Good God, thought Harrison, as his hands turned to ice.
“Besides,” Fish-Hook continued, as he left the dog and touched Adam’s carriage, “I have some exciting plans for my new star here. Believe me, such young talent is in demand, and extremely difficult to obtain these days.”
Blood sank from Harrison’s face as he turned toward the fat man and croaked, “You can’t be serious.”
“My associate is quite serious, Mr. Harrison. He has become quite the enterprising producer.”
Fish-Hook knelt down and peered in at Adam, flicking his chalky tongue rapidly in and out at the boy. He then looked back at Harrison and shrugged. “Boys, girls, they’re more or less the same at that age, don’tcha think?”
Revulsion erupted inside Harrison as he lunged at Fish-Hook. “You bastard, you get away from—”
Again, Harrison never saw the thick man move a muscle. Before Harrison could reach his son, Mr. Corillian’s right arm was around Harrison’s neck. His left hand held a black device inches from Harrison’s face. It looked like an electric razor, but with two points protruding like silver mandibles from the face. Once Harrison stopped struggling, the strong hand gently squeezed the device, and a blue arc of electricity sizzled between the two probes.
“What was that you were saying, Mr. Harrison?” asked Fish-Hook, as he bounced on his toes. “I wouldn’t try that again, if I was you. Two hundred thousand volts would turn you to jelly for at least an hour. In fact, I think we should zap you right now, and just take the kid.”
“No, no,” interrupted the fat man. “I made a wager with the man. So far he has performed admirably.” Mr. Corillian released Harrison and resumed a quiet stance. “You do intend to finish, do you not, Mr. Harrison?”
“Just two more throws and you guys will leave me, and my son, alone?”
“Of course, Mr. Harrison. I am a man of my word.”
“And I get to walk away from here with the cash. No strings attached.”
“No strings attached. Absolutely.”
“You guys won’t come after me as soon as I turn around?”
“Mr. Harrison, you watch too much television. Do you plan to continue?”
Lex was standing already, refreshed from his rest, and Harrison picked up the Frisbee. This time, it felt weightless, and Harrison gripped it tight until the chewed plastic edge bit into the sides of his fingers. Two more times, he thought to himself. Take it easy, just two more. Please, Lex, don’t screw this up.
He felt numb as he threw the Frisbee, and once again it fell short and looked like it might not even reach the trash can. Like a bowler trying to will the ball to move left with body language to pick up that spare, Harrison swung both arms low and thrust them upwards, trying to create an updraft that might lift the Frisbee. Magically, a burst of wind did appear, pitching the Frisbee up high as if it were a small boat struggling to stay afloat in a storm. Lex watched it, waited for it to drop, and then stabbed out and caught the Frisbee before it hit the ground. Harrison cheered and dropped to his knees, his fists still up in the air, his mouth opened wide as he screamed with the surge of victory. When Lex returned, Harrison vigorously ruffled his fur and scratched at his neck in hearty celebration.
“That’s seven, Mr. Harrison.”
Yes, thought Harrison, that’s seven and there’s only one more to go and then it’s payday.
“Come on, boy,” he urged, “you can do this. Just one more, champ. Let’s go, boy, let’s do it. Let’s win.”
Harrison looked over at the fat man before the final throw, to see if he showed any sign of concern. To see if he was sweating as the final card was being dealt. If they had intended to cheat him all along, thought Harrison, they would probably look unconcerned, even bored.
The fat man’s eyes were fixed on the Frisbee in Harrison’s hands. Those eyes revealed intense interest. At least this appears to matter to him.
The fat man’s two assistants also stared at the Frisbee in Harrison’s hand.
So did Lex.
Harrison looked over at the baby carriage, and at the stacks of cold cash piled inside. This could finally be the big score.
It was getting darker, and Harrison looked out over the park and where he needed to throw the Frisbee. Just an easy toss, no need for anything fancy. He scraped the edge of the Frisbee with his fingernail as he wound back. Lex perked up, ready to take off. The Frisbee felt normal, finally. All he had to do was toss it. All he had to do was let go. Throw it like he had a trillion times before.
After what seemed like two days, Harrison finally swung his arm forward, and flicked the Frisbee into the air.
It sailed clear of the trash can, out in the open, with a slight arc to the right. Lex kept up with it easily, his dog tags jangling as he ran under it to position himself for its descent. Finally, he reached up to grab it, and Harrison heard the satisfyingly familiar crunch.
Except Lex missed it. The Frisbee looped from his mouth and rolled to the ground.
Harrison froze.
He stared at the Frisbee resting in the grass.
He could not breathe. His lungs had collapsed. His circulatory system immediately flushed as antifreeze surged through his veins. All he could do was turn his head toward his baby boy, toward the three men now hovering over him like crows over carrion.
With pain branching throughout his chest, Harrison saw that somehow he had crept at least twenty feet away from Adam — unconsciously, he had been hedging closer to the trash can with the last two throws. Suddenly he felt as if he were in a free falling elevator, whooshing away from his baby boy. As in every dream he had ever had where he had been chased by mobsters, Harrison’s feet felt like cement blocks trudging across hot sand as he struggled to reach his son.
The fat man, however, was not looking at Harrison, nor at Adam. He was looking at nothing, with his left index finger pressed into his hearing aid. Suddenly the fat man lifted the lapel of his jacket and began talking to it.
“Did you get all of that?”
Harrison stopped, numb.
“Good,” the fat man continued. “Good… Excellent! Oh, this is better than we hoped for. Mr. Harrison, I’m told that your expression just now came out wonderfully on the monitor. Dr. Harrison just informed us she will pay a bonus for a copy of the videotape alone! Oh, this is marvelous!”
Harrison stared, dumbstruck, as the fat man shook with laughter.
All three men then reached into their jackets, and it occurred to Harrison that they might just shoot him right there. Instead of pistols, however, each pulled out a business card, and held it out. Harrison took the one from the fat man and read:
“What—”
“Mr. Harrison,” the fat man began, “our client, Dr. Lynn Harrison, has been somewhat concerned with… oh, how should we put it, your fitness to be the custodial parent of young Master Adam here. With the custody hearing coming up tomorrow, I’m sure you can appreciate her need for a demonstration of your… concern toward your son’s welfare. Please direct your attention down the lane, toward our car.”
Harrison looked to where the fat man pointed, and the rear door of the black Mercedes opened. Out stepped Lynn, wearing a white sweater and tan skirt he had not seen before, and also holding a finger to her left ear.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, believe me, Mr. Harrison,” Leonard Piper continued, “both the video and the audio portion came out extraordinarily well, as I understand both are being reviewed just this moment for clarity. Would you like to hear?”
Piper plucked the earpiece out by the cord with a pop! and held it out. Harrison saw a small dab of wax dangling from the rubbery insert.