Charles Mirho watched from his car a short way down the block and saw the two of them come out of the café.
“Well, blow me like a horny sailor . . . ,” he muttered out loud.
They stopped in front of the man’s red F-150 and shared a last word. Then the woman walked down the block to her car.
I guess we could put the doubts to rest, Mirho chuckled with satisfaction, over whether he’d found the right Hilary.
So what are you doing with my half a million dollars, doll?
He knew the guy she was talking to was none other than Joe Kelty’s son. What would she be doing here with him? Could the two of them somehow possibly be in this together? Was that accident possibly not as random as everyone might have thought? No, he figured, scratching the mark on his cheek, that was crazy. The police report said a deer had darted in front of Kelty’s car. More likely, ol’ Hilary here was struck by what might be called a fit of conscience or regret. She hadn’t gone in with anything and Mirho hadn’t seen an exchange of money. Though it could be in that trunk. He tapped his finger against the steering wheel. So why oh why had she made contact with Kelty’s son?
Anyway, this gave him a couple more angles to work on to get back what he wanted.
Not just the money. What he was really after. The money was only part of it.
The money alone wasn’t worth what he would have to do.
Kelty waited in his truck until Hilary drove by, giving her a quick wave as she passed.
Mirho pulled out after. He glanced in his rearview mirror as Kelty executed a U-turn and headed back toward his house. He settled in a couple of lengths behind the Acura as it seemed to head back to the Verrazano Bridge.
This was where things were about to get interesting. Where the best of his talents could be put to use. He didn’t relish what was going to happen. He had a kid somewhere out there himself, and no one liked leaving one to make his way in this world alone. That had happened to him. His mother had been killed in a fire with a man other than his dad. He’d been on his own since he was fifteen. The only benefit that ever came from it, he attested, was that since he’d known pain from early on, he also knew how to inflict it as well.
He watched the silver Acura SUV wind around onto the entrance to the bridge.
Mirho knew what had to be done. That was just how it was in this game. How it was with ol’ Rollie up there pleading to get down, with a terrified “No!” and those bulging, disbelieving eyes as he kicked the table away. He couldn’t have let him down. The trail couldn’t be left for anyone to find. It had to be swept over with his boot. And that meant getting his boots dirty.
Every time.
He followed the Acura, knowing the end was getting close. He’d stick to her now like bad credit. The rest . . . The rest would just play out.
Always did.
This ended the rescue part of the operation. Mirho chuckled.
Now the recovery part set in.