CHAPTER 22
I tucked the gun into the waistband of my jeans, stuffed the ski mask inside the pocket of Uretsky’s green army jacket, and kissed Ruby good-bye. It was a long kiss, more desperate than passionate, the kind that spoke of final farewells. Forget the maxim “Live each day like it’s your last.” If I lived each day feeling like this, I’d go totally insane.
I hurried along the concrete sidewalk, a block away from Giovanni’s, and kept my head low. Taking a glance down Kent Street, I saw ample parking for Ruby. Thankfully, there were already several parked cars in addition to the available spaces. A deserted street might have drawn unwanted police attention to a lone car. Parking here required a resident permit, which we happened to have. Was it happenstance that Uretsky picked a store for me to hit in our neighborhood or part of his planning? I had no way to know. I just kept walking.
I knew this neighborhood well—it was far removed from the livelier locales of Somerville—so it was no surprise to find the streets quiet at this time of night. A weeknight in a quiet neighborhood meant fewer cars on the road, too, and fewer witnesses to my upcoming crime. Was that part of Uretsky’s planning as well? Did he want this to be a layup, because he wanted me to get away and keep playing his twisted game? Another maxim came to me, the tried and true: Only time will tell.
Yes, time would indeed tell all.
Low scudding clouds, dirty and gray as the sidewalk, glowed eerily above the city lights, providing a foreboding canopy under which I walked. I took another glance at my cell phone. Ten fifty-five. Five minutes until showtime. I had shut my ringer off because I didn’t want anything to distract me while I was pointing an unloaded gun at an innocent man’s chest.
Ruby had sent me a text message. I love you, she wrote. Be safe. Please be safe. XOXO I LOVE YOU I LOVEYOU I LOVEYOU
“I love you, too,” I whispered to the air.
I texted her back. I’ll be safe. I love you more than anything. Then I shut off my phone.
I quickened my pace crossing the sidewalk in front of a shopping plaza. The wide parking lot that abutted a Family Dollar Store, Papa John’s Pizza, and a dog grooming business created an open area that left me feeling vulnerable and exposed as I passed. I crossed over a side street, relieved that a yellow-brick café called City Munchies provided some shelter. The lights above the café’s orange-colored awnings were on, but those inside the store were not. Quiet streets could mean a quiet liquor store. I hoped Giovanni had serviced his last customer before I went barging in. Witnesses were bad enough, but hostages would be a heck of a lot worse.
I’m doing this for Dr. Adams, for Rhonda, for Ruby. . . .
Giovanni’s occupied the lower level of a three-story, vinyl-sided building. I saw a few lights on in the apartments above the store, meaning people were at home—people who might see me dashing out Giovanni’s front door, headed straight for Kent Street. I said a silent prayer, not just one evoking God’s name, but a real honest-to-goodness prayer, something I’d never done before, even on my most perilous climbs. Nature had always been my religion, but at that moment I needed a dose of the more powerful to guide me.
I decided to do a walk by first, check things out, and get a lay of the land. A quick glance inside the liquor store would allow me to scope out the scene before I went barging in with gun drawn. The neon glow from an array of beer signs hanging in the store windows lit my face as I ambled past. I took a quick glance inside, so focused on my surveillance that I momentarily lost my footing. I regained my balance and finished crossing in front of the store, taking quicker steps than before.
On what had to have been the most conspicuous walk by in crime history, I managed to catch a quick glimpse inside and saw the guy working the cash register. I assumed he was Giovanni. If so, Giovanni was a portly fellow, with a dark oil slick of pomade-covered hair, wearing a short-sleeved button-down black shirt that showcased two beefy—and hairy—forearms. He looked bored leaning up against his counter, aggressively chewing on something—an entire pack of gum, or so it seemed to me. I didn’t see anybody else inside.
I stood in the doorway of the adjacent hardware store. My chest heaved while I labored for breath. My throat closed up, heart rate jacked, blood thudding in my ears, hands slippery, and my skin clammy to the touch. I took in a bunch of short breaths the way a free diver readies himself to take a plunge.
“You can do this. . . . You can do this. . . . You can do this . . . ,” I said aloud.
The front door shouldn’t be locked, I thought, though I didn’t check it on my flyby. I could imagine Giovanni’s stunned expression were he to see a man in a ski mask, pulling haplessly on his locked front door. That would make the news for sure.
I took several furtive glances up and down the street while withdrawing the ski mask from my jacket pocket. I pulled the mask over my head, feeling the wool scratching against my face. I was hit by an instant uptick of adrenaline, the mask somehow emboldening me. I reached into the waistband of my jeans and gripped the gun with my sweat-slickened fingers. I looked left, then right. It was clear in both directions.
Springing from the shadows of the hardware store, I made a dash to the adjacent building, grabbed hold of the door handle to Giovanni’s Liquors, and pulled the door open. I burst into the store with my arm outstretched and the unloaded gun trained on Giovanni. It didn’t sound like me shouting: “Get your hands up. This is a robbery!”
But it was.