Playing his trump card, Tom said, “Hon, I gotta get airborne,” and the phone rang. With an evil grin, Mandy got up from the table to answer it.
* * *
Dale’s Deep Dish Pizza didn’t open until ten, but he’d gotten into the habit of coming in early—no big effort since he lived in the apartment upstairs—to make sure whoever had closed up the night before had done a good job...but mostly just to savor the reality of the place: the custom-made triple-D logo in the window, cool even with the neon switched off; the staff aprons neatly lined up on their hangars in the back, the store logo in full color on each breast pocket; the heavy pine tables and chairs, the Plexi-glass table-tops gleaming under the pot lights; the old Wurlitzer jukebox that had been in the place when he bought it last summer, the thing still working like a charm.
He’d thought of calling Tom numerous times before, but wanted it to feel right; and today, on the one year anniversary of their bizarre first meeting, felt right.
It was Mandy who picked up the phone. He’d hoped for Tom, but this would be just as much fun. He strolled into a beam of tropical sunlight by the big front window and said, “Mrs. Stokes?”
Sounding formal, Mandy said, “That’s correct.”
“This is Dale at Dale’s Deep Dish Pizza calling. Was the pie you ordered for pickup or delivery?”
A pause. “I didn’t...”
Grinning, Dale heard the rustle of Mandy covering the mouthpiece, and beyond that, muffled voices. Then Tom was on, saying, “Dale?” and Dale could almost hear the man smiling. He said, “None other,” and joined Tom in a good laugh. “Happy birthday, man. You and the boys.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Tom said. “Little early for pizza, don’t you think?”
“Not for Dale’s Deep Dish it ain’t.”
“You used the name?”
“Indeed I did. Figured it was only fair, since you christened your new son ‘Dale’.”
Tom chuckled. “Try Joseph Michael,” he said. “I thought of it, though, I really did. Almost said it out loud to Mandy once, but decided not to risk a divorce.”
The men laughed again and Tom said, “Where are you, man?”
“Turns out Arubians love deep dish pizza. And they’re not all that big on extradition treaties, so it’s been a perfect fit.”
“Aruba,” Tom said. “You son of a gun, you did it. Good for you, man.” He said, “I was sorry to hear about your brother. Well, not really, but you know what I mean.”
“I do. And thanks. I mean, the prick did try to have me killed. But he was my brother. Moral of the story, when Randall Copeland says twenty-four hours, he means twenty-four hours.”
“Well, ol’ Randy’ll be away for at least that many years. Did you follow the trial?”
“Sure did,” Dale said. “Sanj kept his word.”
“Speaking of Sanj, I got a postcard from the man a few months back. Says he started an EMT course in Bangladesh last fall.”
Dale said, “Well, I’ll be god damned...”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sean Costello is a practicing physician who lives and works in Sudbury, Ontario, his home since 1981.
For information on previous and upcoming titles visit the author’s website: www.seancostello.net
Did you love Squall? Then you should read Here After by Sean Costello!
Following the death of his ten-year-old son, physician Peter Croft embarks on a desperate, seemingly random search for a missing child, risking his sanity, even his life in a grief-induced quest. His journey propels him into the darkest reaches of human suffering and pits him squarely against an adversary whose own obsession defies all reason.
Here After is a story of love, loss, obsession and redemption, with gripping action sequences and a subtle paranormal underpinning. A compelling read from a seasoned storyteller, Costello’s sixth novel will keep you reading deep into the night.
Also by Sean Costello
Here After
The Cartoonist
Sandman
Captain Quad
Eden's Eyes
Squall Page 14