The Fives Run North-South (24 page)

“If you want a clear picture of how civility and selflessness has evaporated from our society, spend about five minutes on the highway,” Fred said as he chewed his first mouthful of lasagna.

Cary laughed, sipping her wine. Her dish was still too hot to eat, still steaming from the microwave. She marveled at how Fred seemed immune to stuff that really bothered her. He could sip Starbucks seconds after it was poured, and was effortlessly chewing lasagna that would blister the roof of her mouth.

“I mean, maybe I’m imagining it,” Fred continued. “But it seemed like it wasn’t too long ago that the road
was
—
like
our
society
—
a
bit more orderly. The left lane was for faster drivers, the right for slower. Now you have lazy,
slow
-
moving
people clogging the left lane, probably because they don’t want to deal with merging traffic. And you have speed demons passing on the right because I suppose they think it protects them from cops. The highway’s like a big video game now where you have to keep your head on a swivel to keep from getting killed.”

“So what’s happened?” Cary asked.

“An example of rudeness. I mean, everyone seems to think they can do whatever they want on the roads, and I’m sick of it.”

“So what happened? Come on, Fred, it’s not fair to leave me in suspense like this.”

He smiled, taking another sip of wine. “Boy, this is good,” he said. “You know, there’s not a lot that a good meal with nice wine can’t fix. I’m already starting to feel better. I mean, I was just driving home after a fairly rough day. Looking forward to taking off the tie and kicking back. Ahead I saw a car, a red SUV actually, waiting to come into traffic. I was coming up to it quickly, and here’s the thing, there was absolutely no one behind me. He was at a dead stop, and it looked very much like he saw me and was waiting to enter the road after I passed. I mean, it was a flat, straight piece of road. I saw him and he saw me from a good distance away. Then, just as I was about to pass the son of a bitch, he hits the gas and pulls out right in front of me. I had to slam on the brakes to keep from
rear
-
ending
him. And like I said,
there wasn’t a fucking soul behind me!
”

“Unbelievable,” Cary said.

“Unbelievable is right. I laid on the horn. And, of course, he was in such a rush to get in front of me, but now that he’s in my path he moves five miles below the speed limit. So I flash my lights because it’s impossible to pass on that road. He ignores me. If anything, he slows down.”

Cary shook her head in support, finally able to put some lasagna in her mouth, and gave him an encouraging “Umph” as she chewed.

“Finally, I get to a point where I can pass him. I floor it, and guess what?”

“Don’t tell me he speeds up?”

Fred nodded. “Speeds up. We’re quickly coming to a bend in the road, and you can bet there’s oncoming traffic. I had it up to seventy by the time I got ahead of him. Then, suddenly, a guy who could only manage
forty
-
five
is riding my tail at sixty.”

“So what happened next?” Cary asked.

Fred shook his head, looking off as if he were trying to remember. He shrugged and put another fork full of food in his mouth. Shrugging, he said as he ate, “Ass finally backed off.”

Cary frowned. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“But how did that make it so that you got home so late?”

“Well, to begin with, I didn’t leave immediately after I gave my ring,” he said. “And I did stop at a gas station a little while later. Anyways, let’s change the subject. It’s starting to get my heart rate up again just talking about it. How was your day?”

“Not nearly as eventful,” Cary said. “But of course it never is, is it?”

“We ended up having a nice talk and a rare nice evening afterward,” Cary told Ben. “We downloaded a pretty good movie, and it made us laugh. It’s good for a husband and wife to laugh together, I think. We’d have probably been better off if we’d found a way to do that more often.”

Ben nodded. “Can be said about a lot of relationships.”

“But the thing is, even that night, I felt I was getting only half the story. He couldn’t explain why he’d taken so long to get home. I had lots of ideas and suspicions, especially over the following weeks. It turns out that night was really one of our last good ones. Things grew more and more tense from there. It finally got to the point where we decided to separate. I struggled to understand at the time; he just became edgy.

“I’ve since learned that he did lose his job. He’d never told me that, even in the weeks following his firing in whatever communications we’d had. He was too proud. But looking back, even that didn’t explain how frazzled he’d become.

“The divorce went through easily; he didn’t put up resistance to anything my lawyer demanded. Our communication stopped, and I was relieved. Then one day I got something in the
mail
—
I
don’t remember
what
—
probably
something from a family member of his or something. I called and sent him an
e
-
mail
, but didn’t hear anything back. I knew he’d checked into an
extended
-
stay
hotel, and since I was doing errands one day I swung by. They’d told me he’d checked out and not left a forwarding address.

“I was concerned. No, more than concerned. But at the same time, I was glad to be free of
him
—
or
at least the guy he’d become. I figured he was doing the
same
—
trying
to figure himself
out
—
and
that eventually he’d reach out to me again. Weeks passed and I heard nothing. Then my friend told me about
Dented
.
I found copies of the magazine and…and everything clicked. I remembered the day of the road rage incident, how odd it was that he’d been gone so long. I read about the stress of Adam dealing with a threat to his career while dealing with that Randall Grosse SUV driver. I don’t know, Ben, it seemed to explain so much. I just felt something was connected. I don’t know how, but it’s the only thing that puts the puzzle pieces together for me.

“And more than that, it makes my husband’s disappearance a little more frightening. What if he didn’t vanish because he needed space or was trying to start over? What if there’s a real Randall Grosse out there? What if he’s done something to my
ex
-
husband
?”

26

“O
kay…what was that?” Paul asked.

Ben took a deep breath. “So I don’t have to repeat everything: Cary thinks Dad based Adam and Suze on her and her husband.”

“That’s what I gathered. So she’s one of those…”

“No,” Ben said, putting his feet up on his coffee table to try and show how relaxed he was with all this. “I kind of don’t think she’s one of those.”

“If she were significantly less attractive, I bet you’d think she was one of those,” Paul said, crossing his legs and looking a whole lot more relaxed than Ben felt.

“I’ll be honest, I was with her because I’m attracted to her. But that got her time with me. A date, really. It was hearing the rest of her story that makes me think there might be something.”

“Oh, come on, Ben. You know your father better than I do. There’s no way. I mean, come on, there are probably a thousand road rage incidents in this country every day. And I have to think at least a few of them involved a red SUV. Drill down and I bet a few of them happen to people who have struggling marriages and a bad time at work. If you think about it, it’s a wonder you don’t have a
half
-
dozen
people who think your dad wrote the book about them. She’s one of those. So do you have another chapter for me?”

Ben shook his head, annoyed that Paul had waved the subject aside so rapidly. “Not yet,” he said.

Paul turned his head slightly, scowling a bit. “Tell me you’ve started the next chapter.”

“It’s right here, don’t worry,” Ben said, pointing to his temple.

“Don’t do this to me, man,” Paul said. “And if you want my advice…”

“Always do.”

“Then on this lady, I’m thinking you ought to avoid inappropriately moving that relationship to the point where it’s…where it’s a relationship.”

The doorbell rang, and Ben stood and left his den. He came back a few seconds later with Walter behind him. Walter was wearing his favorite
T
-
shirt
, white with the orange words “Come in when the street lights go on.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Paul said.

“See,” said Ben. “My test market is here. I’m about to dig in and get the story going. You have nothing to worry about.”

Walter sat in the corner chair, the uncomfortable
straight
-
backed
thing that had been a gift or something. In the winter, Ben used it as the place for his gloves and scarves. Walter seemed to like it, and sat bolt upright in his usual manner. He looked at Ben expectantly and asked: “So what happens next?”

Ben slid his feet back onto the coffee table and said: “What do
you
think should happen next?”

Walter’s eyes grew big and he let loose a smile. Paul’s eyes also went wide, and he said: “You’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me.” He stood up. “I’m out of here. I have to go back to New York for a couple days.” He walked over so that he’d be standing over Ben. “You’re going to send me chapters, right?”

“Of course. No worries.”

Paul shook his head. “Don’t know why I come here. It’s like a dental visit, but without the dignity.”

Ben chuckled as his friend walked out. “You doing okay, Paddy?” he asked Walter.

“Yes. That guy’s too uptight.”

“It’s in his job description.”

“You really haven’t written any more chapters?”

“You’re going to get on my case, too? No, nothing’s written yet. There’s plenty of time till the next deadline.”

Walter seemed to consider that. Then he said: “Do you really want my idea on what happens next?”

“No. I know. Mostly.” Ben pointed to his father’s black notebook over on the desk. Walter looked at it with obvious hunger, but Ben wasn’t letting anyone else see it.

“Listen,” Ben said. “I need you to do something for me. You’re good at Google and Facebook and stuff like that, right?”

Walter just looked at Ben, making it obvious that the question wasn’t even worth an answer.

“I need you to see what you can learn about a man named Fred Spencer. He was pretty high up in a company called Manover Mechanics. Lived in Boston, but doesn’t any longer.”

“Why?”

“Difficult to explain.”

“Does it have anything to do with
Dented
?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Can’t say.”

“Sounds stupid.”

“It might very well be.”

“I don’t like wasting time.”

“You play video games,” Ben said.

“What’s your point?”

“Look, I’ll give you a tidbit. A trade.”

“Tidbit?”

“A fact about the story,” Ben said, pointing to the notebook. “A twist.”

Walter’s face gave Ben his answer.

“What if I told you,” Ben said. “That Randall Grosse didn’t kill Viniteri?”

“I knew it! No way!”

“Way,” Ben said. “Randall’s a bad dude, and he’s certainly capable. But it’ll turn out that he didn’t do that.”

“Who did?”

Ben tapped the side of his nose. “That’s a few chapters away. Get going to your nearest computer and get me all the info you can on Fred Spencer.”

A
fter Walter left, Ben stood up and went over to his desk. He would start a
chapter
—
later
—
but
he needed to run through his father’s notebook again. After hearing Cary’s story, he wondered if some of the information there might take on new meaning if there was even a possibility Rob had based the book on her husband’s story. He stared at the notebook for a minute but felt he had to work his way toward having the energy to open it up. Instead, he looked over at the pile of mail and paperwork he’d brought from his father’s house. The necessary detail work often helped him settle into writing mode and was often the first thing he did when he sat at the desk. Over the last few days, he’d settled the final invoices and had shut down his father’s cell phone, land line, and cable television. He’d responded to a few of his father’s favorite charities, sending a final payment and a note informing them of the situation (in the unlikely event none had read the papers, entertainment magazines, or other forms of media that had overdone their coverage and tributes). He had been working his way down the pile and had a few that he’d seen and set aside because they would take more effort or thought than he’d been willing to spare at the time.

One invoice came to mind now, one he’d seen before but had now taken on a new dimension: an invoice for services rendered by a Roger Glass, Investigator. At the time, it had seemed perhaps a small piece of
look
-
see
to help his father with some fact or two in his books. It had not been unusual for his father to hire people to assist in basic research. And while Ben was still certain that was the case, he now wondered if there might be a connection between Glass, the book, and Fred Spencer. Ben dug out the invoice, and as he’d recalled, found no detail of what Glass had been asked to do. He looked it over for the phone number, found his phone and dialed. It went straight to voice mail. Ben left his name and number, asking Glass to contact him when possible to discuss settling his father’s account.

Ben then dug out the city services invoice and canceled his father’s garbage pickup.

Having done all he could stand of that, he pushed the paperwork aside and brought the black notebook to the center of his desk. He’d not counted on how much the act of writing his father’s book would bring on the sting of loss. It had already stirred in him the strong desire to ask his father a question or have a simple conversation. He hadn’t counted on this exercise drawing out his grief as much as it was.

Part of his father’s popularity was the unpredictability of his thrillers. Some had happy endings, others tragic. Most were in between. But his lack of formula was another element that made Rob Keaton Rob Keaton. Many times, over coffee or beer, Ben and Rob had talked about the strings of a story (Rob’s words), strings that either dangled or tied together by the end. Sometimes the strings would fray, giving the author
choices
—
some
good, some bad. It was fun to follow those frays to see how they could lead to alternate endings both horrible and
sugary
-
sweet
. Often Rob would leave them messy and untied until well into the story, as characters developed their personalities and those personalities reacted to the situations. Sometimes Rob held the strings and other times they would take over, leading Rob in directions he’d not anticipated at the start.

The end result was that many of the jottings Rob put in his notebook were frayed ends, only some of which would have turned into the final story,
Dented.

Ben knew that both Paul and Walter were under the impression that Ben was simply referring to the notebook as the outline, and writing Rob’s story as Rob would have. Instead, Ben was weighing the notes, choosing those he felt were the path his father would have chosen, discarding those that had simply been playtime. On a fresh page near the back, Ben had been putting in those statements he had determined were cast solid. In light of Cary’s story, he reviewed that list.

• Adam would call Randall to offer him money to leave it all alone. Randall would run Adam all across town on fictitious money drops before it became apparent he was more interested in controlling Adam than he was in getting money (this was, essentially the next chapter that Paul was so eagerly awaiting).
  
• Suze would move out temporarily, but she would call later and say she had no desire to come home again, ever (something else triggers this…Ben had some idea, but no clear direction from his father’s notes). From this, Ben knew that like Cary and Fred, Adam and Suze’s marriage was at an end.
  

• Adam would prevail at his board of directors meeting, and Kyle would leave after admitting defeat. Adam would be emboldened by his victory and
  feel
  —
  temporarily
  —
  as
  if he could use this momentum to solve the Randall thing.
  
• Peter disappears.
  
• Feeling secure at work, Adam is dealt another blow when he’s targeted in an SEC insider trading investigation. He is suspended from his company pending the results by the board.
  

Those plot
points
—
the
foundational structure making up the second of three books within the
novel
—
were
what Ben should be putting to paper right now. But as he looked at them, he couldn’t help comparing them with Cary’s story. That couple was split and divorced, he had lost his job some time ago, and they were childless.

“I’m getting a headache,” he said to himself.

He lifted the top of his laptop, opened his Word document, and entered the next chapter number. After staring at the blinking cursor for a while, he was relieved when his phone rang. Looking at the readout he smiled and answered:

“Knew you couldn’t go away mad, Paul,” he said.

“Yeah. I could,” Paul said. “Fan boy still there?”

“No, I sent him on a secret mission.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine. Where
Walter
-
Paddy’
s concerned, my new mantra is ‘serenity now.’ Besides, I’ve taken off my agent
hat
—
which
, I have to tell you is pretty heavy right
now
—
and
put on my good buddy hat.”

“I’m imagining a colorful beanie…”

“I was thinking beret, but whatever. You looked tired when I left, and a bit troubled. Tell me now: did we bite off so much we’ll need dental work here?”

“No worries, Paul,” Ben said. “Tell
Esquire
we’ll meet deadline.”

“Still wearing the beret. I’m more than willing to tell
Esquire
we have to punt. You just lost your father; I lost a dear friend. I keep telling myself we’re doing this to honor him, but when I saw your face this morning, I had to wonder if it’s healthy for you.”

Ben looked at his father’s notebook, amazed at his friend’s intuitiveness. “Paul, have you ever known me to make choices based on my health?”

“Good point, but…”

“Then now is not the time for me to start. I got this.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Sure.”

“What?”

“When you land in New York, send me some of those bagels. From that place.”

“I would, but it’s kind of like your chapters.”

“How so?”

“They go stale if left too long.”

“Ha bloody ha. And in case you didn’t notice, you slipped your agent hat on pretty quickly. Can’t help yourself, can you.”

“No, sadly,” Paul said. “I think it’s just the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something’s bugging me; has been since I left.” Paul let the relative silence of road noise echo on his phone.

“Go on,” Ben said.

“Well, there was this conversation with your father about a month ago. He’d just handed me the last batch of chapters for
Esquire.
We’d been talking about the response and reaction. I’d said something about how unique this story was compared to some of his more recent works. He said something strange, but I didn’t make much of it. Frankly, I’d forgotten all about it until you told me about Cary Spencer.”