Джанет Иванович - Fortune and Glory

“I have the route all mapped out on my phone,” Potts said. “You take 206 to the New Jersey Turnpike.”

I knew the way to Atlantic City, but I was happy to let Potts navigate if it occupied him enough to keep him from humming.

“In the movies it only takes a few seconds for Indiana Jones to fly from the States to Istanbul,” Potts said. “This road to Atlantic City feels like forever.”

Tell me about it. I was trying hard to push away horrible thoughts of my mother at the hands of Shine’s thugs, but my stomach was sick, and my palms were sweating on the steering wheel.

“Okay,” he said. “We’re coming up to the Jersey Turnpike. You want to go south.”

Good deal, I thought. I could make time on the turnpike. Going north on the turnpike from Trenton was a nightmare. Going south was usually open road.

I connected with the turnpike and pushed the Buick up to 85 mph. It was like driving a nuclear-powered tank with bad brakes. It was terrifying. Potts had his hands braced against the dash, and he was humming loud enough to be heard over the roar of the engine.

“Exit eleven!” Potts yelled. “ Exit 11! ”

I slowed the tank and peeled off onto the Garden State Parkway. I got up to speed and Potts was watching the exit signs fly by.

“This next one is it,” he said. “The A-C-E is coming up at exit 38.”

“The what ?”

“The A-C-E. Atlantic City Expressway.”

There was dead silence in the car for a beat.

“Holy smokes, Batman,” Potts said. “It’s the first clue, isn’t it?”

“Yes! It wasn’t Ace it . It was Atlantic City Expressway ACE. Initials. The La-Z-Boys would have known that. I should have known that.”

“The next clue is 50 , right? Maybe there’s a Route 50.” Potts went to his phone. “Route 50 is exit 17. West Egg Harbor.”

I had a choice to make. I could go to the Pleasantville house or I could follow the clues to the treasure. I chose the Pleasantville house.

“Stay on the expressway,” Potts said. “We want to get off on North New Road.”

I hit the North New Road exit ramp and stomped on the brake. Slowing the Buick down was like slowing down a freight train.

I took the E-ZPass lane and cruised onto North New Road.

“You’re going to turn left in about a half mile,” Potts said.

Minutes later we were in front of the house. It was a two-story frame that was probably built in the fifties. Very plain but well maintained. It was on a street with mature trees and shrubs. It had a driveway but no garage. There were no cars parked in front of the house. A small center-console boat was trailered in the driveway. No vehicle attached to the trailer.

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” Potts said.

I didn’t waste time with the usual sit-and-observe routine. I got out of the Buick, ran to the door, and rang the bell. No answer. I ran around to the back door and looked inside. No lights on. No one visible. The door was locked. I banged on the door. No answer. I broke the glass in the door with my gun butt and let myself in. Potts was on my heels.

I did a fast search to make sure my mom wasn’t in the house. I didn’t find her, but I found clothes in one of the bedrooms. The clothes looked like they belonged to Shine. A couple of pinkie rings had been left on the bedroom dresser. I returned to the kitchen. There was food in the fridge. The Entenmann’s crumb cake box was in the trash. Plus, a crumpled wad of bloody paper towels.

I froze for a moment, telling myself to breathe, to push the panic away. I had to stay calm and focused. I had to be able to think clearly. I didn’t have the luxury of unproductive emotion.

There was no sign of struggle in the house. No bloodstains other than the paper towels. I told myself that was a good sign, but truth is, I wasn’t sure.

“We missed them,” I said to Potts.

“Maybe they know the treasure location,” Potts said.

In seconds we were in the Buick.

“You need to get back on the expressway,” Potts said. “It’s the fastest way to Route 50.”

I returned to the expressway and got the Buick up to eighty.

“You should hum,” Potts said to me.

“What?”

“Hum. It’s very calming. You look like you need calming.”

He was dead-on. I was having a hard time pulling myself together.

“What should I hum?” I asked him.

“Anything.”

I started humming “Happy Birthday.” It was the only song in my head.

“That’s a good choice,” Potts said. “I hum that song a lot.”

We hummed “Happy Birthday” together all the way to exit 17 and for a couple of minutes on Route 50.

“Speed limit,” Potts said. “It will slow us down if we get stopped by the police or hit a cow or something.”

“There’s a fork in the road.”

“Stay to the right on Route 50. Route 50 just turned into Philadelphia.”

“That’s the third clue. Philadelphia. I thought Jimmy made this treasure hunt impossibly difficult, but he made it ridiculously easy. Benny’s clue number four is pink .”

We traveled Route 50 through the town of Egg Harbor, looking for something pink. We left the town and drove through a residential area. Philadelphia Avenue continued on past churches, over a creek, and past a lake.

From time to time I checked my rear mirror for a Rangeman car. I knew Ranger would have someone following me when they saw that I left Trenton. And he was probably coordinating with Morelli, and I suspected that Morelli was also following me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I pulled to the side of the road. “We must have missed it,” I said. “We’ve been on Philadelphia for a long time and there isn’t anything out here.”

Potts went back to his phone and tapped in a satellite map of Philadelphia Avenue.

“I see it,” he said. “There are some pink buildings about a mile up the road.”

I put the Buick in gear and in a couple of minutes we came to a driveway leading into Bowman Storage. Two acres of single-story, pink concrete block storage units with roll-up garage doors.

“This is it,” Potts whispered.

I no longer wanted the treasure. I wanted my mom. I wanted her safe and unharmed. If she wasn’t already here, I knew they would be bringing her here soon. I wanted to ride around and look for the black Escalade or the blue pickup, but I was driving a big, stupid powder blue and white Buick Roadmaster. It wasn’t quiet and it never went unnoticed.

“I’m afraid to go any further in this car,” I said to Potts. “We’ll be instantly recognized if Shine and his men are roaming around.”

I scanned the area. There weren’t many places to hide a Buick. A small office with its own parking was attached to the first row of garage-size lockers. The office looked closed and unoccupied. Two large dumpsters had been placed off to the side of the office.

I drove behind the dumpsters and parked. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best I could do. The Buick would only be visible to someone depositing trash. We walked past one row of storage units and didn’t see any cars. A tan Honda sedan was parked in front of the first unit on the second row. I looked past the Honda and spotted the black Escalade and a white Taurus at the other end of the building. The door was down on the unit. Two men stood beside the Escalade.

“There’s a car coming,” Potts said.

We ducked down and wedged ourselves halfway under the Honda. A black Mercedes sedan rolled past us and parked by the other cars. Shine got out of the Mercedes. The door to the storage unit rolled up and Shine went in.

My sick stomach was back, and my heart thumped in my chest. I wondered if this happened to Indy. Probably not. He had a lot of Oh crap moments, but I couldn’t remember him looking nauseous. Probably because no one ever kidnapped his mother.