The Charity (40 page)

Shea took the files and envelopes. He pushed Tripp out the door. He looked up and down the street. “Which car was theirs?” Only a few parked cars dotted the side street. Tripp held up a shaking finger. He indicated a dark late model American car.

“They’ll be coming back for you. You need to go somewhere for a while. No family. No friends. Just you. Gone. Pay everything in cash for the next two weeks. By then, this should all be a bad dream.” Tripp lurched his way down the street.

Shea ran over to their car and tried the doors. They were unlocked, obviously ready for a speedy departure. He found the set of files on the floor under the front seat. He checked the glove compartment for the car’s registration. A rental. Slamming the car door, he took his own set of keys and carved a long gash in its gleaming side. It’ll make it easier for the rental agency to remember the two goons who returned a vandalized car.

He got into his own car and was about to turn the engine over. “Jesus H. Christ!
Fool!
” He jumped out of the car and checked the hood for fingerprints. Just a thin film of undisturbed road dust uniformly covered the car. He bent down and checked underneath. He could just make out the outlines of a black box, about seven inches long, three deep and three wide, attached to the manifold. He looked at the device carefully and thought about the length of time he was away from the car. There was no time to think. He reached under, grabbed the box, closed his eyes and yanked as hard as he could.

“One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand...” He counted slowly, his heart pounding against his chest. “Eight one thousand. Nine one thousand. Ten...” He let the air held tightly in his lungs out with a long hiss. “Holy Christ. I’m alive.” He had guessed that with the short period that elapsed and seeing no other wires, the device was attached by a magnet and was thermally detonated. He guessed right. It did not have a timing device. He made a nest for it in his trunk with his parka where it would remain cold and padded from any jolts and gingerly closed the trunk shut.

He drove down the road and decided to take his own advice. He needed to go underground while he worked on this. He could not go back to the office. Or his home. Research could be done with his PC and on-line services without going back to the office. He would claim flu got him down and hole up somewhere out of sight, reviewing the files and researching the case. Staying away would be easy, but how would Jessica be able to reach him? He just hoped that she would be smart enough to stay away from his office. If she went there, it would be a good way to get everyone killed.

It had been five days since she last saw Shea. She had been trying to reach him for three. It was imperative that she connect with him. His office said he was out with the flu and no one she talked to there seemed concerned by his absence. Jessica was moving around too much to leave a return number for ‘Rita Harrison’.

Her desperation was mounting. She had to talk to Shea and tell him what she had done. Her conversations with Electra had gone well. It was a huge risk asking Electra to mail the lighter to his office, but it was the only viable alternative. Jessica left out his title and the fact that the address was to the Massachusetts’ Attorney General’s office and told Electra to mark the package ‘Personal.’ But each day that slipped by was one more day that Jessica failed in her strategy. Time was against her.

She was past desperate and getting reckless, circling closer and closer to his building hoping to see him, to contact him somehow. The tape they made together at the hotel may have been seen by anyone. Jessica had no idea who his allies were or what they looked like. Constantly changing clothes and hair made her feel foolish, but she was still alive because of it.

The iridescent dial of the clock on the Customs House Tower showed it was nearly three thirty. Shea once said he would often eat a late lunch at the restaurant they went to. It would only take a minute to check there.

The day was proof that December in Boston can be a miserable time of year. A slight freezing rain was falling after a night of heavy wet snow. Pulling her hat down over her now black hair and thrusting her coat collar up around her head and shoulders, Jessica remembered loving the sodden snow when she was younger. The years in Utah spoiled her. Feet of the lightest, fluffiest snow would fall. Champagne Powder is what the locals called it. Jessica smiled as she remembered days upon days of skiing the best possible terrain and snow she could imagine. Whoever said you could have too much of a good thing never skied Solitude or Alta.

A yellow cab blasted down the slick street and splashed gallons of salty slush onto Jessica’s legs and feet. She raised her fist at the retreating vehicle in anger. Survival may take different skills here, but the instincts were the same. Watch the conditions. Watch yourself. Watch others.

She entered the breezeway of the restaurant and looked in. Only five or so people were dispersed around the establishment. She squinted her eyes to see further into the darkened dining room to the corner Shea liked. It was too dark to see from where she was standing. She hauled open the door and walked in. The table was empty.

A man bustled up to her as she turned to leave. “May I help you?”

“No. Sorry. I was going to meet someone here, but I’m late, and they’re gone.” She tried to step around him. “Excuse me.”

“Rita? Rita Harrison?”

Jessica looked deeply at him. “And you are...?” She let her voice trail off to emphasize her question.

“Granger. Granger Lipinski. I think you know me.”

Jessica recognized him as Shea’s tag that followed her from the Y’s residence. Dislike for him was instant. Something told her to get away from this guy. Fast.

“No. Sorry. You must be mistaken.” She tried again to get around him. He stepped in her path. “
Excuse me!
” Her raised voice had the desired effect of causing heads to pop up to see what the commotion was about.

“You’re the one who’s mistaken, Jessica.” His face reddened as he whispered her name.

“Why do you think I should know you?”

“Owen wanted me to give you this.” Granger took her hand and placed a small, rectangular piece of metal in it.

It had been a long time since she had seen it, but its distinctive patina and engraving gave her no doubt. She closed the lighter into her fist.

“Thank you. Good bye.”

She dropped her shoulder and again tried to push past the persistent man. He took her arm and used her momentum to get them to the street.

“Owen says that you should come with me. He wants to meet with you somewhere else, for obvious reasons. I’m to take you there.”

“Just tell me where he is, and I’ll go there myself. I don’t need your help.” A cold shiver of repulsion rippled up her spine.

“Outcome’s still the same.” He raised his arm and hailed a cab with a shrill whistle. After several attempts, a cab pulled up. He shoved her in.

“Plough and Stars Hotel, Cambridge.” The cab sashayed recklessly down the icy street, and Granger used the movement as an excuse to sway a bit toward Jessica. His hot breath clung to the windows as little droplets. He used his fingers to make wet, blurry circles.

The lighter warmed in Jessica’s tight grasp. Visions of the package being lost or taken by the night cleaning crew disappeared along with her desperation to see Shea. Nothing would make her let it go again, and she placed it deep within her jeans pocket. Her attention wandered from her escort to consider her next steps, his conversation only half-acknowledged.

“Yep. I used to ride horses a lot when I was a kid. Loved ‘em. When I was old enough, my dad would take me to the track an’ I could watch them jockeys work those horses. Yep, I sure loved those days.”

It was the way he pronounced some words. ‘When I wus uld enaugh, me dad whould tick me to de trek.’

“What did you say?”

“My father loved the ponies.” His mouth struggled around the words, forcing them into an American mold. It didn’t work. ‘Me fither luved da ponies.’

Jessica’s attention riveted onto her companion. What did he say his name was? Lipinski? Right.
And I’m Meryl Streep.

The cab pulled up in front of a beaten down hotel and sloshed away as soon as Granger paid their fare. He approached the worn and nicked front desk in the shabby lobby.

“Mr. and Mrs. Eric Taylor. We have a reservation.” To further prove their relationship, he stood close to Jessica and pulled her tightly to him; arm too familiar around her waist.

“Don’t be an ass.” She pushed him away.

The desk clerk and Granger looked at one another and slyly shared a smile. Granger looked at her with barely concealed lust.

“Well, Mrs. Taylor. Is that any way to treat your husband?”

“Cut the crap. That’s it. I’m leaving.” Shea or no Shea, nothing was worth spending another moment with this guy.

“No, I’m afraid not. I have my orders.” Granger whirled her around and herded her toward the elevator.

Jessica quickly made a full assessment of Granger. Big, but not muscular. His tall frame was covered in modestly expensive, but standard clothes. He had removed his hat, and she could see that what hair he had left was mostly gray. He did not move well, like someone unaccustomed to much activity. It was hard to believe Shea was friends with him.

They entered a room with two double beds and peeling wallpaper. The acrid smell of stale cigarette smoke stung her nostrils.

“Where’s Shea?” Jessica placed herself between her guard and the door.

“Hum? Oh, yeah. He’ll be here. Don’t worry. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable while we wait?” He patted the bed next to where he lay down. He kicked off his heavy boots, unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Well, we have a few minutes here.” He tried to look at her figure, still wrapped in a heavy coat and hat. “You’ll roast if you keep that stuff on. C’mon, take it off and relax. It’ll do ya good.” He rolled his tongue along his lips.

Jessica knew this type of man all too well from her years alone and could smell them a mile away. God’s gift to women, they thought. She hated the type. They were nothing but junkyard dogs.

Jessica took off her hat and let her black hair fall down her back. She moved her shoulders in her coat. It restricted movement just a little too much and was the only reason she obliged his request to remove it. Tape pulled her skin where her spare money was fastened. The feeling offered little security. She hung up the coat on one of the wire hangers suspended by a metal rod by the door. They were the cheap kind. The ones that bent under a little stress. Her back was turned to Granger for a split second.

He took the opportunity.

Her arms flew up under the force of the attack, scattering the flimsy hangers around the room. Granger grabbed her and threw her face down on the bed. She could smell the perspiration and excitement as he hovered over her, hands running along her body. Wriggling to free herself, Granger flipped her onto her back and looked down at her. “C’mon, now girl. You only have but a wee bit of time left on this earth. Why don’t we make it memorable, eh?”

Jessica spat in his face. “You’ll rot in hell for this.”

He put his head back to laugh. She could see crooked teeth littered with silver fillings. “Oh, I’ll rot in hell for a lot more than just this!” He moved his left arm slightly. It was the first time she saw the tattoo.

“
Fire! Fire! Quick somebo—”
Iron fists came down in hard staccato blasts on the side of her head and mouth. Stars streaked across her vision. She could taste saltiness filling her mouth.

He pinned her arms above her head with one hand and began groping her with his other. He pulled up her shirt and squeezed her breasts until they hurt. Primal knowledge filled her with his intent, forcing her senses to clear with adrenaline. Jessica could see the lust clouding his eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers. She used his movement and brought her knees up quickly and thrust upward and to the right. The sudden action toppled the man to the ground. Her legs tangled in the cheap bedspread as she tried to scramble for the door. He grabbed her ankle and pulled her down to the floor. She was caught between the far bed and the wall, unable to move.

Again, Granger looked down at her. Fighting only served to heighten his excitement. He licked his lips again with his thin milky tongue, using one hand to stroke the bulge in his pants. He was ready for her. “Go ahead. Fight.”

Jessica had to think of another way out. “Fight? Why? You just caught me off guard.” She had to distract him, if only for a second. She forced her muscles to relax. “Where’s Shea?”

“Shea? By now he’s dead. There’s someone else who wants to see you again. Then we’re going to get out of here.”

“The guy with the scar and the tattoo like yours, right?” She felt under the bed with her left arm for anything. The floor was void of anything useful.

“Yeah, right. Now it’s my turn to have a little bit of you.” Granger put his filthy socked foot on Jessica’s chest as he unfastened his belt. There! In a flash, she twisted his leg and forced him off balance. In the same motion, she was on her feet, clawing across the bed. He recovered and raced to place himself between her and the door. They stood in silence and stared at one another.