Not Even Past (25 page)

“It didn’t help me in my professional baseball career,” Donne said.

“And you still haven’t played me in hoops.” Luca nodded toward the basket.

“I don’t even think I can take a shot.”

Now Donne made it about ten miles on Route 18 when he spotted the tail. A blue Honda Accord had been about four car lengths behind him since New Street in New Brunswick. He probably wouldn’t have even caught it if the driver hadn’t changed lanes each time Donne did. He put his blinker on, moved into the left lane and accelerated, passing three cars before pulling right again. The Accord did the same.

Amateur.

He could lose this guy with barely an effort, except for one problem: He wasn’t exactly sure where he was going himself. The route was tricky, and he didn’t know Union Beach all that well. Circling back and forth would only serve to get him lost. He took the exit off Route 18 and pulled down a side road.

There was a long sheet tied to the picket fence of the first house he saw. In black marker someone had written
HEY GOVERNOR, WE’RE PART OF THE SHORE TOO! RESTORE US!
Donne slowed as if he was reading it. The car behind him passed him, leaving the Accord directly behind him.

Donne put on his hazards. The car didn’t pass. Checking the rearview mirror, Donne couldn’t make out the driver. The glare from the sun off the windshield made the glass opaque.

He pulled his car over to the curb, threw it in park, and got out. The Accord stopped and the passenger window rolled down. It was Luca.

“Let’s talk. There’s a park around the corner.” He pointed to the basketball on his passenger seat.

The needles were now poking at his stomach. He got back into his car and followed the Accord around the block to an outdoor basketball court. It was empty. Luca got out. He was wearing basketball shorts, a tank top, and high-tops. Donne was just glad he had shorts and sneakers on.

Donne stepped on to the asphalt court, and Luca bounce-passed him the ball.

“Don’t I have more important things to do?”

He took a jump shot from the elbow. The ball rattled halfway down, then popped out. Unforgiving rims. Luca rebounded it, backed out behind the three-point line and swished one.

“I want to make sure you’re going to do it.”

“Stern brought me back to life. I owe him.”

Luca passed him the ball. “You warm?”

Donne shrugged and took another jumper from the free throw line. Swished it.

Luca said, “Your ball.”

Donne took it at the top of the key and checked it. Luca got down in a defensive stance, and Donne went left. His shoulder and chest burned at the sudden movement. Luca reached in and tapped the ball away. He grabbed it and took it to the hoop for a lay-in.

“Winners out,” Luca said. “We’re playing to ten? Win by two. Three-pointers count as two. Everything back.”

“Whatever.”

Luca grinned. “Come on, you wanted this.”

“You need me to do a job.”

“Stern wants you to do a job.” Luca checked the ball. “It should have been finished weeks ago.”

He went right and Donne stepped in front of him, hands wide. Luca pulled up dribbling.

“You think Stern drives the bus?” Luca shook his head. He took a jump shot and swished it. “Two-nothing.”

Luca took the ball out again. Donne’s breath was ragged and his wounds stung. Sweat dripped from his hair. Luca checked the ball and drove directly at Donne, who stood his ground. They collided and Donne landed on his ass. Luca was down next to him. Donne heard the ball bouncing off to his right and sprang to his feet to chase it down.

He grabbed it at the three-point line as Luca got to his feet. Donne took two dribbles, then took a jumper.
Swish
.

“Nice shot,” Luca said.

Donne checked the ball and went right. He drove to the hoop, and Luca stepped aside.

“Can I trust you?”

Donne, in the midst of going for a layup, heard the words and shanked the shot. The ball bounced off the back rim and into Luca’s hands. He backed it out and took a two.
Swish
again.

“Four-nothing.”

Donne caught his breath and said, “Does Stern trust me?”

Luca nodded.

“That’s all you should need.”

Luca checked the ball and took another shot from beyond the arc. He banked it in. Six-one.

As Donne went to retrieve the ball, Luca said, “You taste a little bit of freedom, and I want to know how you react to what Stern says.”

“He’s right.” Donne passed the ball back. “Martin and Jeanne tried to kill me. They destroyed who I was for six years.”

Luca nodded, then hit another two. “Eight to one.”

They checked again. This time, before Luca could take the shot, Donne stepped up with an outstretched left. He blocked the ball and knocked it away. Luca stepped back to get into a defensive stance. Donne went right, and Luca backed up. Donne pulled up and hit a floating shot.

They reset. Donne took a two and swished it. Eight to five.

“Everyone gets a run,” Luca said.

Donne was too out of breath to reply. He went left this time. Luca tried to go for the steal, but Donne blocked him with his body. He made a lefty layup.

At the top of the key, Donne took another two, and it rattled in. Tie game.

After the check, Donne tried to go right. Luca stepped up and threw an elbow into his chest, sending Donne flying. Luca grabbed the ball and took it behind the line. Before Donne could even get to his feet, Luca swished the three.

“Game,” he said.

Donne brushed a few asphalt pebbles off his knees, and then rested his hands on them. His breath came back in fits and starts.

Luca came up to him, leaned in and whispered. “I guess you’re not all the way back yet. Stern likes to leave a lot of loose ends. Do what you’re supposed to and you and Kate won’t be one.”

L
EANING AGAINST
the driver’s side door, Donne took some deep breaths. His shoulders felt heavy, and there was a dull ache in his lower back. Across the street was a convenience store. He went in and bought a Gatorade. He downed it in two gulps.

The last time he felt this way was the last time he was on a bender, just after Jeanne died. That exhausted, dehydrated, dull pain throbbing at the back of his skull. The heaviness weighing on the lids of his eyes, even though he’d gotten a full night’s sleep. The dry mouth, to the point where it felt like his tongue was cracking.

But now, he hadn’t drunk alcohol in nearly a month. And wouldn’t until this was all over. He should call the
Guinness Book of World Records
people.

Luca was still on the court, taking jump shots. The bounce of the ball brought Donne back to the church.

Henry Stern stared at him and smiled.

“How do you feel today?”

Donne leaned back on the bed and tried to push the pain in his muscles away. The breakout attempt couldn’t have been that exhausting; he was only walking. But it felt like he’d participated in an Ironman race.

“I need exercise,” he said.

“We’re going to get that for you.” The state senator put a hand on Donne’s good shoulder. “We’re getting you healthy.”

He handed Donne a glass of water. Donne took it and drank deeply.

“The people you aligned yourself with were all wrong,” Stern said. “They are the losing side.”

Donne didn’t ask what he was talking about. Martin’s gun erupting in flame flashed through his head. Jeanne had her arms around him when he did it. It was like James Bond movie poster, with Martin so stoic and calm. Three shots, no blinking, and Donne was down for the count.

“Jeanne is not your friend. Not your lover,” Stern said. “Not anymore. Maybe she never really was.”

Donne sighed and touched his chest. The bandage was wet and sticky. The wound must have reopened.

“Help me,” Stern said. “And end up on the right side for once.”

B
ACK IN
the car, Donne wound through more side roads, noticing the gutted houses, the construction workers lifting full homes onto stilts and digging up foundations. No matter what the commercials said, New Jersey wasn’t back yet. The shore was a lot like Donne: functional.

That was celebration enough, he guessed.

Finally, he tracked the house he wanted. The blue siding with the white porch and stones on the front lawn. Donne opened the console and pulled out Jesus’s revolver. He slipped it in the pocket of his cargo shorts, then got out of the car.

The stones crunched under his shoes as he approached the steps. He expected to feel his heart trying to tear itself from his chest. He expected to be sweating like a runner at the end of the marathon. But everything was normal, besides the caffeine jangling in his veins.

After he rang the doorbell, he could hear movement coming toward the door. Without thinking, he ran his hand over the outline of the gun pressing against his pocket lining. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be looking for it.

The woman opened the door and turned pale.

“Hello, Eileen,” he said. “I need to find Jeanne Baker.”

K
ATE WAITED
in the hallway of Plunkett Hall, outside the office of public relations. She’d called ahead and identified herself as Myron’s paralegal. She wanted to look into information about the merger, and invoked the senator’s name. Her dad and Stern were friends, she said. They told her they would be with her as soon as they could, but when she got there, could she please just sit in the hallway.

People in suits and ties strolled past her, briefcases in their hands or files under their arms. For an institution of higher education, it sure seemed a lot more like an office building. No one discussed Plath or solved complicated math problems as they walked. There were half conversations about money and press-related discussions. Not much she could pick up from them.

Twenty minutes after she arrived, a woman in a short skirt, white button-down, and black blazer poked her head out the door.

“Are you the paralegal?” she asked.

Kate stood up and introduced herself. The woman, Maggie Chambers, invited her in.

“What can I help you with?” she asked after they sat.

“I’m looking into some issues about the merger. My dad is working a case at UNJ, and he thought you might be able to shed some light on things.”

“What kind of light?”

“I’d like to know who’s going to be on the board of trustees once this all goes through.”

Chambers folded her hands in front of her. “I’m afraid that is confidential information.”

She glanced at the computer on her desk, then up at the bookcase next it. Kate checked out the bookcase, only to see binder upon binder of information. The office was spacious, with a big window looking out over campus, but the way the binders were crammed into the bookcase made the room feel cluttered.

“Do I have to go through certain legal channels to obtain it?”

“Yes,” Chambers said.

“Do you know who’s going to be on the board?”

“I wrote the press release.”

“Can I see it?”

“Absolutely not.”

Kate tapped her fingernails on the arm of the chair. The fabric was soft and made no sound upon impact.

“Why is this such a secret?”

Chambers sat back in her chair. “Have you followed the story of this merger? It’s private business. Everything is top secret. Henry Stern thinks this is some big dog-and-pony show. On the day of the press conference, he’s going to line all the board members up onstage and introduce them like they’re a sports team. Like he’s some sort of showman. Until then, he wants it to be kept quiet.”

“Once the names are released, is anyone going to recognize them?”

Chambers smiled. Then shook her head.

“How do you feel about the merger?” Kate asked.

“Off the record.”

Kate nodded.

“Once this goes through, I’m out of a job. UNJ is taking over the brand. The salaries of this place are going to plummet because—hell, it’s private, and who wants good educators here? This is going to become a profit factory.”

Outside, the sun went behind the clouds, and the office was covered in shadows.

Kate took a shot in the dark.

“What if I told you that I’m working on a case that could ruin the merger?”

Chambers rolled her eyes. “I doubt it.”

“I’m serious. It involves the mob.”

“I would have heard about it.”

Kate shook her head. “Not if UNJ is running the show. Does the name Tony Verderese ring a bell?”

“He’s dead,” Chambers said.

“Yeah, but other people want his position. And they’re going to use this place to get it.”

Chambers tapped a few keys on her keyboard. “If that’s true, this is going to be the biggest shitshow the state has encountered in the past ten years. I might not want to be a part of this place. You thought Xanadu was bad. If you can fix it—”

Xanadu—or whatever they renamed it to—was one of New Jersey’s dirty words. It was a plaid—yes, plaid—building erected near old Giants Stadium. It was supposed to be a cross between a mall and an amusement park, complete with indoor ski slope. During construction, the builders ran out of money and never got the place open. Now it sat on Route 3, only to be laughed at by New York commuters.