“Believe me, I’m well aware of the consequences.”
“Have you looked into flights?”
“Two tickets. They’re booking them as we speak.”
Ramming his chair backwards as he stood up, Gallo let it crash into his credenza. The impact shook the half a dozen Secret Service plaques and photographs that decorated his wall. “There’s nothing to find there,” he insisted.
“No one said there was.”
“We should still call-”
“Already did,” DeSanctis said.
Nodding to himself, Gallo stormed toward the door. “When did you say we leave?”
“Next flight out – six A.M. into Miami,” DeSanctis added, chasing behind him. “We’ll be standing on their necks by breakfast.”
“Fudge, I know you’re there!” Joey yelled into the answering machine. “Don’t act like you’re sleeping – I know you can hear me! Pick up, pick up, pick up…” She waited, but no one answered. “Are you there, God, it’s me, Joey.” Still nothing. “Okay, that’s it – now you can deal with my niece’s alphabet song – A is for Acrobat, B is for Bubbles, C is for Charley Horse, D is for-”
“D is for Death, my dear,” Fudge answered, his voice hoarse with sleep. “It’s also for Destruction, Dismemberment, Disemboweling…”
“So you know the song?” Joey asked, working hard to keep it light.
“Mommie dearest, it’s currently two-fourteen in the bloody morning. You are, indeed, the devil herself.”
“Listen, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow – no playing around – I need you to speed up that phone trace on Margaret Caruso.”
“It’s now two-fifteen in the bloody morning…”
“I’m serious, Fudge! I’ve got a crisis!”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Can’t you get your people at the phone company?”
“Now?” he asked, still groggy. “My people don’t work these hours – these hours are for deviants, and rock stars, and… and deviants.”
“Please, Fudge…”
“Call me tomorrow, sweetie-pie – I’ll have my baby-fresh scent after nine.” With a click, he disappeared.
Pulling the earpiece from her ear, Joey glanced down at the digital map on her global positioning system. Fifteen minutes ago, a blue blinking triangle slowly made its way toward downtown. Whatever Gallo and DeSanctis had seen, they were taking it back to headquarters. As they entered the Service’s garage, though, the blue blinking triangle disappeared and a high-pitched beep screamed through Joey’s car. System Error, the screen flashed. Transfer interrupted. Joey didn’t bat an eye. When it came to locking down external transmitters, there was no messing with the Secret Service.
45
When Charlie was in high school he used to love walking down empty streets at two in the morning. The vacuum of silence. The undertow of darkness around every corner. The noble power of being the last man standing. He used to thrive on it. Now he hates it.
Speedwalking back to our apartment, he sticks to the sidewalks, loses himself under the rows of palm trees, and every few steps, checks anxiously over his shoulder.
“Who’re you looking for?” I ask.
“How about lowering your voice?” he hisses. “No offense, but I want to see if she’s following.”
“Who, Gillian? She already knows where we’re staying.”
“Okay, then I guess we have nothing to worry about…”
“See, now you’re being paranoid.”
“Listen, Ollie, just ’cause you’ve got a new kick in your walk doesn’t mean you can shut your brain.”
“Is that what I’m doing? Shutting my brain?” Crossing into the street, I’m sick of the arguing. And the jealousy.
“Get back here,” he scolds, motioning toward the sidewalk.
“Who made you mom?” I ask. He makes a face; I love the dig. There’s a near-full moon up above, but he doesn’t bother to look. “Why’re you giving Gillian such a hard time anyway?”
“Why do you think?” Charlie asks, once again checking over his shoulder. “Didn’t you see that layer of dust in her bedroom?”
“And that’s what’s got the ants in your undies? She doesn’t touch her nightstand?”
“It’s not just the nightstand – it’s the bathroom and the closets and the drawers and everything else we went through… If you moved into your dead father’s house, would you still keep his stuff everywhere?”
“Didn’t you hear what she said about sleeping on her couch? Besides, it took mom a year to-”
“Don’t talk to me about mom. Gillian’s been living there for a month, and the place looks like she moved in last week.”
“Oh, so now she’s working against us?” I ask.
“All I’m saying is, she’s got some random clothes and a dozen modern art, neoplastic rip-off paintings. Where’s the rest of her life? Her furniture, her CD collection – after all this time, you’re telling me she doesn’t have her own TV?”
“I’m not saying she doesn’t have her quirks – but that’s what happens when you’re dealing with an artist…”
Right there, he’s ready to lose it. “Do me a favor – don’t call her an artist. Putting tracing paper on an old Mondrian does not an artist make. Besides, have you even looked at her fingernails? That girl hasn’t painted a day in her life.”
“Oh, and suddenly you’re the authority on all things artistic? It’s called washing your hands, Charlie – it’s an amazing concept. And you’re just mad because she’s out-Charlie-ing you at your own game.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“You saw how she lives… the fact that she’s happy with the bare essentials… that she doesn’t need to be in the race… Starting to sound familiar? Rhymes with barley… Even when she came after us – she doesn’t get mad – she just kinda looks through you – like she’s not afraid of anything.”
“Ax murderers also aren’t afraid of anything.”
“Can you please give it a rest?” I beg as we turn onto our block. “You’re the one always saying I have no sense of adventure. Would you rather I date someone like Beth?”
“Date? You’re not dating Gillian… you’re not even courting her. You’re just two people in an extreme situation who happen to be standing next to each other. It’s like falling in love on a teen tour – but without the James Taylor songs.”
“You can make all the fun you want, but we both know you hate it when anyone challenges your role as Mr. Nonconformity. It’s the same reason you never join a band – you feel threatened anytime you spot some competition.”
“Oh, now I get it – is that what you think this is? A competition? You can have her, Ollie. She’s all yours. But just so you know, it’s not about competition anymore – it’s about one thing: divide and conquer. That’s what she’s gonna do.”
“How can you say that?”
Checking the block one last time, he scrambles across the street, pushes open the cheap metal gate, and races through the courtyard that leads to our apartment. We’re both silent until I turn the key and let us inside. The bug spray smell hits first. “It’s still better than staying at Gillian’s,” Charlie says, taking his own whiff.
“You don’t even know her,” I challenge.
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a vibe,” Charlie shoots back, kicking his shoes off and undressing for bed.
“Oh, pardon me – I didn’t realize you were in the midst of channeling your inner Buddha – you’re like one of those water-divining rods when it comes to people’s vibes.”
“You’re saying I’m not?”
“All I’m saying is I’m not the one who lent his favorite amp to a complete stranger, and then watched it get traded to some crappy pawn shop in Staten Island.”