“Well, it’s just dangerous. I don’t know.”
“Think about it, Reggie. We check on the body, okay. Then if it’s not where Romey said, I’m home free. We’ll tell the cops to drop everything against us, and in return I’ll tell them what I know. And since I don’t know where the body really is, the Mafia couldn’t care less about me. We walk.”
We walk. Too much television. “And if we find the body?”
“Good question. Think about this slowly, Reggie. Try and think like a kid. If we find the body, and then you call the FBI and tell them you know exactly where it is because you’ve seen it with your own eyes, then they’ll give us anything we want.”
“And what exactly do you want?”
“Probably Australia. A nice house, plenty of money for my mother. New car. Maybe some plastic surgery. I saw that once in a movie. They rearranged this guy’s entire face. He was dog ugly to start with, and he snitched on some drug dealers just so he could get a new face. Looked like a movie star when it was over. About two years later, the drug dealers gave him another new face.”
“You’re serious?”
“About the movie?”
“No, about Australia.”
“Maybe.” He paused and looked out the window. “Maybe.”
They listened to the radio and didn’t speak for several miles. Traffic was light. Memphis was farther away.
“Let’s make a deal,” he said, looking out his window.
“Maybe.”
“Let’s go to New Orleans.”
“I’m not digging for a body.”
“Okay, okay. But let’s go there. No one will expect us. We’ll talk about the body when we get there.”
“We’ve already talked about it.”
“Just go to New Orleans, okay?”
The highway intersected another one, and they were on top of an overpass. She pointed to her right. Ten miles away, the Memphis skyline glowed and flickered under a half-moon. “Wow,” he said in awe. “It’s beautiful.”
Neither of them could know that it would be his last look at Memphis.
They stopped in Forrest City, Arkansas, for gas and snacks. Reggie paid for cupcakes, a large coffee, and a Sprite, while Mark hid on the floor. Minutes later, they were back on the interstate headed for Little Rock.
Steam poured from the paper cup as she drove and watched him inhale four cupcakes. He ate like a kid — crumbs on his pants and in the seat, cream filling on his fingers, which he licked as if he hadn’t seen food in a month. It was almost two-thirty. The road was empty except for convoys of tractor-trailer rigs. She set the cruise control on sixty-five.
“Do you think they’re chasing us yet?” he asked, finishing the last cupcake and opening the Sprite. There was a certain excitement in his voice.
“I doubt it. I’m sure the police are searching the hospital, but why would they suspect we’re together?”
“I’m worried about Mom. I called her, you know, before I called you. Told her about the escape, and that I was hiding in the hospital. She got real mad. But I think I convinced her I’m safe. I hope they don’t give her a hard time.”
“They won’t. But she’ll worry herself sick.”
“I know. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I think she can handle it. Look at what she’s already been through. My mom’s pretty tough.”
“I’ll tell Clint to call her later today.”
“Are you going to tell Clint where we’re going?”
“I’m not sure where we’re going.”
He thought about this as two trucks roared by and the Honda veered to the right.
“What would you do, Reggie?”
“For starters, I don’t think I would have escaped.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Sure it is. You’re dodging a subpoena, aren’t you? I’m doing the same thing. So what’s the difference? You don’t want to face the grand jury. I don’t want to face the grand jury, so here we are on the run. We’re in the same boat, Reggie.”
“There’s only one difference. You were in jail, and you escaped. That’s a crime.”
“I was in a jail for juveniles, and juveniles do not commit crimes. Isn’t that what you told me? Juveniles are rowdy, or delinquent, or in need of supervision, but juveniles do not commit crimes. Right?”
“If you say so. But it was wrong to escape.”
“It’s done. I can’t undo it. It’s wrong for you to dodge the law too, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely not. There’s no crime in avoiding a subpoena. I was doing fine until I picked you up.”
“Then stop the car and let me out.”
“Oh sure. Please be serious, Mark.”
“I am serious.”
“Right. And what’ll you do when you get out?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ll go as far as I can, and if I get caught then I’ll just go into shock and they’ll send me back to Memphis. I’ll claim I was crazy, and they’ll never know you were involved. Just stop anytime you feel like it, and I’ll get out.” He leaned forward and punched the Seek button on the radio. For five miles they listened to Conway Twitty and Tammy Wynette.
“I hate country music,” she said, and he turned it off.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Sure.”
“Suppose we go to New Orleans and find the body. And, according to your plan, we then cut a deal with the FBI and you go into their witness protection plan. You, Dianne, and Ricky then fly off into the sunset to Australia or wherever, right?”
“I guess.”
“Then, why not cut a deal and tell them now?”
“Now you’re thinking, Reggie,” he said patronizingly, as if she’d finally awakened and was beginning to see the light.
“Thank you so much,” she said.
“It took me a while to figure it out. The answer is easy. I don’t completely trust the FBI. Do you?”
“Not completely.”
“And I’m not willing to give them what they want until me, my mother, and my brother are already far away. You’re a good lawyer, Reggie, and you wouldn’t allow your client to take any chances, would you?”
“Go on.”
“Before I tell these clowns anything, I want to make sure we are safely put away somewhere. It’ll take some time to move Ricky. If I told them now, the bad guys might find out before we can disappear. It’s too risky.”
“But what if you told them now, and they didn’t find the body? What if Clifford was, as you say, joking?”
“I would never know, would I? I’d be undercover somewhere, getting a nose job, changing my name to Tommy or something, and all of it would be for nothing. It makes more sense to know now, Reggie, if Romey told me the truth.”
She shook her bewildered head. “I’m not sure I follow you.”
“I’m not sure I follow me, either. But one thing is for certain: I’m not going to New Orleans with the U.S. marshals. I’m not going to face the grand jury on Monday and refuse to answer questions so they can throw my little butt in jail down there.”
“Good point. So how do we spend our weekend?”
“How far is it to New Orleans?”
“Five or six hours.”
“Let’s go. We can always chicken out once we get there.”
“How much trouble will it be to find the body?”
“Probably not much.”
“Can I ask where it is at Clifford’s house?”
“Well, it’s not hanging in a tree or lying in the bushes. It’ll take a little work.”
“This is completely crazy, Mark.”
“I know. It’s been a bad week.”
34
So much for a quiet Saturday morning with the kids. Jason McThune studied his feet on the rug next to his bed, and tried to focus on the clock on the wall by the bathroom door. It was almost six, still dark outside, and the cobwebs from a late night bottle of wine blurred his eyes. His wife rolled over and grunted something he could not understand.