Stuart Kaminsky - Midnight Pass

“I do,” I said with a grin. “Every morning before I go to work. I’m the men’s wear department manager at Old Navy in Gulf Gate. Brought my wife and kids here, for our annual week of torture.”

“I know what you mean,” she said.

“Who’s that?” the little boy asked, looking up at me.

“A friend of your mother’s,” said Stark with more than a touch of suspicion.

“You a friend of my daddy’s, too?” the boy asked.

“No,” I said, holding out my hand to Stark. “Pleased to meet you.”

“He’s not my daddy,” the boy said.

“He’s your grandfather?”

Stark’s jaw was tight now. I ignored him and looked down at the little boy, who was shaking his head no.

“He’s Andy,” the boy said.

“I think we’ve bothered the man enough,” said Janice Severtson.

The elevator stopped at seven and they shuffled wearily out.

“Nice to meet you,” I called as the doors closed.

When the doors opened on the eighth floor a few seconds later, I got out quickly and moved to a spot on the atrium landing not far from my room where I could see them moving slowly toward their room.

After they went in, I stayed at the railing for another hour, pretending my novel was a sketchbook when anyone went by, keeping an eye on the door to the room I was watching on the seventh floor. I even drew a crude stick figure and a tree on the inside cover of the novel at one point. My watch hit eleven, and I went to my room and set the alarm clock for five in the morning. I shaved, showered, shampooed, brushed my teeth, and watched a Harold Lloyd silent comedy on Turner Classic Movies. Harold wound up running around an abandoned ship being chased by a murderer and a monkey in a sailor suit. The movie was short. I went to sleep. Everything was going just fine.

By seven in the morning, I was eating the free Continental buffet breakfast at a two-person table. When I finished, I slowly drank cup after cup of coffee with USA Today in front of me. A little before nine, Andrew Stark, Janice Severtson, and the kids came down. The kids were bouncing and arguing. The adults were just arguing. I couldn’t hear them, but it looked as if the brief honeymoon was in trouble.

I followed them out after they breakfasted. The rest of the day was moppet heaven for the kids and nightmare alley for me. They went on and saw everything at the Disney-MGM Studios theme park while I watched from a discreet distance. I don’t know what I was watching for. Possibly signs of intimacy in front of the children. A stolen passionate kiss and a little groping while the kids were in the Muppet Vision show, or maybe I was hoping for a chance to catch Janice Severtson alone.

We watched the Beauty and the Beast show, the Hunchback show, the Honey I Shrunk the Kids show, the Indiana Jones Epic Stunt Spectacular, and had lunch at Disney’s Toy Story Pizza Planet Arcade. By the time we hit Voyage of the Little Mermaid, I was strongly considering calling Kenneth Severtson and telling him that I was on my way back to Sarasota.

They went on The Great Movie Ride and ended the day with The Making of Tarzan. I wished Stark would carry me or better yet, that Janice Severtson would carry me.

They stopped for dinner at a seafood restaurant. I didn’t eat. The chance of being spotted was too great and I didn’t put much faith in talking my way out of an accidental encounter with, “Well, we meet again. Small world after all.”

I wasn’t hungry.

When they went back to their suite, I followed and stood outside the door, trying to listen through the curtained window without giving the impression to anyone that I was a peeping tom. There was an alcove with doors to more rooms and a stairwell ten feet away. If I heard anyone open the door inside the room, I could get to the alcove and up the stairs before I was spotted.

The rooms were set back from the railing, so I couldn’t be seen from the atrium floor. I made sure no one was watching me from a floor above and put my ear to the window. I couldn’t make out words inside the room but the voices were hard and angry.

I went back to my room. I hadn’t been able to get Janice Severtson alone. Stark had stuck too close to her. I would call Severtson in the morning, give him his wife’s room number, advise him to pass it on immediately to his lawyer, and head back home. I’d alert Sally before I called Severtson in case she wanted to contact him and try to talk him into being reasonable when he heard from me. I couldn’t spend any more time in Orlando. I had a missing commissioner and two days to find him.

I took a hot shower, got into my boxer shorts, and turned on the television. I was going to look for a movie, but the channel guide told me there was a Cubs game on WGN.

It was the fifth inning. Kerry Wood was pitching. The Cubs were up, three to nothing. The announcer said Moises Alou had hit a home run with two men on to give the Cubs the lead.

I tried to lose myself in the game. I almost succeeded. The Cubs were ahead, five to nothing, going into the ninth. They were playing at home. The Pirates were batting. Wood was going for a complete game shutout.

I tried not to think about the little girl in Stark’s arms, of the little boy who had asked me questions about his mother and father, about Adele and the baby, Sally and her children, Darrell Caton, who had looked at me with contempt in Sally’s office.

The Cubs helped. They almost blew the game. Wood got wild, gave up two walks and a double. Score was five to two. Reliever came in. I didn’t recognize his name. He had just come up from Triple A. He walked the first man. The next batter hit into a double play, but the runner on second scored after a bad throw to the plate by the first baseman, Mueller. Five to three. The next man up got on with a broken-bat single to right. The tying run was on base.

Two outs. The batter hit one deep and high. It kept traveling toward the vines in right field. Sammy backed up to the wall, eyes on the ball. He timed the little leap and pulled the ball down for the final out.

In baseball, sometimes things went right.

In baseball, there was always a clear end, a final score.

I turned the lights out and got in bed. I was asleep in seconds.

Someone was knocking at my door. I sat up dizzy and looked at the clock with the glowing red numbers. It was a little after three in the morning. The knock came again. I got off the bed and went out of the bedroom to the door.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Janice Severtson.”

I opened the door and flipped on the lights. The children were both in pajamas and robes, crying. Janice Severtson needed a comb and a good dry cleaner. Her white robe was splotched with blood.

“Can we come in?” she asked. “Please.”

I stepped back and the weeping trio came in. I closed the door and turned to watch them sit on the small sofa. Janice Severtson was trying to comfort them, kissing the tops of their heads, hugging her children.

“How did you find me?” I asked. “And why?”

“I called the desk after I recognized you earlier,” she said. “I said I didn’t remember your name but that we knew each other from Sarasota. I described you. They found someone who remembered checking you in.”

“I hope the description was kind,” I said, putting my jeans on over the orange boxer shorts I had been sleeping in.

She didn’t answer that one. I pulled my shirt on over my head.

“I called some friends I can trust in Sarasota,” she went on, looking at the dark television screen and hugging her sobbing children. “Found someone who knew you. My husband sent you, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Can I trust you?” she asked, continuing to soothe her children. “I have no one else to turn to.”