John Locke - Wish List

“Care for a bourbon?” Jefferson says.

“I’m good.”

As we sit in silence, the light show changes from red to blue to green to yellow and back to the original purple. It’s an impressive array, one I never knew existed, but one I’d grow tired of if I sat here long enough, much like the Muzak tape at the bank. Of course, while sitting in the limo, you don’t have to look at the lights. You can look out the window as I’m doing now, watching us pass through the chain link gates of Glenwood Aviation. Now we’re on the tarmac, slowly rolling toward a bright white Gulfstream jet, with burgundy striping.

Glenwood Aviation? Gulfstream jet?

“Where are you taking me?”

“Think about it.”

I do, but nothing comes to mind.

“Did Mrs. Blankenship refer you to me?”

“Who?”

“Whitney Blankenship? The heiress? Richest family in Kentucky?”

He shrugs. “Oh, that Whitney Blankenship.”

Seeing I’m alarmed, he adds, “Sorry, never had the pleasure.”

“Then what the hell is going on here?”

The limo stops. The driver gets out and stands beside Jefferson’s door. Jefferson turns to me and we lock eyes. “I’m going to level with you,” he says. “We’re not playing golf today.”

“We’re not?”

He shakes his head

I look out the window and notice the jet’s cabin door is open and the stairs have been lowered. A uniformed man who I assume is the co-pilot, stands quietly at the base of the stairs waiting.

Waiting for what?

I turn back to Jefferson.

“You think I’m gonna just hop on a jet with no idea where I’m going? I don’t even know you!”

Jefferson sighs, but says nothing.

“Look, I appreciate what you’ve done for me, saving my job and all. But I can’t go with you. My wife and I have plans tonight.”

He dismisses my words with a wave of his hand. “You’ll be back in plenty of time for the concert. In fact, you and Lissie will be riding to it in this very limo.”

I do a double take. He knows about the concert? He knows my wife’s name? I don’t know what to say. I look at his steel-grey eyes and his diamond cuffs and think Jefferson may not be the scariest guy in the world, but he’s certainly making me uncomfortable.

“Hannibal.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m taking you to Hannibal, Missouri.”

“Hannibal.”

“That’s right. It’s forty minutes there, forty back, and we’ll be there two, two-and-a-half hours, max. We’ll get you to Louis Challa’s by five to retrieve your car, and you’ll be home by five-thirty. Perkins will be in your driveway at six. You’ve got dinner reservations at Guiseppi’s at six-fifteen, and from there, it’s on to the concert.”

“You must be joking! I can’t afford all that!”

“The limo’s on me. And by tonight, the cost of Guiseppi’s will be no more than an afterthought for you.”

I roll my eyes. “Really? And why’s that?”

“Because we’re going to Hannibal!”

“So you say.”

“Ready?”

“What the hell is in Hannibal?”

Jefferson taps the window with his knuckles, and Perkins opens his door. Before exiting the limo, Jefferson leans over to me and whispers, “Your million dollars!”

Chapter 13

We’re wheels up in the jet, gaining altitude. The electronic map on the wall panel shows our speed, altitude, and estimated arrival time to Hannibal. I’ve just been told we’re going there to pick up my million dollars.

From the wish list I filled out Sunday night.

“How is this possible?”

“You filled out the form,” he says.

I’m exasperated, and the look on my face shows it. “You’re trying to tell me that everyone who fills out a form gets their wishes?”

“No. Percentage-wise, it’s only a handful.”

“Then, why me?”

“The wishes have to be grantable.”

“But my list isn’t possible.”

“Why’s that?” he says.

“The first item on my list was to fuck Jinny Kidwell.”

Thomas Jefferson clenches his jaw.

Chapter 14

We land at Hannibal Regional Airport to find another stretch limo waiting for us. It’s cold in Hannibal, and remnants of a recent snow line the runway. Jefferson and I climb into the car and ride a two-lane road a short distance until it intersects I-36. We take the East-bound ramp and pick up speed.

For the record, I don’t believe we’re on our way to pick up a million dollars in cash. At the same time, I’m not beyond considering the possibility, since in the past hour I’ve secured a twenty million dollar loan app and taken my first limo and private jet rides. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m beyond thinking this is some sort of joke. I mean, why would anyone go to this much trouble for a joke? And if it is a joke, it’s a helluva nice one! If this is someone’s idea of funny, they can prank me every week!

“You’re skeptical,” Jefferson says.

“How could I not be?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“The golf game.”

“I lied to Oglethorpe about the golf game. Not you.”

I think he’s splitting hairs, but I’m more interested in the money. “So you’re saying I’m about to be a millionaire.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“What’s the catch?”

He seems surprised. “What makes you think there’s a catch?”

“Well, according to the sign, we’re already in Hannibal. You said we’ll be here at least two hours. It shouldn’t take that long to pick up a million dollars.”

He studies me a moment, and says, “That’s actually very perceptive. I may have underestimated you.”

“So there is a catch.”

“There is.”

“I have to do something to get the money.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Something that’s going to take me two hours.”

A cloud passes over his face. I wonder if he’s angry, or just sick of all my questions.

“That’s up to you,” he says.

“How long would it take you to do it?”

The look that may have been anger turns to sadness.

“A lifetime,” he says.

We pass some farm houses, an antique barn, and a flea market whose sign says they’re open weekends from April through September. I see billboards advertising Mark Twain’s Riverboat Tour, and Cameron Cave, and a sign that shows which fast food restaurants are available at the next exit.

“This thing I have to do,” I say.

“What about it?”

“Where is it going to take place?”

“Riverview Park.”

“How far is that from here?”

“Couple minutes.”

I feel a strong sense of foreboding. My stomach is poised to lurch. The only thing keeping me from vomiting is remembering Jefferson’s comments: we’re picking up the money, and we’ll be back in Louisville by five. So whatever it is, it has to be something he feels I’m capable of doing. I ask myself, what would I do for a million dollars?

Would I do anything?

“I’m not going to kill anyone,” I say.

“Darn!” he says, sarcastically.

We enter the park and immediately come to a guard station. Outside my window it looks like a police parking lot, with two dozen state and local cop cars, two sheriff’s cars, and a dozen police motorcycles. None of the cops are with their vehicles, and all the lights are off. The driver shows his ID to the gate guy and we start moving slowly through the park, past an enormous yellow fire truck, two white ambulances, a red one, and three news vans with various station logos. There are taxis and tow trucks and cars of every style and color.

We’re rolling purposefully through the park now, a park littered with tractor trailers, and sound and lighting systems. Two dark gray vans with Department of Defense emblems catch my eye, and then I see the people. Hundreds of them, clustered in groups. Some are having animated discussions, with cold air smoke billowing from their mouths. Others are milling around. We drive slowly through the mass of people, toward a line of giant trailers.