by Mike Pace
“Hello?”
“It’s Tom.”
“You have any idea what time—?”
“You’re my last hope.”
“I win!” Janie shouted. She looked over the back of the couch to Tom sitting anxiously at his kitchen table. “I beat Uncle Ziggy!”
“She got lucky,” Zig said, sitting next to her. They’d been playing Madden NFL ’15, the iconic NFL video game, for a couple of hours. Tom had imbued his daughter with a love of football, and she’d become a devoted ’Skins fan. He’d taught her how to play Madden, and she’d become so adept that Gayle had complained their daughter was spending too much time in front of the TV instead of playing outside.
Tom had arranged for Janie to spend Saturday night at his apartment, and Gayle offered no objections. The temporary absence would allow her and David to spend some quality time with Angie, who’d begun to exhibit manifestations of depression, the impact from the loss of her parents now slowly kicking in. When Zig popped in unexpectedly, Tom’s original thought was to tell him this wasn’t a good time, but she’d responded so enthusiastically to the sight of her Uncle Ziggy, he decided his good friend could provide a diversion for his daughter until the priest arrived.
If he arrived. When Tom had conveyed his theory on the phone, Matthew had sounded skeptical and responded coolly to Tom’s entreaty that he spend the midnight hour with them. When Tom explained the alternative was roaming the streets searching for a random innocent to kill, the priest reluctantly agreed. But Tom worried that Matthew, with the benefit of a clear head unclouded by sleep deprivation, might change his mind and not post.
At almost ten p.m., everything seemed so normal. No threatening clouds, no howling winds, or ominous music, or wisps of smoke rising from the floor. Just a normal fall night in the nation’s capital. Weird.
“Can I play again, Daddy? Please? Please?”
“You don’t want to make your Uncle Ziggy feel even worse, do you? Now go brush your teeth and get in bed, and I’ll come in to tuck you in.”
“Just one more game?”
“Better listen to your daddy,” said Zig. “If we play again, you’ll win and that’ll make me sad. You don’t want to make me cry, do you? Give me a hug and scoot off to bed.”
She wrapped her arms around Zig, gave him a quick hug, and scurried into the bathroom wearing her Redskins pajamas. Tom’s mind flashed to the image of Emma 2 in her pink pajamas, the blood drained from her skin.
A minute later, the bathroom door opened, and Tom followed Janie into his bedroom. In their familiar ritual, she stood against the wall, Tom yelled “Hike!” and she ran toward the bed. In a single leap, she was on top of the bed, scrambling to get under the covers.
“Touchdown!” they shouted in unison.
He hugged his daughter so tight he heard her grunt. “Sorry.”
“Daddy, why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying, sweetie. Just allergies.”
She reached up and gingerly touched his nose. “Your nose doesn’t look as fat as before. Does it hurt?”
“When you touch it, all of the pain goes away. Listen, a good friend of Daddy’s, a priest named Father Matt, might come over to talk to me tonight, so if you happen to wake up and see him, don’t be scared, okay?”
“Okay. Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you, too, Baby.”
He kissed her again, then exited the bedroom, closing the door behind him, then stopped in the bathroom to pop three ibuprofen. The medicine had done a good job in reducing the pain in his ribs.
When he entered the living room, he heard his cell phone ring. Matthew? Telling him he wasn’t coming? If that happened, Tom had a contingency plan. He’d take Janie to a church and keep her there until midnight passed. Would the demons pass over a church? Who the hell knew?
“You going to answer your phone?” asked Zig.
Tom saw from the screen that it was Eva.
“Hi.”
“A bit of news, Tom. My cousin works for PD labs, and that partial on the gun? I’m afraid it’s no longer a partial. They were able to lift the rest of the print. Faint, but identifiable. It’s yours.”
Of course it’s his print. It was his gun he was planning to use to kill a young mother. “Thanks. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”
“Uh, all right. Are you okay?”
“Janie’s here, and Zig. Didn’t mean to be short.” Tom realized he needed to try to sound normal. “What are you up to tonight?”
“Just sipping a glass of wine here alone at home. Listening to Ravel’s Bolero, enjoying the city skyline. Look, I’ll let you go. And Tom, don’t worry about the print. We’ll still mount a strong—”
He interrupted her. “Hold on.” It hit him. “Skyline.” He stepped over to the computer, logged on, and quickly found Zig’s doo-wop list.
“What’s up?” asked Zig.
“When Eva said ‘skyline,’ it reminded me. The Skyliners. In the car with Jess, I remember the DJ mentioning the Skyliners.” He ran his finger down the list of groups and their hit songs.
“Tom, what’s going on?” asked Eva into his ear. He put the phone on speaker mode.
“Here. Let’s see. ‘Since I Don’t Have You,’ ‘This I Swear,’ ‘Pennies from Heaven,’ ‘When I Fall,’”—He looked up from the list. “Pennies from Heaven.”
“I know where Jess hid the phone.”
CHAPTER 59
“Where?” asked both Zig and Eva in near unison.
“‘Pennies from Heaven.’ What’s on the back of the penny?”
This time Zig beat Eva to it. “The Lincoln Memorial.”
“The phone’s behind the statue, in the fold of Lincoln’s robe.”
“Not sure I want to know how you know that, but I’m on my way,” said Eva. “Have Zig stay with Janie and meet me there.”
At that moment, Tom couldn’t care less about the phone. “It’s been there all this time, it’ll be there tomorrow.”
“I’ll go get it,” said Zig, reaching for his overcoat.
“I’m closer,” said Eva.
“Just bring it by tomorrow morning,” said Tom.
“I’m not waiting.” She hung up before Tom could respond.
Tom checked his watch. Where was the priest? He probably ought to ask Zig to leave. Who knew when Matt—?
“Get your coat.”
Tom turned to see Zig standing by the door in his overcoat. In his quivering hand, he held an automatic pistol with a silencer.
And it was pointed at Tom’s head.
CHAPTER 60
The gun shook so violently that Zig had to steady his grip with both hands.
“I’m really sorry.” His voice trembled, beads of sweat formed on his brow.
Tom felt surprisingly calm as he tried to wrap his brain around the image of his best friend pointing a gun at his face. A gun with a silencer.
His mind flashed back to waiting in the holding cell, prior to entering the Fuhrer’s courtroom. Zig had brought him a business suit to wear. A suit from his closet. Which meant he had a key to the apartment. He’d forgotten. When he’d moved in, he’d given Zig a key in case of an emergency. “You? Jess?”
“Man, I’m so sorry.”
“Stop telling me you’re sorry.” Tom checked his watch: 10:37. “Look, Zig, I’m sure you got a story, and I’d love to hear it but—”
“We need to go to the memorial and get the phone.”
“I don’t care about the phone. You go. Get the phone. You heard me tell Eva where it is. What you do with it, I don’t care. Burn it, throw it in the Potomac. Just leave me alone with Janie for a couple of hours.”
“Eva will likely get there before we do, so I need you to call her and tell her to wait for us before she does anything.”
“Zig, please, I know you, and I know whatever you did, you had good reason. Please, I’m begging you—”
He was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Who’s that?” asked Zig, no
t attempting to hide the alarm in his voice. Tom noticed his gun hand had gotten even shakier.
“A friend, a priest.”
“A priest? You’re not even Catholic. Get rid of him.”
Tom paused for a moment; he had an idea. “Okay, here’s how it’s going to work. I’m going to let the priest in. He’s going to take Janie and leave. I will not give any indication that you are armed.”
“No, just open the door and tell him—”
“And if you don’t play along, I will not accompany you. You can shoot me, but I won’t call off Eva, and she will get her hands on the phone and be miles away before you even arrive.”
Another knock, this one louder.
Zig paused only a second before nodding his assent. He stuck the gun into the deep overcoat pocket. Tom had no doubt the barrel was pointed at him.
Tom opened the door and motioned Matthew to enter. He introduced Zig as his best friend, and couldn’t help a sideward glance to see Zig’s reaction. Zig purposely avoided Tom’s eyes.
When the priest extended his hand, Zig had to pull his right hand from his pocket. For a brief instant, Tom considered tackling Zig to the ground, but the handshake was perfunctory, and the right hand returned to the pocket before Tom could react.
“Good news, Father. We think we’ve uncovered evidence that will clear me. We’re heading off to retrieve it now. Be back shortly. Janie’s asleep, so make yourself at home. Beer and soda’s in the fridge, leftover chicken—”
“You’re leaving?” Matthew’s eyes locked on Tom, the unspoken message clear: You’re leaving, when in less than two hours, there’s a good chance an otherworldly force will attempt to kill your daughter?
“Just down to the Lincoln Memorial and back. Be home long before midnight.”
“We better get moving,” said Zig, stepping into the doorway. “You coming?”
Tom’s eyes fixed on Zig’s pocket. He could see by the shape of the bulge that Zig was pointing the gun at the priest.
“You bet.” As he passed Matthew, he whispered, “Do whatever you have to do. Save her, please.”
He followed Zig out into the hall and closed the door before Matthew could respond.
The Ford was parked a half block away. Zig was visibly nervous, not an ideal condition for someone with a finger on a trigger.
“I’m really sorry,” said Zig. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”
“I honestly don’t care right now. I can call Eva, tell her I was wrong about the clue. Call her off. You go get the phone, do what you want with it. Just let me go back to Janie.”
They’d reached the car. Tom stopped and looked at his former friend in the eyes. “Zig, I swear to you on Janie’s life, I will not call the cops. I’ll forget the last ten minutes ever occurred. Whatever your reasons, I’m sure you felt they were justified at the time, but—”
“Do you take me for an idiot? You don’t know what’s on that phone, but you have a pretty good idea it could exonerate you. And you’d be right. So you’d have me believe you’d never tell anybody? That you’d go to jail, maybe for life, if I let you go?”
Tom thought he saw a flicker of hesitation in Zig’s face. Maybe he was trying to find a way out.
“Get in the car,” ordered Zig. Away from the streetlight, it now was dark enough for him to remove the gun and point it directly at Tom as he unlocked the car and got behind the wheel. Zig quickly slid into the passenger seat and Tom pulled out. “Drive the speed limit—no traffic stops.”
Tom’s mind was spinning. He had to come up with a possible out for Zig, a way for the man to rewind the last ten minutes. Tom Booker—life rewind master. “Look, we’re not yet beyond the point of no return here. I call off Eva. You let me go. You get the phone and destroy it. Later, I’m sure there’s something you could provide me, some piece of evidence that would keep you in the clear but allow Eva to raise a reasonable doubt.”
Zig paused. Tom saw the man at least wasn’t rejecting his proposal out of hand.
Zig shook his head. “Never work. Now call Eva and back her off. Otherwise, if she’s there, I may have no choice but to use this on both of you.”
“You’d kill Eva in cold blood?”
“Just make the call!”
“Okay, okay.” As he dug out his phone from his pocket and punched in her speed-dial number, Tom wondered what he was going to say. He needed to get her away from the memorial; the last thing he wanted was to put Eva in harm’s way.
She answered immediately. “Tom? I’m almost there. Where are you?”
“I was only half right. The penny thing? Lincoln? Jess wasn’t referring to the memorial, but to her car. Her grandfather had an old Lincoln Continental. I remember her telling me that when he died, she got the car. A real boat, but it reminded her of her grandpa so she kept it. She must’ve hid the phone in her car.”
“Where’s the car?”
“We assume it’s still parked in front of her townhouse. Zig’s trying to track down Marcie. We figure she has access to the keys. We’re heading over there now, so meet us there.”
“Are you sure? The memorial sounded right.”
Zig poked him in the ribs with the gun, then nodded to the speedometer. Tom was already going almost 50 in a 30 mph zone. He eased off the accelerator and tried to come up with an answer for Eva.
“She knew I understood how much that car meant to her. Let’s try that first. If we don’t find the phone, we can all go over to the memorial.”
“Okay, I’ll turn around. Should be there in about twenty minutes.” She ended the call.
“Very good,” said Zig. “She really had a Lincoln?”
“No idea.”
“You’ve turned into an accomplished liar, which undercuts your rewind proposal.” Zig immediately cut off Tom’s protest. “No more talking.”
The Ford wasn’t a big car, and it seemed even smaller with Zig’s gun pointed only inches from his body. Tom considered slamming on the brakes and grabbing the gun as Zig’s body was thrown against the seat belt. He’d seen the maneuver in countless movies and TV shows. But there was always a chance the force would cause Zig to reflexively pull the trigger. He couldn’t risk it.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. While Tom was beyond curious about Zig’s involvement in Jess’ murder, he remained focused on getting back to Janie before midnight. Besides, he assumed the less he knew at this point, the better. His most immediate task was persuading Zig not to put a bullet in his head.
When they reached the memorial, Tom pulled over. “Go get the phone,” he said. “You can take a cab back and pick up your car.”
“Find a parking place.”
Before he pulled away, he decided to confront the issue. “Are you going to kill me?”
“There’s a space. Park the car.”
“Because if you do, it’s a whole new ball game. Besides, I thought of another way, a win-win.”
“I said, park the car.”
Tom quickly pulled into the open space. They got out and made their way along 23rd Street toward the memorial.
Zig said, “No one was supposed to get hurt.”
Tom decided empathy was the best approach. “I’m sure you got yourself into a jam and made some choices you’d like to take back. News flash, that makes you human. I’m not going to judge you. In fact, I want to help you. Jess is dead. Heartbreaking, but nothing anyone says or does will bring her back. I really think we can rewind this, but you’ve got to let me go.”
He reached into his pocket and retrieved his car keys. “Here. You go get the phone, then take my car. I’ll catch a cab. Tomorrow, we’ll meet for brunch and sort out any loose ends.”
“First, let’s get the phone. If it’s not there—”
Zig didn’t need to finish his sentence, and for the first time Tom wondered if maybe his deduction from Jess’ clue might’ve been in error. If so, things were going to get ugly. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it from his j
eans.
“No calls,” said Zig.
“It’s the priest.” Tom read the text message to himself.
Tom, decided to increase our chances, should be in a church at midnight. Closest is Nat’l Cath. Been there for ecumenical service. Come through Bishop’s Garden, south side. Small maintenance entrance near Herb Cottage always open. God protect us.
He closed the phone.
When they reached the memorial, fortunately, it appeared deserted. The two men jogged up the marble steps. Zig followed Tom to the back of the statue. Tom reached up to the fold. Nothing. Maybe he wasn’t reaching deep enough. He jumped up and plunged his hand as far down into the robe’s fold as it could go. No phone—empty.
Zig’s eye’s hardened, and he pulled the automatic from his coat. “You knew—”
“I swear. This had to be what she meant.”
“I will shoot you. They’ll find your body back here with a bullet to the brain. You know I’m smart enough to remain in the clear. So tell me, where’s the goddamn—”
“Looking for something?”
CHAPTER 61
Both men turned to see Eva step out from behind a pillar, holding a black cell phone in her hand.
With Zig’s attention momentarily diverted, Tom stepped to the side and, using both hands, grabbed Zig’s gun. Zig resisted, but while he was bigger and stronger than Tom, Tom’s two arms and hands were stronger than Zig’s single-hand grip. Tom attempted to rip the gun away, but Zig held on. With both of his hands wrapped around the gun, Tom couldn’t block Zig’s left fist. He twisted to Zig’s right side and was able to divert the punch to a glancing blow off the side of his head. Tom wrenched the barrel down toward Zig’s leg. He pulled the trigger. Nothing—Zig hadn’t disengaged the safety. Holding Zig’s gun arm down toward the floor, Tom ignored the stabbing pain to his ribs, and twisted his back so his hip served as a fulcrum against Zig’s elbow. Using all his strength, Tom rammed the arm backwards. Zig screamed in agony, and a second later Tom had the gun.
He jammed the barrel into Zig’s face.
“Don’t know whether you can see from there, but I’m switching off the safety, and if you so much as twitch, I’m pulling the trigger.”