Greg Gifune - Night Work

The phone interrupted his thoughts. He had no plan to answer it until he realized it was his private line blinking. "Hello?"

"Frank," Vincent's voice said through the line. "What the hell are you still doing at the office?"

"I was just going over some contracts."

"We got a problem."

"My life's nothing but," he sighed. "What's up?"

"Where's Sandy?"

Frank hesitated. "Home, I think."

"You need to get her out of there. Get her somewhere safe."

"What the hell's going on?"

"I don't want to get into it over the phone," Vincent said irritably. "Just do what I tell you. Get her out of there and meet me at the rest area outside of town in one hour. And keep your eyes open, understand?"

Without bothering to set the alarm, Frank locked the doors to the office and hesitated at the edge of the parking lot. His eyes scanned the area and the surrounding block, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He bolted to his car and drove to the apartment as fast as his car would allow, parking on the street, a few doors down from their building.

Sandy was sitting at the kitchen table having a cigarette when he burst through the door. His entrance startled her, and she reared back as if expecting him to run right past her. "What's the matter?"

"Pack some things," he said, still trying to catch his breath. "Enough for a couple days. Hurry."

His instructions didn't seem to register, and she stared at him blankly. "What?"

"Just do it. Please."

Sandy butted her cigarette and stood up, the color draining from her face. "Tell me what's happening."

"We don't have time." He peered through the only window that faced the parking lot. "Do what I said. Now."

Sandy ran to the bedroom, pulled a small suitcase from the closet shelf and quickly began to pack.

"Did anyone call tonight?" Frank asked.

"No."

"Anyone stop by looking for me?"

"No."

"Was there any peculiar mail?"

"No."

Frank glanced over his shoulder and saw Sandy standing in the bedroom doorway holding a blouse with trembling hands. He went to her quickly and kissed her forehead. "It'll be all right if you just hurry," he told her. "I'm going to take you to your parents' house. I'll explain on the way."

While Sandy resumed her packing, Frank hurried back to the window. A pair of headlights sliced the darkness, and a car he didn't recognize turned into the small parking lot. It made a slow pass behind a row of tenant vehicles.

"I'm ready," Sandy said.

"Turn off the light."

"Frank, what – "

"Turn it off!"

In darkness the strange car came into clearer focus. Frank could make out two forms in the front seat, but not much else.

"What should I do?" Sandy asked, standing in the center of the room, suitcase at her feet.

"Stay quiet," he whispered.

The car pulled to the far end of the lot, backed into a space, and the headlights were extinguished.

"We'll go out the back," Frank said. Grabbing her by the arm he led her through the living room to the door. "I parked a little ways up the street. Don't make a sound and do exactly what I say, understand?"

She nodded quickly, and Frank pulled open the door. The rear hallway was seldom used, but he stepped out first and looked around anyway. A small staircase led to the end of the parking lot closest to the street. Just beyond the exit was a floodlight, but once they'd made it around the side of the building and into a row of thick shrubs, Frank felt confident they could reach the street undetected. Holding hands, they ran through a neighbor's yard and crossed onto the curb.

Once they were both in the car, Frank started it and pulled away quickly, not turning on his lights until he'd put a safe distance between themselves and the apartment.

Twenty minutes later he pulled onto a quiet side street and parked in front of Sandy's parents' house in the nearby town of Torlington. Satisfied that they hadn't been followed, Frank let his head rest back against the seat and took a deep breath. Neither of them had spoken during the ride and both found themselves at a loss for what to say next.

"Am I just supposed to show up on my parents' doorstep unannounced and with no explanation?" Sandy finally asked.

"Tell them we had a fight," Frank said. "They shouldn't have any trouble believing that."

"I need to know what's happening."

Frank rubbed his eyes. "I'm not exactly sure myself. I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

"I don't have my car," she reminded him. "How am I supposed to get to work tomorrow?"

"You're not," he said, looking at her. "Call in sick."

"How long is this going to last?"

"I don't know. Just make sure you don't tell anyone where you are. If anyone calls other than me – and I mean anyone – you're not there, got it?"

"Yes."

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "I love you."

Sandy stepped out of the car and moved quickly along a small stone walkway to the front door, her suitcase dangling at her side.

Frank watched her until she was safely inside, then pulled away. As he turned at the top of the block and headed for the highway, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever see his wife again.

Set back from the highway and built up against a heavily wooded section of road, the rest area just before the Angel Bay exit was dark and appeared empty.

As Frank pulled in he saw a pair of headlights quickly blink and then vanish over near the trees. He parked and walked quickly in the direction from which the lights had come.

Vincent was standing in front of his Corvette. Even shrouded in darkness the worried look on his face was evident. "You're late."

"I had to drive Sandy all the way to Torlington," Frank told him, buttoning his coat against the cold. "What's going on?"

"There was some trouble with the Turano thing," Vincent said, hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of his jacket. "They missed the sonofabitch."

"Oh, Jesus Christ."

Vincent nodded. "The shit's really hit the fan this time, goombah. Michael's trying his best to smooth things over with the boys in Philly, but even he may not be able to work it out in time. I'm supposed to talk to him later tonight. If we're on our own, we're gonna have to take this sack of shit out ourselves."

"Are you nuts?"

"If we don't, we're dead."

"How the fuck did this happen?" Frank clenched his teeth in anger. "You told me they could pull it off without a – "

"Yeah," Vincent interrupted, "but I wasn't figuring on getting fucked over."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Vincent began to pace. "Turano knew what was coming."

"How?"

"Somebody tipped him off, that's how."

"Do we know who did this?"

"Of course we do."

The buzz of cars rushing past on the highway next to them periodically muffled their voices, but Frank was sure Vincent had not yet answered the question to his satisfaction. "Am I supposed to fucking guess?"

"Use your head. Who knew about this?"

"You mean besides Michael and his people?"

"Obviously."

"You, me, Charlie, and Gus."

"Forget Charlie," Vincent said. "He left the hotel room that day in Connecticut the minute we started discussing it seriously. That leaves the three of us. Now I'm pretty sure you didn't do it, and I know goddamn well I didn't, so who does that leave?"

Frank lit a cigarette and tried to sort his thoughts. "Not Gus, Vin. He'd never do that."

"Come on, for Christ's sake, he's the – "

"I know Gus a hell of a lot better than you do," Frank reminded him. "Say whatever you want about the guy, but he's loyal."

Vincent popped a square of bubble gum into his mouth. The pink wrapper jumped from his hand, levitated as if by magic, then rode the breeze until it gracefully spiraled downward into a puddle at Frank's feet. "Not anymore."