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58
He dropped me at the liquor store parking lot, thankfully still dark and empty. I got out, he did not.
He rolled down the passenger-side window so we could say goodbye.
“Take care,” he said from the drivers’ seat. “Just remember what I said and you shouldn’t have trouble. Get far away. Tonight never happened.”
I nodded. “You sure you’re go
“Yeah,” he said. The shirt on his arm was completely soaked in red. “Just some quick work and some stitches. Maybe even get a hot nurse. Who knows.”
“Good luck, Mike.” I tapped the door.
“That fucker came from nowhere,” he said. “Swear to God I swept the house.”
I nodded. “You need to get to the hospital.”
“Yeah.” He put the car in gear.
“Mike,” I said, “once the truth comes out, it’ll be alright.”
“Yeah. The right truth. We just need the right truths to come out, not the wrong ones. I better never see your ass again.”
The right truths. Not the wrong ones. Because even truth isn’t absolute.
I waved with two fingers, and he was gone.
59
I drove through the night, and the better part of the next day as well. I ditched my jacket and jeans and changed clothes to get rid of the blood splatters. I went east, because east was all I knew. I stopped in a motel outside of Indianapolis and slept for six hours, then continued on.
There was no hope of me reclaiming the life I’d left, nor did I want to. But the only sensible place to drive was home. I would not contact my old buddies, or my parents. I would remain isolated, at least for a time. Once things died down, once the world stopped spi
I traded my Explorer in for a beat up Honda Accord somewhere near Dayton, Ohio. I didn’t need the four-wheel drive anymore.
I was worried about Raphino. Worried about the repercussions he’d face from what we’d done. A warrantless home entry and two bodies. Even the best case was probably a lengthy suspension, and a black mark on the record. Loss of badge, even. Beyond that, I didn’t let myself think.
I’d keep an eye on the news, for surely there would be something. I would watch for the fate of my friend Michael Raphino. He was a good man. I hoped he could say the same about me.
I put thousands of miles behind me, and washed myself clean twice a day.
60
At a busy coffee shop in a train station somewhere just south of the Canadian border, Adeline sipped an espresso and read a magazine. She wore large, round sunglasses and a floppy sun hat. In her purse was a forged passport with the name Darlene Gor, a small switchblade knife, three credit cards registered to Ms. Gor, and fifty thousand dollars cash. It was springtime.
She had stopped looking over her shoulder a day ago. She was still cautious, and would be for some time, but the ominous worry that she was being followed had begun to fade. She could smile about things now, like she used to. She would have no problem crossing the border. At this point it was a formality.
These things put Adeline at ease. She had always been aware this might be necessary; it was part of the business. For now, she was just happy for a clean break. She would miss Colorado, but she would adapt to her new home. She did not miss Vince. The sun was shining through the windows of the café now, and the trouble seemed behind her.
A thin woman with larger sunglasses and a larger hat entered the café and approached the counter. Adeline didn’t notice. The woman ordered a black coffee and paid cash. She took a single drink, smiled at the barista, and slipped across the coffee shop to the table at which Adeline sat. Still, she was u
“Hello,” she said cheerfully.
Adeline looked up from her magazine. Both women were silent as the café buzzed around them. Neither removed their glasses.
She recognized her immediately. Even through everything that was different—the shorter hair, the sensible clothing, the smile—she knew it was her. There was an unmistakable energy that followed her. And now, a sinking feeling.
“Adeline,” the woman said, still smiling. “How have you been?”
“I’m sorry,” Adeline said, “you must have me confused with someone else.” There was panic in her voice.
“That’s interesting,” Suza
“What a coincidence,” Adeline said, and tried to go back to her magazine.
Suza
“Understand I didn’t come here with the intention of hurting you,” Suza
“I have a gun,” Adeline said quietly. “In my purse.” It was a lie; it was a knife.
“And I applaud you for that. A woman should have protection traveling alone these days. Sad state of affairs if you ask me, but we’re pragmatists, aren’t we?”
“I’ll use it. Don’t think I won’t.”
Suza
Beneath the table, with her one hand that had been hidden since she sat, she tapped the inside of Adeline’s knee with the short barrel of a revolver. She smiled when she did it.
“You know I wouldn’t come all the way up here without protection myself, don’t you? How do you think I’ve survived the last eight months?”
Adeline said nothing.
“So, to recap: your time for giving orders is over. I’m in charge now. Are we clear?”
Adeline said nothing.
“Are we clear?” Suza
“What do you want?”
Suza
“Go fuck yourself.”
Suza
Adeline looked at the table. Her pride would hardly allow her to be defeated by a former underling, someone she’d discarded and then pitied. But a gun between the legs has a way of suspending pride.
She slid the purse across the table.
Suza
Adeline eyed her.
Suza
Adeline slowly reached into the purse. She felt the knife and considered it, but it wouldn’t do her any good. She found the passport and lifted it out.
“Good,” Suza
Adeline found her wallet and took out a single credit card.
“The VISA,” Suza
The women looked at each other from across the table. The gun didn’t move. Patrons moved and buzzed around them, oblivious to the conversation happening at the table.
“Now,” Suza