“He was married. He had a wedding ring on. Maybe he has children.”
“Gabriela...”
“I didn’t mean to. I panicked. I didn’t want to hurt anybody. But they were going to stop me and I couldn’t let them. It was for Sarah... You understand. I had to do something.”
“People can get shot and still live.”
“The ambulance would be there soon, right? Probably minutes.”
At 74th and Lexington they dodged through traffic and paused at a light, next to a pushcart vendor, who called, “You want hot dog? Pretzel?” He glanced at them with some curiosity. When they ignored him he turned to another customer and fished a frankfurter out of the gray frankfurter water.
The light changed and they crossed.
She said, “People’re looking at us, Daniel.”
“At you, Mac. Not us.”
“What?”
“Because you’re beautiful.”
She gave a wan smile. She nodded at a souvenir shop. “Hats,” she said, pointing to a rack.
“Good.”
They stepped inside.
She grabbed the first one she saw. But Daniel smiled and said, “Maybe not.” It sported a Lady Gaga logo in glitter.
“Oh.” She picked a plain navy blue baseball cap. He picked a black one.
“Jackets?”
But all the store sold was brightly colored and sequined I ♥ New York gear, worse than the glitzy hat. Outer camo would have to wait.
They both also bought new luggage — small backpacks, hers black, his dark gray.
Daniel paid, cash, and they pulled on the caps and stuffed their gym bags into the new packs.
“Not much of a disguise but different enough.”
At the door Daniel gazed out, looking for police, looking for the man in the yellow shirt, looking for Joseph.
“Nothing.”
“But—”
She took his arm and grew serious. “Listen, Daniel. This isn’t right. It’s time for you to leave. Get out now. I don’t think they even saw you back there, when I shot him. Get away from me.” She choked. “This isn’t your problem.”
He bent forward fast and kissed her on the lips. “Okay, that’s it.”
She blinked in surprise.
“What?”
“Do you watch that show CSI?”
“I used to.”
“Well, now you’ve got my DNA on you. If they catch you, I’m going down too.”
She smiled. “Oh, Daniel...”
“It’ll be okay, Mac. I promise.”
“Mac?” She blinked, hearing him use this name.
“You’re more of a Mac than a Gabriela. And come on, with a last name like McKenzie, don’t tell me nobody’s ever called you Mac?”
“True.”
Gabriela didn’t tell him that she and her father used nicknames for each other, and the one he’d bestowed on his daughter was indeed “Mac.”
“You mind?”
She smiled. “I love it.”
“And I may just love you,” Daniel whispered.
She stiffened at the word, then let herself go and pressed against him, shoulders-to-thigh. And for a fleeting moment the horrors of the weekend vanished.
Chapter 26
Deacon Hal
11:35 A.M., SUNDAY
15 MINUTES EARLIER
In the trenches...
Think, figure this out, Hal Dixon told himself.
You work in the trenches. Improvise.
He looked around the streets, spotted someone he thought could help.
Dixon strode up to the hot dog vendor, who guided away the smoke of the coals warming chestnuts and pretzels in his cart with the wave of a hand. The smoke returned instantly.
The smell made Dixon hungry but he was on his mission and he ignored the sensation.
“Please, I need to ask you something,” he said to the skinny vendor in jeans and a Mets T-shirt. “A couple came by here, a man and a woman. Just a few minutes ago.”
The man glanced at Dixon’s wrinkled gray suit and bright yellow shirt and maybe came to some conclusion about the color combination. Then he was looking back at Dixon’s sweaty face. “Man and woman?” A faint accent.
Dixon described them.
The hot dog man was instantly uneasy. “I didn’t see anything. Nothing. No.”
“It’s okay. I’m a deacon.” Trying to calm him.
“A...?”
“In a church, Presbyterian,” the rumpled man said breathlessly. “In New Jersey. A deacon.”
“Uhm,” said the street vendor, who seemed to be a Muslim and would probably have no idea what a deacon was but might appreciate devotion.
“Religious. I’m a religious person.”
“A priest?” the man asked, becoming confused. He was again regarding Dixon’s old suit and yellow shirt.
“No. I’m just religious. A deacon’s a layperson.”
“Oh.” The vendor looked around for somebody he could sell a hot dog to.
Mistake. Dixon said, “I’m like a priest.”
“Oh.”
“A private person who helps the priest. Like helping the imam.”
“Imam?”
“Look.” Dixon reached into his breast pocket and took a small, black-bound Bible from it.
“Oh.” The man said this with some reverence.
“I was just on Madison Avenue.” He gestured broadly though the vendor would obviously know where Madison Avenue was.
“Yes.”
“And what happened was, I saw this woman commit a crime, a bad crime. The woman I just described.”
“A crime?”
“That’s right.”
The vendor touched his chest with his fingertips, perhaps a form of prayer. Dixon noted his hands were filthy. He decided he’d never get a hot dog from a street vendor again. The man asked, “All the sirens? Is that what’s going on?”
“Yes, all the sirens. Lots of sirens.”
Dixon pulled a napkin out of the holder, then two more. He wiped his face.
“You want some water, Father? I call you ‘Father’? Is that what you say?”
“No, I’m not a reverend,” Dixon said. “I don’t want any water. A deacon. It’s like a priest.”
“Okay, but if you do, just ask. A bottle. Or a soda.”
“Here’s what I need—”
“You don’t have cell phone and you want to borrow mine?”
“No, no. I need to find out where they went — she and this other man, a friend of hers, I guess. I’m going to talk to them, help them give themselves up.”
The vendor blinked, waved at the smoke again.
Dixon repeated, “She should surrender to the police. I’ll help her. But she has to do it now. If they run, the police will think they’re guilty and they may just shoot them down. They’re panicked. I know they are.”
“You’re... what do they call that, people in your bible? Who help other people?”
What? Oh. “Samaritan,” Dixon said, wiping more sweat. The pits of his shirt were grayish yellow.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
My bible...
“I guess I am. I don’t know. They came this way.”
The vendor was more comfortable now. “Yes, these people you’re talking about? I saw them. A few minutes ago. I saw them because they were walking fast. And they were rude too.”
Dixon’s heart beat a bit faster. “Where did they go?”
“They went into that store there. Do you see it?”
“On the corner.”
“Next to the corner. The souvenir store.”
It was only forty or so feet away.
“Did you see them leave?”
“No, I think they’re still in there. But I wasn’t paying too much attention. They might’ve left.”
“Thank you. I think you’ve saved some lives.”
Dixon started across the street, then paused. The couple slipped from the store. They were wearing hats and she had a different bag, Dixon believed. But it was clearly them. They gazed up and down the street, spotted Dixon and froze for a moment. Then they vanished in the opposite direction. He noted the woman seemed to be limping.