B009XDDVN8 EBOK (36 page)

Life springs its blessings in the most surprising of ways.

M
Y INTERNAL COMPASS
had always been aimed toward Philadelphia; that had been my heart’s magnetic north. In Wisconsin, I pined for the East. In Virginia, I always considered the sprawl between DC and Boston the center of the world while I lived willingly on the periphery. Whatever place I found myself was always a substitute. And in grade school as in life, no matter how pretty or merry the substitute, it is never the real thing.

But now, as I headed out of the rich western suburbs of Philadelphia, out of my grandfather’s domain, it felt as if my compass had been reset. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there, I couldn’t wait to head back to my home. And my route home didn’t anymore lead to Virginia, it led through Virginia.

“Harry?”

“Johnny? Is that you?”

“It’s me, all right.”

“What’s been going on, boy? We been worried about you.”

“Nothing to worry about,” I lied. “Just revisiting some old memories, renewing family ties, that sort of thing. But I’m done up here and coming home. Any news?”

“None that you’ll like.”

“Then tell me what I won’t like.”

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“About what, Harry?”

“My sister. She don’t approve of them kids of yours.”

“What’s wrong with my kids?”

“She says they’re not godly enough and so she’s taken as her mission to save them.”

“Oh, Harry.”

“Things have gotten testy.”

“I can imagine.”

“My sister says your wife’s language is a bit salty, too.”

“Taking the Lord’s name in vain, no doubt.”

“Not His, yours.”

“But other than the clash of cultures, are they still safe?”

“They’re talking about going home, with or without you. Are you almost done?”

“I think so, but they have to stay put for a bit. Look, I’m coming down right now to see them. I’ve got about seven hours of driving left. I want you to meet me there.”

“Do I have to? I told you how my sister gets with me.”

“That’s what I’m counting on. If your sister has your soul to worry about, she might not worry so much about the collective soul of my family. How’s your truck running?”

“Pretty good, now and then.”

“Which is it?”

“More then than now.”

“Do you have a mechanic that will do some work quickly?”

“I knows a guy what knows a guy, I suppose.”

“Do me a favor, Harry, and use some of the cash I gave you to get the thing running as smoothly as possible. Change the oil, lubricate the pistons, maybe a tune-up, change the battery, check the brakes. And how are your tires?”

“Still got plenty of miles on them, I’ll tell you that.”

“Who was president when you bought them?”

“Bush.”

“So they’re about five years at least?”

“The first Bush.”

“Get four new ones for me, all right? And not retreads.”

“What’s up, Johnny?”

“They’ve ID’d my car. I can’t keep using it. I’m waiting to get a location on the bastard who is after me, and when I do, I’m going after him, but I’m going to need a car they won’t recognize. I’ll trade you my SUV for your truck, but it will help if the truck doesn’t break down on the way.”

“I don’t want your car. You leave it with that wife of yours. My sister keeps up her harping, your wife will need it to get the hell out of Dodge. But you’re not thinking you might need some backup, are you?”

“Are you offering?”

“I’m just talking here.”

“It could be dangerous.”

“How dangerous?”

“
Dangerous
dangerous.”

“Well, maybe I knows a guy what knows a guy.”

“You’re a peach, Harry.”

I’ve told my kids over and again that texting while driving is suicidal and that talking on your phone while driving is as dangerous as driving drunk. I’ve made it a point of pointing out all the oblivious jackaloons jabbering on their cell phones while driving like idiots. “Look at her, she’s not even looking,” I’ll say as someone cuts me off. “See that guy on the phone? I bet he rear-ends someone before he gets off the highway.” My children know my position on using the cell phone while in the car. They also know my position on fast food (against) and on soda (the devil’s elixir).

Still, there I was, barreling down I-95 with a cup of Coke between my legs, a hamburger in the hand holding the wheel, and a cell phone against my ear. But I had an excuse: I was an asshole.

“Thad Campbell, here.”

“Thad, it’s me.”

“Who?”

“Willing.”

“Jon? Oh my God, Jon. We thought you were dead.”

“Dead? Why would I be dead? I mean, as opposed to, like, in Mexico or something.”

“Is that where you are?”

“No,” I said without being more specific. “Why did you think I was dead?”

“Because you disappeared, all of you did. And the cops have been looking for you.”

“Me?”

“They found your car in some garage by Remnick Pond. Pretty mangled. And they connected it to some accident that almost killed a guy on Chandler Court. And then, what with all that’s been going on at your house, we were all pretty certain something bad had happened.”

“What about my house?”

“It’s been ransacked. More than once. After the cops were called the first time, they found the place a wreck inside. They bound it with cop tape and went door-to-door looking for you. Next thing you know it was ransacked again, even worse.”

“Is it okay? The house, I mean.”

“It’s still standing, if that’s what you mean. But I hope you’re insured. From what I’ve heard, whoever was inside sure didn’t like you much. They slashed every mattress, every piece of furniture, smashed lamps. What the hell is going on, Jon?”

“I’m in the middle of some old business, is all.”

“Something to do with your job?”

“Nothing that rough.”

“What about Caitlin? And the kids? Are they okay? Where are they?”

“Someplace safe. Has anyone been looking for them or me other than the cops?”

“You mean other than the cops and the debt collectors?”

“What debt collectors?”

“It’s about the money you owe.”

“What money?”

“They say you owe gobs of money, hundreds of thousands. They say you skipped off with a fortune. They’re going around asking everyone where you might be.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Nothing. We’re pals, remember. But they’re offering cash for information. And they want to know about your friends.”

“You mean like you, Thad?”

“Yeah, I guess. Or that old rummy you hang out with sometimes. The boxer.”

“How do you know about him?”

“Jon, you’re my neighbor, my friend.”

“Did you tell them about the old boxer?”

“No, Jon, no. I didn’t tell them anything. They didn’t look like any debt collectors I’ve ever seen before. But they’re offering money for information.”

“So who sold me out?”

“No one.”

“Are they there now? Are they listening on the other end of the phone?”

“Jon, get hold of yourself. Jon. Come home.”

“That’s what I’m doing right now.”

“Good.”

“I’ll stop off at your place first,” I lied.

“Good idea.”

“Just one more thing, Thad, okay? And be honest with me if you can.”

“Yes, of course. Anything. Any way I can help.”

“Are you sleeping with my wife?”

Thad had just added an hour to my drive, the son of a bitch.

The fastest route to Kitty Hawk was along I-64, right past Williamsburg. I had thought of stopping home, grabbing some fresh clothes, maybe some things for the kids before continuing on. But with the cops looking for me now, along with Clevenger’s collection agents, I wanted nothing to do with the whole damn peninsula. So when I hit Richmond, I didn’t take the exit for Route 64 but instead, like Grant before me, I headed for Petersburg. Then I took 460 toward the coast.

The phone I had been using was one of three little units I had picked up at a 7-Eleven on the way to my grandfather. They weren’t fancy, but they worked well enough and, most importantly, they were disposable. The bastards had found me in Vegas, they had found me in Williamsburg, they had found me in Pitchford. They had proven quite adept at finding me on their own, I didn’t need to help them out with a traceable signal to lead them right up my ass.

Before I threw the first one out, I made one more call.