It was a cloudy day. It didn’t look like it would rain, but it didn’t look like the sun would come out either. Johnny was on the stoop in front of the bungalow, breathing in some fresh air, trying to get the all that stuffy mouse- shit air out of his lungs, when Marissa started making noise again.
“Pain in my ass,” he said as he went inside. She was screaming, her face red, trying to get loose but not making any progress. Her nose was swollen to about twice its normal size, and there was a lot of blood, some of it brown and crusted, around her nostrils and upper lip.
“Hey, can you shut up?” Johnny said. “I said shut the fuck up!” She wouldn’t, and Johnny grabbed the rag with the chloroform and said, “You have two choices- shut the fuck up or I chloroform you again. Which is it?”
“P-p- please,” she begged, sobbing. “P-pl- please…” “That’s better,” he said. “I mean, why waste your voice screaming? Nobody’s gonna hear you, and you’re just gonna give us both headaches.”
“Where… are… w-w- we?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter where we are,” he said. Then he added, “We’re someplace safe.”
“Why?” she asked, crying. “Why?… Why?”
“It’s complicated, baby,” he said. “But don’t worry, if you stay calm and do everything I tell you to do I won’t hurt you.”
He’d been lying to her since the second he met her; why stop now?
She was sobbing harder, and then he smelled something awful. At first he thought it was something rotting, maybe under the bed, and then he realized she’d shit in her pants during the night. Maybe that was what all the screaming had been about.
“Oh, you had an accident, huh?” he said. “I’m so sorry. Man, that really sucks. I wish I could let you clean yourself up, but you’re nice and tied up now and I don’t want to risk you trying to get away. I mean, I know you wouldn’t get anywhere, because there’s no place to get to, but still.”
“You fucking asshole!” she screamed. “You motherfucking lunatic!”
“You won’t scream again,” he said, dangling the rag over her face to show he was serious. She looked away from him, toward the wall, and started crying again.
“Sorry you feel so shitty,” he said.
He laughed about that one all morning. He really had to start writing this stuff down so he could put it in the Casanova book. It was always good to have a little humor in a story; he couldn’t just go on and on about his sexual conquests for five hundred pages. Well, he could, but still.
At around eleven o’clock he chloroformed Marissa for the last time. She struggled, screaming and trying to bite his hand- and to think, just a couple of days ago she’d had such good manners. Finally she gave in and passed out. He hoped she’d stay unconscious for a couple of hours. By then he’d have the money, and he could come back and shoot her. If things worked out, she’d never wake up again.
Johnny left the bungalow and walked down the hill to the car. Looking over at the barn, he had a flashback to one night when a couple of guys were picking on him, taunting him with switchblades, and Carlos came over with a gun and ordered the guys to go away. It reminded Johnny of why he was going through all of this. It wasn’t really about the money. It was about revenge, getting even.
At about eleven thirty, Johnny pulled up just outside the parking lot of the ShopRite in Kingston. He didn’t see Adam Bloom’s SUV or his Merc in the lot, but he was mainly looking out for cops. He knew if they were here they’d be undercover and hard to spot, but that was why Johnny had arrived a half hour early. There was a good chance that anyone who was hanging out in the parking lot was a cop. So far the only person who looked suspicious was the grayhaired older woman in the double- parked Lexus. She didn’t look like a cop, which made her even more suspicious. Then an old guy, probably her husband, got in with her and they drove away.
Johnny didn’t think Bloom would bring the cops into this. He wouldn’t want to take the chance of his daughter winding up dead, and besides, it wasn’t Bloom’s style. No, Bloom had showed his cards early, the night of the robbery. He was a take- matters- into- his- own- hands type of guy. He wanted to be the big shot, the hero, and Johnny knew that driving upstate to rescue his daughter from the “maniac” who was holding her hostage would be too big an opportunity for him to resist.
At noon, Johnny didn’t see any sign of cops, but where the hell was Bloom? At ten past, he still hadn’t shown. Johnny didn’t think he’d come late and risk his daughter’s life, but what other explanation was there?
Johnny spotted a phone booth near a pizza restaurant at the other end of the strip mall. He drove over there, left his car running, and called Bloom’s cell- he’d memorized the number before he’d tossed away Marissa’s cell last night. Bloom’s voice mail picked up before the first ring. Had he really turned his phone off?
Johnny got back in the car and waited about ten more minutes, until it became clear that Bloom wasn’t showing. This Johnny hadn’t expected at all. He’d thought Bloom might show up with less money, try to bargain the price down, but he didn’t think he’d get stood up. Who the hell did Bloom think was in charge of this thing, anyway? Who did he think was calling the shots?
Suddenly furious, Johnny drove out of the lot. It was time for plan C, or D, or whatever the hell letter he was up to. He’d go back to Max’s and shoot Marissa. Killing a guy’s wife and daughter was good enough revenge. Yeah, the million dollars would’ve been nice, but Johnny knew money wouldn’t matter once the Casanova book sold, and he’d get hundreds of thousands of dollars, maybe millions, someday from the Bloodworks. Yeah, he’d have to let Adam live, but maybe that was a good thing. Living was so much worse than dying. Why give the guy a break?
Then, a few minutes later, Johnny looked in his rearview and saw a red midsize car about a hundred yards behind him. There was another car in between, and it was hard to see the driver of the red car, but then, as they went around the bend, Johnny caught a glimpse of the guy, and he couldn’t believe it. Who the hell did he think he was kidding?
Around sunrise, Adam left Forest Hills. The reporters were finally gone, but he had a feeling that, no matter what happened upstate, they’d be back very soon.
He’d left a note for his mother on the kitchen table: Running some errands. He knew she’d get worried when he didn’t come home and was unreachable, but he had no choice. If he told her he was driving up to the Catskills to try rescue Marissa singlehandedly, she would’ve called the police and possibly gotten Marissa killed.
Adam drove to La Guardia Airport, parked in long- term parking, and then rented a Taurus at Bud get. He knew Xan would be looking out for the SUV or the Merc, and he wanted to be as incognito as possible.
Several times, he almost stopped and turned back. He knew he was taking a huge risk by going up alone, but he didn’t see any alternative. If he called the police it would be the equivalent of gambling that the police would bust Xan before he had a chance to kill Marissa or that Xan had been lying about how he’d kill Marissa if the police got involved. He’d misjudged Xan from the beginning- they all had- and he wasn’t going to do it again.
Adam exited the New York State Thruway in Kingston and, using directions from a map he’d printed, found the ShopRite. It was early, before ten o’clock, but he was glad he was here, relieved he’d avoided the nightmare scenario of getting stuck on the road and missing the noon meeting time. He didn’t want to stay in a static position, though, and risk being spotted by Xan, so he drove around the area and then parked for a while in the lot of a nearby strip mall. At eleven thirty, he headed back to the ShopRite. As he entered the lot he spotted Xan in his parked car just outside the lot. He was pretty sure that Xan hadn’t seen him, but it was a close call- too close. If Xan had spotted him that would’ve been it; the whole plan would’ve been shot to hell. He should have waited across the road and watched with binoculars or something. He was angry at himself for making that slipup, and he was aware of his raging pulse. In his rush to leave the house he’d forgotten to take the Klonopin with him, and he hadn’t had a pill since last night. Klonopin was supposed to have a long half- life but, maybe because he’d doubledosed yesterday, he was already aware of possible withdrawal symptoms- severe anxiety, irritability, panic. He once had a patient who’d had a seizure when he went off Klonopin too quickly. That was all Adam needed right now, a goddamn seizure.