He could go to their table and tell them what had happened, tell them about the men in suits who’d come into the restaurant just after he had. Yes, that made sense. Best available choice, assessing the situation the same way he did when approaching the line of scrimmage. Alex steeled himself for the task for several moments and slid out from the alcove, turning left toward where the cops must’ve been seated.
Where one of the black-suited men was standing over their table, smiling and exchanging handshakes.
Were the cops involved in this too, in league with the killer at the hospital and these men as well?
Alex could wait no longer. Had to take his chances they were looking for a kid wearing hospital garb instead of clothes pilfered from a dead doctor’s closet. Swung right toward the main entrance, started walking and didn’t stop, didn’t turn, half expecting a big strong hand to clamp down on his shoulder. But it didn’t and then he was through the door back outside into the cool night.
He looked back only when he was in the darkest part of the Rigolo parking lot, standing beside an older model Lincoln Town Car. Writing stenciled onto the rear window read, WATSON FUNTERAL HOME, followed by an address and phone number. Alex thought of the four men inside wearing identical black suits. They were funeral home workers, coming from a memorial service, probably, and were well acquainted with the complement of local police officers who often provided them a security detail.
Alex started to relax ever so slightly when the screech of car tires snapped him back to reality.
27
LOVE BUG
SAM’S VOLKSWAGEN BEETLE, THE old model from circa 1990 had barely come to a halt when Alex lunged out of the shadows outside of Rigolo and jerked the passenger-side door open.
“Don’t stop!” he ordered when she jammed on the brakes, his eyes checking the street behind him. “Just drive!”
Sam did, screeching off and bleeding more remnants of rubber from her nearly bald tires.
“This car reminds me of the Love Bug,” Alex said, his voice settling. “You know, from those movies we watched as kids.”
“Seems like a long time ago now.”
“Disney, I think,” he continued, running his hand across the plastic over the glove compartment. He cocked his gaze behind him again, out the sloped rear window crusted over with dust and grime. “I think we’re safe. No one’s following us.”
“Who would be following us?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know who they are, what they are,” Alex said, his eyes dull with shock as he regarded her from the passenger seat.
How was she going to tell him?
“Alex,” Sam started.
He’d turned away, gazing emptily forward. “A funeral home, can you believe it?”
“Believe what?”
“Never mind. Just take me home. My parents aren’t answering the phone. I’m afraid … I think something may be … wrong.” That final word emerging with a mouthful of air. “I just have this feeling.…”
Sam clenched the wheel tighter as she drove on, afraid to let Alex see the fear, the sadness, in her eyes over what she had to tell him. “What happened at the hospital?” she asked instead.
“I don’t know. My doctor’s dead.”
“What?”
“Somebody killed him.”
“Did you call the police?” she said, focusing on the road so as not to meet his stare.
“I couldn’t find a phone. And when I finally did, I called you. Whoever killed him was after me too. That’s why I ran.” His eyes tightened their focus, chasing her down. “What’s wrong, Sam? You’re scared, I can tell.”
“Well, you scared me,” she said, without looking at him.
“No, you were already scared when I called,” Alex said, as if realizing that himself for the first time. “I could hear it in your voice.”
She could feel him still staring across the seat at her.
“What’s wrong, Sam?”
She swallowed hard. “I need to tell you something.”
“So tell me.”
“It’s not so easy.” Trying to look at him now. “It’s about your parents.”
“My parents?”
She squeezed the steering wheel so tight, her fingers ached. “You’re right, somebody did hurt them. I was at your house, waiting for you, and I saw…”
Sam’s voice trailed off and she couldn’t get the words back.
“What? What happened?”
“I came in through the back. Your mother, your father…”
He snapped a hand out, fastening on her shoulder so hard she nearly lost control of the Beetle, just managed to hold it straight, its worn tires humming atop the pavement.
“Sorry,” he said, pulling his hand away. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Things are very far from okay.” Then, locking his unblinking stare upon her: “Aren’t they?”
“I…”
“What happened to my parents?”
“Someone hurt them.”
“Hurt,” Alex repeated. “But they’re okay, right? They’re alive.”
He watched Sam squeeze the steering wheel tighter. “I don’t know. We should go to my house. My parents will—”
“No, get me home. Drive faster,” Alex said, his gaze going blank and fixing forward as he settled stiffly into the passenger seat.
“The men who did…” Sam twisted his way, the spray of oncoming headlights making her face look shiny and reflecting off her glasses. “I think it was about you, Alex.”
“Why?”