Everything to Lose: A Novel

by Andrew Gross

  Five of two now. My heartbeat picked up another gear. My stomach started to turn.

  “Ready?” he said.

  This time I nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  “Just remember, one last time . . .”

  “I know. I know.” I nodded. I knew that this time he meant it only to put me at ease. “Whatever happens, don’t get out of the car.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “I was going to say remember the best day you ever had with your son, because that’s exactly what it’s gonna be like with him tomorrow.”

  I met his eyes in the rearview mirror and put my hand on his. “Thank you, Patrick. For everything.”

  The clock read 1:58. “Okay, let’s go.”

  I started up the car and drove the ten or so blocks up to 138th Street and came around in front of the ramp to the expressway, which rumbled directly above us. The body shops and check-cashing places and bodegas were all shuttered. A transmission repair garage had the aluminum siding pulled down. It was dark, the traffic was sparse. Two or three cars crossed 138th, probably heading to the Hunts Point produce market, which was not far away but didn’t open for a couple of hours. The elevated Bruckner Expressway rumbled intermittently directly over our heads.

  It was time, Hilary.

  It flashed in my mind. How Robin had described it. Welcome to the other side of the road.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  A car drove by and my heart climbed up my throat, the car’s headlights washing us in light. I froze and tried to draw any saliva, but my mouth was completely dry.

  Anyway, it continued on its way.

  “Take it easy,” Patrick cautioned from the back. Every car light flashing by, every sound I heard, I sucked in a breath, certain that it was him, aching to see my son. I tried to remember the bravest thing I’d ever done. Once I confronted some clearly off-his-rocker guy as he was harassing a woman on the subway, and I remembered thinking, telling the guy to get on his way, This is crazy, Hil, he could have had a gun or pulled a knife. You could be a story on the news tomorrow morning. You hear about these stories all the time. Whatever happened, I chuckled to myself darkly, this had definitely risen to the top of the list now.

  On the hour, my phone rang.

  Elena.

  “I’m scared,” I said to Patrick in the back. The nerves were crazy in my stomach. It rang again. I was too frightened to even answer.

  It rang a third time and I hadn’t moved.

  “It could always be Bloomingdale’s about the house-goods sale tomorrow.” I met Patrick’s eyes in the mirror. “If you don’t answer, you’ll never know.”

  A fourth time. I nodded and drew in a breath.

  “Ask to speak to your son. He’s waiting for you. I’m right here.”

  I nodded and took the phone with both hands and answered. “Hello.”

  “Are you where I told you to be?” the familiar voice said, a syringeful of ice shooting through my veins.

  “Yes. I’m at the access ramp,” I said. “Just like you asked.”

  “Change of plans. I want you to drive straight north, fifteen blocks, to 153rd Street. When you get there make a slight left and pull up directly under the expressway. There’ll be a vacant lot under the overpass. When you’re there shut off your lights. Do you have it?”

  “Yes, 153rd.”

  “I’m giving you two minutes.”

  “Two minutes?” I tightened in fear. “I want to speak to my son.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about your son right about now. He won’t be around to speak to you ever again if you’re not here. I’d get rolling. You’re down to a minute and forty-five.”

  The phone clicked off and my heart started to go crazy. I spun around and looked at Patrick. “He’s at 153rd Street. He said I have two minutes.”

  “All right, go!” he said, glancing around outside. “Go!”

  I threw the car into drive and jammed my foot on the accelerator.

  The light was red and I sped right through it. I didn’t give a shit. There was no one else around; 153rd was fifteen blocks away and all I could think of was him pulling away with my son. For good.

  No, I remembered what Patrick had said. He wants that diary as much as you want Brandon.

  “Take it easy,” Patrick said. “He’ll be there. You don’t want a cop to pull you over.”

  At 149th I caught another red light. This time I had to stop. If it was dark and deserted ten blocks south, it was like a desert up here. A black, empty, steel-trestled burnt-out desert. There wasn’t even a streetlamp on. The odd businesses amid the vacated storefronts were auto-repair shops and a closed-down bakery. Maybe a homeless guy or two huddled up in a blanket under the overpass. If you wanted to make a drug transaction with no one to see you, this was probably the cushiest address in the city.

  Or kill someone, I was thinking. I was sure Patrick was too.

  “Come on, come on, come on!” I shouted at the light.

  “Stay calm,” Patrick said. He could probably see that I was losing it. “Remember what we went over. The money first and not the diary. Until you have Brandon safely in the car.”

  “Okay! Okay!” I shouted at him, my nerves frayed.

  Finally the light changed and I hit the gas again; 153rd was just four blocks away. When I reached it, nothing around, not even a fucking light, I turned left as he’d said and came up under the expressway.

  There was an empty lot under the overpass, completely abandoned. The expressway clattering with the occasional cars thirty feet above. I didn’t see anyone.

  “Oh God,” I said, looking at where we were, my hands shaking. This was the kind of place where anything could happen. Where people could just disappear.

  I shut off my lights as he’d instructed.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  I waited, my heart bouncing back and forth off my ribs like a metronome set to high.

  I didn’t see anyone anywhere. Once in a while, a rumble came from the expressway as a car went over us above.

  My mouth had the feel of sandpaper. I wanted to say something to Patrick but I was petrified it would give us away. Every second felt like an eternity. Just my heart keeping time in my chest.

  Three full minutes passed.

  A ripple of fear snaked through me. Suddenly I wasn’t sure: Did I have the right street? He did say 153rd ? I looked for the street sign, uncertainty worming its way into my brain.

  That was when a car slowly pulled around the corner from a block north in the southbound lane, the lot we were in situated directly in the middle.

  An SUV. A Cadillac Escalade. It turned under the overpass and pulled alongside us. The driver’s window directly across from me. The windows were tinted. I searched for Brandon through the darkened glass. I couldn’t see into it.

  Which scared me.

  Please, please let him be here, I tried to reassure myself. But what if he wasn’t? What if he was at some other location? What then?

  My heart came to a stop as the driver’s window slowly went down. Suddenly I was staring at the same smirking face that had lunged at me with that boathook as I tried to get away at the boatyard.

  A round jaw. Large nose. Short, light-colored hair. Narrow, haughty eyes. The sonovabitch was enjoying this.

  “Hello, Jeanine.” He grinned. “Pleasure to see you again. Sorry about that window the last time we met. How about if we keep it on your insurance, if that’s okay? Oh, and by the way, Rollie said to say hi!”

  “Where’s my son?” I said and glared at him.

  “He’s here. Aren’t you, Brandon?” He glanced behind. “Quite a kid. Doesn’t say a whole lot, though. You notice that as well? I have to ask, you sure that school is really working for him . . . ? The nanny doesn’t say a lot herself—at least not in anything resembling English. Can’t get ten words out between them. Just a bunch of gibberish. Of course, it’s not exactly their fault right now. Is it, guys?” He turned his head. “What with the tape over their mouths . .
.”

  “I want to see him,” I said.

  “You want to see him? Sure, why not?”

  He rolled down the rear driver’s-side window. I saw Brandon in the backseat on the far side. Mouth taped. He looked terrified. Terrified and confused. What had I gotten him into? I had to restrain myself from leaping out of the car and running over to him.

  “Hold on, honey.” I smiled. My heart was breaking just watching him. “You’re gonna be back with Mommy very soon. I promise.”

  His eyes seemed to brighten at my voice. I know he was trying to talk to me. My eyes flicked to Elena, who looked just as frightened and helpless. I winked a sign of support to hang in there. Then the window went up again.

  “Aw, that’s a nice thought,” Charlie said. “You brought everything just like I said?”

  “I have it.” I showed him the large garbage bag on the seat across from me.

  “And the rest? You know what I’m talking about, I think.”

  “It’s here.” I raised the clear plastic folder.

  “Good. Rollie said you were a sight to look at. And he was right. About that part maybe. And hopefully you’re just as smart. So here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna put those pages in the bag with the money, open your door, and hand it over to me.”

  I shook my head. “Not until my son and Elena are in the car.”

  “Sorry? Are we negotiating here, Jeanine? You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? So very clever. Do you want your son back in one piece or not? Your call . . . I can just drive off with my little packages in the backseat and we can call it a night.”

  “No!” I reminded myself that he wanted what I had as much as I did what he had, and there was no way he would leave without them. “Take the money first. You let Brandon and Elena climb in the backseat here. Then you get the diary pages . . .”

  He smiled. Not a smile of agreement. A smile that conveyed he was not being amused. “I must not have made a very strong impression on you, Jeanine. Guys”—he turned around—“I don’t think she really wants you back at all. Neither of you.” He turned back to me and his eyes glimmered. “What’s the matter, you don’t trust me, doll?”

  “I’m not your doll.” I glared at him. His left arm rested on the open window; his right arm was hidden. “You’re making me nervous. I want to see your hands. Both of them.”

  Sweat had soaked through my top. I sucked in a breath to steady myself. I told myself I was doing fine. Just to hold it together, like Patrick would say. If I really believed it.

  “Take it out and bring it over to me,” he said, no longer with any mirth in his tone. “We’re wasting time.”

  “I can’t.” All I could do was wait him out. “You can have the money. Here . . .” I moved it nearer to me. “I’ll give you the diary pages next. Once I have my son and Elena. Look, we better get on with this. If someone comes by . . .”

  He looked at me. “All right. Take it around and put it in the back of my car. Then you can have the nanny.”

  “I’m not getting out of this car.”

  Somehow I didn’t feel so scared anymore. I knew that was probably a gun in his lap. He could pull it out and shoot me at any time. But I wasn’t afraid. I wanted to look around at Patrick. It took everything I had not to. I just prayed that he had everything covered.

  “Okay”—he seemed to relent—“let’s get on with this. Hand it to me.”

  I picked up the bag of money and cracked open my door, just enough to get it through, and moved it across the narrow space between us with two hands. I don’t know how I lifted it. It must have weighed thirty pounds. Charlie glanced around. Making sure no one had come on the scene. It was still just us. Then he opened his door and took the cinched bag with his left hand. He stuffed it inside his car and threw it on the seat across from him.

  “One down. Señora, you want to go and visit with your matron over there . . .” He lowered the window and grinned to Elena in the back.

  I heard the automatic locks release.

  Elena wouldn’t come. She shook her head and then she looked at my son. I knew what she was saying. She wouldn’t leave Brandon. She wouldn’t go until he did. My heart went out to her.

  “Brave little woman. So that takes care of one part of it.” He looked back at me and smiled. “What about the rest?”

  “You mean the diary pages,” I said, and held them up. Maybe we would get out of here. Everyone. With our lives.

  “No, not the diary . . .” Charlie shook his head, grinning. “I mean about the guy in the back there. You know, the one holding the gun on me.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  I froze. Like an electrical switch had gone off in my heart. And then like it had been kicked off a cliff.

  “Well, I guess that makes us kind of even, doesn’t it?” Charlie reached back around and seemed to unbuckle Brandon’s seat, grabbing him by the jacket and yanking him virtually into the front. He put his gun to the side of Brandon’s head, his eyes bright with rage. “Hello, young man. Now get out of the car and bring me those diary pages!”

  “No.” I heard Patrick’s voice, coming from behind me. “I’m afraid I can’t let her do that, Charlie.”

  “Well, well . . . what do you know, the police are on the scene. We can all rest easy. Charlie, huh?” He sneered. “You’ve all been busy bees. I already had a dim view of the NYPD, but you just managed to drop it a notch lower.”

  I looked across at my son. “Brandon, don’t worry, honey. Don’t worry about what he says. We’re going to have you out of there in a minute.”

  “Yeah, right, you just keep believing that, kid.” Charlie pressed the gun into his skull. “I know it’s past your bedtime and all, but your mom here’s gonna have you dead before the Smurfs come on.”

  I held myself from lunging through the car window and putting my hands around his throat. My blood ached just knowing Brandon had to hear him say that. He must be so scared.

  “It’s just a transfer of merchandise, Charlie,” Patrick said. “Give us the boy. You get the diary pages. We can all go home. No one hears from each other again.”

  “Just a transfer of merchandise, huh . . .” Charlie pulled back the hammer. “Let’s see.”

  He brought Brandon’s head up, as if to shoot him in front of me.

  “No. No. No!” I screamed. “He’s only a boy.”

  “Didn’t think so. Now, what I want you to do is extend your arm forward, slowly, please, and drop that gun onto the seat in front of you, and we’ll see if we can get on with things. My way. And quick now. Every vegetable truck in the city will be driving through here if we stay any longer.”

  For the first time I began to feel that maybe it wasn’t just the money and the diary he was after. But me. For what I’d done to him at the yard. Or to eliminate anyone who knew what those pages meant. I looked across to the Escalade and met Brandon’s wide-stretched eyes. I couldn’t bear to think that this would be how it would end. I no longer even cared about me. I was past that. Only for my son. And for Elena, who I’d dragged into this even though she was completely innocent. Who wouldn’t leave him there.

  “What’s the point, Charlie?” Patrick asked. “If we wanted the police brought in, they’d be here already. It’s clear we want to end this as much as you. Landry gets the pages. Then even if we want to say something, we can’t prove anything, right? You did your job. Everyone wins . . .”

  “Everyone wins, eh?” I could see the intent that was in his eyes. What he was here to do. His brain ticking. Blood would spill. Definitely. I caught Patrick’s eyes in the mirror. Please, don’t let it end like this . . .

  And then maybe Charlie seemed to finally come to the belief that, what was the point? He didn’t want to die here any more than I did, or Brandon. I saw him smile. He flashed a wink at me, like, oh, what the hell. He pressed a button and I heard the rear doors unlock.

  “Brandon, get the fuck out of the car,” he said, and pushed him into the back. “You too, se
ñora. Fun’s over. You go around and take him, por favor. Comprende?” Elena nodded. “Jeanine, hand those pages across to me.” He reached a hand out of the window, the other still pointed at my son with the gun.

  Elena opened her door. Her wrists were bound with wire. She ripped the tape off her mouth and shot me a relieved but still worried look. Then she ran around the back of the Escalade to help Brandon out.

  “Fast,” Charlie said. “Now.”

  I glanced at Patrick. He had his gun trained on the Escalade.

  “Give me those fucking pages!” Charlie said. “Or so help me I’ll hit the gas now and you’ll never see him again.”

  Elena was around the side. She’d opened Brandon’s door. He was still wrapped up in the seat belt. She unbuckled him.

  My gaze found Patrick’s again. This time he said, “Go ahead, give him what he wants.”

  Through the window I could see Elena take hold of Brandon and slide him out of the seat. She slammed the door. Then they were running back to us.

  I thrust the plastic folder into Charlie’s hand. He grabbed it while I waited for Brandon and Elena to come around. Patrick lunged forward and opened the rear door.

  That’s when I saw it! What was going around in Charlie’s mind. His smirk suddenly morphing into something a lot more deadly. He raised his hand with the gun toward me, everything going in slow motion, Brandon and Elena finally reaching our car. Then it wasn’t in slow motion. It was as if time stood still. And I saw that it wasn’t me he was aiming at. But Brandon. Patrick had reached out a hand to him, pulling him in.

  “Mommy!”

  “Say sayonara, Jeanine,” Charlie sniffed, smirking at me.

  “No!”

  I heard a shot. “Brandon!” I screamed. Not one shot, but two in rapid succession. Maybe three. Like firecrackers. I looked for the spark from Charlie’s muzzle, the one that would have killed my son.

  But there was none.

  Patrick was shielding Brandon and Elena with his body.

  Then I saw Charlie spin and grab his shoulder and side, his outstretched gun clattering onto the street. “Son of a—!”