Page 57 of A Week Away
There was struggle on his face. He really didn’t want to displease her, but there was no other way to get to the truth. Or at least there wasn’t the way I was presenting it.
“Yeah, okay, whatever.”
“Call back and add a beef and broccoli to your order. I think I deserve dinner.”
“Jesus Christ,” he said, but he did it.
Driving to Dragon House, I kept thinking if my plan worked I would be leaving in a few hours and never have to see this kid again. That wasn’t a bad thing. I wouldn’t mind never seeing him again.
I mean, I didn’t hate the kid. As kidnappers go, he wasn’t bad. I did feel sorry for him, though. With Joanne for a mother he didn’t have a chance. He’d mentioned that he had to get out of her house when he graduated high school. That meant he had about eight months, maybe nine. It was hard to see how he was going to manage on his own. It seemed the only things he was good at were credit card fraud and coercion. He’d end up in prison before he was twenty-one.
“You should think about college. I bet your Aunt Suzie would help you figure that out. They have dorms. You’d have some place to live for four years.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I didn’t say you wouldn’t be. But maybe there’s something better than just fine. That’s all I’m saying.”
When we got to Dragon House he told me to stay in the car. Probably because he was sick of listening to me. I sat there staring at the red lacquered door. I knew it was entirely possible Joanne wasn’t going to keep her word. Hell, it waslikelyshe wouldn’t. So what was she going to do?
She’d run a credit check on me and wanted to get her hands on my rather scant assets. Would she really have me killed for fifty thousand dollars? I was ninety-nine percent sure she’d killed her husband, so yeah, why wouldn’t she?
And this time she’d have to have a body. Mine. She’d just need to make sure that neither my fingerprints or DNA were checked. They had my fingerprints in Chicago. I was sure of that. But I didn’t know what organizations they’d been shared with. I’d heard talk about some kind of national computerized database but didn’t know if that had happened yet. Joanne wouldn’t know either.
She’d be hoping the police just took her word for it when she identified my body… Except, at some point Suzie was going to want to see her brother’s body. And that would be a problem. A big problem. The whole reason to kill me was so she could say I was her husband and get my stuff. If she thought it through she’d know it was bad idea. The question was… would she think it through?
On the other hand, maybe it was better not to have a body. If she called her cousin and had me put at the bottom of Lake Erie with the first Dom Reilly she’d only have to wait five years or so to have him (or me) declared dead. At that point she could try to attach my half of the co-op, which by then will be a condo and worth substantially more. That was a better plan. Not that I intended to explain that to her.
The kid came back with a big bag that he put in the back seat. As we pulled out of the parking lot to head home, I asked, “Do you have take-out every night?”
“Monday is Chinese, Tuesday is Mexican, Wednesday is Pizza, Thursday is Greek, Friday night my mom goes out to dinner. On Sundays we have Italian. Lasagna or Manicotti.”
“Italian from a restaurant?”
“Of course from a restaurant. Pretty girls don’t have to cook.”
“That’s what your mom says?”
“Everyone knows that.”
I decided that wasn’t a point I wanted to argue. After a bit, I said, “It’s hard being a kid, isn’t it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I remember when I was a teenager everyone said I had it easy. But I didn’t really. In a lot of ways life gets easier when you get older.” And harder, too. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. He’d learn it on his own.
“I’m fine. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Except, of course, he did. If his life was easy he wouldn’t be looking for his father. Or willing to blackmail someone into finding out what happened to him. If his life was easy he’d be more focused on learning. If his life was easy he might think college was possible.
But his life wasn’t easy and the closer we got to his house the edgier he got. I finally asked, “What’s going on with you? You seem really nervous.”
“We’re running late. She hates when she gets home and dinner’s not there.”
What I wanted to say was ‘Wow, what a bitch,’ but I went with, “I’m sure she’ll be okay about it.”
“You don’t know her.”
“I’ll be there. I’ll get her to calm down.”
