James Patterson - Double Cross

I laced my fingers into the chain-link fence. “Pretty nice move,” I said. “Of course, you only had to beat an old man to get to the hoop.”

Damon played it cool-cold, really-and didn’t even look my way.

Sampson bent and leaned on his knees, sweat dripping off his face, and not just because it was eighty degrees out. Damon was good, getting better too. Bigger and better, and a whole lot quicker than he ever was before. It struck me that I hadn’t seen him play ball in a long time.

“I’m up next,” I called to Sampson.

He held up an index finger that clearly said, I’m out .

“That’s okay. Game’s over,” Damon said. He came out through the gate near my car, and I caught his arm. I needed him to look at me, which he did. Daggers. Sharp ones that cut deep.

“Damon, I’m sorry about what happened today. Couldn’t be helped.”

“If you guys are all good, I’m going to take off,” Sampson said.

He clapped Damon on the back as he went. The Big Man knows when to hang in and when to head out.

“Let’s sit.” I motioned to the stone school steps. Damon reluctantly sat down with me. I could tell he was pissed, but maybe he was confused too. We almost never got this angry, let it get this bad. Damon was a good kid-a great kid, actually-and I was proud of him most of the time.

“You want to start?” I asked.

“Okay. Where the hell were you?”

“Uh-uh,” I said. I knocked the ball out of his hand and stilled it against the step. “You don’t talk to me like that, no matter what, Day. We’re going to have a conversation, but it’s going to be respectful.”

I put on a tough face; Day would never know how much what he’d said had hurt me. Probably, he’d needed to get even. I understood. But still.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and made it sound half sincere.

“Damon, I was literally all over the map with this case. Last night and this morning. I haven’t slept at all-and someone else died out there. That’s not for you to worry about, but it’s what happened. People are dying around Washington, and it’s my job to try to stop it. I’m sorry, but I guess that’s a problem for both of us to deal with.”

“This was important to me. Just like your work’s important to you,” Damon said.

“I know that. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to make this up to you. If we have to drive up for a meeting at Cushing, then that’s what we’ll do. Okay?”

There was so much I wanted him to know, starting with the fact that nothing was more important to me than his happiness, despite how it might seem to him sometimes. But I put a lid on it. Kept things simple. Damon stared at the ground, palming the ball.

Finally he looked up. “Okay. That’d be good.”

We stood up together and walked back to the car. As he was getting in, I said the last thing I had to say. “Damon? About running off the way you did, not checking in despite our house rule, worrying your grandmother…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“Well, me too. ’Cause you’re grounded.”

“I know it,” said Damon, and he got into the car with me.

Before we got back home, I said, “Forget about being grounded. Just tell your grandmother you’re sorry.”

HERE WAS A CLUE that the cops really needed to have, a little bit of homespun reality that they would never find out about. And if they did, what the hell, he would already be dead, wouldn’t he ?

DCAK used a pay phone way out in Virginia to make the same call he made just about every Sunday. Now that he was a full-fledged, successful outlaw, there was no sense taking needless risks with his cell phone, especially not to this particular number, which some smart, or lucky, cop might eventually track down, though that was doubtful. Was there such a thing as a smart cop ?

He heard a familiar voice that only made him grit and grind his teeth. “It’s a great day at Meadow Grove. How may I direct your call?”

“Room sixty-two, if you would, please.”

“No problem.”

The line clicked, then rang again. Just once, though, then it was picked up.

“Hello. Who is this?”

“Hey, Momma. Guess.”

“Oh, my Lord, I can’t believe it’s you. Where are you calling from? Are you still out in California?”

This was how the conversation began every single time he called. In a way, it made things easier, more comfortable for both of them, completely artificial.

“That’s right. Actually, I’m standing on the corner of Hollywood and Vine right now.”

“I’ll bet it’s beautiful there. It’s beautiful, right? The weather, movie stars, Pacific Ocean, everything.”

“It is. Paradise. I’m going to fly you out here one of these days real soon. How’re you doing other than that? You have everything you need?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You know that colored girl who comes in to clean? I think she’s been taking my jewelry.”

“Mm-hm.” Not likely. He had sold off the last of his mother’s jewelry a long time ago. That’s where the money came to get his acting career started, then to keep it going for a while.

“But never mind about me. Tell me about you. Just everything. I love it when you call. Your brother and sister almost never do.”

The accent seriously grated on his nerves, if only because he’d worked so hard to leave it behind. Unlike either of his parents, he had always intended to be something, to go beyond his humble beginnings. And now here he was at the top of the world, nobody quite like him, a unique creation.

“Well, did I tell you I’ve got a big movie coming out soon? Everybody is going to see it. The studio sure seems to think so, anyway. Paramount Pictures.”

He heard a quick intake of breath over the phone. “No such a thing!”

“That’s right, Ma. It’s got me and Tom Hanks and Angelina Jolie -”

“Oh, I just love her. What’s she like in real life? She nice or stuck-up?”

“She’s actually real nice. Loves her kids, Momma. I showed her your picture and told her all about you too. In fact, she’s the one who said I should call.”

“Oooh! Are you teasing me? That just makes me shiver. Angelina Jolie! And Tom Hanks too. I knew you were goin’ to make it. You’re so determined.”

The phone call, the acting, was all too easy and was the least he could do; or maybe it was the most he could do. It wasn’t like he was ever going back to visit his mother. Not like Kyle Craig had done out in Colorado recently.

“Wait’ll I tell your father about this. You know his birthday’s coming up, right?”

Crazy really did run in this family, didn’t it? She could remember the man’s birthday but not the fact that he’d shot himself in the face twenty-some years ago. This conversation was starting to depress the oxygen right out of him. It was time to go.

“Now listen, I have to be on the set soon, so I’m going to say good-bye for now.”

“Okay, sweetheart, I understand. Nice to hear your voice. You keep knockin’ ’em dead out there, you hear?”

He had to laugh at that one. “Yes’m. I’ll do just that. In your honor, Momma. I’ll give them hell.”

THURSDAY AROUND NOON, I got a call from Bree, and it wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear, not even in the ballpark. “Alex, don’t hate me for this, but there’s no way I can get away this weekend. I’m going to be working straight through. Sorry. Sorry. I’m really sorry.”

We’d been hoping to make up for our aborted camping trip, but she was right, of course. The timing wasn’t any good. In fact, it probably couldn’t have been much worse, given the uproar over DCAK. Not to mention Kyle Craig being on the loose again and no recent word about where he might be.