Richard Doetsch - The 13th Hour

“You want your money?” Nick said. “Killing him won’t open that box, but I’ve got something far greater. Worth more than you could ever imagine.”

Dance stared at him.

Dreyfus’s words echoed in Nick’s mind, “ perception of value ,” and Marcus’s “the greedy mind, the double-down, double-or-nothing, win-a-thousand-go-for-two attitude.”

“Let him go,” Nick said. “And I promise, I’ll prove it to you.”

Nick held his trussed arms out as he walked over to Dance and stared into his eyes.

“Let him go, take me instead, and I’ll give you something that will grant you more wealth than you could imagine.”

“Fuck you.”

“If it doesn’t meet your needs, then you can kill me in his place.”

Dance continued staring at Nick.

“Tucked in a shoe in your office is a St. Christopher medal given to you at graduation. Your mother had it engraved, Miracles do happen.”

“How the hell did you know that?” Dance said.

“Do you believe in miracles, Dance?” Nick asked. “Cut me loose,” Nick said as he held up his zip-tied hands. “And I’ll show you a miracle that can make you richer than you could ever imagine.”

JULIA LOOKED AT her watch. It was 10:55. She pushed her Lexus to over eighty miles per hour. Once again, despite her best intentions, she was running late. She was thanking God that Westchester Airport was a regional terminal, a facility that she could actually run through and perhaps make her 11:16 flight.

The conference call had gone on longer than she anticipated, the other attorneys on the call feeling compelled to argue over nothing in order to justify the extra hour of billing. Julia hated attorneys like that. Their conduct created a global hatred for her profession.

She hit the speakerphone on her cell and dialed her voicemail. Nick had tried her twice. She was sure he was calling to apologize for their fight this morning and regretted that he had beaten her to the punch.

Of course, he could also be calling about dinner with the Mullers, making one last-ditch effort to get out of it.

“Julia,” Nick’s voice echoed in the car. “It’s me. Do me a favor, do not get on that flight to Boston. I don’t care why you’re going, I don’t care if you get fired, do not get on that flight. I have a terrible feeling, I can’t explain it. Just do what I say. Call me when you get this.”

Julia listened to the message. Nick’s voice was so urgent, so pleading. Though he didn’t apologize for their fight. Not that that mattered. But…

She couldn’t understand how he’d found out she was going to Boston. No one knew except her, Dr. Colverhome, and Jo, and neither of them would ever tell Nick.

It wasn’t the first time Nick had tried to talk her out of flying. She had canceled a business trip last February based on his fear of a snowstorm in the middle of the country, and of course there were no problems, all flights arrived intact and on time. It wasn’t as if he were crying wolf; it was just his way of saying he couldn’t live without her.

Even when Nick was mad at her, it never diminished his love, his caring, his worry. She loved Nick with all her heart, but today, she loved him even more.

He’d had a tough week, a tough month with work; she could hear the stress in his voice. He needed a surprise, a life affirming moment. And what better way to do that than a romantic dinner for two at which she would explain that dinner would soon be for three?

She didn’t care if she had to run a world-record sprint through the terminal, she would make her flight. She was even more determined now.

“COME WITH ME to my car.” Nick pointed at his Audi fifty yards away on the other side of the parking lot near the exit. “I can offer you not only something of far greater value, but also a way for you to get out of here without anyone knowing where you went.”

Dance removed a knife from his pocket and cut Nick free from the zip-ties about his wrists. “Pick up the box.”

Nick lifted the surprisingly heavy case off the roof of the BMW.

Dance tucked the gun into Nick’s back, pointing him toward the blue Audi, leaving Paul kneeling over his brother’s bleeding leg. Shannon and Nash remained bound and sitting upon the ground under the watchful eyes of Randall and Arilio.

Arriving at the Audi, Nick placed the box on the hood of his car and held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“First look on my front seat,” Nick said, pointing into his car.

Dance opened the door to find the gold and bejeweled Colt Peacemaker on the seat. He lifted it out, staring at the weapon.

“I’m sure you know what that is and where it’s from.”

“Do you have the rest?” Dance said in shock. “Do you have the diamonds?”

“In my inner jacket pocket are two letters,” Nick pointed toward his pocket.

“Slowly.” Dance motioned to Nick to remove them before placing the barrel of the gun squarely in the center of Nick’s forehead.

Dance laid the Peacemaker on the roof of the Audi as Nick pulled out and handed him the first envelope. He looked at the blue crest before quickly opening it and reading the two sheets.

Nick slowly withdrew the watch from his pocket and held it out.

“A watch,” Dance said as his eyes flicked between the gold timepiece and the letter. “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think I’m a fool?”

Dance scanned the letter from Nash again. “What kind of bullshit is this?” Dance jammed the gun harder into Nick’s head.

“Read the next one,” Nick said calmly, handing him Marcus’s letter while tucking Nash’s letter back into his jacket pocket.

Dance began to read.

“Look at the last sheet,” Nick said. “The printout from today’s Wall Street Journal.”

Dance read it through, confusion creasing his brow.

“Look at the date and time,” Nick said. “That’s eight hours from now.”

“A kid could have made this with Photoshop.”

Nick slowly reached back into his breast pocket and withdrew his cell phone, flipping it open.

“What are you-”

“Relax,” Nick said as he flipped it open, pulled up the picture of Dance’s car, and handed him the cell phone.

Dance thumbed through the pictures of his car, stopping at the image of his trunk. He stared at the golden weapons, the knives and swords, and the bag of diamonds, his eyes finally falling on the Colt Peacemaker, the same gun that rested atop Nick’s car.

“What kind of trick is this? That stuff isn’t in my trunk. I just looked into it a few minutes ago.”

“It’s no trick,” Nick said calmly. “You’re looking at the future.”

“How is this possible?”

“Bear with me a moment. If the letters you read are the truth, think of what you could do.”

And Dance’s mind began to work.

“Manipulate the past, know the outcome of lotteries, horse races.” Nick appealed to his greed. “Use it wisely, and you could amass a fortune.”

“Why would you give this up? You would trade all of this for that guy’s life?” Dance pointed his gun back toward Paul Dreyfus.

Nick nodded.

Dance smiled. “No,” he said, shaking his head as the pieces came together. “That’s what Shannon meant about my killing your wife, that’s what these letters are about. I do it in the future and you’ve come back to stop me.”

Dance looked around. And stared at the watch.

“Holy shit,” Dance said in realization.

As Dance became lost in his thoughts, Nick looked about the parking lot, down the driveway toward the road.

“I know who your wife is,” Dance said. “Hennicot’s attorney, right?”

Nick said nothing.

“If I take this watch,” Dance smiled a cruel smile at Nick as his thumb moved about the golden case, “who’s to say I still won’t kill her?”