Part 13 (1/2)

I look around the woods like she might pop out from behind a maple. I say, ”What's wrong? Daddy doesn't know where I am?”

There's a beat or two of silence on the phone, long enough to make me think the call was dropped or she hung up. She says, ”I'm sorry about what happened. I just thought my father was going to watch you, make sure you weren't dangerous or up to some crazy blackmail scam. That's all. I got your message and today I saw the break-in of your office and apartment in the paper. And I'm sorry, Mr. Genevich. Really, I didn't know he was going to do anything like that.”

I'm in the middle of the woods, and I'm too tired to breathe. I want to sit down but I'm already sitting down. Not sure what to believe or who to believe, not sure if I should believe in myself.

I say, ”On the obscure chance you're telling it straight, thanks.”

”Why would my father do that?”

”No would about it. Did. He did it.”

”Why did he break into your apartment? Was he looking for those pictures?”

I say, ”Your father was looking for a film to go along with those pictures I showed you. The pictures are meaningless; they can't hurt anyone. But the film. The film is dangerous. The film can do damage.”

”Do you have it?”

”Oh, yeah. I have it. I'm getting copies made right now. Going to send them to the local stations as soon as I get off the phone with you.” Dressing up the truth with some bluff can't hurt, especially if she's trying to play me on behalf of DA Daddy again.

”Oh, my G.o.d! Seriously, what's on it?”

”Bad stuff. It's no Sesame Street video.”

”Is it that girl who looks like me?”

”What do you think, Jennifer?”

”How bad is it?”

”One man is already dead because of it.”

There's a beat of silence. ”What? Who's dead?” Her voice is a funeral, and I know she believes me, every word.

”Brendan Sullivan. Police report says he shot himself in his Osterville home. He was the one who hired me, sent me the pictures, and wanted me to find the film. I found the film. Sullivan was a childhood friend of my father and your father. We're all in this together. We should all hold hands and sing songs about buying the world a c.o.ke.”

More silence. Then: ”Mr. Genevich, I want to see it. Will you meet me and show it to me?”

”Now that sounds like crazy talk. Even a.s.suming that I don't think you're trying to set me up again, I don't know why I would show you the film.”

”I know and I'm sorry. Just listen to me for a sec. After our dinner, I couldn't stop thinking about those photos, and then when I heard about your apartment, it got worse, and I have such a bad feeling about all this, you know? I just need to know what happened. I promise I'll help you in any way I can. I need to see this. I'll come to your office and watch it. I can come right now. It won't take me long to get there.”

Jennifer talks fast, begging and pleading. She might be sincere, but probably not. With the goons having lost my trail, the timing of her call just plain sucks. That said, the DA can't go to her well too often. She'll know too much.

How about I keep the possibilities open? I say, ”We'll see. Need to finish getting copies made. Maybe I can offer you a late-night showing. I'll call you later.” I hang up.

The cell phone goes back in my pocket. I need to chew on this for a bit. For such a simple action, watching a film, there are suddenly too many forks and branches and off-ramps and roadblocks and . . .

Three loud beeps shake me off my tree stump. I land in a crouch. A white car crawls along my stretch of woods, stops, then beeps again. It's my man Brill.

I try to gather myself quickly, but it's like chasing a dropped bundle of papers in a windy parking lot. I come cras.h.i.+ng through the woods. The film is back inside my coat pocket. There's a moment of panic when I expect the goons to be in the backseat waiting for me, but it's empty. I open the door and slide in. The seat's been retaped, just for me.

Brill says, ”I'm not even gonna ask how you got out here.”

”That's mighty fine of you.”

”I won't ask what happened to your face, either. But I hope it hurt like h.e.l.l because it's killing me.”

”Just a scratch. The perils of hiking through the woods, my man.”

”All right. Where to, Sasquatch?”

I say, ”That's actually funny. Congrats.”

Let's try a change of destinations. I can't rely on Brill anymore, too risky. I say, ”Take me to the nearest and dearest car rental agency. One that's open.”

THIRTY-ONE.

I'm leaned back into the seat, relaxed. I feel magnanimous in my latest small victory. Let Brill have his cheap shots. Let the people have cake. At least I feel magnanimous until I wake up, not on a sleepy Osterville road but in the parking lot of a car rental agency.

Brill is turned around. The old b.a.s.t.a.r.d has been watching me. His skeleton arm is looped around the back of his seat, and he shows me his wooden teeth. I suppose it's a smile. I didn't need to see that. I'll have nightmares the next time I pa.s.s out.

I say, ”What are you smiling at?”

He says, ”Your little nap made me an extra ten bucks. If I had any kids, you'd be putting them through college one z at a time.”

I say, ”I wasn't asleep. Making sure the lot and inside was all clear. Sitting here thinking. You should try it.”

”You must've been doing some hard thinking with all that twitching and snoring.” He laughs and coughs. Can't imagine he has much lung left.

I don't have a comeback for him, so I change the thrust of our departure conversation. ”Nice tape job on the seats, Brill. You're first cla.s.s all the way.” I'm running low on cash. I have just enough to pay the grinning bag of bones.

Brill takes the bills. He says, ”You here to rent a car?”

”No, I'm going to get my shoes s.h.i.+ned and then maybe a foot ma.s.sage. All that walking and my dogs are barking.”

Brill turns back around, faces front, a.s.sumes the cabbie position. ”You driving on my roads, any roads? That can't be legal.”

I open my door. I don't have to explain anything to him, but I do. I say, ”I have a driver's license and a credit card. I can drive a car. I'm sure the transaction will be quite easy. Wait for me here, we'll drag-race out of the lot. I'll let you be James Dean. You got the looks.”

”No, thanks. I'm turning in early if you're going to be on the road.” He revs the tiny four-cylinder engine. My cue to leave.

I get out. The lot is small and practically empty. The sun-bleached pavement is cracked and the same color as the overcast sky. Brill drives away. He's no fun.

Inside the rental agency, everything is bright yellow and s.h.i.+tty brown. There are cheery poster-sized ads hanging on the walls featuring madly grinning rental agents. Those madly grinning rental agents are at their desks but outside with a bright blue sky as their background. Apparently renting a car should be some sort of conversion experience for me. We'll see.