The Squandered
Page 27
Marie tore away the tissue paper to Noble’s book and opened it.
“Is there an inscription?”
I looked from the road to her when she didn’t answer. She nodded and read it:
Bruno, my Big Brother,
Words cannot describe how much I appreciate all that you and your wife did for me and my family. I will never forget it. You are truly the best brother a man could ever have. Give Dad a hug for me and come see me sometime. I’ll let you know where when I get settled. We’ve been apart far too long.
Always Yours
Your favorite Bro
Noble.
P.S. Check out page 100
Marie looked up at me. “He’s going to be on the run for the rest of his life, isn’t he?”
She said it as if this was a new and different concept when we’d been on the run from the law and hiding in a foreign country.
Marie turned to the page.
“Oh, my God, Bruno.”
“What?”
She held up the open book. A rectangular chunk had been cut out of the pages. Glued to the inside were about fifty two-carat diamonds.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Many years ago, almost four decades, I worked a patrol car with a valiant and heroic patrol officer. On that cold Christmas morning, the day the house died, I stood on the porch, helpless, and watched as my friend and partner kicked the door in to the burning house. Flames and black smoke billowed out. He wanted to enter despite the danger and would have if he could. I watched him as the intense flames rebuffed his every effort. Watched as he cried when they brought out the children we had arrived too late to save. Watched as the children’s relatives tripped and stumbled over the bundled bodies laid to rest at the base of the tree. The officer was black and the children white. Race didn’t matter that Christmas morning, as it never should.