixer handles and escutcheon and a sunflower rain showerhead the size of a dinner plate.
Danny let the water run for all of ten seconds, the world’s fastest shower. It didn’t even have a chance to get warm. Then he shut it off, grabbed his towel off the hook, and rushed through the restroom area toward the locker, as if he’d forgotten his shampoo or something. Even though each shower stall had shampoo and soap dispensers.
He heard a squee squeee squee squee and glanced up to see José.
The damned locker room attendant, who seemed to have a sixth sense for when Danny didn’t want him around, was pushing a big yellow mop bucket and wringer on squeaky casters. He didn’t look up when Danny went by.
Danny needed ten, at most twelve, seconds to make the switch.
He had counted it out. Open his locker, take the BlackBerry, over to Galvin’s locker, open it, reach into Galvin’s suit jacket, slip it into the pocket.
Six quick moves. Twelve seconds, max.
He found his locker. Opened it.
Heard loud voices reverberating against hard walls.
“¿Como le fue el partido?” José speaking.
“Mas o menos.” Galvin. He, too, must have taken a brisk shower. José probably wouldn’t be talking to him if he were still bathing. That meant Galvin was out, maybe toweling off.
But maybe he’d take his time drying himself. Or stand in front of the mirror and comb his hair.
Danny opened his locker, yanked the USB cable out of the phone.
“¡Chinga, espero que el pegó fuerte!” said José.
He spun, located Galvin’s locker.
Then Galvin’s voice, louder and markedly closer. “¡Si, le gané bien facíl! ¿Como esta Andrea?”
Pulse racing, he opened Galvin’s locker. A sudden worry: What would he say if Galvin saw him? Sorry, wrong locker? I opened yours instead of mine? Preposterous and not credible.
Galvin’s chalk-stripe suit hung neatly on its wooden hanger.
Now José: “Pues si, señor, está muy bien, gracias a Dios.”
Without even looking, Danny jammed the BlackBerry into a pocket, the inside breast pocket of the suit, and-
Shut Galvin’s locker door just as Galvin hove into sight, towel around his waist, whistling.
He clearly hadn’t seen what Danny had just done.
Sweat broke out on Danny’s scalp.
“So what’s up for you now?” Galvin asked, opening his locker. “Back to work?”
“Gotta pick Abby up at school.”
“Right, right, it’s almost that time, isn’t it?” He put on an undershirt and then his crisp white shirt. “Sometimes I like to pick Jenna up, but today doesn’t work.”
They finished dressing. Galvin put on his suit coat. “This was fun. We should do it again. You’re a whole lot better than you kept telling me. Man, I mean, a trickle boast, right?”
“Sweet Home Alabama” came on. Galvin reflexively reached his right hand into his left inside breast pocket.
The tune kept playing. Galvin looked baffled. Fumbled around. His left hand reached into his right inside breast pocket.
His eyes narrowed.
“Strange,” he said, grabbing his BlackBerry. “I always keep it on that side.”
He answered the phone: “Yep?” Then, “I should be there in ten minutes.”
He ended the call. “I must be losing my mind,” he said.
As if he knew something was amiss.
31
Danny drove up to the pickup line at Lyman right on time, but he didn’t see Abby in the knot of girls hanging out in front of the school’s main building.
Nor was she among the girls trickling out of the front entrance. She was normally punctual. Maybe she was talking to a teacher. Maybe she’d misplaced something.
By the time Danny’s car reached the curb, the crowd of girls was thinning out, and still no Abby.
Leon Chisholm, in full traffic-cop mode, gave him a wave and a smile. “Haven’t seen her,” he said. Danny smiled back, hit her phone number on his iPhone.
It rang once and went to her voice-mail message, high-pitched and singsong. “Hi, it’s Abby, you know what to do!”
Leon waved him out of the queue, toward the short-term parking area just off the circular drive. “If you don’t mind,” he said. “So I can keep the trains running on time.”
“No problem.” Danny felt a flash of irritation. Normally, she couldn’t wait to get the hell out of school. It was possible, sure, that she had a good reason for being late. But she should have texted to let him know.
After five minutes or so waiting with the car running, he switched it off and walked into the school building. He saw a girl he recognized from one of Abby’s birthday parties a few years back at a Build-a-Bear Workshop where the girls made their own teddy bears. She was tiny and had a mop of curly hair and a sour disposition and was in the middle of an animated conversation with a much taller girl in a Lyman Crew warm-up jacket.
“Shira?”
The girl turned away from the crew jock. “Yeah?”
“You see Abby?”
“You mean, like, in school?”
“I mean, like, recently.”