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.He stared at the park hard as figures of people, some long dead, filled it.He got into his car, puffing from the exertion of fitting his big belly behind the steering wheel, and tried to etch the sights into his brain.This would be the last time he’d ever see this place.This would be the last day he’d ever be called Giuseppe Geddone.A small pang of homesickness went through him, surprising him that it was there at all.He drove to his office and opened up the safe.He took out the ledgers and a passport he’d had made.A fuzzy picture of himself in a dark wig stared out, and next to it was typed the name Myron Baxter.He’d spent one week writing out the name, trying it different ways until he was satisfied with it.He wrote one last check to Myron Baxter for $100,000 and signed it Giuseppe Geddone at the bottom.He put the check and the passport in his briefcase next to his airplane ticket and snapped it shut.He lighted a cigar and stared out at the view from the window for one last time.He had four hours to kill before his plane took off.He figured he’d make his way slowly and easily out to the airport, maybe stop somewhere for a bite to eat, then check in.He caught himself smiling as the homesickness vanished forever.Now it was his turn—no wife, no screaming daughter, no basket case of a son.No.Myron Baxter’s first order of the day was gonna be to rent himself a yacht and sail around for awhile.Women.He could have women again—young, beautiful European women.They wouldn’t care that he was fifty pounds overweight, bald, and short.He was a rich American, a rich WASP American aboard his yacht—out for a journey, a little sail, while other people worked like dogs in offices.He could imagine himself, his yacht moored on the French Riviera or in Marbella on the Costa del Sol.And, after a couple months of sailing, he’d find himself a place to live, probably in one of them Latin countries with no extradition.Of course, at this point, the law was the least of his problems.* * *“What are you, some kind of loony?” Michael whispered hoarsely into Michigan’s ear, so close, he brushed her earlobe.“Me?” she whispered back.“What did you expect me to do? Just sit there, knowing you’re going to kill my boss?”Tony Mac coughed up front and they both shut up for a moment.He turned the radio up louder and began to hum to the music and think about Angela and that dip Joey D.and dating.Veal scaloppini.“Who do you think you are? Fuckin’ Joan of Arc? We’re in a city where solid citizens step over poor starving people in the street, where you can shoot someone in front of one hundred people in a restaurant and nobody’ll see a thing—”“Tell me about it.The cops weren’t even interested.”“What do you mean?”“I called nine-one-one.They hung up on me.I just don’t get this city.”“You called them?” his voice rasped.“Of course I called them.What kind of a person do you think I am?”“Ssshh!” Michael said sharply into her ear, and his eyes got big and round as he stared at the back of Tony’s head.“Never, ever say that aloud again, you hear me?” His lips were nearly pressed against her earlobe.He stayed there for a second, then leaned back, his eyes bulging.He was flabbergasted.How naïve could she be? Not only had she called the cops but she was telling the guy with the gun that she had?“What planet do you come from, Mars?”“No, Michigan.Remember?” she snapped at him.“Jesus! I told you what to do.”“Oh, and I’m supposed to follow some thug’s advice? I might not have done the best thing, but at least I tried to do the right thing, don’t you understand?”He stared her right in the eyes.“I got you off the hook back there.Don’t you understand? I told you to count to one hundred and then get the hell out of the office.Go to your tea party in Boston.”“Barbecue in Connecticut,” she said hotly.“Connecticut,” he spat back at her.“Well, I hope you’re satisfied.You’re going to die now.But hell, you did the right thing!”He watched her mouth fall, and she sat back and clasped her hands tightly.They both watched her mangle her fingers until Michael couldn’t stand it anymore and grabbed her hand and held it.He could feel her shivering next to him.“When nine-one-one hung up on me, I … just thought…” Her voice dropped down to nothing and she stared out the window.Michael dropped her hand, and she stared back at him as he looked at the floor.Now he felt badly about being that blunt.“What is it? Do you have a thing for this guy?” Michael asked quietly.He heard her blow out a breath.“Are you kidding?” she said, whispering close to his ear.“I hate him.And I’ll tell you something right now, if I get out of this alive? I’m going in and quit.I don’t need this.Life is too short to have to put up with someone like him.I’ve had enough of this city, and everybody in it.I want to go home,” she said, her voice cracking on the word.She brushed his earlobe with her lips.He felt a tingle go down his neck, and he turned and looked at her, feeling her close to him.He stared at her lips.…Tony coughed up front, and Michael snapped back into things.Jeez, this was weird.He swore he was beginning to want this woman.This naïve, upright, honest—he moved away from her on the seat.What would she want with someone like him? A man who’d held a gun to her head and tied her up? Not to mention the fact that he was a failure, which was why he was running around New York doing stupid things like this.Lisa moved closer to him on the seat, and he looked at her face, seeing it appear clearly and then vanish into shadows as they went in and out of the bridge lights.He could feel the tires of the car running over the mesh roadway of the bridge.It created an odd hum and a small vibration on the seat.He could feel her pressing herself against his body and staring up at him, her eyes big and watery.“I am going to die tonight, aren’t I?” she whispered, her face not even an inch away from his.He stared at her as the tears began to fall.She felt herself instinctively reach around him and take a deep breath.His body seemed to throw off an inordinate amount of heat.She just needed to hold on to someone.He put his arm around her and tightened it against her shoulders.She took another deep breath and laid her head on his chest.It felt good, being held.It had been so long since anyone had touched him.“Aw jeez,” he said.“I’ll think of something.”* * *Giuseppe Geddone stubbed out his cigar and looked at his watch.It was ten.Time to get out to Idlewild—no, Kennedy.For some reason, that airport still stuck in his head as Idlewild.He was just about to open his briefcase for one last look when a sharp itchy feeling went up his back, straightening it as flat as a board.His ears pricked up.He was straining as he stood there, not even breathing, so he could hear better.Off in the distance of the outer office, there was a small creak of the outer office door
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