Michael Koryta - Tonight I Said Goodbye

She went in to wake the girl up, and I went into the bathroom for my own bag. I’d tucked the Glock back inside it when we’d gone down to the whirlpool. Now I withdrew it, checked the clip, and set it on the sink. Ten shots in the clip and one in the chamber. Eleven ways to make someone dead, and yet I found it comforting. I wondered what that said about my life. I pulled on a T-shirt and jeans, clipped the holster on, then slipped my feet into socks and tennis shoes. My body was still damp, but there wasn’t any time to waste. I zipped the bag shut and returned to the living room.

Betsy was standing in the middle of the room, bleary-eyed. She was clutching a stuffed cat under her right arm, and her left thumb was in her mouth. She looked more asleep than awake, but she’d changed out of her pajamas and into shorts and a T-shirt. I smiled at her, trying to look at ease.

“Hey, kid. Too bad we had to wake you up, but we’ve got to switch hotels. You can go back to sleep as soon as we get in the car.”

She nodded sleepily. “Don’t forget my ice cream.”

“ ’Course not.” I walked into the bedroom and found Julie wildly throwing clothes into suitcases. She was still wearing the swimsuit. I stepped over and put my hand on her shoulder.

“Relax,” I said. “Be quick; don’t be panicked. Put some regular clothes on before we leave, or Betsy’s going to know something’s wrong and get scared.”

She spun to me and grabbed my arms. “You have to keep her safe.”

“I will.”

“You have to.”

“Julie,” I said softly, “I will keep you safe. I will die for you if I have to, understand?”

“I’m not asking you to die for me,” she said, and her eyes were wild and intense. “If they come after us, dying won’t be any help at all. You’ll need to kill for us. Can you kill for my daughter, Lincoln? Can you kill to save my daughter?”

Her fingers were digging into my biceps, and for some reason as I looked into her eyes I had the feeling she’d asked this question before and been disappointed with the answer. Probably she’d asked it of her husband, maybe even Hartwick. Both of them had succeeded only in dying for her and Betsy.

“I can kill to save you,” I said, and she loosened her grip and nodded, believing something she saw in my eyes or heard in my voice, if not the words.

“All right,” she said. “Now let’s get out of here.”

I went back into the living room and sat on the couch, watching the door. Both the dead bolt and the electronic lock were in place. No one was going to get in without making some noise, and if anyone made some noise I was going to shoot first and ask questions later.

“I’m tired,” Betsy said, flopping onto the floor and sitting cross-legged at my feet. “I was having good dreams. I was riding a fish.”

“I’m sorry. We’ll let you lie down in the backseat of the car and get right back to that fish riding. I promise.”

Julie stepped out of the bedroom with a small suitcase in each hand. At first I was surprised by how little she had, but then I remembered the undisrupted condition of her house in Brecksville. They’d been forced to leave as if their absence hadn’t been planned, and that meant packing light.

“All set?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I started to take the suitcases from her but then thought better of it. The hell with being a gentleman-if we ran into any trouble, I was going to need my hands free.

“You take them,” I said, and she seemed to understand my reasoning. “Need anything else?”

“No.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Julie had pulled shorts and a sweatshirt over her swimsuit, but her hair hung around her shoulders in damp coils. We took the elevator down to the lobby. Rebecca, the receptionist I’d flirted with the day before, looked up at us and smiled. Then she saw the little girl, and the smile turned a touch uncertain.

“Well, hi,” she said. “I didn’t see you this afternoon. I’m working the late shift today.”

“Sorry I missed you,” I said. I kept walking for the door, though. Offending a pretty receptionist was the least of my concerns right now.

“Wait,” she said, and I glanced over my shoulder as I pushed the door open. She was holding a manila envelope in her hand. “I have something for you.”

Had something for me? What was this? I told Julie and Betsy to wait at the door, and I jogged back and took the envelope from her hand.

“It’s from Lamar,” she said, looking over my shoulder at Betsy and Julie as if she sensed something was very wrong about the situation. “He told me you’d be expecting it. He also said to tell you that you have the ugliest swing he’s ever seen.”

Hartwick’s personnel file. After finding Julie in the whirlpool the night before, I’d forgotten all about it.

“Thanks,” I said. “We’ve got to run right now, though. The little girl’s not feeling so well, and we need to take her to a doctor.” It was weak, but it was the best I had. We left.

I stepped into the street with all of my muscles tensed, as if preparing to be hit by a hail of gunfire. Instead, the street was nearly empty and as still as a rural lane. I hurried Betsy and Julie across and into the parking garage. The Contour was parked on the first level, close to the exit. I opened the trunk and tossed the bags in, then climbed inside after helping Betsy into the backseat. I started the engine, backed out of the parking spot, and pulled into the street. We’d made it.

I drove north slowly, trying to decide what the best course ofaction would be. We could go to the airport, but that would be a poor move. As soon as the Russians found we were missing, they’d immediately check the airport to see what flight we’d taken. And there was always the chance their flight had been delayed and we’d actually bump into them at the airport. That thought made me shudder. I could drive to Charleston or Columbia and try to catch a flight home from there, but I didn’t want to do that, either. I decided the thing to do was keep driving through the night. I didn’t have enough cash for three plane tickets, and I expected the Russians would probably have someone capable of tracing my credit card if I used it. That would allow them to know exactly when we’d return to Cleveland, which wasn’t a pleasant idea.

“I think we’ll drive for a while,” I said. Julie nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Where are we going?” Betsy asked.

“It’s a surprise,” I said, “but I promise you’ll like it. Why don’t you try to take a nap now?”

We pulled up to a red light. I glanced at the other cars around us, but their drivers weren’t interested in us, just strangers in the night, like the old Sinatra song. The red light turned green, and I moved my foot to the accelerator but then paused, suddenly feeling as if I were forgetting something. It was a feeling I frequently had after leaving a hotel, and now wasn’t the time to bother with it, but I couldn’t ignore the sensation. I pressed on the accelerator when someone behind me honked, and we pulled away from the light slowly, but I still didn’t feel right.

“What?” Julie said, sensing my unease.

“Nothing.” I shook my head. There was nothing important to be forgotten, was there? I hadn’t checked out, so I’d lose the deposit on my keycard, but that was hardly a concern. Julie had never officially checked in. I had my gun, and I had Julie and Betsy. That was all that mattered.

The tape.

“Aww, shit!” I slapped the steering wheel with my hand. I saw Betsy’s eyes go wide in the rearview mirror, and Julie clutched my arm.

“What is it?”

“The tape,” I whispered, trying to keep Betsy from hearing. “I left it in the room.”