war, the place a shambles, the four
bodies lying there, rumpled and bloody. She said nothing, just walked over to Red, and sank down beside him, and began to
stroke his hair. And then tenderly kissed him on the forehead, and rose. “I’m ready to go now,” she said.
He took her into the small upstairs bedroom, and she showed him the suitcase in the closet, and he filled it for her, putting
everything of hers he could find in the case, the total barely taking up three-quarters of the cardboard and metal container.
He snapped the case shut, then took her arm, and led her down the stairs, her body offering no resistance.
He made her wait by the door while he checked outside. No one around yet. When he led her out, she never looked back, just
allowed him to seat her inside the Cord. She patiently sat there, hands in lap, as he put away the suitcase, then got behind
the driver’s wheel. He started the car, and they left, her eyes never turning, always straight ahead.
All the way into Manhattan, he kept checking the rearview mirror, but no one followed them. Finally, a few blocks from Times
Square, he pulled up to the Greyhound Station.
“You’re going to have to get out of town,” he told her.
She nodded numbly.
“Do you have anyone you can go to?” he asked.
She looked at him, the life in her eyes a bare flicker. “No one. Red was all I had.”
He took out his wallet, and counted some bills. “Here’s three hundred dollars. This should keep you going for a while, until
you can find yourself a job and a new life.”
She said nothing as he placed his card in with the bills. “If you run into any problems, if you need more money, whatever,
call me at this number, collect, no matter what the time is. There’s always someone at the hotel to handle my messages.”
She nodded numbly. They went inside the terminal and he bought her a ticket to Chicago. Big city. Easy to hide there. More
jobs available. More people to meet. Maybe, in time, someone to love.
He put her on the bus and waited till it left, watching her as she sat by the window. She never looked at him, not even when
it finally pulled away, no acknowledgment of any sort. Hell, why should she, he thought. If it weren’t for me, her husband
would still be alive.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
He didn’t want to call Gina. He’d been responsible for the deaths of enough innocent people already. But he did want to call
her. With Maria a cheater, it seemed more likely than ever that Nuzzo had killed her, and if Gina could be convinced that
Maria had been fooling around, her loyalty might diminish, and she might be more likely to cooperate. Besides, he wanted to
see her again. Had to. With Susan Venable, the company’s doctor, it had been nothing but physical. Already that had been consummated
and was over with. Gina wasn’t like that, although certainly he felt a physical pull. There was something more there, much
more. Gina felt like forever.
He wasn’t surprised at the feeling that ran through him when he heard her voice on the phone. “Hello?”
“Miss Lomenzo—Gina,” he said. “This is Bill Lockwood. From the insurance company.”
“Yes, I know. I recognize your voice. It’s funny—I’d been thinking about you.”
“Something about the case?”
“Yes, I—no,” she admitted. “I was just—thinking of you. Isn’t that odd?”
“I hope not,” he said. “Look, I’ve got to see you.”
Her breathing quickened. “I don’t know.”
“It’s important.”
She hesitated, started to speak, stopped, and finally said, “All right. Where?”
“I think I’m poison in Brooklyn. We’d better stay away from there. Look, there’s an Indian restaurant on West 49th Street
here in Manhattan. Between Broadway and Sixth. The Bombay India Inn. Do you think you could find it?”
“Yes. I know New York.”
“Good. Seven o’clock all right?”
“Whatever you say.”
“Okay. Listen, remember the way you
bodies lying there, rumpled and bloody. She said nothing, just walked over to Red, and sank down beside him, and began to
stroke his hair. And then tenderly kissed him on the forehead, and rose. “I’m ready to go now,” she said.
He took her into the small upstairs bedroom, and she showed him the suitcase in the closet, and he filled it for her, putting
everything of hers he could find in the case, the total barely taking up three-quarters of the cardboard and metal container.
He snapped the case shut, then took her arm, and led her down the stairs, her body offering no resistance.
He made her wait by the door while he checked outside. No one around yet. When he led her out, she never looked back, just
allowed him to seat her inside the Cord. She patiently sat there, hands in lap, as he put away the suitcase, then got behind
the driver’s wheel. He started the car, and they left, her eyes never turning, always straight ahead.
All the way into Manhattan, he kept checking the rearview mirror, but no one followed them. Finally, a few blocks from Times
Square, he pulled up to the Greyhound Station.
“You’re going to have to get out of town,” he told her.
She nodded numbly.
“Do you have anyone you can go to?” he asked.
She looked at him, the life in her eyes a bare flicker. “No one. Red was all I had.”
He took out his wallet, and counted some bills. “Here’s three hundred dollars. This should keep you going for a while, until
you can find yourself a job and a new life.”
She said nothing as he placed his card in with the bills. “If you run into any problems, if you need more money, whatever,
call me at this number, collect, no matter what the time is. There’s always someone at the hotel to handle my messages.”
She nodded numbly. They went inside the terminal and he bought her a ticket to Chicago. Big city. Easy to hide there. More
jobs available. More people to meet. Maybe, in time, someone to love.
He put her on the bus and waited till it left, watching her as she sat by the window. She never looked at him, not even when
it finally pulled away, no acknowledgment of any sort. Hell, why should she, he thought. If it weren’t for me, her husband
would still be alive.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
He didn’t want to call Gina. He’d been responsible for the deaths of enough innocent people already. But he did want to call
her. With Maria a cheater, it seemed more likely than ever that Nuzzo had killed her, and if Gina could be convinced that
Maria had been fooling around, her loyalty might diminish, and she might be more likely to cooperate. Besides, he wanted to
see her again. Had to. With Susan Venable, the company’s doctor, it had been nothing but physical. Already that had been consummated
and was over with. Gina wasn’t like that, although certainly he felt a physical pull. There was something more there, much
more. Gina felt like forever.
He wasn’t surprised at the feeling that ran through him when he heard her voice on the phone. “Hello?”
“Miss Lomenzo—Gina,” he said. “This is Bill Lockwood. From the insurance company.”
“Yes, I know. I recognize your voice. It’s funny—I’d been thinking about you.”
“Something about the case?”
“Yes, I—no,” she admitted. “I was just—thinking of you. Isn’t that odd?”
“I hope not,” he said. “Look, I’ve got to see you.”
Her breathing quickened. “I don’t know.”
“It’s important.”
She hesitated, started to speak, stopped, and finally said, “All right. Where?”
“I think I’m poison in Brooklyn. We’d better stay away from there. Look, there’s an Indian restaurant on West 49th Street
here in Manhattan. Between Broadway and Sixth. The Bombay India Inn. Do you think you could find it?”
“Yes. I know New York.”
“Good. Seven o’clock all right?”
“Whatever you say.”
“Okay. Listen, remember the way you
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