On the way over here I pulled up in front of Adam’s Curse to give Stella a last hug. Guess what she told me? Duggan took a powder. Walked out of the bar Friday night and nobody’s seen him since. Papa O’Shea sent some men by his place but it’s all cleaned out. O’Shea’s tearing his hair out, according to Stella. Vowing to kill him.
How about that Duggan? Gets somebody else to front the money for him and then walks out on him when he loses. You have to hand it to the bastard. He may not be much on honor, but he can cover his ass with the best of them.
After a tight hug on the sidewalk Stella looked at me good and said she knew this wasn’t good-bye. Said I’d be back. Then she told me to get the hell out of there.
So here I am. Twenty-four grand is what’s left of the dough and it’s inside my knapsack under my seat.
Don’t ask me to add everything up. It’s too early in the morning, and anyway I’ve never been any good at spotting the moral. I’ll tell you this, though—I have a real good feeling about this trip. My buddy swears this car has the heart of a lion, and the way I figure the money, it can last us a year, at least. When it runs out? Hell, I’ve never thought that far ahead and I’m not about to start. But with Lisa beside me, and the whole continent before us … well, let’s say I like our odds.
Here she comes now. She smiles from the top step and as I smile back I know—deep down, where you know things—that she won’t be getting away again. I get out and kiss her and we hold it a long time.
“Oh, Tom—where can we go?”
“Everywhere. Anywhere you want.”
“Can we stop in Savannah? I’ve always loved the name.”
“Sure.”
“Wrigley Field?”
“Of course.”
“Graceland?”
“You’re pushing it.”
“I’m kidding.”
I put her bags in the trunk. I open the door for her, come back around to my side and climb in. I start up the car, then look at her again. She smiles. I keep looking.
“What is it, Tom?”
“Do you still have the key?”
“The key?”
“To your place.”
“Yes.”
I motion with my eyes at her building. “I thought maybe—before we hit the road.”
She laughs.
“Oh no, you don’t. You promised me a trip cross-country and that’s what I’m going to get. Once in every state, Reasons, those are the ground rules—and we’ve already done it in this one.” She crosses her ankles on the dash, folds her arms, and smiles up at me like an angel.
Hell of a thing, women. I slide the Pogues into the tape player and pull onto the FDR.
“We’ll be in Jersey in ten minutes.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THANKS TO MOM AND DAD.
THANKS TO JILLIAN MANUS.
THANKS TO BOB MECOY.
THANKS TO THE READING GROUP—CYRIL, JACOB, KAY, AND MERRILL.
SPECIAL THANKS TO DONNA LEVIN.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
FRANK BALDWIN lives in San Francisco with his wife, Lora. He has recently completed the screenplay for Balling the Jack and is currently at work on his second novel.
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
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Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au
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HarperCollins Canada
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HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited
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Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
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London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
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New York, NY 10007
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