“TJ! Wait!” I shouted and took off after him. “Wait!”
My foot caught on a gazebo step, sending me hard to the ground on my elbow. A sharp jolt of pain zapped through my upper arm and into my shoulder.
I pushed myself up and sprinted after him, little twinges of pain reverberating in my arm like electric shocks. TJ leaped over a deck chair and sprinted down the long edge of the pool. I was several yards behind him. Too far. And the kid was fast. He’d quickly put some distance between us if I didn’t do something.
But what? Shout for someone to grab him? Right. Pull my Glock and cap him in the leg? I can’t believe the thought actually entered my head. I blame Bob.
We tore across the patio, knocking chairs and plastic drink tables aside. I shouted at him again, but it was pointless. He wasn’t listening and he wasn’t stopping no matter what I said. The two remaining swimmers looked up curiously at the commotion.
TJ reached the stairs to the rooms upstairs and hesitated. He could go to the right up the stairs or left into the hotel lobby. He paused long enough for me to make up a few steps of the gap between us. I altered my angle toward the lobby to cut him off. I figured he’d try to get out of the hotel and into the darkened streets beyond.
But he didn’t go right or left. Instead, he charged straight ahead. The door I had originally come out of, the one that led to the nightclub backstage, was ajar. A waitress stood at the edge of a Dumpster sneaking a cigarette. She had propped a plastic chair in the door so she could get back in.
“TJ! Stop!” I shouted, running after him.
TJ reached the doorway, stole a glance back at me to confirm I was still in pursuit, and barreled over the chair.
“Hey!” the waitress said, jumping back. “You can’t go back there!”
The door started closing and I spent a half second wondering if it automatically locked when it shut. I assumed it did or the waitress wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to prop it open. I didn’t think I would make it before it shut. Just as the handle edge of the door swung into the frame, I jammed my fingers into it. It hurt as much as you would imagine, but after my beating in the Escalade, and now my potentially fractured elbow, it was small potatoes.
I whipped the door open and stumbled over the chair. TJ was ahead of me in the cinder-block hallway. I could hear the thumping music from the club. Still moving, TJ turned around and saw me coming after him. When he turned back, he ran right into Cher. TJ knocked her flat on her ass.
“Watch it, bitch!” Cher barked in a deep baritone.
“Sorry—,” TJ said, and stepped over her.
By now I was almost on him. I hurdled the fallen diva and swiped a hand at TJ’s blue shirt but came up empty. The kid arched his back and ducked left into an open alcove. I was right behind him and followed him up a small set of wooden steps and into the side wing of the nightclub stage.
The music was louder here, almost deafening, pounding a familiar disco song I couldn’t name. TJ didn’t stop running. He flew out past the wing curtains and onto the brightly lit stage. I didn’t stop either.
The performer looked at us dashing across her (his?) stage. But she was a pro, not missing a line in the song. She swung her silver-sequined hips and shook her long blond mane, keeping perfect pitch, but eyeing us with a mixture of curiosity and fury.
The crowd let out a collective gasp when TJ flung himself off the stage, skidding into a nearby table and sending a round of drinks smashing to the floor. I made a somewhat less dramatic jump and followed him through the maze of tables in the dark club. The crowd gaped at us, realizing that what they were witnessing was not supposed to be happening, but unsure if they should do anything about it.
TJ was almost at the entrance to the club, which led out into the hotel lobby. I was a few steps away on the other side of a table. In my peripheral vision I saw a hulking shadow moving quickly toward me. This, I assumed, was the infamous Henry, and I had no intention of getting beaten up any more today. I put one foot on the seat of a chair and launched myself onto a cocktail table.
I sprang from the table and landed in front of the club entrance. Henry was still charging after me, building up steam, but my course over the table had bought me an extra few steps.
TJ disappeared out the club’s door and I popped out after him. I saw a blue blur in jeans tearing out the hotel’s main glass doors. I couldn’t afford to let him out onto Orange Blossom Trail. He could easily vanish into its dark underbelly.
I pushed through the front door and TJ ran straight out into traffic.
“TJ! No!” I screamed.
Tires squealed and cars swerved. Two vehicles ended up with their front bumpers less than a foot apart. Miraculously, no cars actually hit each other, and TJ was unscathed. I took advantage of the shocked pause of the moment to rush across the street after him.
He was pretty shook up, breathing heavily, sweat running down his face. He backed away from me, working himself toward the parking lot of the 7-Eleven. He held up a hand for me to stop.
I didn’t stop, but I slowed, raising my palms. He turned his head to look down the sidewalk, coiling himself for a break. I couldn’t allow that. In an open run, TJ would surely outdistance me and be gone in a block or two.
“TJ—it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.” I kept moving toward him. “We’ve spoken on the phone. I’m Mike Garrity.”
He didn’t stop backing up, but his brow furrowed.
“What do you want?” he said between breaths.
“I need to talk to you. I—I need your help.” I swallowed and stopped. A sudden wave of emotion caught me and I fought back tears.
TJ saw that. “Help with what?” he said, still stepping backward.
“It’s my daughter. Jennifer.” I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to keep my composure. “If you don’t help me, she’s gonna die.” He stopped moving and put down his arms.
I hadn’t eaten all day, so we found an IHOP and ordered a nighttime breakfast. Sausage and eggs for me, oatmeal and fruit for TJ. I relayed an abridged version of recent events, starting with the first phone call from George Neuheisel and ending with us sitting eating breakfast at 10:30 p.m. He knew some of the story, having witnessed my first seizure and talked to me online and through Eddie’s cell phone. But, mostly, he was quiet, listening to me talk, sipping a cup of coffee.
“Okay,” he said. “Now you’ve found me. What about the money? Where are you getting that?”
“Your mom.”
TJ nodded, a resigned smile glinting across his face. With his long hair and unshaven face, he looked nothing like the clean-cut young man on the album covers. He was grittier. Older. Wearier. I was surprised that the bartender even recognized him from the picture. But sitting here in this booth, just a few feet away, I could see the boy in there. I could also see Arlene’s feminine features, her long nose, her high forehead, her piercing eyes.
“I should call her,” he said.
I nodded.
“She likes you, you know,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“My mom. She likes you a lot. Maybe some of it is sympathy because of your cancer, like my dad, but I think it’s more than that. I can tell. She really likes you.”
“I like her, too.”
He cocked his head, considering me and my worthiness for his mother. Then he broke off his gaze and sipped his coffee.
“So these are really bad guys,” he said, looking down. “The ones who killed Eddie?”
“Yeah.”
I nodded.
“And you really think they’ll hurt your daughter?”
“I do.”
TJ poked his spoon at a blueberry in his oatmeal. “And what, exactly, do they want me for? I mean, if you deliver the money, what do I have to do with it?”
“Good question. My guess is that Alomar is pissed and wants to shake you up. He thinks you and Eddie have been tryin’ to stiff him.”
“I knew nothing about it.”
“Alomar doesn’t believe that.”
“So he’s going to make me some kind of example?”
“Listen, TJ.” I put my hands flat on the table and looked him straight in the eye. “I need you to come with me, to get me in the door and deliver the money. But I have no intention of leaving you with them or trading you for Jennifer. I haven’t got all the details yet, but I’m workin’ on a plan. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. I know you don’t know me, but I’m asking you to trust me.”
An awkward silence bloomed between us and I thought TJ might get up and walk out of the restaurant.
“That’s a nice speech,” he finally said. “But not necessary. I have no problem coming with you. In fact, you’d have to tie me up to keep me away.”
This wasn’t the reaction I expected. It was too easy. It made me suspicious. I decided to put myself in the role of devil’s advocate.
“Aren’t you concerned?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Sure. But this mess was Eddie’s fault and he was my cousin. And I ran away so nobody could find me, which only made things worse. So now your daughter is the one who might suffer, and I need to do what I can to make it right.”
I thought about this for a second. “I have a confession. I read the note that you sent to Miguel.” His eyes met mine. “I was a cop for a long time, and when I read it, I figured I was reading a suicide note.” He put down his spoon. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I waited, saying nothing else, narrowing my eyes.
“Well, I’m still here.”
“Yeah. I see that. And I’m glad. I was worried. Your mother was worried.”
“My mom read the note?”
“No. But I gave her the gist.”
He put his elbows on the table and leaned his face into them. “Ho, boy. What did she say?”
“She didn’t think you’d kill yourself, but she was worried all the same.”
“No. About Miguel.”
I took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t wanna get between you and your mother—”
“Too late, man. What did she say?”
I relented. “Not much. She was surprised it was Miguel, but she wasn’t really surprised, if you know what I mean.”
“I think so.”
“She said she knew. A mother knows.”
“So she didn’t, like, freak out or anything?”
“She was just worried about you. You left so abruptly, she didn’t know what to think.”
“I was upset.”
“Upset enough to kill yourself?”
“Like I said, I’m still here.”
I filled my mug from the coffeepot that the waitress had thoughtfully placed on the table. “Tell me if I’m close here…. You were upset. You had been fighting with Eli about creative issues. You were in a relationship with someone you cared about, and then Eli came in and destroyed that. You have more money than you’ll ever spend, and you were still miserable. Your passions got the better of you and you wrote that note, fully intent on eating a bottle of Valium. Or worse. But it’s a hard thing to kill yourself. It sounds romantic when you think about it, full of drama and a sense of immortality. But when it comes down to actually doing it, that’s a whole different story. As the days went by, it got harder and harder. But now I show up and ask you to come with me into one of the most dangerous situations you can imagine, and you’re all gung ho. Yeah, this is Eddie’s mess and you vanishing didn’t help. But maybe this is a coward’s way to get yourself killed.” I sipped my coffee. “And won’t they all be sorry then?”
If he laughed or got angry, if he denied it or made a joke, I would have doubted my theory. But his silence confirmed that I was in the neighborhood.
“I don’t want to die,” he said softly.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded slowly.
“Okay,” I said with a twinge of recognition for the irony of my role in this conversation, given my present ambiguous relationship with the uninvited resident in my brain. I brushed it aside. “You still wanna come with me?”
He nodded again.
“Good. ’Cause this’ll be dangerous enough without a death wish, and I’m gonna need your help if I have any hope of pullin’ it off.”