It seemed just seconds before the gray dawn was in the window. Beside her, Tyler solemnly inventoried his posters, a reluctant curator bidding farewell to his precious museum.
“Tyler, please tell me about your museum.”
“We don’t have time,” he replied.
“Yes we do. You just won’t tell me.”
“Please Mayson, don’t start.” He rose. “I’ll shower first.” Glancing at his watch, he dashed out.
She rose to the window, catching the sun’s first glimmer over the East River. It would be a sparkling autumn day, one that would end where – a Naples hotel or a Manhattan jail? Her eyes dropped to the street below where an army of cops waited, and fervently she prayed it would not be the latter.
Wistfully her gaze settled on the Disney World poster. She’d never been except in her dreams, vividly painted by Cellini’s customers. She’d been scraping pennies together for college while they’d been throwing away thousands for a week at Disney World. Bagging their groceries, she’d listened wondrously to their tales, each adding fresh detail and color to her vision. She’d wanted so badly... The ringing phone shattered her reflections.
Tyler’s recorded greeting was followed by the voice of an agitated Lauren Belli. “More witnesses to the scene Mayson made Tuesday have come forward. Last night’s black sports car, as of fifteen minutes ago, has become a black 911. Duke now has every cop in Manhattan looking for it. Tyler, get out as fast as you can. And have Mayson ready. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” As the line clicked off, Mayson flew down the hall, bursting into the bedroom. “Lauren just called! They have the make of your car!”
“Shit!” Tyler furiously snapped the last shirt buttons as Mayson dashed into the bathroom, cranked on the shower and got in. Quickly her hand poked out of the curtain. “Tyler...?”
He gave her the hair coloring tube and then quickly retrieved her traveling outfit: cream sweater, navy slacks and topsiders. Minutes later, she emerged fully dressed and found him pacing by the front door.
“You’re ready.” He nodded at the suitcase and purse, then studied her damp hair. “At least it’s lighter.” Placing the glasses on her nose, he helped her into the ski jacket. “You won’t need this very long.”
“We hope, anyway.” Her heart pounded. How many cops would they encounter on the way to La Guardia? It’d take just one to recognize her. What if she was caught? If he didn’t... if she...
“Hey.” He caught her fluttering hand. “You’ll do fine. Feast on JBs and Jams, start Robes of Vengeance and the next thing you know, I’ll be there.” He reached for the note. “Didn’t I tell you I’d forget? It’s all there — flight times, boarding gates and hotel reservations, including that pain-in-the-ass name.”
“Not ass,” she smiled. “Butts. And my brother is The Lips. You’re so horrible with names.”
“No argument there,” he nodded. “Lauren should be here any minute, as will my cab.”
Her eyes watered. “Tyler, please be careful.”
“I will.” He grabbed his things. “Now, I have to go.”
Yes, he did. He was flying to Boston; she in the opposite direction. It’d be long hours until she saw him again — if she did. She’d count the seconds, minutes, hours as she waited by the hotel door. She was good at that. She’d done it before. “Tyler, please...”
Glancing at her fingernails pressed into his arm, he smiled. “Have the Molson on ice. I’ll see you on the Gulf Coast by six.” Planting a kiss in her new blond hair, he left.
Minutes later a knock came at the door. She opened it to tall, blond Lauren Belli, all legs in her navy suit. She looked very Nordic with her rosy cheeks, wide blue eyes and braided hair. “Tyler just left.”
“Good,” Lauren did her best to smile as she inventoried the new Mayson. Even with bobbed blond hair and granny glasses, she was much too beautiful to be Deborah but at least she’d made herself unrecognizable. She grabbed the suitcase. “It’ll be more convincing if I’m carrying something.”
Slipping her purse over her shoulder, Mayson locked the door and followed Lauren down the hall.
“You won’t have any trouble.” Lauren pushed for the elevator. “I can’t even recognize you. It’s fortunate you don’t practice criminal law. There isn’t a cop on the force who couldn’t spot me in a crowd, no matter what I was wearing.”
“Lauren, I’m deeply grateful for what you’re doing,” Mayson said as the elevator started down.
“Forget it.” She dismissed the gratitude as neither necessary nor wanted. As they reached the garage, she followed Mayson out. “I always park on the third level.” She nodded at her blue Volvo. Putting the suitcase in back, she slipped behind the wheel as Mayson got in. Glancing in the mirror, she drove off.
Mayson’s stomach knotted as they snaked down the ramp. Quickly reaching the end of the tunnel, they plunged into the threatening light. Concealed only by Park Avenue’s thick morning traffic, she felt naked suddenly, anxiously scanning the busy streets as they crept between lights. Patrol cars were on every block. At Eighty-Sixth one finally loomed in the mirror.
“Lewis and Alvarez.” Lauren waved to the officers. “They’re on their morning bagel run.” A second unit crept up behind them on Seventy-Ninth. “Delwood and Jordan.” She named its occupants then caught two dark-suited men suddenly emerge from a building on their right. “Those guys, I don’t have a clue about, except they’re much scarier than the NYPD.”
Mayson’s eyes followed them up the street, where they met two other men. All wore the same dark suits, glasses and creepy expressions. “FBI?” she asked.
“Either that or Special Services. They all look the same, breathe the same. They run on batteries, I’m told.” Lauren sighed. “Get used to it. They’ll be on every corner between here and La Guardia.”
As the light changed they crept again. “Why are they looking for me?” Mayson asked.
“I thought that’s why you and Tyler were going to Florida; to find out.” As another unit crept up beside them, Lauren waved to the officers. “Breedlove and some new guy.”
“Lauren, I didn’t kill Morris Mendelsohn.”
“That’s what Tyler said.”
“Do you believe him?”
She surveyed the traffic with growing frustration. “Mayson, I wouldn’t be helping unless I believed him. Unfortunately, my opinion doesn’t mean squat since the rest of the world thinks you’re guilty as hell.”
“Your opinion’s important to me. I wish we’d gotten to be friends through the Bar functions.”
“Friends?” Lauren repeated. “Come on, Mayson, you made it obvious at those bar functions that you considered yourself better than everyone else. You didn’t want friends.”
“I don’t think I’m better than anyone else,” Mayson replied. “I just didn’t...” Belong. The others had been warm and secure, she cold and secure only in her mistrust of everyone and everything. Only now Tyler would have her make one big, handsome exception, and it frightened her to think she might.
“Save it Mayson,” Lauren snapped. “What I’m doing is based solely on my feelings for Tyler, nothing else.” The light changed again but the traffic didn’t move. Horns shrieked around them. “Damn!” She smacked the wheel. “We’ll miss the flight at this rate!”
Mayson’s stomach knotted. Would she be able to get another flight? Was Tyler...? A cop in the unit beside her suddenly signaled for her to roll the window down.
“Let me handle this,” Lauren whispered.
As Mayson rolled the window down, the young cop, clean cut and darkly handsome, smiled at Lauren. “Some mess, huh, counselor? Want me to radio downtown and advise them you’ll be late for court?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lauren replied. “However, there’s something you can do, Loukanis, if you really want to help.”
“Yeah?” His dark eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”
“Give us an escort to La Guardia. Otherwise my cousin will miss her flight.”
Loukanis studied Mayson with a growing interest. “I don’t know, counselor. They frown on that stuff at the precinct.”
Bullshit, Lauren thought. The hot-blooded Greek was just negotiating. “The escort would be well-received, I assure you.”
“You’ve turned down my last two dinner invitations. You saying a third might be charmed?”
“I never eat a salad without feta cheese and Greek olives, if that tells you anything.”
In awe, Mayson watched Loukanis turn to his partner to discuss the proposition. To help Tyler in a desperate venture offering her nothing, Lauren was prepared to date this cop. Loukanis turned back now. “Which airline?”
“American.”
“Let’s go, then. And stay close, Counselor, I’d hate to lose you.”
The unit’s lights flashed, the siren shrieked and yet there was nowhere to go in the clogged street. Finally the traffic parted and Lauren followed Loukanis through the narrow seam. Ignoring traffic lights, they were soon sailing across Manhattan, La Guardia once again reachable. “Can you believe this?” Lauren smiled over the irony. “A murder fugitive being escorted to the airport by an assistant DA and the NYPD. Make sure you tell Tyler. He’ll get a real kick out of this.”
Mayson braced as they skidded into a turn behind the streaking unit. “You’ll accept his next invitation, won’t you?”
“Why not? He’s great looking, don’t you think... Hold on.” She skidded into another turn, her tires squealing. Coming out of it, she hit the gas hard. “That’d make the guys at Indy proud!” She grinned at her frightened passenger. “Don’t wet your pants, Mayson. There’s no time for a change.”
The sun was rising as they streaked across the Triborough Bridge. La Guardia loomed ahead. Turning off his siren and lights Loukanis whipped into the service road, Lauren on his bumper. “Whatever you think of me,” Mayson said, “I respect your feelings for Tyler and the risk you’ve taken to help him.”
“Look,” Lauren sighed. “I’m sorry for what I said back there. I get that way when I’m flustered.”
“Me too,” Mayson smiled. A real pain in the ass, Tyler would say.
Reaching American’s flight lanes, Loukanis took the one closest to the terminal. Flashing his lights and starting the siren again, he coaxed the traffic forward. “Bully,” Lauren laughed, creeping behind him.
At the terminal entrance, he parked in an emergency zone, leaving space for Lauren to squeeze in behind him. Mayson tensed as he and his partner climbed out. “Jerome Crawford,” Lauren identified the older, heavier officer. “Close to retirement, a bushel of grandkids; a real pussycat. Just stay calm.”
How? Mayson anxiously searched the faces along the walkway. A beaming Loukanis helped Lauren out of the car. “How’s that for service, huh?”
“I’m impressed. How about you, Deborah?”
“Wonderful,” Mayson groped for enthusiasm in a pit of nerves.
Grabbing her suitcase, Crawford helped her out. His ruddy face was thick like his body, his moustache, salt-and-pepper frizz. “And where might you be off to so early this morning, Deborah?”
“Atlanta.” She realized now he was absorbing her face. Did he recognize her from one of her many excursions to Manhattan’s courthouses?
“Nice place, Atlanta,” he nodded. “And sure warmer than New York this time of year.”
“That’s a strange accent for Atlanta,” Loukanis said.
“Deborah grew up in Flatbush,” Lauren quickly explained. “Only Jeff Burns came along to make a carpetbagger out of her.”
“That must explain why she looks so familiar,” Crawford nodded. “I pulled some years over at the Flatbush precinct. It’s the eyes; I’ve seen them, only without the glasses.”
“I’ve worn them since fifth grade,” Mayson replied. “You must be thinking of someone else.”
“Jerry’s a genius with mugs,” said Loukanis. “Especially pretty ones. If he says he remembers you, I’d bet a month’s pay, he’s right.”
Mayson’s eyes flashed at Lauren. Taking the cue, she grabbed the suitcase. “Call me, Loukanis. We have to run now.”
“This afternoon,” he grinned. “Count on it.”
Crawford stopped Mayson before they could get away. “Your maiden name wasn’t Corell, was it?”
She glanced at a frozen Lauren. “Stanley,” she groped. “That was my maiden name.”
“Johnny Corell had a garage over in Flatbush,” he explained. “Did all the precinct’s repairs. His daughter looked just like you.”
“We’ll watch your car,” Loukanis said as they started off. “Just don’t be too long. We get a call, we gotta go.”
Mayson froze as she caught the Feds posted at the terminal entrance. Lauren smiled. “Don’t act suspicious or you will be. Did I tell you? Your last name is Burns.”
“I’m a carpetbagger and my husband’s Jeff.”
“Right, and he’ll be furious if you miss your flight. Now come on, cuz.” She nudged Mayson towards the entrance where the Feds solemnly studied the traffic flowing through the glass doors. Holding her breath, Mayson slipped under their noses and followed Lauren over to the ticket counter.
Checking the suitcase in, Lauren answered the attendant’s questions which he briskly fed into his computer as Mayson’s eyes bounced between the counter and the Feds. Her stomach tightened as her eyes’ next bounce was into a Fed’s threatening dark glasses. Quickly she turned back to the counter. As Lauren finally led her away, the Fed’s shades followed them into the busy concourse. “He was watching me,” Mayson whispered.
“How could you tell with those shades on?” Lauren hurried along. “He could’ve been admiring my fantastic legs.”
They reached the screening station manned by a cluster of NYPD Blues, State Grays and dark-suited Feds. “I can’t do this.” Mayson froze.
“Yes, you can,” Lauren ordered. “We can’t have Tyler arrive in Naples only to find you’ve chickened out. Now if bullshit’s required, let me handle it. It’s my specialty.”
They drew increasing attention as the line shortened, the officers’ alert eyes missing nothing as subjects passed through the metal detector. As the woman ahead of Mayson stepped through the detector, a dozen pair of eyes meticulously disrobed her. One pair, dark and piercing, drifted back to Mayson – those of the diminutive State Gray, who now whispered to the Fed beside him. Was he...? Madonna mia, he was — the process server who delivered suit papers to the firm! Dropping her purse onto the belt, she started for the detector as Lauren found an acquaintance. “Bennie Devlin! Where have you been keeping yourself?”
“I got a promotion,” the young NYPD Blue grinned.
“Promotion?” Lauren tossed her purse onto the belt as Mayson grabbed hers on the other side. “You mean they have something better than DA Liaison?”
“Runner,” Devlin laughed. “I just got my own beat. We’re pulling time on the Corelli manhunt.”
Stepping through the detector, Lauren snatched up her purse. “Congratulations, Bennie, it’s...”
“Miss, hold it right there.”
Lauren’s eyes shot to Mayson, who’d frozen down the hall as a Gray and two Feds converged. “She’s my cousin, Deborah Burns.” She hurried over. “I’m getting her on a flight which leaves... Oh Lord!” she glanced at her watch. “In nine minutes. Deborah, we should run.”
One of the Feds smiled coldly. “We still need to establish her identity.”
Lauren cringed as the crowd grew around them. “Look, she’s my cousin who’s been visiting and is on her way home. Her husband and baby will be expecting her at the Atlanta airport in two hours. Please don’t make us late.”
“ID,” the Fed repeated. “Plastic stuff with Deborah Burns on it. That should take ten seconds.”
“They’re just stalling,” the Gray said. “This woman’s Mayson Corelli. I’ve seen her at Lieber Allen a hundred times.”
“You’re sure?” the Fed asked.
He nodded. “I wouldn’t have stopped her if I wasn’t.”
“This is insane!” Lauren fumed. “Don’t you think I know my own cousin? I’m an assistant DA, for Christ’s sake! Do you think I’d escort a murder fugitive to the airport?”
The Fed’s hard glare found Mayson. “Let’s have the purse, ma’am. If you’re who your loudmouth friend says...”
“Watch who you’re calling loudmouth!” Lauren snapped.
With an arrogant cackle, he reached for Mayson’s purse. “No!” she clutched it tightly. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Nodding at his associate, the two Feds now converged on the small, feisty woman. “Lauren, you’re the prosecutor.” She wrestled furiously. “Tell them I have rights!”
Finally she was stripped of the purse. One Fed was about to dig inside when his associate warned, “Better wait for Agent Big-Shot.”
The crowd’s attention shifted to the dark-suited, dark-shaded clone approaching rapidly. Distinguished by his silver-streaked hair, he nevertheless moved with the same swiftness as the younger Feds; he was a handsome man, and one with apparent rank. The others moved back as he reached the scene. “What do we have, Agent Salzburg?” he asked his subordinate holding the purse.
Salzburg nodded at the Gray. “Daniels claims the subject here is Mayson Corelli. When she resisted our efforts to confirm her identity, we were forced to restrain her.”
“That’s her purse?”
“Yes sir.”
He removed his dark glasses to study her more closely. “Who does she claim to be?”
“I don’t claim to be anyone,” she retorted furiously. “My name is Deborah Burns and I’ve been visiting my cousin, Lauren Belli, who prosecutes criminals, not helps them escape — something these stupid brutes can’t get through their thick heads. And their gross incompetence has probably caused me to miss my flight to Atlanta, where my husband and baby are waiting.”
“Thank you,” he nodded. “I believe that answers my question.” He glanced at the others. “A feisty one you’ve hooked here. Your accent, Mrs. Burns, strikes me as a little further north of Atlanta.”
“I’m from Flatbush. We moved to Atlanta three years ago.”
“Would you remove your glasses?” As she obeyed, he asked Daniels, “What do you think now?”
“It’s Corelli, all right,” he nodded.
“Well we can confirm it quickly enough,” he said, grabbing her purse from Agent Salzburg.
She glanced at a horrified Lauren as he opened her purse and began flipping through the plastic cards -.VISA, Exxon, ATM, New York Bar card, and driver’s license, with the glossy picture, issued to Mayson Angelina Corelli - they all flashed across her mind. She’d been so proud of her identity, of all she’d accomplished. Yet now it was sending her to prison. The rules never changed; she was, after all, a Corelli.
“Sir, is it her or not?” Salzburg grew impatient.
Finally Chief Fed returned the purse. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Burns, we’re just doing our jobs. Unfortunately, we make mistakes. I hope you can still catch your flight.” Behind him the others groaned with disappointment and confusion. Mayson glanced at an equally stunned Lauren.
“Sir, this must be some clever alias,” Daniels insisted. “This woman is Mayson Corelli.”
“Her Georgia driver’s license is the real McCoy,” Chief Fed replied. “I had one myself once.”
But Daniels wasn’t ready to concede the point. “That’s Mayson Corelli. I’ll swear it in an affidavit.”
“The lady has a valid ID,” Salzberg replied. “There’s nothing we can do.”
“We can take her in,” Daniels persisted.
“That’ll be enough!” Chief Fed barked, then turned to Salzburg. “Check on Mrs. Burns’ flight. If it hasn’t left, hold it. If it has, get her on the next one out.”
Salzburg’s glare frosted her as he hurried off. Chief Fed now scribbled on his business card and gave it to her. “I noticed your Diners Club Card. A friend of mine has the best seafood restaurant in Atlanta; the First Mate. Maybe you’ve been there. If not, take your husband and tell the owner, Joe Wright, I sent you. He’ll fix you up with the best broiled seafood you’ve ever tasted.” He nodded. “The address is on the card.”
She caught the urgency in his eyes. It was hardly restaurant information he was providing, and she didn’t have a Diners Club card. Who was he, this man who’d read “Deborah Burns” when her ID plainly stated “Mayson Angelina Corelli”? She slipped the card into her purse as Salzburg returned. “Her flight’s waiting, sir.”
“You’d better hurry,” Chief Fed now smiled. “You don’t want to keep that baby waiting.”
“No sir. And thank you for straightening this mess out; thank you very much.” Winking at a speechless Lauren, she hurried off to catch her flight.