Chapter 18

AT A QUARTER AFTER NINE ON SUNDAY MORN ing, Ben put on his coat and picked up his briefcase. Still reeling from Ober’s death, he tried not to think about the unnerving silence that now filled the house. Instead, he turned around and walked out the front door. A new layer of snow blanketed the neighborhood. He stepped outside, carefully maneuvering into the footprints left behind by Eric and Nathan. As he headed toward the Metro station, he periodically looked over his shoulder. After the events of the past few nights, Ben’s watchfulness had become instinctive. When he rounded the corner he saw a man in a navy winter coat and a brown fedora coming toward him. He was bothered that the brim of the hat blocked the man’s face. In the street, a gray car pulled up and stopped. Ben immediately recognized it as Eric’s.

“How’re you doing?” Eric asked, rolling down his window.

“Okay, I guess,” Ben said unconvincingly. He stepped into the street and leaned in the window. “I slept about five minutes last night.”

“Me too,” Eric said. “I can’t get him out of my head. Just the thought of him dangling there…”

“Please, let’s not talk about it,” Ben said, his gloved hands gripping the metal door frame.

“Did you tell Lisa?”

“I called her late last night. Before I finished my first sentence, she was crying. I never heard her like that. She offered to help with the eulogy.”

“That was nice of her.” Noticing the briefcase in Ben’s hand, Eric asked, “Where are you headed now?”

“The U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

“So this is it?”

“I hope so,” Ben said. “By this time tomorrow, I should be done with this nonsense.”

“I know I didn’t say this last night, but I think you’re doing the right thing.”

“Thanks,” Ben said as the stranger in the navy coat passed behind him. Ben turned around to watch him walk down the block. “Does that guy look suspicious to you?”

“Not really. Why?”

“He looked a little weird to me.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Eric said. “I’m sure he’s no one.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, pulling out of the window.

“Do you want a ride to the Metro?” Eric asked.

“I’d prefer a ride downtown.”

“No time. I have to do some quick edits at the house, then I need to get back to work. The Metro is as good as it gets.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ben said, heading back to the sidewalk. “I think I can handle the two blocks.”

“Your choice,” Eric said, rolling up his window. “See you tonight.”

“I hope,” Ben said. “If you don’t hear from me by dinner, it means I’m still in the middle of my plea bargain.”

As the car pulled away, Ben continued his walk up the block. When he reached the commercial section of the neighborhood, his eyes darted everywhere. At the old man pulling his grocery cart along the snow-covered sidewalk. At the undeterred athlete jogging with her black labrador. At the supermarket employee shoveling the sidewalk. At the overweight woman struggling to keep her footing. Still jumpy, Ben reached his favorite bakery. I really have to calm down, he told himself as he stepped inside. There’s no one following me. After a quick bagel and a fresh banana, Ben wiped his mouth, zipped his coat, and stepped back into the cold. Immediately he saw that the only thing between him and the Metro station was the man in the navy coat and the brown fedora.

Cautiously, Ben inched up the block, trying to identify the approaching stranger. The man appeared to be Rick’s height, but heavier. But then, it was a heavy coat, Ben thought. As his heartbeat accelerated, Ben tried to convince himself that it was just his imagination. Relax, he told himself. There’s no reason to get crazy. When they were ten feet apart, Ben pulled off his right-hand glove and made a tight fist, determined to swing if the man made a suspicious move. When he was five feet away, Ben was sweating furiously. As they were about to pass each other, Ben was frantic, his mind preparing for every possible scenario.

Holding his breath as the man walked by him, Ben fought the urge to turn around. It wasn’t until he was well past the stranger that he finally breathed a sigh of relief. All that perspiration for nothing, Ben told himself, forcing a laugh. As he was about to turn to get one last look at the man, Ben’s neck snapped back as he was grabbed from behind. He felt an arm wrap firmly around his neck, while a hand in a navy coat sleeve shoved a pungent handkerchief into his face. Instinctively, Ben threw his head back, slamming it into his attacker’s nose.

“Son of a bitch!” the man yelled, releasing Ben and grabbing his bleeding nose.

Coughing as he ran up the block, Ben struggled to catch his breath. As he passed the supermarket, he looked back and saw that his attacker was in pursuit. Ben dropped his briefcase and grabbed the snow shovel from the hands of the supermarket employee. As the man approached him, Ben swung the shovel wildly. “Stay the hell away from me!”

“Calm down,” the man said. “I’m not here to hurt you.” As the man tried to keep Ben’s attention, Rick turned the corner and was slowly sneaking up behind Ben.

“Who are you?” Ben asked. “Who sent you?”

“I’m on your side,” the man said. “I swear. I’m from the Justice Department.” His eyes were locked over Ben’s shoulder.

Following the man’s gaze, Ben spun around, swinging the shovel blindly as he turned. To his surprise, the flat side of the shovel connected with Rick, who would’ve otherwise grabbed him. “I don’t believe it,” Ben said. When Rick fell to the ground, Ben took the shovel and hit Rick once more in the head. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Ben screamed. “This is my life!”

Ben yelled at the supermarket employee. “Call the police!”

“We are the police,” Rick’s accomplice said to the employee. “Don’t call anyone.”

“Grab him already, Claremont!” Rick yelled, holding his ear, which was covered in blood.

Throwing the shovel at Claremont, Ben turned around and ran down the block.

“Follow him!” Rick yelled, even though Claremont was already in motion.

Faster and more athletic than either of his attackers, Ben ran back toward the residential part of his neighborhood. Hopping fences and racing through backyards, Ben crisscrossed between houses so his pursuers never had him in sight for longer than a few seconds. He turned down one driveway, made a left when he reached the backyard, hopped over a fence into the next-door neighbor’s garden, ran to the back of the garden, hopped over a fence that put him in a connecting backyard, and ran back out another driveway. Weaving through the neighborhood, Ben knew that the only house he had to avoid was his own. If his two attackers had split up, one of them would definitely be waiting there. As the cold air packed his lungs, he worked his way back toward the supermarket, staying off the main streets and navigating through the garbage-filled alleys. Hoping he had lost his pursuers, he ran toward Boosin’s Bar, the only place he knew that had a pay phone and, more important, a back door. He took one last look around and then entered the bar.

Ben headed directly for the back of the bar. He shoved open the door to the men’s rest room, entered a stall, and locked it. He bent over and tried to catch his breath. As the warmth of the bathroom replaced the cold of the outdoors, Ben felt like he was burning up. He pulled off his jacket, then lifted the toilet seat and vomited the banana and bagel he had just eaten. When his stomach was empty, he convulsed with dry heaves, as his body reacted to the panic that flooded his mind. He flushed the toilet and sat down, shaking. I can’t believe this, he thought, his elbows resting on his knees. What the hell is happening? As he dabbed his forehead with toilet paper, Ben’s body temperature eventually returned to normal, and the color slowly returned to his face.