Donovan and Luci stared at me for several seconds, trying to decide whether they should take my word at face value. Finally, they exchanged looks, both deciding it was safe to go back to bed. Their heads returned to their respective sleeping positions, and soon I was surrounded by the sounds of regular breathing again. I returned to my keyboard, my fingers tapping the keys, knowing exactly what I wanted to write. I spent the remainder of the night finishing up the story, laying it all out with an inspired hand, leaving certain questions unanswered, but with a subtle finger pointing in the right direction. By 4 a.m., I had put the finishing touches on the “Love Story of Marco and Maggie.” It was all there, everything I had learned, as well as my own suppositions as to what I believed to be the truth.
My eyes felt heavy. During my nightlong jag of writing, only once did I question my motives. What if I was wrong? What if Maggie and Marco were truly in love? What then? For her part, I was sure she was in love with him. If my plan went without a hitch, Maggie was in for a rude awakening. I even considered the possibility that she would hate me for being the one who uncovered Marco as a fraud. Knowing I would be causing Maggie pain, even if for the right reasons, didn’t sit well with me. The one question I had no answer for was whether Marco was in love with Maggie. Had he come back to the States and searched her out as part of his plan to get closer to Vespucci? Or had he run into Maggie by accident, and his involvement with her just happened alongside his private scheme to eventually rat out Vespucci? I’d been writing these stories for too many years not to feel guilty that my goal here was to do the opposite of what I was always hired to do. I was trying to break a couple up, not bring them closer together. After a moment of reflection, I pushed the thought aside and went back to the keyboard to finish up.
During the night, my plan of action had crystallized, though I still wasn’t sure about the execution. I would need Donovan and Luci to agree because it would be dangerous. My fingers came to a halt. I’d typed the final sentence. Surprisingly, I felt at peace for the first time in a long time. I had completed the job Vespucci hired me to do back in September. He’d wanted me to write their love story by December, and I had done it with time to spare. I’m not sure “Love Story” was the accurate terminology any longer, because I had turned their story into a confessional device, a biographical exposé of the life and times of Marco Balducci. For a moment, a smile of satisfaction crossed my face, the sense of accomplishment too good to ignore.
My self-satisfaction didn’t last long, though, as I began to think about what else needed to be done. Was I ready to expose Marco to Vespucci and Maggie? Would Vespucci believe me? Would he cooperate with my plan? What would the FBI do when they got wind of what I was doing? How would Marco react? What was I missing? What would the unintended consequences be? How could we stay out of harm’s way? With these questions chipping away at that brief moment of peace I’d felt, I fell asleep staring at my computer screen, Maggie’s name glowing in print before my eyes.
I woke with a cramp in my neck, my head hanging half off the pillow, my right arm underneath my body at a weird angle. I slowly extracted my arm, which had fallen asleep. I rubbed my eyes, feeling like I’d been drugged. My computer rested on the bed beside my head, the screen saver unabashedly promoting Apple computers as the Apple icon danced around the screen. I reached over, hitting the keyboard to disable the screensaver. My writing jumped out at me. In the lower right corner, the clock read 8:15 a.m. I’d slept for a little over four hours. That explained my drugged feeling. The final words I’d written before passing out were, “The End. . . . Maybe.”
I didn’t remember writing that. During the late night, the brief halcyon feeling of completing the story must have made me a little heady, allowing me to write something so pat. Whatever positive feelings I had during the night had been replaced with feelings of foreboding. “Execute” was the word of the day, the double entendre not lost on me. According to The American Heritage Dictionary, “execute” had several definitions: 1) to put into effect, carry out; 2) to perform, do; 3) to create in accordance with a prescribed design; 4) to make valid, as by signing; 5) to perform or carry out what is required by; 6) to put to death, especially by carrying out a lawful sentence; 7) to run. In my mind, definitions 1 and 6 were the most apropos to my situation because if I didn’t handle 1 properly, then 6 might be the result, minus the “lawful” part. What I planned on doing would heavily impact several lives, including my friends and me, so I needed to seriously consider my actions.
I hit save and pulled the thumb drive out of the computer and stuck it in my pocket. I looked around the room, still dark with the curtain shut. Noises emanated from the bathroom, the sound of the shower pattering against the tub. I climbed out of the bed, crossing to the window and pulling the shade slightly to peek outside. The brightness blinded me momentarily. I let my eyes adjust and scoped the street and the buildings across from us, as if I might see a person holding a camera staring at our room, a big red arrow hanging in the air showing me where to look. But I saw nothing. I dropped the curtain and turned around, no longer hearing the shower. The room was quiet. As I stood there, I realized that if anyone was watching, we needed to look like we were leaving. I crossed back to the window and opened the curtains. I grabbed my small travel pack and threw it on the bed to begin packing. Luci’s voice interrupted my actions.
“What are you doing? Don’t you think we should keep that window closed, just in case?”
“Whoever’s watching us should know we’re packing to leave. Right? That’s what we’re supposed to be doing.”
Luci considered that.
“Where’s Donovan?”
“He went to see an old friend of his from his military days. Guy lives in Queens. Donovan was out of here at 6:00 a.m. sharp.”
Donovan had made it clear he wouldn’t leave my side, and up until now, he hadn’t done so. This was not the time to set a new precedent. “He’s on a social visit?” I asked. “Don’t you think it’s a little dangerous for any of us to be going out alone?”
I was met with raised eyebrows. “You think Donovan can’t handle himself? He’ll do a better job taking care of himself than I could. He made me assure him I wouldn’t let you leave until he got back. And he’s not on a social visit.”
“What do you mean?”
“He felt we were riding a bit light in the protection department, so he made a couple of calls to remedy that.”
It took me a moment to understand what Luci was talking about, and then suddenly it dawned on me what “riding light” referred to. “You mean?” With my right hand, I imitated shooting a pistol.
Luci nodded. I’d never even touched a gun before, not once in my life. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to today.
“Then I guess that means you guys have made up your minds?”
“Minds for what?”
“To stay. To do this.”
“Jon, for me, you don’t need to ask. You know that. As for Donovan, honestly, I don’t think he’d leave even if you told him you couldn’t pay him anymore. I think he’s having fun.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed. “If we stay today, it could get bad.”
“Do you have any other option?”
“Sure,” I said, not convincingly.
“You made your choice yesterday when you showed Marco you know about his kid. Even if you go back to Los Angeles, do you think that will be enough for him? You’re a liability, regardless. If you don’t neutralize Marco now, you’ll never be safe. And if he’s waiting for you in a dark alley, his method will be far more definitive than Nick Nickels Jr.’s.”
I knew Luci spoke the truth. I’d already considered everything he was saying, but it just sounded worse when he said it aloud. “What about Izzy?”
“If I call her, she’ll definitely come out and help.”
I glanced up just in time to catch Luci’s grin.
&nb
sp; “Seriously, Luci, how would she feel about this?”
“She’d never forgive me if she thought I left you hanging.”
A single knock at the door interrupted us. Several seconds passed, followed by two more knocks in quick succession, our agreed upon secret code.
Luci crossed to the door, looked through the peephole, and opened it. Donovan hurried in, carrying a double-lined paper grocery bag cleanly folded three times at the top.
“Hey, Jon, good to see you awake.” Donovan set the package down on the dresser across from the beds.
“How did it go?” Luci asked.
“Mission accomplished. Take a look.”
Donovan unfurled the top of the grocery bag. Luci whistled at what he saw. I jumped up, crossed the few extra steps, leaning in to get a view of two, shiny, black Beretta pistols and several boxes of ammunition at the bottom of the bag. I took a step back, the contents repelling me momentarily, a sick feeling in my stomach. The sight of the guns brought home the reality of our situation. The whole thing felt surreal.
“I guess we’re doing this.”
Donovan and Luci both nodded.
“What’s the plan?”
“You do have a plan. Right?” Luci asked.
I nodded, glancing at the open window. “We should check out of the hotel and head to the airport.” Their surprised looks forced me to add, “We’re supposed to be leaving, so let’s leave. Once we’re out of here, I’ll tell you what I’m thinking.”
Without further discussion, Luci and Donovan packed up. We didn’t know if we were being watched, and if we were, I wasn’t sure who it might be, whether it was Vespucci’s people, someone working for Marco, or the FBI who had taken the pictures. Regardless, we didn’t want to take any chances. If anyone was watching, I wanted him to think we were leaving. Once we were in the hallway, I started my plan in motion. I called Cranston and gave him a short explanation of what I needed. Cranston said he’d take care of my request immediately. I hung up, having executed the first step. Carrying our bags to the front desk, I checked us out and we walked into the chilly November morning. A taxi was standing at the curb. The driver climbed out, waving to us, asking if we needed a ride. I waved the guy off. I wanted to outline my plan to Luci and Donovan on the way to the airport, and though I felt I was becoming paranoid, I didn’t want to take any chances. We stood on the curb for thirty minutes before a limo pulled up. A smartly dressed, trim older woman climbed out of the driver’s door.
“Jon Fixx?” she asked, a raspy smoker’s voice directed our way.
I nodded.
“I’m Cheryl, your driver, at your service. JFK coming right up.” As she spoke, she hustled around the car to open the door for us. The three of us froze momentarily as Cheryl stood at the ready with the back door to the limo ajar. Letting a woman open the car door was a first, I was sure, for all of us. I felt the urge to replace Cheryl at the door and ask her to get in. Hesitantly, I climbed into the back seat, unable to shake the feeling that what I was doing was slightly wrong. Luci and Donovan followed suit, the strange look on their faces indicating they were feeling the same way. The door closed behind us, followed moments later by Cheryl climbing into the front seat and driving the limo away from the curb. With Cheryl at my back, I sat across from Donovan and Luci, who were staring at me, waiting expectantly.
Before I could speak, Donovan patted the grocery bag beside him, and said, “Just a guess, but I don’t think I’ll get very far with my luggage at the airport.”
“I know. Let me tell you my plan, and then you guys can tell me whether you think I’m crazy or not.”
Luci smiled. “We already know you’re crazy. The right question is whether you are deluded. Tell us your plan and then we’ll decide. But,” Luci leaned forward as he spoke, dropping his voice to a whisper, “how do you know we’re safe talking here?”
I looked over my shoulder at Cheryl, who appeared completely oblivious to our existence. “Cheryl works for Cranston. I told him I needed a favor and would explain it later. He was happy to accommodate.”
Luci relaxed, leaning back. “All right, let’s hear it.”
I took a breath and began to explain what I had outlined during the night. I described what I’d written and how I planned to utilize it. Up until the time Vespucci asked me to leave, I had harbored a belief that underneath it all Vespucci hired me to do exactly what I’d done: uncover dirt about Marco. But Vespucci’s reaction the night before, and his willingness to believe Marco, forced me to reconsider this theory. It also made it harder for me to implement my plan. If I had Vespucci’s trust, I could go to him privately to discuss what I’d discovered. As things stood, that was not an option. So I was going to improvise. “Somehow, I’m going to corner Marco and get him to tell the truth,” I said.
Donovan blinked, not saying a word. Luci glanced at Donovan, then back at me. “Did I miss something? I didn’t hear a plan.”
“I’m not there yet.”
Donovan asked, “Do you think Maggie knows anything about the child in Italy?”
“I’m betting my career that she doesn’t. And neither does Vespucci.”
Luci said, “We’re all in agreement about that. But what’s this plan you’re willing to bet your career on?”
Hearing an edge in his voice brought home to me how real the danger was. I took a deep breath, getting it straight in my head. For the remainder of our trip to the airport, I outlined my plan, explaining who all the key players were, what the timeline would be, and how best to execute it. We were minutes from the airport when I finally stopped talking. Luci and Donovan were staring at me, the look on their faces a combination of respect and utter disbelief.
Luci asked Donovan, “What do you think?”
“I think you were right. He’s crazy and delusional.” Donovan paused a moment, then added, “It’s gonna take some doing. And it’s dangerous, mostly for you, Jon.”
“I know. But do I have a choice?”
“How do you know Vespucci will bite?” Luci asked.
“Once I tell him what I’m going to tell him, will he have a choice? If you were Vespucci and Marco worked for you and was going to marry your daughter, what would you do?”
For a moment we were silent, considering Vespucci’s position.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to draw Marco out?” asked Donovan.
“I think that’ll be the easy part. When he finds out I haven’t left, he’ll hunt me down, unless I tell him where I am, and then he’ll come willingly.”
“The FBI. They’re the fly in the ointment,” Luci said.
I agreed. Luci was right. The FBI and Williams were the unpredictable element in my plan, and I wasn’t sure how to deal with them. I needed to keep them at bay, away from the action. They could ruin everything, and if they showed up too soon, I’d never be able to prove to Vespucci that it wasn’t my doing that the FBI was watching me, or him. The car suddenly came to a stop. I hadn’t noticed we were at the airport I was so focused on our planning.
Cheryl lowered the window separation between the driver and the passengers. “We’re here, Mr. Fixx. What are your instructions?”
“Were we followed?”
“Yep. Six cars back, Lincoln Town Car.”
Luci and Donovan scrambled to turn around in their seats to see the car she was referring to. “That’s FBI,” Luci said.
“Yep.”
“Agreed,” Donovan added.
“Cheryl, we’re going to get out here. Can you lose the guy when you leave and meet us back at Terminal 6 in thirty minutes?” I asked.
“Not a problem,” she answered, her voice so raspy I imagined a cigarette permanently hanging out of her mouth.
We climbed out of the car, our bags in tow. Donovan paused as he stepped out, leaving the grocery bag lying on the back seat. He looked at me, as if to ask wha
t he should do with it. I motioned with my hand for him to leave it. With an uneasy look on his face, he climbed from the back seat and closed the door behind him. We walked across the wide airport sidewalk through the sliding glass doors into JFK. Crossing the space of the intake area, we headed in the direction of departures. I watched the Lincoln from the corner of my eye. Cheryl’s limo had pulled away from the curb as soon as we disappeared through the airport doors. As we walked farther into the bowels of the structure, the Lincoln finally pulled away from the curb, mixing in with the other airport traffic and disappearing from my angle of view. I stopped in my tracks, Donovan and Luci following my lead.
Luci said, “If the FBI is getting their information from Marco, as we think it is, it’s going to be tough to get to him without them nearby.”
I nodded. “I know. I’ve considered that.”
“And?” Donovan asked.
“I think we can use it to our advantage.”
“Oh, really?” Luci said, with a hint of sarcasm.
“Does my service include bonus pay if I have to serve jail time?”
I looked sharply at Donovan.
“Just kidding.”
“Donovan brings up a good point. There’s no room for error here.”
We stood in the airport, our travel bags on our shoulders, travelers of all ages, shapes, and sizes moving around us. I turned in the direction of Terminal 6 and started walking. It took us almost fifteen minutes to get to our destination. The three of us spread out as we walked, keeping an eye on our surroundings, tracking for anyone suspicious. Just as we stepped outside of Terminal 6, the limo pulled up to the curb. Cheryl hustled out of the limo around to the passenger side.
“Any problems?” I asked.
“Nope. This was my second pass. I didn’t want to stop at the curb and draw attention.”
As we climbed in, Luci asked, “Are you sure you weren’t followed?”
Disdain in her voice, Cheryl responded, “Is the sun out now?”
Donovan and I chuckled at her response. We climbed into the car one after the other.
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