At close to two in the morning we made it to the Bruckner in twenty minutes. We drove separately, me in the Acura, which Patrick had had a friend check out and remove from it a GPS device, and Patrick in his truck. We pulled onto a deserted side street in the Bronx just across the RFK Bridge, about ten blocks from the meet site.
The area was dark and abandoned, graffiti all over the empty row houses, and an abandoned lot. I’d have been petrified to be here at this time of night were it not for Patrick. We parked, he came over and got into my car, and we went over the plan one more time.
He’d be in the cargo compartment hidden from view until Brandon and Elena were safely in the car. I had the money in the plastic bag next to me on the passenger seat and Deirdre’s diary pages in a clear plastic folder.
“Whatever you do, don’t get out of the car,” Patrick instructed me, I think for the third time. “Hand him the money first—and don’t hand over the diary until Brandon and Elena are safely in the car. Ask to see his hands if he keeps one of them hidden. You’re not armed; you want to know what he’s hiding. Say you’re uncomfortable otherwise. If you see anything resembling a gun, say something like ‘That gun is scaring Brandon.’ Anything. Just so I’ll know. Remember, he wants those pages as much as you want your son, so keep your wits about you and just make it an exchange of goods. If it’s anything else, I’ll be here. As soon as they’re back in your car and you’ve handed him the pages, hit the gas and get the hell out of there. You’ll be facing north, so jump on the expressway as fast as you can.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“You don’t have to think about what’s going to happen to him. All you have to do is keep your wits about you and you’ll have your son. If he makes a wrong move, I promise, it’ll be his last.”
“Please let me do this alone, Patrick. I’m scared. What if he sees you in there?”
“He wants his merchandise, Hilary. If he doesn’t get it, you can nail his boss’s ass for murder. Just don’t give him the journal pages before Brandon and Elena are safely back. Whatever he does. This is what he does for a living. You have to stay strong.”
“I’m so sorry that Brandon has to go through this,” I said.
“I know. But it’ll all be over soon.”
I checked the time. It was eight before two. My heart was beating about three times its normal rate. “Now put down the rear windows.” Patrick gave me a squeeze on the arm. “I’ll climb in back. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” I heard the crack in my voice. Then I shook my head. “No. I’m not okay. I’m scared to death. For Brandon.”
“C’mere …” He leaned across and gave me a comforting hug. I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to wake up from this and find out it had all been a dream. A horrible one. He let me go and he held on to my hand. He squeezed it. “I promise. He’s gonna be okay.”
I sucked in a breath. “Okay …”
I lowered the rear windows. Patrick went around and climbed into the back. He pulled a blanket over himself, and some shopping bags I had back there, and a mat I used for exercise. My windows were darkened, so there was no way anyone could see.
Five of two now. My heartbeat picked up another gear. My stomach started to turn.
“Ready?” he said.
This time I nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Just remember, one last time …”
“I know. I know.” I nodded. I knew that this time he meant it only to put me at ease. “Whatever happens, don’t get out of the car.”
He put his hand on my shoulder. “I was going to say remember the best day you ever had with your son, because that’s exactly what it’s gonna be like with him tomorrow.”
I met his eyes in the rearview mirror and put my hand on his. “Thank you, Patrick. For everything.”
The clock read 2:58. “Okay, let’s go.”
I started up the car and drove the ten or so blocks up to 138th Street and came around in front of the ramp to the expressway, which rumbled directly above us. The body shops and check-cashing places and bodegas were all shuttered. A transmission repair garage had the aluminum siding pulled down. It was dark, the traffic was sparse. Two or three cars crossed 138th, probably heading to the Hunts Point produce market, which was not far away but didn’t open for a couple of hours. The elevated Bruckner Expressway rumbled intermittently directly over our head.
It was time, Hilary.
It flashed in my mind. How Robin had described it. Welcome to the other side of the road.