“No,” Charlie said, shaking his head. Did the guy think he wouldn’t have mentioned it? But he kept looking. “Tell me who you are again?”
“Name’s Lewis. Friend of your mom and dad, from a long time ago.” He looked sideways at Charlie for a moment, his face gone funny. “You look like him, you know. Like your dad.” He turned back to the road. “Sorry about him dying.”
It was a weird thing to say, but people had said a lot of weird things since his dad had died. But Charlie was curious about something. “So, um. Why haven’t I met you before?”
“We were friends in school. We all got mad and had a big fight. It was a long time ago. You want to talk about it later, that’s fine with me, but maybe right now we find that truck, all right?”
With the police station behind them, they sped up again, weaving through traffic like they were standing still.
“Charlie,” said Lewis. “I need your help. So I got to tell you something hard. You ready?” He looked sideways at Charlie again. “That truck got a bomb in it.”
Charlie closed his eyes. Damn. His mom. His little brother. His damn mom! “What are they going to do with it?”
“That’s what I want to know,” said Lewis. “What’s the target? Shit, what if it’s in downtown Chicago?”
Charlie thought that seemed like a long way to go with a bomb in your truck. It was like the challenge problems in math class, trying to find the right path though a complicated equation. Then he saw the path.
He said, “What’s the tallest building in Milwaukee?”
48
Lewis
Lewis blinked.
It was the U.S. Bank building.
He could see it in his head, a forty-two-story tower with white geometric bars, the bank logo right at the top. It even looked a little like the World Trade Center.
He looked at Charlie. “You got it. That’s the one.”
Thinking now that he really knew how they were going to make money. Skinner would have shorted bank stocks in general for several months in advance, as well as the market as a whole. He could have done that for nearly nothing, with a colossal upside if he could collapse the market, even for a day.
It was a good plan. Wasn’t illegal to bet against the banks.
He pulled the Yukon to the side of the road. “Okay, kid. Time for you to get out.”
The kid shook his head. Looked straight out the windshield. “No, sir,” he said. The dog growled.
“No?” Lewis gave him his best dead-eyed glare. “Boy, you do not want to go where I’m going. This shit is gonna get real ugly. So get the hell outta my ride and take that damn dog, too.”
“Nope.” The kid set his mouth, stuck his chin out, and shook his head again. He looked so much like Jimmy right then. That same fucking stubbornness.
“Don’t make me hurt you, boy. Get out of the truck.”
Charlie looked at Lewis then, looked him right in the eye. “No, sir,” he said. Very crisp and clear. “That’s my mom and my little brother in that truck. So I’m going. Sir.”
Lewis looked at the boy. Could see the man he might become. Lewis thought he’d like to know him. Not that Dinah would allow it. Even if they both managed to live through the next twenty minutes.
“Okay.” Lewis nodded. “Okay.” Then he put the pedal down and peeled out into traffic. “But here’s the deal. You pay close attention, you do what I say, the first time I say it. No bullshit, no back talk, you hear me? I’m trying to keep you alive. If you die and your mother lives, she’s gonna consider that failure, and so would I. That’s not the trade she would make, you hear me? So keep your damn fool head down. And I’m not givin’ you a firearm, so don’t ask. Now I got something stupid planned, so get in the backseat. Right behind me, hear? And put on your seat belt nice and tight.”
“What about Mingus?”
Lewis shook his head. All this shit and the kid was still thinking about the damn dog.
“Get him in your lap if you can, and hold on tight. You don’t want him on the passenger side.”
49
Dinah
Dinah wrestled the Mitsubishi down Humboldt. The huge pit in her stomach had nothing to do with driving the truck. It was big and clumsy, but if she didn’t have to make too many turns, it wasn’t difficult. She looked sideways at Felix in his uniform with his spooky eyes. He had his arm around her boy’s shoulder, the muzzle of the gun pressed into his side.
“Why are you doing this?”
He didn’t answer her. He stared straight ahead, lips moving but no sound coming out. Like he was praying.
The road was terrible, and the Mitsubishi’s suspension was not designed for comfort. She felt every crack and pothole with a jolt up her spine.
“Talk to me, please, talk to me,” she said. “Tell me why my son has to die.”
“Just drive,” said the man. His voice was thin, but his grip on her son was still strong. “It’ll be over soon.”
She wanted the courage to just wreck the truck, drive it off a bridge. The river was coming up. That would be the best thing for it, to drop the bomb in the river. But she wasn’t sure she could.
50
Peter