New York Strip

by W. J. Costello

  Bank statements.

  Medical records.

  Hmm. What’s this?

  A folded sheet of paper.

  I took it out. I unfolded it. I read it.

  No way.

  Impossible.

  This changes everything.

  CHAPTER 17

  I STARED AT the sheet of paper.

  I read it again.

  Unbelievable.

  Kelly kept this a secret.

  Why?

  Why didn’t she tell me about it?

  Why didn’t her father tell me about it?

  Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe she never told him.

  Blake would have told me if he knew. No doubt about that.

  I’ve got to tell him. He needs to know. Especially because he doesn’t have long to live. Days. Weeks maybe.

  This isn’t the sort of thing you keep from your parents. Not without a good reason. A very good reason.

  What reason could there be?

  None that I can think of.

  I folded the sheet of paper and put it back in the file. I put the file back in the zippered pocket. I put all the clothes back in the suitcase.

  The lid went down. The latches snapped shut. The suitcase went back under the dinette table.

  I flopped down on the sofa and frowned.

  Now Blake needed to know about Kelly’s disappearance. I needed to tell him. I had planned to tell him later. But plans change.

  I took out my phone and punched in the number for his hospital room.

  “Hello?”

  “Blake? It’s Rip.”

  “Are you two in Rochester now?”

  “Uh. No. We had a little delay.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Rising Falls.”

  “What happened?”

  “My brakes went out.”

  “Is Kelly hurt? Are you hurt?”

  “Nobody got hurt.”

  We’re both okay, I wanted to say. But that would have been a lie.

  “Were you able to find a garage open on Thanksgiving?”

  “Yep. A place called Earl’s Pump-n-Munch.”

  “Sounds like a porn movie.”

  “That’s what Kelly said.”

  “Great minds think alike.”

  “I knew you were going to say that.”

  “Another great mind.”

  “So how you doing?”

  “The machine’s still beeping. That means I’m still alive.”

  “How you feel?”

  “Like kicking ass and taking names.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “Put Kelly on.”

  “What?”

  “Put Kelly on the line. I want to talk to her.”

  Here we go.

  “She’s missing.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t know where she is. I filed a missing-persons report.”

  “Missing?”

  “Yes.”

  A suck of breath.

  Gurgling sounds.

  Hospital machines beeped urgently.

  “Blake? You there?”

  No response.

  Running feet. Panicked voices.

  “Blake? What’s going on?”

  “Hello?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Nurse Smith. We’ve got a Code Blue here.”

  Code Blue. A medical emergency.

  My heart sank.

  “What happened to Blake?”

  “You’ll have to phone back later.”

  She hung up.

  I immediately thought of the folded sheet of paper in Kelly’s suitcase. It was from a doctor’s office.

  I didn’t get to tell Blake about it.

  Kelly was pregnant.

  CHAPTER 18

  A COOL BREEZE blew through the Lakeside RV Park.

  I entered the park office.

  “Good afternoon,” I said to the office manager.

  “Good afternoon.”

  “How much are your rates?”

  She told me.

  “Sounds good,” I said and handed her my credit card. “I don’t know how long I’ll be staying. Might be a few days. Might be a week. Depends on circumstances.”

  “No problem. We’re flexible.”

  “Good. I like flexible.”

  She smiled.

  I smiled.

  “I’ll take one of your sites with a view of Lake Ontario. No point in staying here if I can’t look out my window and see the lake.”

  “How’s this site here?” Pointing to a park map. “This is one of our best sites. Great view of the lake. Some trees for privacy.”

  “Perfect. I’ll take it.”

  I got into my RV and started the engine and made my way down the road that wound through the RV park.

  Several campers waved to me and I waved back.

  Campers are a friendly group of people. They make you feel welcome. Members of the camping community are like a big family. Everybody is on a first-name basis. Everybody looks out for each other. It is good to have a family like that when you live on the road.

  When I got to the site I pulled in and parked.

  I took a moment to enjoy the view of the lake.

  Then I got to work. Leveling the RV. Connecting the water hose. The sewer hose. The electric cord.

  Time for coffee. I made some. A big mug.

  A picnic table sat beside my RV. I sat down at the table and sipped my coffee. Thinking aloud. About Kelly. About Blake.

  A young passerby heard me talking to myself.

  “What?” the boy said to me.

  “Just thinking aloud. Ever do that? Think aloud?”

  “No.”

  “Smart boy. Now move along.”

  He must have wondered if I had both oars in the water.

  Sometimes I wonder myself.

  My thoughts returned to Kelly.

  Did her pregnancy have something to do with her disappearance?

  Did it also have something to do with her state of depression?

  Would she commit suicide while pregnant?

  Too many questions. Not enough answers.

  I wondered how Blake was doing. Had he recovered from the medical emergency? I needed to phone him. But later. Not now.

  I sipped my coffee.

  Ducks splashed. Children played. Wind blew.

  A couple walked past. Laughing. Arms around each other.

  The boyfriend had a contented look on his face.

  His girlfriend had an inspiring backside.

  He looked to be twenty years her junior.

  She looked moneyed and well tended.

  I could picture her growing up in a Beverly Hills mansion. Tennis court. Perfect lawn. Weedless flower beds. A private-school education. Summer trips to Europe. Hobnobbing with the jet set. Marrying a wealthy man. Divorcing him. Getting millions in alimony. Set for life. Free to date younger men. To become a cougar. To enjoy sex again. Lusty interludes.

  Cougars and their boy toys. A growing trend. A worldwide trend. You see them in places of wealth. Luxury hotels. RV resorts. Five-star establishments.

  The boy toys are fit. Handsome. Smooth talkers.

  They know what to do and when to do it. Opening doors for the lady. Keeping her glass filled. Fetching her slippers. Feeding her sexual appetite.

  Boy toys need those skills. They are essential to their continued lavish existence. Without them they would be cougarless. Moneyless. Worthless.

  Back in my RV I stood at the kitchen sink and washed my coffee mug. Then I dried it and put it in the cabinet. My body went through the motions but my mind was elsewhere.

  I started doing housework. Refolding clothes that didn’t need to be refolded. Dusting surfaces that didn’t need to be dusted. Straightening items that didn’t need to be straightened. My body went through the motions but my mind was elsewhere.

  My mind was elsewhere.

  CHAPTER 19

  A LONG RUN.

  Tha
t was what I needed to clear my head.

  I opened the drawer where I keep my Adidas running gear. I put on an Adidas running shirt. Then an Adidas sweat suit. Then Adidas running shoes.

  Nothing but Adidas.

  Everything in black.

  Half an hour later I returned from my run. My head was clear. My mind was focused.

  The hot shower felt good. I shaved my head. Then my face.

  I wrapped a towel around my waist and padded into the kitchen. When I opened the refrigerator I realized I needed groceries.

  I dressed warmly and walked to the park office.

  “Good evening,” I said to the office manager.

  “Good evening. How do you like your site?”

  “Great view. Privacy. What’s not to like?”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Where’s the closest grocery store?”

  She gave me directions to Price Chopper.

  “Thank you.”

  I returned to my RV and went to the garage in the back of it. I lowered the garage ramp. Then I loosened the ratchet straps from my motorcycle. A Honda Fury.

  The engine started with a roar. I backed it down the ramp.

  When you drive a big RV like my Outlaw Class A toy hauler it is a good idea to bring along a small vehicle. A small car. A motorcycle. Something like that. Otherwise you have to use a big vehicle to explore local areas. That can be impractical at times. Especially in places with heavy traffic and/or narrow roads.

  Not only that but you have to disconnect the hookups from your RV every time you want to temporarily leave a campground or an RV park or an RV resort. And then you have to reconnect the hookups every time you return. That can get old fast.

  A thought occurred to me.

  I dropped the kickstand and dismounted. The motorcycle burbled behind me while I headed back toward my RV.

  When I got to the bedroom I crouched down in front of the safe. My hand spun the dial. The door opened. I reached in and took out two guns. A primary gun and a backup gun.

  It seemed like that kind of day.

  Ten minutes later I pulled into the Price Chopper parking lot.

  A sign in the window announced discounted prices on Cheetos and Fritos and Doritos. Another sign proclaimed the tastiness of Krispy Kreme donuts. A third sign tempted customers to try a new flavor of Baskin-Robbins ice cream.

  I was tempted. Believe me. But I resisted temptation.

  My shopping cart filled up quickly. Black beans. Blueberries. Brown rice. Carrots. Coffee. Coffee creamers. Greek yogurts. Grilled chicken. Lean Cuisines. Mixed nuts. Oats. Scott Rapid-Dissolving toilet paper (specially made for RVs). Spinach.

  No chips. No donuts. No ice cream.

  The grocery bags fit snugly into my saddlebag. I mounted my motorcycle and started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. My headlight cut through the darkness.

  On the way back to the Lakeside RV Park my lizard brain sensed something. Something wrong. But what?

  Then I figured it out.

  In the side-view mirror I could see powerful headlights behind me. The same headlights I had seen five minutes earlier.

  A tail?

  The darkness of the night made it impossible to see the vehicle on the unlit road. But the position of its headlights suggested it might be an SUV.

  Could it be a white Escalade? Could it be Dmitry again?

  Bastard.

  I decided to find out.

  The SUV mirrored my every move. If I turned left, it turned left. If I sped up, it sped up. If I changed lanes, it changed lanes. You get the picture.

  Dmitry. It had to be him. Him and his two accomplices.

  Who else could it be?

  Nobody I could think of.

  I turned onto a rural road. No streetlights. No house lights.

  Dmitry followed.

  Up ahead I saw a bend in the road. Trees on either side. Thick trees. Thick enough to obscure Dmitry’s view.

  His powerful headlights loomed behind me. Like two blazing eyes.

  I shut off my own headlight.

  My shadow stretched out in front of me. A racing shadow. Long and thin.

  When I rolled the throttle the motorcycle shot forward in roaring acceleration.

  Fifty mph.

  Sixty.

  Seventy.

  I sped away. Dark landscape blurring past. Cold wind blasting my face. Scream of the engine filling the night.

  When I got to the bend in the road I leaned into the sweeping curve without slowing down. Trees zipped past.

  No headlights behind me now. No shadow in front.

  Time to make my move.

  The brakes screeched. The motorcycle shuddered. The gravel sprayed.

  I drove down the embankment and into the woods. Crashing through the undergrowth. Branches snapping furiously.

  The motorcycle’s tires had left tracks in the snow. But only on the embankment. No snow lay on the road itself.

  Hopefully Dmitry would drive past without spotting the tracks.

  I shut off the engine and stood straddling the motorcycle. Watching the road. Waiting for him.

  Moments later the powerful headlights appeared. They stalked around the curving road. Their brightness cast tree shadows in all directions.

  I stood hidden by thick trees some distance from the road. Hidden like a creature of the night. Nobody would be able to see me from the road.

  The SUV approached. Headlights growing brighter. Engine growing louder.

  My eyes had adjusted to the dark. I wanted them to remain that way. So I shut them and turned my head away from the approaching brightness.

  As soon as I heard the SUV growl past I opened my eyes and turned my head and saw the familiar outline of an Escalade. Then I saw the license plate.

  It was Dmitry all right.

  Bastard.

  I watched the Escalade move down the road until its taillights diminished to two glowing points of red no bigger than mice eyes.

  But then the mice eyes stopped. They stared at me from the distance. As if I were a yummy insect.

  The Escalade started backing up. Moving back toward me. Red taillights growing brighter.

  What the hell’s Dmitry doing?

  I stared. Heart racing. Adrenaline surging. Breath quickening.

  Did he see me?

  Did he see the tracks in the snow?

  I drew my gun.

  There would be three of them. Three men. At least two of them were Russian. I had heard their accents. The third man might be Russian too.

  Russians like to use assault rifles. Kalashnikovs. Shafts. AS Vals.

  My two handguns would be no match against three assault rifles. Or even against just one assault rifle. Those things spray bullets like water from a hose.

  In movies you always see heroes dodging sprays of bullets as if the shooters had poor aim. But with assault rifles you don’t really need to aim. In real life the heroes would be Swiss cheese.

  The Escalade rolled to a stop on the road in front of me. The headlights died. The engine died.

  Seconds passed.

  Nothing happened.

  Crickets chirped.

  I waited. Gripping my gun a little tighter.

  No sound from the Escalade. No movement. Nothing.

  More seconds passed.

  I waited.

  My mind played games with me. It played a mental movie. The movie starred me as the hero.

  In the movie I burst out of the woods with both guns blazing. The three Russians spray bullets at me but I manage to dodge the bullets as if I were a mongoose dodging a striking snake. When I get to the Escalade I kill them before they can kill me.

  That sounds like a great movie. One I would pay to see. In fact I have already seen several movies like that. They always feature great action actors. Bruce Willis. Jason Statham. Sylvester Stallone.

  Dmitry would no doubt be playing his own mental movie. One with Dmitry as the hero. A movie with a very dif
ferent outcome than mine.

  The passenger door swung open. A boot appeared. Then another.

  I waited for the assault rifles. None appeared.

  But a flashlight did. The bright light probed the woods. Sweeping left and right. Illuminating the trees around me.

  I pressed myself against a thick tree. Not breathing. Not blinking.

  Voices broke the silence. They spoke in Russian. I understood nothing of what they said.

  The flashlight shut off. The boots disappeared. The passenger door slammed shut. The engine started. The headlights came on. The Escalade roared away.

  Darkness returned. Silence returned.

  I holstered my gun.

  Time to put my plan into action.

  Mechanical thunder rumbled when I started the engine.

  My motorcycle tore out of the woods. Up the embankment. Onto the road. Spinning out with a spray of gravel.

  I raced off into the night. Raced after the Escalade. Raced with my headlight off.

  A pale sliver of moonlight illuminated the road.

  Soon I spotted the taillights.

  Bastard. I’m coming to get you.

  I closed the gap. But not completely. I wanted to stay far enough behind to not be noticed but close enough to not lose sight of the Escalade.

  A few vehicles passed in the opposite direction. Their headlights wreaked havoc on my night vision.

  Following the Escalade would have been a lot easier if I had been able to put a tracking device on it. Then I could have just followed a moving red dot on a screen. But instead I had to follow the moving red dots of the taillights.

  When the Escalade got to the end of the road it slowed down and rolled to a stop. It sat there for a long moment. Then it turned right.

  Ten seconds later I got to the end of the road. A pickup truck with AL’S MAINTENANCE SERVICE printed on the side approached from my left. I had to wait for it to pass. Then I turned right and fell in behind it.

  When I got closer to the pickup I saw it swerve a little. As if Al were drunk. Maybe his maintenance business wasn’t doing so good.

  Too bad for Al. But I needed to pass him. He stood between me and the Escalade.

  The road snaked. Twisting this way and that. One sharp turn after another.

  Tall evergreen trees flanked the road. They made it impossible to see around the bends.

  Al took his time. No rush.

  Come on, Al. Step on it. They’re getting away.