Within seconds, the phone rings. Open my eyes and glance at the clock. I've been asleep for twenty minutes and feel refreshed. Realize I have a quilt on me. Soji must have covered me as I slept.
The young girl sits cross-legged on the floor beside me, leaning back against the desk. She gazes out the window. She doesn't look as innocent and sensitive as she did. She has me to thank for that.
A minute later, I'm sitting at the desk, headphones on when Soji tells me that Agent George is on the phone. "Jill," says Tony George when I connect, "Sure you want to do this?"
"Oh no, Tony. I'd rather have that deadeye keep me in the crosshairs long enough for a trigger pull. Makes life more interesting."
"Okay, that's a go. Do you want Doc Pete to send over a couple agents to prep you?"
"What for?"
"Forget it. We're picking up the nephew's pregnant wife right now. First call, you'll be on the line with the old man's lawyer who is at home. Make the threat and tell him you want the old man to call you back at a number we'll give you. Second call, the old man phones in from prison. We pull you in on the call, show mom the bolo knife and get her screaming into the phone. You tell the old man you want the name of the shooter, the number of the account and the pass phrase to transfer the funds. Keep him on the line until we move the money and pick up the shooter. Any questions?"
Picture that scene in my mind. The guards wake up the old man. He takes the call from his lawyer, who tells him of the kidnapping and about my threat. The old man calls to confirm. Sure enough, his nephew's pregnant wife is missing. He looks at the telephone number in his trembling hands as he makes the call. They patch me in and I begin talking. He hears the screams and then her frantic voice, pleading for mercy, for the lives of her unborn babies'the old man's heirs.
"What's the old man called?" I ask.
"Al."
"That's it? Al?"
"Yeah. Short for Alphonse. They used to call him Al Senior but someone went out to Jersey a few months ago and cut off his son's head. Now that there's no junior, everyone just calls him Al."
The image of that August night in Bayonne, New Jersey flashes in my mind: Al Junior kneeling on the concrete, cursing me to hell as I swing the blade. His head sounds like a gourd falling on the concrete. His carotid spurts blood that sounds like a horse pissing on concrete.
"Okay, I'm ready." I disconnect.
Soji is standing in the doorway watching me.
"I'm waiting for a call, Soji. After the call, we do therapy and supper. Would you close the door, please?"
He closes it softly.
In my mind, I'm still standing near the docks of Bayonne, New Jersey two months ago. Watch the first light of dawn break over the horizon, the long sword in my left hand still dripping blood on the concrete. Inside the warehouse behind me lay the bodies and heads of eight armed men I had just hunted and killed. All eight had worked for the old man I will speak with soon.
Turning my head, I look at the girl, still sitting on the floor. She is looking up at me now. After a moment, she pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms tightly about her legs. She averts her eyes, looks at the window and waits.
The telephone rings, and I connect. I can hear breathing at the other end of the connection. A phone rings, and someone fumbles picking it up. An older man's voice'the lawyer'says, "Hello?" Suddenly, I hear a sharp shriek followed by a terrified scream. Speaking precisely, I say, "You're Al's lawyer. Get out to Riker's and tell him I have his nephew's pregnant wife here."
"Wait! What. . . ." Another shriek and a choking sob cuts him off.
"Shut up and write down this number. Tell him to call area code 201, prefix 437 and this number by eleven-thirty." After I read him the number, I say, "Repeat that number and time."
He reads it back accurately.
"Tell him to remember the docks at Bayonne." Cut the connection, remove the headphones and pull myself to my feet. Looking down at the girl, I wait for her to look at me but she will not. Using the crutches, I leave her, sitting alone on the floor.
For the next two hours, Soji and I work through my therapy, pushing my body as far as it will go. When I begin my cool-down, I am gasping for breath and dripping in sweat, my muscles jumping with fatigue.
After I shower, I eat with Soji and Lloyd. We chat about the elections, Arnold Schwarzenegger and political involvement. Soji surprises us with stories of when he held public office in his hometown in Japan.
Just before eight, the girl walks into the kitchen to look around. She returns to the study without looking at me.
Excuse myself and tell them I'm expecting a call, which I'll take in my study. Close the door, pull on my headset, put my feet up and wait. The girl and I stare at one another as she sits on the floor.
The phone rings at twelve minutes after the hour, making the girl jump. I connect.
A woman sobs, pleading with wet and wailing words, followed by a slap and a scream.
"Al, you know who I am?"
"A cunt. No, a dead cunt."
"I will cut her open and mail you the fetuses in bloody chunks, Al. Your wife and nephew will get some too."
The girl clutches at the wastebasket and vomits into it. She holds the wastebasket in her two hands, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
"What you want, dead cunt?" he growls.
"The shooter, the account number and the pass phrase or I'm hanging up, Al. Remember Bayonne?"
"I curse you to hell," says Al.
"Good-bye, Al."
"Andrew Norton," says the old man. He sputters out a Reno address and quickly follows with the account number and a pass phrase. He is almost strangling by the time he finishes.
Glance at the girl. She lifts her head slowly, sobbing pitifully. A line of drool runs from her lower lip to the edge of the wastebasket and a long drop of snot hangs from her nose. The nauseating smell of vomit fills the room. "So, tell me, Al. All these men you sent to their deaths, were they just friends of yours or were they family?" Hear only heavy breathing on the line. "All those wasted lives because I wouldn't sell to you."
A single sob and a shaking growl. In the background, I can hear the woman wailing softly, saying, "Please, please."
"So other than that, Al, how's business been this fall? Pretty good?"
"Fugging gunt."
A male voice comes on the line. "Fund transfer's complete. Moving in on the shooter now. Hold on."
"I sort of hope you keep coming after me, Al. Starting to enjoy this." I hear only wheezing and a distinct swallow. "Al? Enjoy those visits with your grand-nephews, okay?"
"Okay," says the male voice, "We got `im."
Cut the connection immediately, leaning back with my eyes closed, breathing slowly.
The phone rings again so I connect. "Yeah?"
Tony George says, "They're taking mom to the hospital with contractions now."
The girl sobs once noisily, dropping the wastebasket and bending over to hug herself. She begins crying, wailing really. She sounds sick, sad, afraid and alone.
"Thanks . . . for letting me know." I get up, open the office door and return to my chair, still connected. The smell of vomit is overpowering.
"Her husband is released on bail. They'll drop him off at the hospital. He'll end up with time served. She'll be fine, Price. Do you want to meet this shooter too?"
"No. Do you have a list of names and residences of Al's dead men?"
The line is silent for several seconds. Finally, Tony says, "You know I do. I suppose you don't want to hear how their families are not your responsibility."
"You suppose right."
"I'll leave the envelope at the RPD front desk tonight."
Lloyd appears in the doorway. I wave her inside. "Thanks. And Tony?"
"I won't tell anyone."
Disconnect and dial Pere. "Margaret, I'm sending Lloyd over with two envelopes tomorrow." Lloyd and I are staring at one another.
"Yes?" says Margaret. After a couple seconds, she says, "Jill?"
Look at Lloyd, thinking, if you trust this woman, give her responsibility. Speaking slowly, I say, "Tell Ume that I want Aliversal to care for the families of the men whose names are crossed off the lists in these two envelopes." When Margaret says she understands, I thank her and disconnect.
"Lloyd, please pick up an envelope at the Reno PD front desk tomorrow." I take two sheets of paper, wrinkled and bloodstained, from a desk drawer, slide them into an envelope, seal it and hand it to her. "Take both envelopes to Margaret."
"Of course," says Lloyd. "Anything else?"
"I hired you to assist me until I recuperate, Lloyd. Next week, I return to work."
Lloyd takes a deep, quivering breath and asks, "May I speak freely, Jill?" When I nod, Lloyd says, "I have felt more alive during the past three days than at any time in my life. I want to keep working for you."
"You heard me talking with Margaret about Aliversal."
"Yes," says Lloyd, catching her breath. After a moment, she says, "I know Aliversal quite well."
"Aliversal is my foundation, Lloyd. It provides small business loans to women. My hope is that with a few hundred or a few thousand dollars, a woman can start a small business and perhaps become independent for life."
She leans forward and takes my hands in hers. "Oh Jill, hearing those words, coming from your mouth, fills me with fire."
Confused, I ask, "Fire? What's that mean?"
"Energy," she whispers forcefully. "I want to put my energy into Aliversal, Jill."
Twisting my hands suddenly to take hers, I ask, "What if I told you that Aliversal is my dream, Lloyd? All my energy, stored in my wealth, goes into that foundation. If I give you a paycheck and responsibility within Aliversal, what will you give me in return?"
Sitting up straight, blinking back tears, Lloyd says, "My life."
We stare into one another's eyes for several moments. "Consider your words, Lloyd. You have some idea of what I'm capable."
"My life is yours," she says. "Do with it as you will."
Pull my hands away from hers and punch the speaker button on the telephone. Dial Margaret and tell her to stay on the line as she brings Ume and Julie Meese on the line.
"What?" says Ume.
"This is Julie. How may I help you, Jill?"
"Ume, Julie, I'm here with Lloyd. Lloyd, Ume is CEO of Pere and Julie is CEO of Aliversal. Ladies, I've just told Lloyd about Aliversal. She said that my words filled her with fire."
"Hello, Lloyd," says Julie. "I remember you from the volunteers' seminar last spring."
Lloyd opens her mouth to speak but no sound comes out. She closes her mouth and lowers her head, dabbing at her eyes with a knuckle. "I remember," croaks Lloyd, her head still down. Her shoulders shake.
"Fire, huh?" says Ume. "Obviously you haven't told her what we expect."
"Lloyd, we want you to be president of Aliversal," says Julie.
Watch Lloyd as she lifts her head, her mouth slightly open. Tears running down her face, she blinks but says nothing. "Lloyd," I begin, "I tried being president of Aliversal for a few months a couple of years ago. The work and stress goddamn near killed me. Are you sure you want this?"
"At my age," says Lloyd, pausing to gasp, voice quivering with emotion, "all I want is to make a better world for my grandchildren, Jill. To spend whatever days I have in effective service to this cause is a gift beyond value."
A muffled sound comes over the telephone but I can't identify it. Looking at Lloyd, I say, "You hold my dreams in your hands, Lloyd." Frowning, I watch Lloyd bow her head, hands between her thighs, silently sobbing. "Are you okay?" I ask, touching Lloyd's shoulder.
"Jill," says Ume.
"What?"
"Shut up."
"Lloyd's crying," I tell her.
"Shut . . . up," repeats Ume.
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