FOUR HOURS LATER, on the approach to Albany, the burner mobile phone from Simon rings. Like a child on a bike playing chicken, I don’t answer. Two minutes later it rings again, and again I don’t answer. After six rings, the phone goes silent. Fifteen minutes later, passing through Albany, the phone rings once more. Of course, I do not answer.
Instead, I worry I’m going to get Mel and Gabby killed.
At two-thirty, I pull off the Interstate near Saratoga Springs. The sun won’t set for six hours. Except for the banana cake, I’m twenty-four hours without food. Circling, I find a 24-hour Denny’s. Inside, I double-up on the protein and the carbohydrates ordering the Grand Slam Platter with two eggs over-easy, bacon, link-sausage, hotcakes, whole wheat toast, hash-brown potatoes, and a side of grits.
Ordering a tall glass of cold milk, I think of Ari Lippmann, wishing I had the mad Jew riding shotgun at my side. I pass on coffee and caffeine. It will come in handier if I mainline later, after waking from a five-hour nap in the back of the Pathfinder parked at the rear of the Denny’s lot. Elk Lake is only a ninety-minute drive, and I plan to arrive after dark.
The Chatterbox doesn’t know I’m coming, can’t possibly know I’ve figured out his location. And he doesn’t know the territory better than me; in this, we are at a similar disadvantage. He can’t see in the dark, neither can I.
Optimistic, I hope to find The Chatterbox hog-tied with Gabby, Mel, and The Uke sitting outside on the back deck overlooking the lake sharing a laugh over Khortytsa Brand Deluxe vodka asking me What took you so long? when, finally, I arrive.