James Patterson: Kill Me If You Can

I love my Fortress in lower Manhattan, but it was nice to walk the streets of New York and not be surrounded by SoHo-chic models, aging hippies, or Trump wannabes. I walked along Metropolitan Avenue past a United Nations of food options that in one block alone offered up Mexican, Chinese, Korean, Italian, Caribbean, and glatt kosher.

The only thing missing was a sign that said REAL PEOPLE LIVE HERE.

I turned right at the Yeshiva Tifereth Moshe onto 118th Street and saw him. The person I was looking for. He was wearing cutoffs and a Mets T-shirt and raking up the few leaves that had fallen onto his tiny plot of grass.

He saw me and dropped the rake.

“Matthew Bannon,” I said. “Remember me?”

“Until the day I die,” he said, wrapping his brown arms around me. “It’s good to see you vertical. I’m sorry I didn’t visit you in the hospital. I was just too…I don’t know…I was kind of messed up for a while.”

“Hey, Mr. Perez—”

“Manny.”

“Manny, no apologies necessary,” I said. “How are you doing now?”

“I’m on disability. The union said they can’t fire me, but I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to go back to driving a subway. Maybe never.”

“You getting any help?”

“The Transit Gods sent me to a lady shrink. She’s young and cute, and she gave me some antidepression pills for the PTSD, but I never took them. How about you?”

“I decided to take my broken bones and my girlfriend to Paris for a while.”

“Sweet.”

“Manny, do you know anything about the other guy who was on the track that day?”

“‘On the track.’ I like that. You mean the guy I killed? They said he was some kind of a Russian businessman. No family — that was the good part.”

“There are no good parts to that man. He was a murderer, a thief, a smuggler, an arsonist — you name it. Vadim Chukov lived a life of crime, and the only thing you did was help put it to an end.”

“I’ll remember that when I wake in a cold sweat at two in the morning.”

“I was in the Marines,” I said. “Three combat tours, so I know what you’re going through. Middle of the night is when a guy can really get self-destructive.”

He looked away and I knew I’d hit a hot button. The good Catholic had been wrestling with thoughts of suicide.

“But you can get better. It won’t happen overnight. You need a good therapist — one who’s experienced and smart, not young and cute. You need to stop standing on your front lawn in the middle of September waiting for leaves that won’t fall off the tree till October.”

“You sound like my wife. She thinks I’ll feel better if we take a vacation.”

“She’s right,” I said.

“Not so easy when you’re living off disability checks.”

“Then live off this for a while.” I handed him an envelope exactly like the ones I had given Adam, Zach, and Ty.

He opened it, put one hand to his mouth, and lowered himself to the ground. I sat down next to him.

“Is this a joke?” he said.

“No, it’s real.”

“Where does a kid like you get a million dollars?”

“Chukov owed me some money. I settled with his estate. I figured you deserve a piece.”

“A ‘piece’?” He took another look at the check. “Why are you doing this?”

“You got kids?” I asked.

“Two daughters, a son, and four grandkids.”

“I’m doing it because your wife and your family need you. I’m partly responsible for taking you away from them. I want to be responsible for helping you get back.”

He waved the check at me. “If this can’t do it, I don’t know what will.” His brown eyes glistened. “Matthew, you’re changing my life.”

“It’s a two-way street, Manny,” I said, finally standing up.

He stood up next to me. “You tired of French food? Stay for dinner. My wife Nilda makes a mean arroz con pollo.”

“That would be great,” I said.

My cell phone rang.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Probably Katherine. My girlfriend.”

“She’s invited, too,” he said.

I answered the phone.

“Matthew?”

It wasn’t Katherine. It was somebody I didn’t expect.

“This is Newton. Matthew, I’m calling to tell you my employer is very impressed with your work.”

“Your employer? You mean the guy we call Copernicus?”

He laughed. “Yes. Copernicus is a big fan. Actually, he wants to hire you.”

“You’re kidding,” I said. “He wants to commission a painting?”

“No,” Newton said. “He has a job for you, though. You and your three Marine buddies, Zach Stevens, Ty Warren, and Adam Benjamin. Are you interested?”

I was standing right there on the lawn, but my legs were feeling unreal. So was the rest of me. Manny Perez had moved away to give me some privacy. He was up on the front steps, waiting for me to come in. His face was radiant. I knew he couldn’t wait to go inside and tell his wife the unbelievable news.

Newton repeated the question. “Are you interested? At least just to talk about it?”

I hesitated a few more seconds. “No,” I said. “Not today.”