When Jack opened the door a faint odor of cedar wafted out. He watched Jack kneel on the closet floor and pop a piece of molding loose from the base of its left side wall. He slid this back along the floor, then pulled on the cedar plank directly above it. When this came free he slid it back beside the molding.

"Shine that light in here."

Tom aimed the flashlight over Jack's shoulder and into the opening. He saw insulated pipes—most likely to the bathroom—but what strange insulation. It looked… decorated. Each pipe was festooned with little cardboard squares.

What the…?

He watched Jack reach in and start plucking them from the pipes like a man picking fruit from a tree. When he'd gathered a fistful he backhanded them to Tom.

"Stick these in the front compartment of the pack."

Tom inspected them first. The paper squares had round Mylar windows front and back. And inside the windows—

Tom repressed a gasp. Coins. Gold coins.

He squinted at the top one. A new-looking 1925 twenty-dollar gold eagle. Next, a bright twenty-dollar Liberty head from 1907. And then a 1901 ten-dollar gold piece.

"Hey, the light," Jack said.

"Oh, yeah."

He'd been so distracted he'd let the beam drift.

Jack handed back more. Tom dropped the first batch into the pack and took the next. He knew nothing about coins but all these were old and gold and beautiful.

"Jack, are these things worth what I think they are?"

"Probably more. I've made a point of buying only top-grade stuff—MS-sixty-one or better."

"I didn't know you were a collector."

"I'm not. I'm an investor."

"But how much—?"

Jack handed back another batch.

"Are they worth? More than I paid for them, but that's all I can tell you. I don't keep a list and I don't keep up on values."

More rare coins flowing from the closet. The total value must have passed six figures already.

"How many do you have?"

Another handful came back.

"Don't really know. Like I said, I don't keep a list."

"But isn't it dangerous keeping it here in your apartment?"

"Fire's my big worry. But it's worth the risk. This way I can always get to them. Unlike your Bermuda safe-deposit box."

"Touche."

After handing back a total of a hundred or more coins, Jack said, "Okay, that's it for the numismatics. Bullion next. Put them in the rear section."

"What are you going to do with all this?"

Did he think he could take it with him?

"Giving it to Gia and Vicky. They'll need it."

"That's hard to believe, considering where she lives."

"That townhouse isn't hers. It belongs to Vicky's aunts. But they've gone away and aren't coming back. When they're finally declared dead—the waiting period's got about five and a half years to go, I believe—the place will go to Vicky."

"Where are the aunts?"

"Long story."

He began handing back deceptively heavy little cloth bags that clinked when Tom dropped them into the backpack.

"And these are…?"

"Krugers."

"Kruggerrands?"

Tom knew about those: one ounce of gold each. But each little bag must have held about twenty or so, and Jack was handing him bag after bag. With gold hovering around four hundred dollars an ounce…

Jesus God… Jack was a wealthy man.

Tom looked into the almost full backpack. With this kind of money he could disappear and stay gone. But that would be stealing from Gia. No… couldn't.

Finally Jack's hidey-hole was empty, its contents transferred to the backpack. Tom hefted it. Had to weigh fifty, sixty pounds. And he'd bet a lot of those numismatics were worth ten times their gold weight.

"With all this money… why do you keep working?"

Jack backed out of the closet.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

He shook his head. "Nah. Got to head over to Gia's. And anyway, the point, as you lawyers like to say, is moot. I'm retired as of tomorrow morning, thanks to you."

Tom had to turn away from the look in his brother's eyes.

"Jack, I've got something I need to say to—"

"Sorry. No time for chitchat." He rose and took the backpack with him. "Got to get to Gia's." That look again. "Not much time left, and guess who I'd rather spend it with."

Tom watched him shrug into his leather jacket, then stuff some video-cassettes into the backpack and sling it over his shoulder. He handled the weight as if it were nothing.

"Listen to me, Jack… I can't believe this is happening."

"Wish I could say the same."

"If you're really… if this really happens, I'll make sure Gia and Vicky are—"

"Are what? Taken care of? How are you going to do that?"

"I meant, I'll look out for them."

"No need. Already covered." Jack's cold gaze froze him to the spot. "And why on earth do you think Gia would want to have anything to do with the reason I'm not around?"

His words only reinforced what Gia had told him this afternoon.

He heard the words again, saw her stricken expression, felt again the jabs against his chest as if she was poking him anew right now.

Our rock will be gone. And all because of you!

No… no way he could approach her again. He was anathema.

"Jack, what do you want me to do?"

"Nothing, Tom. Nothing at all. I may not like where I am but I don't expect any help from you. And if by some one-in-a-million miracle you offered it, well… you're the last person on earth I'd accept it from."

Tom stood still and silent, reeling.

"So long, Tom. Have a nice life."

And then he was gone, the door swinging closed behind him.

Tom blinked back sudden tears. My own brother. What have I done? What have I done?

12

-12:19

Gia pulled him inside and wrapped her arms around him. Jack eased the backpack onto the floor and returned the hug.

"You said a couple of hours. It's been four!"

He felt terrible about that.

"I know. I'm sorry. Things got complicated."

She looked up at him. "Do I want to know?"

"Most definitely not."

She tugged him down the hall. "Vicky's starving."

A leaden weight sat where his stomach had been.

"I'm not."

"Neither am I. Every few minutes I feel like running to the bathroom and vomiting. But we've got to keep up appearances, don't you think?"

"Definitely."

"I wish you hadn't promised her Amalia's. I'd have liked to make you something."

"My last meal?"

"Don't, Jack. Please don't."

"Okay, okay. It's just… I don't know how to handle this."

"I do." Her lower lip trembled. "I'm going to fall apart."

He held her close a moment, then, "Where's Vicks?"

"In the kitchen."

He pointed to the sitting room. "Then let's make a quick detour."

He retrieved the backpack from the hall and carried it to the sitting room couch. He set it on the end table under the reading lamp.

"I want you to take this."

Gia held back, looking uneasy. "What is it?"

He unzipped the front compartment and spread the edges.

"Take a look."

She stepped forward and took a hesitant peek. She frowned, then her head snapped back.

"Gold coins? Why?"

"They're for you."

"But aren't they your…?"

"Life savings. Yeah."

She backed away. "I don't want it."

Jack had figured she'd react like this.

"Gia, I want you to have them. I need to go away knowing you and Vicky will be taken care of."

She began to fill up. "But giving me your life savings means your life is over. I can't—"

"Hey, don't look at it that way. I just need someone to look after it while I'm gone. You know… till I get back."

She began crying and Jack took her in his arms.

"This can't be happening, Jack. It can't."

"Maybe it's not. Maybe eight A.M. is going to come and go without anything happening and we'll all be sitting around looking at each other and feeling stupid."