The Last Day (22 page)

She thought about Mr. McCarty and how nice he'd been to her, and she had been sure that was because he was attracted to her. He deserved to have his toy car taken, since he was a sexual predator. Everybody knew it. In fact he deserved to be punished, and giving her his money—which was just to keep her from telling the cops that he
tried his moves on her—was him being afraid of additional proof that he was guilty of being an old pedophile.

She braced herself and walked into the food court, scanning the tables, looking for the man who'd stopped her on campus.

After a few seconds she saw him seated at a table, waving just his fingers at her. She hesitated a few seconds, then nodded and walked over to him.

SIXTY

Natasha led Ward to the kitchen and showed him the obituary.

Louis A. Gismano, Jr., seven years of age, died of complications from injuries sustained when he was struck by an automobile on April 3, 2005, at
NorthEast Medical Center
. Louis, known as
Gizmo
to friends and family, was the beloved son of U.S. Army Sergeant Louis Anthony and Evelyn Gismano of
Fayetteville, N.C. Burial services are being handled by Sullivan's Highland Funeral Service in Fayetteville.

“Jesus,” Ward said. “You knew him?”

“He was hit by a car. The driver was a drunk, a boy named Howard Lindley. The child was brought to the emergency room. I'd have to look at his records to be sure, but I remember that he had multiple fractures, and internal bleeding, so I went in to address the bleeding. I removed a ruptured kidney and his spleen. After surgery he was in critical condition, but he should have lived. They put off setting the fractures to allow him time to gain strength, and there was too much swelling to address that anyway.”

“You just said you killed him,” Ward added.

“I didn't murder him, but I missed something that wasn't immediately apparent in the initial workup, or during my first surgery. He was unconscious, and there was a damaged wall in his aorta that blew out. They rushed him back into surgery. I cracked his chest but there was nothing I could do. The father didn't get to the hospital until after the child died. I wasn't there when he arrived, but I got a call and was on my
way to explain what had happened, but before I got to the ICU, security stopped me. They'd called the cops, so I never talked to the father. I was told not to talk to him, and I was also told he was screaming, ‘Gizmo. You bastards murdered Gizmo!’ ”

“I remember that,” Ward said, remembering how upset his wife had been at the time.

“A
panel of physicians reviewed the case, and they ruled that there was no contributory negligence. Nobody could have known about the weak wall in his aorta, and there was no evidence to support a malpractice suit. I never heard another word. I'd forgotten all about it. I mean, I did the best I could given what was known.”

“What made you remember?”

“I don't really know. I queried Gizmo first. Next I added obits and then NorthEast Medical Center, because something told me my memory of the name was connected to my practice.”

“He was a soldier. Jesus. It's got to be him in that hole.”

“Yes,” she said. “What if he still believes I killed his son?”

“I'll call the police,” Ward said.

“Call Todd,” she said. “Let him call them. He'll know what to say that will get their attention. He'll know what to do.”

SIXTY-ONE

Todd stood as Alice approached the table. She sat down across from him and smiled nervously.

“Hi,” she said. “You found the place all right.”

“Yes,” Todd said.

“I mean, of course you did.” She laughed nervously. “Of course you did. Duh, you're sitting here.” She hit herself on the forehead with the butt of her hand. “What was I thinking?”

“And you found it,” Todd said.

“I come here sometimes. They have a great place called Asphalt Jungle, and they've got super cool shit. Clothes, jeans, and skateboards they build from the parts you want. I don't skate, but I have friends who do.”

“Did you bring the model?” Todd asked, wanting to get this over with.

His cell phone vibrated, so he took it out and
looked at the caller ID. It was Ward McCarty. He put the phone away. He'd call him back as soon as this was over.

“Yeah, I brought it. You know, he's a pervert. Tell me why I shouldn't call the police.”

“Well, a couple of reasons …”

“I know, I could get in trouble. You said that, but what about all those kids? I've been thinking it over. Even if I did get in trouble for like taking the car, he's a pervert and I doubt the cops would charge me.”

“Alice, first off, the FBI and the cops know he's not guilty, because they know who did it. More importantly we have a deal, and we've held up our end. Mr. McCarty's son loved that car and the boy died in a terrible accident, and Mr. McCarty carried the car around with him because his son loved it and he loved his son.”

“Kind of like a memento,” she said, a look of suspicion crossing her features. “Is that the truth?”

“Absolutely.”

Alice opened her bag and looked in. She took a note card out and studied it.

“What's that?” Todd asked.

“He drew this picture of me on the airplane,” she said, showing it to Todd.

“It's good,” Todd said.

“I forgot all about it,” she said. “He's a good sketcher. You think I look like this?”

“Yes.” Todd glanced from card to person, back and forth. “It shows a you I haven't seen before.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. In the picture, you look innocent and sensitive. And you look vulnerable, and there's intelligence, humor, and mischief in your expression. I guess he drew you the way he saw you.”

“I make good grades. That's never been hard for me. And I can do some mischief shit. I did something earlier tonight that would be considered that exactly.”

Todd said, “He obviously thought you were a nice person. So why would you want to do him harm?”

“I don't. You think I made up that he wanted to screw me. I thought that's probably why he drew me so … I don't know. Because he wanted to hook up with me. I guess maybe he
was
just being nice.”

“I think he liked you because he thought there
was something likeable about you. I doubt he ever imagined you'd do what you did. He's the kind of guy who would be kind to a young person traveling alone. You told him your parents were divorced and you were shuttling between them.”

“No, I didn't,” she said, but her eyes wandered around the space.

“He was kind to you because that's the kind of man he is. He thought you were vulnerable, and maybe in pain over the fact that you felt betrayed by your parents. There was never anything sexual in his mind, and I think you know that.”

“I don't know anything like that!” she snapped. “And you don't either. You're just trying to make me feel bad.”

Todd took the envelope out of his pocket and placed it on the table in front of her.

“This is yours.” But he purposefully kept the envelope pinned under his hand. “It's two thousand,” Todd told her.

“You want the car now?”

“I think we've arrived at that point.”

She reached into the black carry bag and removed the small blue car and placed it on the
table, wheels down, and pushed it across the table. Todd lifted his hand, picked the car up, and examined it.

“It was already scratched,” she said, taking the envelope.

“You can count it,” Todd said.

“I trust you.” Alice stuffed the envelope into her purse and looked around the food court.

“So, where's Earl?” Todd asked, placing the model in his jacket pocket.

“I don't know, and I don't care.”

“You could do better,” Todd said. “I'm sure you know that.”

Her face suddenly felt hot and she snatched the drawing and tore it up into small pieces and let them flutter to the tabletop. “You don't know me. You've got your little piece- of- shit toy car.” She stood up and grabbed up her tote bag.

“Good luck,” he told her.

“Fuck you,” she replied, and stormed off out of the food court.

SIXTY-TWO

Alice was around the corner in the corridor when her cell phone started ringing. She pulled it from the pocket of her jeans and looked at the ID. It was Earl.

“What, Earl?” she said.

“Where you at?”

“If it's any of your business, I'm at the mall.”

“Doing the deal?”

“Maybe. You still drunk?”

“Naw, did you ask for ten like I said?”

“No, I did not. I agreed on two. More would be dishonorable.”

“Damn. A’ight, that's cool. So, see ah'm sayin’, you coming to get me so we can do what we said. You know, gets me my money, the tat and stuff?”

“Your
money?”

“Well, it's like mostly mines, in it? Was me gots the gun. Who negotiated the deal? Who said ten grand so as you ended with two not some measly five hundred? Who'd you shoot in the fuckin’ head?”

“I don't know, Earl. I'm thinking that I should keep the entire two thousand.”

“Without me you'd be lucky to have anybody fuck you through a hole in a wall, you no- tit loser bitch. If you couldn't make a fist around my pecker, you'd be worthless.”

“Whatever,” she said, fuming. “But if I'm the loser, how come I've got the money and you're the one sitting on your front porch?”

“Who're you calling a loser?”

“Maybe the loser who's a penniless freak with the IQ of a mollusk.”

“Don't you dare try to fuck me!”

“Why would I bother, when you're doing such a great job of fucking yourself? We're done, and if I ever see you again, even by accident, I really am going to shoot you.”

She snapped the phone closed and laughed. When her phone rang again, she started to ignore it, but she wanted to say a few more things.

“You evil little monster! You horrid bitch!” the voice hissed.

Alice felt her cheeks reddening, and her stomach felt hot and hollow. The female voice was distorted by cold fury, but Alice had heard this same tone often enough since childhood.

“You miserable ingrate.”

“What's wrong, Mother?” Alice managed to say, using the most innocent voice she could muster.

“You've ruined me,” her mother hissed.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nine one one ring any bells?”

“That's the emergency police and fire number.”

“Do you have any idea what you've done?”

“If you'll calm down before you blow out a vein or something and tell me what you're talking about…”

“I'm talking about the police coming into my house with their guns out and handcuffing the lawn boy! You've really done it.” Her mother's ranting was now accented by sobs.

Fuck it.
“Were you two still fucking when the cops came?”

“They were going to
arrest
me!” Delores snapped.

“You aren't in jail though, are you?”

“No, I'm not. He's seventeen. How could you?”

“How could you screw a boy younger than me in my own kitchen while I was home? You
deserve to be arrested for child molesting. And I hate you, you bitch.”

“I'll put your things on the back porch. Maybe you can go live with your father, but he doesn't want you there either. We have given you everything, and you've given nothing but pain in return. You are a self- centered, hateful, evil little troll, and you've never done one unselfish thing in your life. So we got divorced, it happens, and you decided to punish us for the rest of our lives. That's over, Alice, for good.”

“I'm not the reason you got divorced, so don't try to make me feel guilty. You hate me because you think I'm ugly, and you are so friggin’ beautiful.”

“Talking to you is a waste of breath. I can't tell you anything the professionals couldn't tell us. Lawyers and shrinks, all a waste of my time and money. Good- bye, Alice. And I wish you good luck, because you lack any personality or capacity to care about anybody but yourself.”

The phone went dead.

Alice wanted to laugh because the cops had caught her mother screwing a kid in the kitchen. She wished she had a film of it to watch.

I'm an evil monster?

She's the monster.

She never loved me.

I never loved her. Screw her.

I've got money.

I can get an apartment, and I can get a job.

I'll show her.

Alice left the mall, walked to her car, unlocked it, and climbed in. She put the bag on the passenger seat, cranked it, and just sat there, thinking. Her mother was wrong. She'd done lots of unselfish things. Lots. Alice tried to think of one, but nothing came to mind.

“I gave Mr. McCarty his little toy car back when I didn't have to. That was unselfish. Totally unselfish,” she said.

She let her eyes wander to the black carry bag and, reaching in, took out the envelope to count the money. She wouldn't spend any until she got an apartment and cable TV Two grand would be enough.

She counted the bills twice. Though she was, you didn't have to be a math major to know that twenty fifty- dollar bills didn't equal two thousand dollars. Why did people always think they could fuck her over?

SIXTY-THREE

Todd Hartman placed the model car in his glove box, tucking the Colt into the center console. He opened his phone and dialed Ward McCarty, who answered on the second ring. “Hartman,” he said. “You just called?”

“Todd, Natasha remembered something. She knows who Gizmo is. Gizmo was the nickname of a child who died after she operated on him four years ago.”

Todd listened intently as Ward told him the story.

“I'm leaving Concord Mills,” he said. “I'll get what I can on Louis Gismano and we can figure out what to do when I get there. In the meantime, you stay in the house. I'll call Thumper, and I'll get some more people back out there to cover the house. I'm twenty minutes away. Keep the phone lines clear. Load the gun I gave you, keep it with you, and turn out the lights like you're going to bed so, if he's around, he can't see in. I'll call the sheriff's department on the
way and get a unit out there. Make sure the house is locked up tight.”