What would that mean? What would a man like Peters do next?
Cooper froze, every muscle locking like stone. Someone bumped into him from behind, and he spun, hands ready. A sad-looking man in a business suit jumped, his eyes wide. “Hey, man, watch where you’re…”
But Cooper was already moving. Sprinting, despite the risk. A mini-mall was ahead on the right, one of those indoor places with a dozen fading businesses that never seemed to quite go under. He yanked open the door and stepped inside.
Muzak, and the multilayered reek of the candle shop by the entrance. A handful of shoppers wandering like zombies. His boot heels rang on the polished floor. A tanning place, a convenience store, a hair salon, a bright hallway leading to the bathrooms. Opposite them he found a payphone with a frayed cord, the phone book stolen long ago. He dug in his pockets. No change.
Back to the convenience store. He threw a ten at the vigilant-eyed Pakistani behind the register. “Quarters. I need quarters.”
“No change—”
“Give me four goddamn quarters and keep the rest.”
The man stared at him, shrugged, and opened the register in slow motion. Dipped in the drawer like he was pushing through water to do it. “Crazy, you are crazy.”
Cooper snatched the coins and ran back to the payphone. Almost knocked over a suburban-looking chick with big hair, didn’t slow.
He slotted two coins, then dialed Natalie’s number. Held the phone to his ear, his heart going wilder than it ever had in the cemetery, his hands shaking, control slipping. Ring. Ring. Ring. Come on, come on, come—
“Hello, Cooper. Welcome home.”
The world seemed to spin. He planted a hand against the wall. That voice. He knew that voice. “Dickinson.”
“Got it in one.”
“Where are my—”
“Children? They’re safe. Safe as can be. Your ex-wife, too. All three are in the loving arms of Equitable Services.”
Whatever happens, I’ll take care of your family.
Cooper wanted to rage, to scream threats down the line. But it wouldn’t do any good, he knew that.
Did it anyway. “Listen to me, you piece of shit, you let my children—”
“Shut up.” Dickinson calm as the eye of the hurricane ravaging the countryside, calm as the iceberg ripping open the Titanic. “Just be quiet. Okay?”
He started to reply, managed to stop himself.
“Good. Now. This is simple. We’re not gangsters, and this isn’t a B movie. This is a situation you created. And it’s a situation you can resolve.”
Cooper bit his tongue, literally bit it, jamming his teeth down and relishing the pain and focus it brought.
“Here’s how,” Dickinson continued. “Just come in. Come in, and bring what you stole. Simple as that. I’m not going to bullshit you. You won’t walk out again. But it will be quick, I’ll promise that. And we’ll let your family go.”
“Listen to me, Roger, listen. Drew Peters is not what he says he is. He’s a criminal. What I stole, it’s a drive, and it’s got evidence to back me up—”
“Listen to me, Cooper. Are you?”
“Yes.”
“I. Don’t. Care.”
The second of silence that followed sounded like an earthquake.
“Get me? I don’t care. It’s not my job to care.”
“Roger, I know you’re dedicated, I know you’re a believer, but what you believe in, it’s all a lie.”
Through the phone, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Don’t you remember what I said that morning, after Bryan Vasquez died?”
Cooper forced himself to think back. “You said you didn’t hate me because I was an abnorm. You hate me because you think I’m weak.”
“I don’t hate you at all, Cooper. That’s the point. But I believe. And you don’t.”
Cooper rubbed at his face with his hand. “Roger, please—”