James Grippando - Born to Run

Sofia wiped her hands nervously in her white apron. One of the men on the street was talking on a cell phone. She wondered who he was calling.

Stop it, Sofia.

The telephone on the wall rang, and it gave Sophia a start. Her nephew was about to answer it, but she hurried past the cash register and grabbed it first. He gave her a funny look, but Sofia had a strange intuition about this call.

“Angelo’s,” she said.

She glanced out the window. The man standing by the Mercedes was no longer on his cell phone.

“Hello?” she said, trying once more.

“Sofia, is that you?”

It was Demetri’s voice-not the stranger on the cell phone.

“Sofia is not here,” she said.

“ Amore mio , I know it’s you.”

“Please don’t call her anymore.”

She was about to hang up.

“It’s life or death, listen to me!”

His desperation gripped her. Her nephew glanced over from behind the counter.

“Hold on,” she told Demetri. “Let me go to the other phone.”

“No! There’s not time. Just listen to me!”

“But-”

“Don’t talk, listen. I’ve done a terrible thing, a terrible, terrible thing. And I am so sorry.”

Sofia shifted uncomfortably. Again her nephew seemed to sense her distress, and she turned away, burrowing herself in the corner behind the pastry display cabinet.

“Demetri, please.”

“You have to go. Get out!”

“What?”

“I was so desperate when you turned me down, but I knew in my heart that you wanted to help me. I told them that you were the one who tried to sell the secret to Harry Swyteck’s son and to that reporter. I told them I could-for money, I said I would…eliminate that threat.”

The phone shook in her hand.

“I was bluffing,” he said. “I was never going to hurt you. I could never do anything to hurt you. Please, please believe me. My plan was to take their money and take you away-back to Villa Rosa, just like I promised you forty-six years ago.”

“I have to hang up,” she said, her voice quaking.

“No, Sofia! You have to run. Don’t you understand? They believed me when I told them you were trying to sell what you know. Now they are going to kill me, and they are going to kill you, too!”

Sofia’s heart was pounding. She looked out the plate-glass window, between the lines of the hand-painted name of her late husband. The man on the street who had been speaking on the cell phone was coming down the sidewalk and walking toward the bakery. His partner was at his side. Sofia had seen men like these before, with their felt hats, expensive Italian-made overcoats, black leather gloves, and icy-cold eyes. It frightened her to the core to think that they were coming for her.

“Where can I go?”

“Just go! Now! ”

Sofia hung up the phone. Her nephew was pretending to be busy rolling out pastry dough on the marble slab, but Sofia knew he had been watching her out of the corner of his eye. She untied her apron and hung it on the hook.

“What’s the matter?” her nephew asked.

She grabbed her purse from under the counter, and pulled on her winter coat. Then she punched open the cash register and grabbed a handful of bills.

“ Tia , where are you going?” he said.

She went to him, held his face in her hands, and kissed him on the lips. Her answer was an old Sicilian saying:

“Quandu si las ‘a vecchia p’a nova, sabe che lasa ma non sabe che trova.”

When you leave the old for the new, you know what you are leaving but not what you will find.

With a tear in her eye, Sofia turned and ran out the back door.

Jack went into the office early on Saturday morning to pack boxes.

Technically his lease wasn’t set to expire for another six months, but the rent was more than he could afford, and the landlord had agreed to let him out early-if he could be out before December 31. Under that kind of deadline, he was willing to take help from anyone. Even Theo.

“Do you know where you’re going yet?” said Theo. He was wearing a vintage 1970s Allied Van Lines moving shirt that he’d picked up at Miami Twice clothing store, which made him look all the more authentic loaded down with a stack of boxes as high as the ceiling.

“There’s a little place on Main Highway that I really like. Hope to sign a lease this week.”

Theo went to the lobby and dropped his stack on the floor beside other packed boxes. It sounded like breaking glass.

“Those were my framed diplomas,” said Jack.

“Emphasis on were ,” said Theo. “Sorry, dude. But I can make it up to you. In fact, I’m gonna make you rich.”

“Spare me. I still have a garage full of Y2K survival kits from the last time you promised to make me rich.”

“This is different, dude. I been thinking about it since I called you at Grayson’s funeral and we talked about Tara Lee and porn addicts.”

“Vivien Leigh.”

“Whatever. It’s the addicts that’s important. I registered the domain name last night: BringBackPorn dot com.”

“I didn’t know it had left.”

“Your father isn’t vice president yet. Once he gets confirmed he’ll have nothing but time on his hands. All we gotta do is convince him to outlaw Internet porn. And then what do you think the most valuable domain name on the planet will be?”

“Get a Life dot com?”

“BringBackPorn dot com, baby. And we own it. It’s like money in the bank, dude.”

“Really, what planet are you from, Theo?”

There was a knock at the door. Theo went to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and peered outside.

“Can’t really see, but I think it’s your abuela. ”

Jack’s maternal grandmother had a way of showing up at his office whenever it had been too long since he’d last visited her. Sometimes it was to wonder aloud if she was going to live long enough to teach Spanish to the great-grandchildren who, by the way, Jack needed to hurry up and give to her. Other times, it was to remind her gringo grandson that half the blood in his veins was Latin. Usually, however, it was just to give him a kiss and make sure that he wasn’t starving to death.

“Probably bringing us her famous tres leches ,” said Jack. The tasty dessert was a running joke to just about everyone in Miami but Abuela , who regularly phoned in to Spanish talk radio and told the world that she’d invented tres leches , which the Nicaraguans had stolen from her.

Jack opened the door. It was not his grandmother.

“Mr. Swyteck?” the woman said.

“Yes. Who are you?”

“My name is not important. May I come in, please?”

“The office is not really open today.” Especially to people who won’t tell me their name.

“Please,” she said. “It’s important. It’s about your father becoming president.”

“You mean vice president?”

“No,” she said. “I mean president.”

The woman suddenly had Jack’s complete attention. It was odd that she wouldn’t share her name, but compared to everything else that had happened to him lately, it wasn’t that odd. He showed her inside and closed the door.

“Excuse the mess,” he said. “I’m moving.”

“To Washington?”

“No, I’ll be staying in town.”

Theo said, “Jack’s father fired him.”

Jack shot him a deadly look.

“Fired you?” she said.

“This is my friend Judas,” Jack said to her. “He was just leaving.”

“Nice to meet you, Judas.”

Theo nodded. “Later, dude,” he said, then left through the front door.

Jack showed his guest into his office and took her coat. It was heavy, he noticed, and even though it was a cool December day by Miami standards, it wasn’t winter-coat weather. He moved the boxes out of the way and offered her a seat in the armchair. The clutter made it impossible to get behind his desk, so he leaned on the front edge, facing her.