Майкл Корита - If She Wakes

She had no idea if this was true, but it sounded good.

It also apparently sounded good to Dax, because he leaned back and said, “Good call, Abby. I knew there was a reason I’d entrusted the driving to you. Take the back roads, then. We’re in no hurry.”

The approach allowed her to avoid the I-295 spur and stay in the thickening but slow-moving traffic, bouncing from side street to side street, grateful for the stoplights and speed limits. It added at least forty minutes to the journey, and in truth they wouldn’t have had to pass through a tollbooth, but Dax evidently wasn’t familiar enough with the area to know that.

Abby’s focus was entirely on keeping control — of the car and of herself — until they reached the office. Then the memory of Hank’s dead face, his head rolling on his broken neck, rose, and she felt sick and shamed. Not only had she been unable to save Hank; she was now chauffeuring around the man who’d killed him.

Dax was sitting tall in the backseat as they approached, head swiveling, scouting the surroundings for any watchers. There were none.

The office of Coastal Claims and Investigations had once been a hair salon, and Hank had kept some of the mirrors and one of the barber’s chairs. He’d insisted the chair was comfortable and too expensive to waste, and he liked to sit in it and have a cigar while he read the paper, which always made him look like a man waiting on a ghost to cut his hair.

The building and its oversize detached garage sat alone in a large gravel parking lot surrounded by empty fields. There was a Dunkin’ Donuts visible just down the road, and a gas station across from that. They were the only possible places for covert surveillance, but Abby agreed with the kid — the police would have seen no purpose for that.

“Drive past,” Dax said.

Abby cruised by, came to the four-way stop with the gas station and the Dunkin’ Donuts, and waited for instructions. The kid was leaning close again, the gun in Abby’s ribs.

“If you saw something out of place, speak now or forever hold a hollow-point in your heart.”

“Looked clear. He has security cameras, but they don’t work. Just a deterrent.”

“I noticed that in my previous visit, but I appreciate your honesty. Okay. Go on back.”

Abby turned around in the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot and drove back to the office where she’d spent countless hours as a child talking tires and engines with Hank and her father, the office to which she’d returned when she couldn’t get a job anywhere else.

“Open the garage door,” Dax said.

Abby hit the button and the overhead door rolled up, exposing the low-slung Dodge Challenger with the red paint, black trim, and black hood, looking every bit deserving of the Hellcat name.

Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of it.

“Pull in.”

Abby parked next to the Challenger and put the garage door down, sealing out the daylight. She cut the engine on the Tahoe and the kid said, “Do you have keys to the office?”

“Yeah. But I’ve also got the keys for that car. There’s no need to go inside the office.”

“Actually, there is. We’re going to make a phone call.” He got out of the Tahoe and waved the pistol at Abby in a hurry-up gesture.

Abby got out and led the way across the narrow opening to the office. A few stray raindrops splattered off them, and the parking lot was pockmarked with puddles. A relentless gray day. The cars on the road passed quickly, everyone in a hurry to get home. Still, being there was a risk. Locals knew Hank, and locals knew that no one should be at his office.

“Let’s go,” the kid said, impatient, as if he was thinking the same thing.

Abby opened the side door and stepped in, entering behind a desk facing the windows. Hank’s various collections of oddities filled the room — the barber’s chair, an antique gas pump, a neon Red Sox sign, a gumball machine filled with gumballs that had to be forty years old.

The kid settled into the barber’s chair, swiveled to face Abby, and pointed at the desk. “Pick up the phone.”

“If I use that phone, it’ll be traced back here.”

“The guy you’re calling is going to ask me to trace it, so I think we’re good.”

Abby looked at him, surprised, and Dax nodded. “You’re calling my boss. Terms are going to be straightforward, and you’re going to set them, just as you promised before. You’ll give him Oltamu’s phone if he gives me up. Now, you don’t trust him, of course, so you’ll want a nice public spot. Safety. You’ll want me to come to you, not the other way around. Someplace you’re familiar with, and I won’t be. Someplace with good visual potential, where there might be cops I won’t notice. What sounds good to you?”

Abby thought about it. “The pier at Old Orchard Beach. Wide open, plenty of people, and if I got there first, I’d be able to see everyone coming and going.”

The kid smiled and pointed at Abby approvingly with the pistol. “That’s not bad. It’s even better because you thought of it. Now, where are you going to give him Oltamu’s phone? Can’t be the same place. He’ll want it before he gives me up.”

He said it without sorrow or anger.

This time Abby didn’t have an answer.

“You’re going to put it inside the mailbox of a vacant house in Old Orchard,” Dax said, “and at eleven forty-five tomorrow morning, you’ll text him the address. By noon, I’ll need to walk onto the pier. You’ve got to give him time to pick up the phone. That’s only fair.”

“He’ll think there’s a trap in both places,” Abby said.

“Yes. But he really needs that phone.”

Abby looked at him, sitting there so at ease in the barber’s chair, with the dim light filtering through the blinds and painting him in slats.

“You’re going to kill him too,” she said.

The kid shrugged. “Too early to say.”

“No, it isn’t. If he’s willing to trade you for the phone, you can’t overlook that. It’s personal to you.”

“Nothing is personal. It’s a matter of price point, Abby. I feel like mine is moving north.”

Abby parted her lips to say more, but the kid stopped her.

“Just make the call. The same number you did before.”

Abby reached for the phone, then hesitated. “I don’t know it. It’s written down, but it’s out in the Tahoe.”

She moved for the door as she spoke. If she could get to the garage alone, if she could open the door and get behind the wheel while the kid waited in here, then maybe she could—

“Good news,” the kid said. “ I remember it.”

He did, too, reciting it without taking his eyes off Abby. The gun muzzle never wavered. Outside, cars passed in the rain, but there were no lights on inside the office, no indication that anyone was inside. If people gave the place a glance, they’d think nothing was amiss. Maybe they’d mourn Hank Bauer and curse Abby Kaplan for killing him, but they would not slow.

She punched in the last of the digits, and the line hummed, and then rang. Once, twice. Then — “Hello?”

It was the same man. For a moment Abby couldn’t remember what to say or how to begin. Then Dax left the barber’s chair, leaned across the desk, and punched the speakerphone button. He set a digital recorder down beside the phone, then leveled the pistol at Abby’s head.

Abby finally spoke. “I don’t want this thing,” she said to the man Dax had called Gerry. “This phone or camera or whatever. I don’t want it, and I never did. It has nothing to do with me. I don’t understand what it is, so I’m no threat to you once it’s gone. Do you agree?”

The man said, “Yes. That’s a smart choice,” with enthusiasm that bordered on relief.