Russell Andrews - Aphrodite

"Where's Kransten?" Deena asked, still speaking softly.

He didn't answer. When he did, he first told her that he wanted her to come with him. One more time, so he could keep her safe. Then it would be all over.

Deena took a last sniffle, used a paper towel to wipe her nose. Then, the tears no longer in her eyes, she looked at him. "You have blood all over you," she said.

"It's not mine," he told her.

She nodded. Turned on the hot-water tap for him. "You'd still better clean up," she said.

As Justin washed his face and then used paper towels and soap to dab at the blood spots on his clothes, Deena said, "Jay?" When he turned toward her, she said, "When you have your nightmares, what is it that scares you? Is it only the things that happened? Is it only what they did to Alicia and Lili? Or is it something else? Is it more than that?"

He didn't answer right away. It was a question he'd often asked himself but one he'd always refused to answer. "It's mostly that," Justin said. "It's the loss and the waste and the guilt. But it's also the things I feel now. It's the things I want to do to them. The things I know that I could do. That I would do. It's what you just saw," he told her. "Or what I didn't let you see. That's what scares me more than anything."

She took a damp towel and wiped it across his forehead.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know whether it's what they turned me into or whether it's what I always was. But I'm sorry."

"I guess there's no way of ever knowing the answer to that. But I'm sorry too." She put her hands on his shoulders, stood on her toes, and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. "So where's Kransten?" Deena asked. "Where are we going?" They were a few blocks away, on Park and Fifty-fourth, standing outside an office building in an alcove under a marble overhang. Deena was reading that morning's New York Post, which had their photos on page three, with the headline bandits on the run. Underneath the photos was a caption: Renegade cop turned killer and sexy yoga moll are still eluding a nationwide dragnet. While Deena read and averted her face so passersby wouldn't recognize her, Justin was using Roger Mallone's phone to call Billy DiPezio.

"So how are your underworld connections these days?" Justin asked the Providence chief of police.

"You've been paying too much attention to the papers again, Jay. Goddamn scandalmongers. You know I don't have any connections in that area." Justin could hear Billy light a cigarette on the other end of the phone. "But if I did, what is it you might need?"

"Two passports."

"That's all? Two passports for people about to hit the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list? No counterfeit money? No bags of cocaine or semi-automatic weapons?"

"Two convincing passports. And driver's licenses."

"All done?"

"And a credit card."

"Any particular kind?"

"I'm open to surprises."

"Well, as I said, I don't know anyone who does that sort of thing. But I'll tell you what I'd like, just for my desk, you understand, a sentimental thing: four passport-size photos. Wait a second-you want a photo credit card? 'Cause then I'll need five."

"Not necessary. I'll overnight them within an hour."

"Good. I'll add 'em to the little shrine I've got set up. And as long as we're gabbin', I got some other info for you, mi campagno," Billy said. "You wanted a link between the geezers in the old-age homes? Well, my boys found one."

"They all spent time in upstate New York, around Binghamton, in the early seventies."

Billy sighed. "I forgot how annoying you can be."

"Kransten owned a hospital there. It's where the initial experiments were done."

"But I can still top you. You wanted to know about Kransten and Marshall's baby. Louise Marshall did give birth. They had a daughter. April 'seventy-four. April tenth, to be exact. There's no record of the kid's death, but you know that doesn't always mean anything. But there is something you don't know. Care to guess what the daughter's name was?"

Justin held the phone away from his ear for a moment. He took a deep breath, brought the phone close again. "Yeah," he said to Billy DiPezio. "I'll give it a shot."

"So I'm waiting. Let's hear it."

"Aphrodite," Justin said. "The kid's name was Aphrodite."

By the silence at the other end, Justin knew he'd gotten it right. It was confirmed when Billy said, "Send the photos, you lucky fuck. I'll have the passports in forty-eight hours."

Justin clicked the phone shut.

"Jay," Deena said. "Even with fake passports, how are we going to get out of the country?" She held up the Post, then quickly pulled it down behind her back. "Somebody's going to recognize us. We'll never get to the gate."

"We might not have to."

"Now what do you have in mind?" she asked.

"One last favor," he told her. "Remember the guy in the blue Jaguar?"

"Your college roommate. With the house in Southampton."

"Yup. He also lives in the city. Or at least his office is here."

"And he's going to help us how?"

"He's rich," Justin said.

"Yeah?"

"He's really rich."

And as Deena stared at him, puzzled, he pulled out the phone again, dialed, and made yet another foray into his long-ago past.

Justin and Deena sat on one side of the table in a corner of the Harrison restaurant in Tribeca. They both faced away from the door and kept their heads bowed as much as possible.

"Chris's father started Jordan's," Justin said as he munched on the restaurant's curry-spiced french fries.

"Jordan's the stores? The office-supply stuff?"

"When we were in college, we got completely bombed one night and Chris actually wrote their TV ad line: 'The law of supply and demand: You demand, we supply.' "

"They're everywhere, those stores."

"That's right. Chris is always traveling. He and his entire real estate department are always flying around the country. For my wedding, his gift to me and Alicia was the company plane. It flew us down to the Virgin Islands."

"The Virgin Islands is one thing, but we're going to fly across the Atlantic on a tiny, little private plane? I don't know about this. It feels too much like Snoopy flying on top of his doghouse."

A voice behind her said, "It'll be a little more comfortable than Snoopy's doghouse. And it's not exactly a tiny, little plane."

Chris Jordan slid into a chair on the opposite side of the table.

"It's all worked out," he said. "You leave in four days from Teterboro-it's right across the river in Jersey. The pilots'll fly you to London and wait for you there. You've got them for up to a week."

"Jordy…" Justin said.

"Yeah, I know, you don't know how to thank me."

"That's right."

"First of all, it's almost enough just knowing that you're fatter than I am. But if you really want to thank me, you can have dinner with us when you get back and this is all over."

"What happens at dinner?"

"You mean, like, do I make you paint my living room or stand on your head for twelve hours? No. It'll be like the old days, that's all. You'll come out to Southampton and sit around with me and Jenny and we'll drink very good wine and-God, I hate this kind of male-bonding crap, but I've missed you." When Justin didn't say anything, just looked suddenly uncomfortable, Chris said, "Yes, Jay, I understand it won't really be like the old days. It can't be. Not with what happened to Alicia. What I mean is, it'll be like the old days…except it'll be new days. Nobody wants you to disappear again."

Justin shook off his melancholy and nodded. "You drive a tough bargain," he said. "But I guess I can put up with spending a whole night with you." He glanced over at Deena and jabbed his thumb in her direction. "Besides, she's never seen me beat you at pool."